#and her subtle nudge towards James

[ssahotchnerr]

hi my love!! how are you?🩷

i saw your requests are open and i wanted to ask for more jealous!aaron if you’re up for it! maybe one of the girls (probably jj or penelope) set up reader on a date and they are talking about it on the jet ride home from a case. she’s not too sure about it but wants to give it a chance…rossi and derek are hyping her up too maybe! and our man aaron is just watching thinking he’s lost his chance but little does he know she’s only going to try and get him out of her mind.

wishful thinking

these kinda plots >>> 💓 cw; bau!reader, sooo much mutual pining (they're both idiots), a touch of jealous!aaron, slight angst wc; 1k

part two

You weren't being too subtle.

As the others were settling down, getting situated for the ride home, your priorities laid elsewhere; admiring Aaron and the handsome, beautiful, handsome features he possessed.

The way his cowlicks were tousled gently over his forehead, just begging to swept back. His chiseled jawline, one your hand yearned to span across. His enviously long eyelashes. His lips-

Penelope suddenly sitting next to you pulled you from your trance, causing you to jump. It had been one of those rare instances she was needed in the field, offering her specialities on sight rather than stationed back in Quantico.

The expression she bared was rather eager, complete with a pair of googly eyes.

You laughed shakily, a faint blush creeping onto your cheeks - hoping your longing stare hadn't actually gone noticed, "May I help you?"

"So," Her grin widened, "are you excited!?"

You grimaced slightly as your mood instantly deflated. You uneasily crossed a leg over the other, "I don't know."

"Excited for what?" Morgan inputted from above; headphones in hand, twirling the headband in a circle around his index finger.

You offered a sigh in response, so Penelope took the initiative to answer for you.

"You know James Cameron? From Homeland Security?"

"Yeah, what about him?"

"He's expressed quite the interest in our fellow crime fighter." Penelope's excited grin turned back towards yourself, also nudging you with an elbow. "And so I've honorably claimed the role of Cupid and someone," More wistful eyes pointed at you, "has a date Saturday night."

"He's a catch." JJ expressed enthusiastically, dramatizing a swoon as she sat across from the two of you. "Tall, dark, handsome."

"I can vouch I've heard nothing but good things about him." Morgan teasingly ruffled the hair on the top of your head, "Way to go kid."

You offered a meek smile, squirming ever so slightly in your seat. It took everything in you to not let your gaze drift back elsewhere. "Thanks but... I'm not so sure I want to go."

"What's not to be sure about? He's smokin', successful. It'll be good for you, too. When's the last time you put yourself out there?" JJ pointed out, arching an eyebrow in emphasis.

You shrugged, your chin landing in your palm.

Clearly you couldn't go into the specifics; the truth being you had your eyes on someone else. A particular boss you all shared, sitting just a few feet away.

The whole dating scene, you've been hesitant due to said feelings. The only reason you had truly considered going out - was to get Aaron out of your mind. You've spent countless, sleepless nights thinking about him, picking apart every little interaction; the way he looked at you after you had a breakthrough at a profile, admirable enough to make you want to burst at the seams. Walking alongside him, hands centimeters apart, softly grazing his skin. The concern he showed following an unfortunate brawl with an unsub - he had almost reached out to cradle your face. But, all of which could have been entirely figments of your imagination. Wishful thinking.

But regardless, they had given you the slightest amount of hope. Which is why you waited, but you couldn't do so forever; the probability of you and him - highly unlikely.

You had two choices; to continue holding out for the impossible, or to pursue the realistic.

You peered over at Aaron, consumed entirely by the file in his lap. It didn't appear he was paying attention, and that stung. All things considered.

The truth is, he was, and disliking every single bit of it. While it looked as if he were working, he was merely scribbling on a scrap piece of paper, enough to wear it down and produce a hole; silently brooding and anxiously waiting to hear where the conversation went. The more it carried on, however, the more jealousy burned in the middle of his chest. The two of you were close, you understood him like no one else, but that itself was the issue.

He feared if you got too close, if you really, really knew him, he would damage you somehow. Or worse, you'd end up similarly to Haley - unsatisfied and yearning to leave him behind. And so, he had refrained from being proactive.

In addition, right now, part of him didn't know what hurt more; the fact you were going on a date with someone who wasn't him, or the fact that you hadn't mentioned it.

"I say go for it." Dave offered, "Trust me. I am an expert, after all."

Emily bust out laughing, "Okay."

"What do you think?" You asked over their laughter, your voice detrimentally small. "Hotch?"

Aaron's head lifted, his eyes immediately latching onto yours. It kept circling in his head; You missed your chance. You're missing your chance.

Despite the ongoing internal conflict, one he could resolve in a few simple words, he panicked.

"I don't see a reason not to." He rushed out, your heart plummeting into your stomach at his words. "Of course, don't do anything you're not comfortable with. But there's no harm in seeing if there's a connection."

Even as he spoke, he didn't sound like himself - as if someone else were doing the talking. Extremely feigned, forced. Speaking from his mind rather than his heart.

"Okay," You bit your lip, looking directly at him as you spoke. "I will."

As the others switched topics, your eyes stayed with Aaron's. A silent exchange drifted between the two of you, Spencer's current tangent seemingly miles away. Hurt, betrayal, a touch of something else too.

You exhaled deeply, turning to look out your window.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter now. Did it?

[logaenhowlett]

IF ONLY YOU KNEW - L.H.

Summary: To keep up the ruse of Charles, Laura, you and him being nothing but an ordinary family, Logan shares a heartfelt memory he’s been hiding. [Set during Logan (2017)]

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Logan is hopelessly in love, Charles being a shithead (lovingly)

A/N: I could not get Old Man Logan outta my mind, so this transpired from all that. I initially wrote it from the reader's perspective, but I changed it to focus on Logan's thoughts and feelings. Enjoy!

PART TWO

If looks could kill intentionally injure, then Charles would definitely have throbbing wounds all over his body. Logan shuts his eyes momentarily, attempting to calm his increasing blood pressure as listens to the old man enthusiastically accept the Munson family’s gracious invitation to dinner. He sighs, returning to the driver’s seat, avoiding the rear view mirror lest he catch Charles’ smug expression. 

The ride to the Munson house is uncharacteristically quiet. The initial shock from Charles introducing you as Logan's wife subsides, leaving him lost in thought by the idea of being seen as a family. No one speaks another word, figuring that he deserves a break from Charles and you rambling on about stories to entertain Laura. Watching him angrily clutch the steering wheel till his knuckles turn white seems to be enough of an incentive to not pile on to his already shitty day.

Logan slams the door as he gets out the car, clearly agitated by the detour on their way to North Dakota. No matter how wonderful a home-cooked meal sounds, he knows they’re just wasting time by lingering. But once he sees the desperate look on the three of your faces - particularly, yours, he relents, hoping trouble would spare them for a night.

The seven of you gather at the dinner table, Logan steals a quick glance at you while Nate says grace. Laura digs in immediately, picking the food apart with her fingers and stuffing it in her mouth. Logan clears his throat and gives her a pointed look, she flicks her eyes towards you and you give her an encouraging smile. 

“Where're you heading?” Mr Munson asks, looking between Logan and you.

“Oregon-”

“South Dakota-”

The two of you blurt at the same time, the Munsons pause in confusion. Your eyes widen at the sudden turn of events, a flash of panic settles on Logan’s expression before Charles intervenes.

“Oregon, then South Dakota” he says, smiling as if nothing’s wrong.

Mrs Munson inquires him further, going off into a tangent about traveling. Logan leans back, watching Charles animatedly lie about some "vacation" plans. He stops himself from scoffing, meeting your gaze across the table. 

“James?” Mrs Munson's voice snaps him from his thoughts. He looks at her blankly having missed the first part of her question.

“It’s been 8 years,” You interject, nudging his foot underneath the table, silently warning him to pay attention. “We’ve been together for 8 years.”

Logan’s eyebrows twitch at your lie. He wishes you were together, that you would want him like that. Whatever hopes he had for a relationship with you shattered the moment reality set in his mind. You don't deserve someone like him, a broken old man who's struggling to keep himself going everyday. No. He wouldn't subject anyone, much less you, to an ill-fated man like him.

“Wow! That’s almost as long as our marriage,” Mrs Munson smiles at her husband, “You have any plans of proposing, James?” Her eyebrows are raised, it’s clear she noticed the lack of a ring on you.

“Kathryn.” Mr Munson chastises.

“What? It’s a natural thing to ask!”

Logan shifts in his seat, uncomfortable by the expectant eyes on him. He directs a tight smile at Kathryn, slowly nodding his head.

“Uh yeah… just waitin’ for right time.” He says with a tone of finality, hoping she’ll drop the subject. She doesn’t.

“8 years certainly is a long while, don’t keep her wondering too long.” She winks at you.

Logan gives her a fake laugh, noting the subtle redness on your cheeks. 

“Oh! You two are adorable!” She exclaims, catching the flitting glances. “Tell me, how did you know she was the one?”

Logan takes a swig of his beer, Charles chuckles next to him and he uses all his willpower to not knock the stupid look off his face. He swallows the nervous feeling in his throat, resisting your intense gaze.

It had been hours, or something like that, since you left his side. Once you saw Storm's concerned expression, you immediately shot out of your seat, running to the medical wing of the mansion. Something must have happen to him on the mission.

Charles had sensed your distress as you made your way to the starkly-lit room. You always hated the medical wing, knowing there's no good reason why any of you would need to be here. The moment you saw Logan on the bed, you knew he had suffered enough to be unconscious. Charles kept reassuring you that he'd be alright in due time, that you just need wait for the regeneration power to kick in.

Storm kept checking on you every few hours, making sure you were taking care of yourself while you sat near Logan. She knew the both of you harboured feelings for each other in a way that was obvious to everyone except you two. She'd noted how Logan would always look for you anytime he entered a room, always made sure your favourite snacks were stocked up since the kids kept raiding the shelves, always made sure your gear was extra secure when you had to go on missions. Scott had caught on too but she secretly threatened him when he was about to tease Logan.

When Logan finally opened his eyes, he thought he was dreaming, shocked by the sight of you caring waiting for him. At that point, you had only known each other for less than a year, familiar enough to be considered friends. He didn't want to push you with flirty advances and realise you didn't reciprocate his feelings. That would've crushed him, so he settled with friendship and tried his hardest to bury his emotions around you.

His heart almost gave out when you smiled realising he was awake and he was going to be okay. And for a second, just a little second, a flicker of hope crossed his mind. But it went away when he saw Charles with the same expression. Of course, you were only there because you were worried about your friend. Nothing more.

Storm had advised him to rest for a couple days while his body recovered on its own. Pain was nothing but a sensation for him, after decades of going through utter destruction and slaughter, this was something he could drain out with minimal effort. You didn't leave his side at all. Even after he'd soothed your anxieties about his open wounds. But your response to that kept him up for days afterwards, 'I don't care if it's a paper cut or stubbing your toe somewhere, I don't like seeing people hurt. Especially you. I'm not leaving and I will be here for as long as it takes.'

It was that moment when all the chains restraining his desires let loose. His heart swelled with affection and he recognised that unmistakable emotion. Love. That stupid bastard. But he knew better than to taint your life with his scarred history.

You can’t seem to pull your eyes away from Logan as he finishes the story, keeping his focus on the plate in front of him, hating how silent the room became. Of course, he changed a few of the details to maintain the charade of being ordinary people, but the memory, itself, is something that often revolves in his mind.

Kathryn coos over his words, blown away by the sweet response. Satisfied, she turns her attention to Charles, excitedly asking about his time as a professor.

Logan avoids looking your reaction, even Laura seems taken by the memory - a tiny glimpse into their past. He coughs, ignoring the stabbing pain near his stomach. God, he hopes you won't call him out on this later. He doesn't know if he can keep this to himself any longer, especially since Kathryn had been commenting on your supposed "relationship" with each other.

The Munsons stand up to clear the table, Logan thanks them for the meal and nods his head at Charles, Laura and you, a signal to leave. Kathryn shoots down his intention of driving to a motel and insists on staying the night. Logan sees you stand up, trying to help his cause, but Charles declares you’ll leave the following morning - much to Logan’s annoyance. Your eyes follow Logan as he carries Charles upstairs, Laura right on his tail. Kathryn gives you a teasing glance snapping you out of your daze and you help her with the dishes.

Once Logan returns to the kitchen, Kathryn leads the two of you to the living room, “Here’s the couch, I'm sorry we don't have anything better.” The two of you thank her and she bids you good night, leaving Logan and you alone.

He groans, noting how the couch is hardly enough to support two people, much less someone as big as him. He certainly doesn't want to intrude on your personal space and wind up accidentally cuddling because of his subconscious impulses. Nope. That would definitely push you away.

“What’re you doing?” You ask.

“What’d you think?” He retorts, sinking into the armchair that barely fits him.

“Don’t be an idiot, your injuries are already bad, sleeping on that chair won’t do you any good.”

You stare at him across the dark room, when he makes no attempt to stand up, you sigh and lay back on the couch, turning away from him. A minute passes when you feel the cushion dip next to you, you don’t need to turn around to see the frustrated expression on his face.

The two of you lay down, backs towards each other. The only thing you can hear is the clock ticking in the next room. What Logan had said over dinner replays in your mind. You had been secretly pining over him for years and never showed your intentions, fearing rejection. So why do you suddenly have the urge to reveal your feelings?

“Did you mean it?” Your words pierce the silence and for a moment, you wonder if he’s even awake.

Of course I did. The answer leaves his mind as fast as it came. No one, over the last 8 years, ever came close to him as you did. But, he can’t tell you that, can he? Why would he want to put you through all the trouble that comes with him and his sorry life?

“Had to give ‘em something.” He mumbles, feeling his chest getting heavier.

“Oh. Yeah.. that was uh… I believed it.”

He hears you turn towards him and shuts his eyes, controlling the emotions bubbling inside him.

If only you knew.

PART TWO

[ginnsbaker]

brooklyn

Summary: One night in Brooklyn, with all the twists and turns in your histories, you, Wanda, Kate, and Yelena end up at the same table.

Word count: 3.2K+ | A/N: This is for all of my ILGOSS readers. Requested by anon:

Would you ever be up to writing in the ilgoss universe the first time after everything that happened that Yelena Kate Wanda and reader interact? Like after reader and Wanda getting officially back together

Also, if you can't tell, I've recently been obsessing about degustation menus.

Masterlist

-

A gilded Brooklyn evening envelops you. It further transforms elegantly as the sun dips below the horizon. Around you, the silhouettes of trees stretch and bend, their leaves rustling gently in the evening breeze. It's in one of these timeless structures that Wanda has woven her dreams, with her restaurant, Hasta Feliz. 

After spending a year in the heart of Catalonia, Wanda meticulously planned to work towards that dream, especially given the possibility that realizing her other dream—you—might never be possible again. You've always admired Wanda’s tenacity, the way she harnessed her experiences—both good and bad—into passion. It was a trait you fell in love with and, ultimately, the reason you found your way back to her, despite being more than a year late in doing so.

The restaurant's door, ornate with wrought iron designs, pushes open with a gentle nudge. The hostess greets you warmly, addressing you by your name. She leads you to the kitchen table, which offers a prime view of the open kitchen where all the magic happens. At the center of the action is your wife, dressed in full chef's gear, sampling dishes being prepared by her kitchen staff. 

You rest your chin on the heel of your hand, a subtle smile playing on your lips, contentedly watching her perform like an artist. Wanda began as an art student at NYU, and while her current career might deviate somewhat from the degree she earned, you believe it's only natural for Wanda to have found another avenue to express her creativity.

Wanda moves gracefully around her stage, a look of unyielding concentration etched on her face. Her commanding presence is undeniably alluring, both authoritative and captivating in a manner that, even after all these years, never fails to draw you in. Dark, intent eyes scan over her dominion, ensuring each plate is a masterpiece before it's allowed to exit her kitchen.

Her commanding presence fills the room, drawing all eyes to her. To you, this side of her is intensely attractive, and as you sit there, you find yourself wondering if others perceive her the same way. Glancing down at the wedding band you wear on your finger, a possessive instinct tugs at you. The idea of someone else being equally entranced by your wife makes you slightly uneasy. But an even stronger feeling is the perpetual awe that she is yours.

She occasionally glances up, catching staff members' eyes, and with just a look or a small nod, redirects their actions. It's mesmerizing how she manages to communicate so much without words, and you marvel at her ability to lead so effortlessly.

You're jerked from your reverie when she looks in your direction. Her eyes light up as she spots you, and for a moment, the chaos and noise fades into the background. It's just the two of you in that instance. She sends you a discreet wink before returning to her duties, bringing a light blush to your cheeks. James, the restaurant’s sommelier, promptly pours you a glass of wine and serves you a small charcuterie board to accompany it. You thank him with a smile and quickly indulge in a 1998 Rioja, the aged liquid burning down your throat before spreading a comforting warmth through your chest. 

It’s a full house tonight, save for the table near the window you've reserved for your friend, Kate Bishop. She has transitioned from being a journalist to a food and lifestyle contributor for many renowned magazines. Wanda's restaurant has only been open for two months, but with Kate set to cover their 10-course tasting, you're hopeful all of New York will be talking about it soon.

“You’re early.”

Temporarily handing over the kitchen's control to her sous chef, Wanda takes a seat beside you and sneaks a bit of brie from your board. You swivel your chair to face her, already wearing an alcohol-induced cheeky grin. “I've missed you all day.”

Wanda beams and leans in to plant a chaste kiss on your cheek. But before she can pull away, you gently cup the back of her neck, stealing a more proper kiss from her lips. Wanda blushes, glancing around to see if any of the staff witnessed the exchange, and you can't help but suppress a chuckle at her reaction. In retaliation, Wanda seizes your glass of wine, taking a lengthy swig that nearly empties its contents, then wipes traces of it from the edge of her mouth. A smirk plays on your wife’s lips, and you exert every ounce of restraint to keep from wiping that smirk away yourself.

“Nervous?” you ask, your hand rising to massage the knots on Wanda’s shoulders. With your other hand, you signal James for a refill.

“A little,” Wanda confesses. She was over the moon when she learned of Kate's intention to review her restaurant. Only once before has a food critic penned thoughts on her new restaurant—it was a piece in a lesser-known tabloid that awarded her a 3.5 out of 5 stars. Despite reassurances that it's a respectable score for a newcomer, Wanda couldn't help but fixate on it. Now, she's on a quest to earn that perfect rating.

“Relax, you’re going to do great,” you say. “I think it helps that Kate loves Spanish cuisine.”

“That’s the thing, there’s more pressure serving someone who’s quite taken and familiar with the food.”

Suddenly, a flurry of anxious voices emanate from the open kitchen. While there's no dramatic crash, you notice two of Wanda’s chefs exchanging nervous glances, hands slightly trembling, as they try to discreetly deal with a small mishap away from the customers' prying eyes.

Wanda's sharp eyes catch the nervous interaction. Without hesitation, she's on her feet and swiftly approaching the two chefs. She glances your way briefly, a hint of frustration in her eyes. “Sorry,” she mouths to you as she delves into the matter.

You pull out your phone to distract yourself for a while, and notice a message from Kate timestamped five minutes ago. She says she's close and that she's bringing a plus one. Your brows knit together; the reservation was for two, intended for you and her. Adjusting your plans on the fly, you realize you might have to have your dinner elsewhere tonight. It's fortunate that your wife operates a restaurant; you're almost certain there are set-aside orders in the back you can indulge in.

You’re still typing up a reply to Kate when the delicate chime of the entrance bell lifts your eyes. Kate steps in, wearing a suit for the occasion. Beside her stands Yelena, looking slightly out of place in her edgier, more casual attire. As soon as they catch sight of you, you offer a small wave in greeting.

“Hey,” Kate starts, taking in the scene before her, especially the ongoing, discreet chaos in the kitchen. “Seems like a busy night.”

“It sure is. And Yelena, what a surprise.”

Yelena chuckles, “Got wind of dinner at a posh place. Thought I'd tag along.”

You turn to Kate with a restrained smile. “You did mention to her that this is, well, Wanda's place, right?”

It’s Yelena, however, who answers, “She did. I'm truly eager for dinner tonight.”

“Good. That’s... good,” you reply, feeling slightly off-kilter.

Kate shoots you a teasing grin. “Oh, don’t wear your nerves on your sleeve, Y/N,” she chides gently. “After all, you’re not the one preparing our meal, right?”

A laugh escapes you, and you dismissively shake your head at her playful jab. “Your table’s right over there. I’ll join you in just a moment.���

You hurry back to the kitchen. Wanda is right in the thick of it, her brow furrowed in concentration as she meticulously adjusts a plate, ensuring that each element is perfectly placed.

You edge gently into her line of sight, attempting to get her attention. “Wanda.”

She remains unmoved, as if the world has fallen away from her.

You inhale, hesitating for a brief moment before uttering the one thing that you know will seize her attention. “Yelena. She’s here.”

Her head snaps up, “What?!” Wanda exclaims, her hands momentarily stilling.

You explain quickly, “Kate brought Yelena along tonight. She's seated with her, waiting for dinner.”

Wanda’s eyes go wide—a little too wide—that under any different occasion you’d find funny and would tease her endlessly for it. But the present moment treads a delicate line between a comical irony and a grave reunion of sorts; the memory still lingers that you cheated on Yelena with Wanda, and initially, you were with Yelena because the latter had cheated on you. 

While you trust Yelena not to let personal bias sway her judgment, it's clear why your wife is teetering on the edge of panic.

“S-Should I cancel?” Wanda asks.

“No, no, no,” you say quickly. “Baby, you can do this.”

Wanda bites her lower lip, a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize over the years. “Okay, let’s think this through. Yelena is professional. She won't let past grievances affect her review. And the food... it’s top-notch. They’ll love it,” she tries to reassure herself more than you.

“They will,” you assure her, nodding. “What can I do to help?”

“Could you keep them entertained and assist me in presenting the dishes?”

“Absolutely.”

Wanda looks a bit on edge, but she gives you a grateful smile and plants a quick kiss on your lips. “Thanks for everything.”

“Anytime.”

-

The 10-course meal Wanda whipped up kicks off with an appetizer that makes your mouth water. You walk with her as she serves it to Yelena and Kate. She's ditched her chef's hat tonight, and you can see those little wild hairs on her forehead with her hair all tied up into a strict bun.

The gazpacho sits elegantly on the table, vibrant and almost begging for a photo. Wanda, poised and with a touch of flair, presents it: “This is not just any gazpacho. It's the essence of summer, distilled into a plate. Tomatoes basking in sunshine, cucumber with a hint of earth, and a watermelon gel that adds an unexpected twist.”

She suggests the, “For those wanting a fuller experience, there's the Albariño from Rías Baixas. It's crisp, coastal, and James will bring it to you.”

“It's beautiful,” Kate comments, digging in, while Yelena gives Wanda a faint smile. Wanda clears her throat, feeling the intensity of your ex-girlfriend's gaze, while you watch her, seeing up close for the first time how she introduces her dishes.

Wanda gives your waist a sly pinch, pulling you out of your daze.

“Ow!”

With a poised smile, Wanda says, “Enjoy your meal,” then heads to the kitchen. You're about to trail after her when Yelena gets your attention.

“Y/N,” Yelena says. “Sit with us.”

After a moment's hesitation, you find a chair, drawing it up to the table to sit between the two. James arrives with two glasses of wine, and you request a third glass for yourself.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” you venture, trying to ease into casual conversation.

“Just for three weeks,” Yelena responds, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m on assignment.”

“I hope the long-distance thing is treating you both well,” you say.

Kate sighs dramatically, “It’s a challenge, but we make do. Frequent flyer miles, late-night calls, the usual.”

Yelena adds, “And surprises. Like tonight.”

You fidget slightly, hoping to navigate the conversation away from the potential landmines of the past. But Yelena catches your unease. “You seem... tense.”

“Can you blame me?” You try to deflect, glaring at Kate for the last-minute heads up.

Yelena chuckles, that hearty laugh you remember so well. “Relax, Y/N. I don’t pull any strings with Kate's reviews. But between you and me,” she leans in slightly, “that appetizer? It's a 5 out of 5 in my book.”

Your smile relaxes. Maybe the evening won't be so treacherous after all.

Just in time, Wanda returns with the second appetizer for the night.

-

It takes about two and a half hours for the pair to work their way through the entire tasting menu. By the end, Kate has undone the button on her trousers, while Yelena, full and drowsy from the meal, struggles to keep her eyes open.

“Where's Wanda?” Kate asks, returning the bill with her credit card to the waiter.

“I'll go find her,” you say, rising from your seat.

You head toward the open kitchen but don't find your wife. After asking a few staff members, they direct you to the staff room. There, you find Wanda sitting on a bench, about to open the tupperware of food you prepared for her earlier.

“Hey,” you greet as you approach. She's shed her uniform and is now dressed in the same clothes she wore when she left the apartment this morning. Her tired eyes brighten up slightly at the sight of you. She grins at you, masking the exhaustion you’ve grown so attuned to recognizing.

“You did amazing out there,” you start, thumbing the faint shadows beneath her eyes. “Kate looked genuinely impressed. I've never seen her react that way before.”

Wanda tilts her head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks, baby. But, I noticed them looking around after dinner, were they looking for me?”

You nod, “They did want to talk to you, yes.”

Her face pales slightly. “Is that a good idea? With Yelena… after everything?”

“Yelena and I have talked about…well, us—and that includes you—several times in the past. She doesn't hold any grudges against you, I promise.”

Wanda sighs, toying with the edges of the tupperware. “I just don't want to make things awkward for you or for her.”

You draw her closer, brushing a kiss on her temple. “It’s in the past, Wands. We’ve moved on, and so has she.”

She smiles, leaning into your embrace. “Okay.”

As you both stand up to make your way back to Kate and Yelena's table, you suddenly notice the tupperware still clutched in Wanda’s hand. You pause, an incredulous look on your face. “Wait, you're actually going to eat that?”

She looks down at the container and then back at you with feigned innocence. “What? I'm hungry.”

“That?” you say, pointing to the tupperware. “With all the culinary masterpieces you've been churning out tonight, you're going to eat... whatever that is I threw together this morning?”

Wanda narrows her eyes, trying to suppress a grin. “Don't you dare insult my favorite meal, especially when it’s made by my favorite person.”

You shake your head, your cheeks warming up. Even after all these years, it's amazing how Wanda can still make you blush like a smitten teenager. “You're nuts for preferring anything I whip up in the kitchen. It's like a five-year-old's attempt compared to your gourmet dishes.”

She pokes your chest playfully, “Maybe you put a hex on me, you know, making me helplessly fall in love with you.”

It's so cheesy that you burst into laughter, draping an arm around her. “Yeah, maybe I did.”

Wanda giggles, resting her head against your shoulder briefly before you both continue toward the awaiting table.

-

“She did not do that!”

“She actually did!”

Yelena is grinning from ear to ear, her eyes darting between you and Wanda. You groan, sinking lower in your seat, a slight blush creeping onto your cheeks.

Wanda nods enthusiastically, her laughter causing a few stray curls to fall into her eyes. “She did! Y/N, trying to cook a romantic dinner for me and setting off the smoke alarm. Not only did our apartment's alarm go off, but it triggered the entire building's system.”

Yelena wipes a tear from her eye, trying to suppress her own laughter. “And having the entire building evacuate? Oh, that’s just golden.”

You hide your face in your hands, “It was our anniversary date! I wanted it to be special.”

“And it certainly was,” Wanda adds with a smirk.

Feigning offense, you reach across the table to try and snatch the tupperware filled with the meal you'd made for Wanda. “Alright, if my culinary skills are such a laughing matter, perhaps you shouldn't enjoy my latest creation.”

Wanda holds onto it defensively, pulling it close with a teasing grin. “Not happening. Despite that incident, this is still my favorite dish.”

“I wouldn't have thought Y/N to be the clumsy type. Next to her, I'm a complete klutz,” Yelena remarks.

“Can't argue with that,” Kate adds, receiving a playful swat from Yelena.

“I did have burnt toast for breakfast for a while,” you say with a smirk, alluding to the brief time you had with Yelena. It feels unreal, discussing the past so openly and without that familiar twinge in your chest.

Suddenly, Kate clinks her glass, drawing attention to herself with a burgeoning smile. “Well, speaking of choosing who gets to make our burnt toast in the morning,” she begins, beaming at Yelena, “I asked this one to marry me.”

“Congratulations!” Wanda exclaims, and you mirror her sentiment with a broad smile.

Yelena simply smiles, her usually fierce demeanor softened, eyes glistening with joy. She holds up her hand, showing off a beautiful, but temporary, band.

“I found out before she could surprise me with the custom ring,” Yelena mumbles, looking visibly smitten. “So she panicked and proposed with this.”

Kate shrugs, a little embarrassed. “It’s a placeholder until the real one is ready. Still, the sentiment remains.”

Wanda laughs, nudging you with her elbow. “Speaking of proposals,” she starts. “Remember last year when I popped the question to you?"

You groan for the nth time, hiding your face in your hands. “Not that story.”

“We were by this old swing, and I just... I felt it, you know? That it was the right time. So I got down on one knee, trying to make it special and romantic,” Wanda recalls, rolling her eyes.

“And?” Kate prompts.

“She said 'no'!”

“It wasn't a real no!” you protest, feeling the warmth rise in your cheeks. “I just... I had my own plans, okay? I wanted to be the one to propose.”

Yelena stifles a laugh behind her hand. “That sounds just like you. Always wanting the last word.”

Kate nudges her, “Oh, and you didn’t?”

Yelena feigns innocence, “I just said yes.”

“It all worked out in the end, for all of us, didn't it?” you muse, your eyes flickering between Wanda and the newly engaged couple across the table. Wanda’s fingers intertwine with yours, giving a gentle squeeze. But it's Yelena's slightly misted eyes, softened from their usual guarded sheen, that draws you in. The slight upturn at the corner of her mouth suggests she's pondering the same thought: the richness of your history together didn't always follow the conventional path of strong friendships. Still, you're both grateful for the memories you've created and for Yelena's grace in forgiving past transgressions.

It's a fitting evening to begin a new chapter, and you're hopeful that each subsequent page will be even better.

Yelena nods ever so slightly. “Yeah,” she exhales, her voice a thin whisper over the candlelights, “I suppose it did.”

It's late, and with everyone gone, the four of you are left to close up the restaurant.

With a swirl of your wine and a nod towards the remaining bottle in the ice bucket, you ask the group, “One more for the road?”

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Potc headcanon:

If their in love with you 😍💘

Jack sparrow🍺

Jack sparrow, can you ever picture the choatic, scoundrel in love with anyone.

Jack sparrow is flirty with women, strumpets, nobles, ladies, you name it. But when he mey you that's when it was different.

Jack sparrow had never been in lover expect the closest thing being angelica (but we don't talk about that).

Jack was quite confident, boisterous in his knowledge of the sea.

You coming in the picture was a whole new chapter to Jack's life.

"The pearl," he thought. "Surely it must've been a bad drunken dream he had with you in it ey".

Jack was, conflicted, confused about you or rather, your being.

His feelings are not one to be taken lightly for, he loved the pearl, he loved the sea but a person. How can this be?

Jack would act rash and odd, like odder then his usual self (and you know how odd he is most of the time.)

He would avoid you and hide away from you. Acting like a highschooler with a huge crush.

For one minute, he would be speaking to someone, and the next he would run from seeing you.

You felt weirded out at first, Jack Sparrow, a confident and adventurous buccaneer, was acting like a coward in front of you.

During the night, Jack would be hiding from you until he calls Master Gibbs.

"Master Gibbs," he whispers.

"J-Jack, is tha' yer, whaddya doin' hiding in tha barrells," Gibbs questioned.

Jack peaked his cattish eyes to see if you were nearby, "gah" he pulled Gibbs into the Barrell with him.

"Jack, what's wron', is tha' kraken after us?" Gibbs asked.

"No, somethin' way worse mate," Jack leaned up once more to see if you were around.

"Then, wha' is it Jack" Gibbs questioned once more.

"Him/them/Her," Jack muttered

"Him?/them?/Her?" Gibbs questioned

"The girl/the boy/the person" Jack admitted.

"The girl?/the boy?/the person?--" Gibbs realised who Jack was speaking about.

"Oh, that girl/boy/person" Gibbs figured out.

"But jack, she/he/they ain't out ta get yer, are they? Gibbs asked.

Jack's upper lip curled into something of disgust. "No, not yet at least, but I've been having these -" Jack's hands jestures toward the word "Feelings."

"Oh~, I see wha' ye mean, I see tha' way ye look at her/him/them" Gibbs nudges Jack in a teasing manner.

"Shhh," Jack hushed Master Gibbs. "Well, why Dontcha go n' tell er', after all, ye do ave' a way wit tha lasses".

Jack turned to Gibbs, widening his eyes. "Wait, it be more than tha' Jack?".

"Ohhh, Jack a-are ye admittin', yer in love wit' her/him/them" Gibbs questioned.

Jack pushed himself out of the barrel. "It ain't good mate, I ain't exactly sure what to do" Jack softly spoke.

He cared for you yet he was conflicted. He loved the sea and the pearl more then anybody (aside from rum).

He couldn't begin to imagine being with anyone. Freedom and the lust of adventure were all he knew yet he would need time to figure out his feelings.

Gibbs would give Jack advice for being in love yet Jack would still continue to act stranger.

Jack would give subtle hints, though. He would protect you and act to save you.

Other then that, Jack is weirder when it comes to love rather then lust.

At least you weren't left on an island, although that was more because he couldn't trust Angelica.

Jack would be conflicted, but he would still protect you only the downside is he would try to take time figuring things out for you.

If he did confess, it would be "I love you mate, I always have and always will" leaning into kiss "as do I Jack, as, do, I" y/n speaks softly.

Hector barbossa 🍏

Barbossa, a screaming, strong and fearsome captain that no one dares triumphs.

Barbossa is a man who gives no quarter to those that cross him.

When you picture someone being handsome, you're probably thinking, Jack Sparrow, Will Turner, or James Norrington. Definitely not Barbossa though what if there was something too him.

Barbossa is complex. There's no doubt about that. He's a character that is portrayed in the strong setting not the romantic kind.

Hector being in love would be quite extraordinary, though albeit rare.

Barbossa would often catch himself staring at you from the helm, spying on you through his telescope or eyeglass.

His expressions would be softer; his face pouting instead of smiling over the adventurous horizon.

He would watch over you, from above or far.

He would (Childish as this sounds) dream of you, secretly imploring to show you the true meaning of serenity.

His manner wouldn't change, of course. He would put on this facade of ordering you around or challenging you to keep your mind afloat of any ideas.

He would take advice from Jack on how to woo you but ignore most of it.

Jack would flirt with you but end up bewildered you chose Barbossa over him.

He has hidden himself away or has been quite vague in your presence where as, unlike Jack would speak to you if necessary.

He would be quite protective yet passive toward your nature. He doesn't want to give any hints until he was prepared.

Barbossa mended the helm where Jack caught him staring at you, "staring off again, eh Hector, or rather, are you staring at her/him/them?".

"Keep yer business ter yerself sparrah" Barbossa growled, warning Jack.

"You know me, mate, that ain't happening," Jack teased.

"Don't mind me asking, but how can something as fetching as that end up with something as hideous as you?" Jack crossed the line.

Barbossa pulled his cutlass out from his holster, holding it over Jack. "Shut yer trap!" Barbossa demanded whispering.

"No, I don't think I will" Jack was getting on Barbossas nerves.

"I think there's something about her/him/them hm, seems like you're revoltingly intertwined with the poor thing," Jack smiled.

Barbossa clenched his teeth in a growling manner. "She/he/they won't be wantin' anytin' ta do wit me, fer er/is/their admirer is a swine."

Barbossa withdrew his sword and tended back to the helm, ignoring Jack.

Eventually, Barbossa got to know you more and more, he did confess his feelings.

If Barbossa confessed, he would be emotionally sincere, and with only two words, he admitted "yer treasure."

Will turner🌊

Will Turner was at first a blacksmith, and he often visited Elizabeth.

Will being in love is quite a passionate experience. He would bring the whole world to you.

Will would be around you. He would travel the ocean just to be with you.

Will would team up with Jack to save you from anything.

When the events of Davy Jones took place, he swore his heart to you.

No doubt Will Turner was a strong lad and devoted.

Will was looking out over the horizon, deep in thought.

"Is everything alright, Will?" Elizabeth leaned against the railing.

"Yeah, just, contemplating is all," Will stared off into the distance, looking at you.

"You like her/him/them, don't you?" Elizabeth softly muttered. She had feelings for Will, but it seemed his eyes were on you.

"Aye" will glanced at the broken hearted Elizabeth.

"Least you two have a lot in common," she tried to smile.

Will walked over toward you and held your hand. "Y/n, ever since we first met, I haven't stopped thinking about you, I love you."

The day will confessed was the day he promised to come ashore once every couple of years.

Will Turner was a legend with a heart he held only for you.

Elizabeth Swann 🦢

Elizabeth was the pirate king. She had finally been elected to phase through with the next plan of killing Cutler Beckett.

She was tough, and you knew that, once a woman who was fantasised pirates now a powerful king destined to sail the seas.

She protected you, cared for you, and loved you.

Elizabeth swore she would keep you alive until the aftermath as to which she would dream of living with you.

Will noticed, he approved but felt broken hearted that it wasn't him.

Jack was walking up to her. "So, you and y/n hm, didn't think you'd fancy her/him/them. Thought you fancied dear William."

Elizabeth looked at Jack and looked away. "I did once," she held a playful smirk on her face, "though, things change, you know it intrigues me, Jack, why you're so curious about who I fancy".

Jack gripped the bottle of rum, and he sipped the bitter liquid. "Hm, just wonderin' love".

"Did you place a bet on me with Master Gibbs?" Elizabeth asked.

"What me, nooo~" Jack wasn't able to pull off the facade. "So, mabey I did."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes "unbelievable". She focused her gaze onto you.

"You love her/him/them, don'tch you" Jack blurted out.

Elizabeth turned back to Jack. "Mabey I do," she confirmed.

Jack in his mind knew he would win the bet, that barrel of rum is his.

If she confessed, it would be during the fight with Davy Jones. "I love you, y/n!" She would scream in the rain.

Henry Turner 🔱

Henry was the son of Will Turner, a boy that wouldn't give up on trying to release his father's curse.

Henry would be quite inexperienced when it comes to love, the boys like a puppy.

He would interact with you and be by your side.

He would take interest in many of your things.

Henry would get advice from Jack that would make Carina roll her eyes.

"Henry, are you with it" Carina waved her hand in front of Henry's eyes.

"Huh, yeah, uh I think so" Henry smiled innocently.

"Good, if we sail east, we should be able to find the trident," Carina showed henry the diary of Galileo. The Ruby showed a map that Carina had been using.

Henry had been averting his eyes to behind Carina once more seeing you.

"Henry, what's with you?" Carina asked.

"Are you staring at another girl/boy/person?" Carina grew annoyed."For heavens sake, Henry, we must concentrate if we ever wish to free your father".

Henry nodded, getting his mind back into the main goal.

Henry couldn't help himself by being around you though Carina got annoyed with Henry's gushing.

When he confessed, it was after he freed his father. "Y/n, I love you, you've been there when I needed it and I thank you for that" Henry would then lean in to kiss you.

Davy Jones 🐙

Davy had only ever gave his heart to only one person, a goddess of the sea.

He's cold, cruel and had his heart hardened.

Davy would in love again would be a rarity, he couldn't feel for anyone else.

It was break his grief, he would be able to move on and regain humanity.

It would be possible he may just be able to turn human.

Davy had finally admitted his conflicted feelings for you, seeing calypso before the final battle.

Tia Dalma appeared behind Davy. "You know what fate has woven you back".

"I dah naught need ta' see you" Davy said in anger.

"Your heart still beats, a life spared by your own choosing," Tia stood her ground.

"Ah spar nah one" Davy said in a short fuse.

"A heart that beats but not for my own," Tia admitted.

"You've spared a life, a life not given to cruelty." she caressed his cheek "a woman/a man/a person".

"AH DONT SPAR LIVES-AH!" Davy shouted, slamming his claw hand against the wall next to Tia.

"You broke my love," Davy muttered before calming down.

Tia whispered before Davy left, "Your heart belongs to me but it beats for her"/him/them.

Davy would take time, he would confess during the last maelstrom battle. He would see you wounded and that's when his rage was let out.

"Y/n," he would mutter before roaring and slaughtering the men.

"My heart belongs to you."

Cutler Beckett 🍵

Beckett is cold-hearted, he is ambitious and an intelligent man.

He wouldn't usually show how soft of a man he would be, but that changed.

Beckett would at first try to manipulate you, for you to give up sparrow.

He would hire you on occasions to spend nights with him as a strumpet.

He would keep these occasions on the down low in private.

He would use you, but he also holds affection for you, attraction.

So when the time came, he had to choose you or the company.

"We got him, sir, we got him, Captain Jack Sparrow" The navy officer said.

Jack was trapped in chains between his hands and feet.

Beckett gave a wry smile of amusement "well, if it isn't captain Jack Sparrow".

Jack glanced up to see the lord.

"After all of this, a filthy scoundrel trapped in chains" Beckett smiled with amusement.

Beckett pulled out his flintlock pistol, aiming it at Jack.

"Send my regards to Jones for me, will you, Mr Sparrow?" Beckett smiled.

You come in the way of the between Jack and Beckett.

"Y/n, move," Beckett ordered.

Since you refused, Beckett aimed the pistol directly in front of you and Sparrow. "I'll give you the final chance to turn away now, girl/boy/y/n".

Beckett was frustrated that you defended Sparrow. For a moment, he lost his composure.

His cold eyes drew into one of regret for a moment, as if he truly treasures you.

Yet his morals kicked in and shot you. Blindly, he didn't know, he couldn't tell where his mind was but his ambitions had gotten in the way.

He looked distraught and shocked, as smoke left the pistols' end point.

Beckett hadn't really meant to kill you, not really, but his ambitions were tremendous.

If he confessed it would be "you make me content, a sweet girl/boy/person in this devastating world betrothing herself/himself/themself to my desire. What a despicably beautiful act."

James Norrington 🎖

James had his heart broken by the woman he was devoted to.

He was honorable, polite, and a man with high morals.

The admiral has been in love before but could never really express it.

If he were to love another, it would be better for him so he could move on.

James met you when he betrayed Will and Elizabeth when he retrieved the heart of Davy Jones.

Beckett dismissed the admiral as he was set out to be promoted and restored once more.

"Y/n, what are you doing here?" James said in concern.

"I had to see you, the chest of Jones, did Will and Elizabeth destroy it?" you asked in a huff.

James looked down in shame, he betrayed the only friend he had.

"So they didn't?, why?" Y/n asked.

"Listen to me y/n, there may not be much time, Beckett's men will hunt you if they find out you're associated with Sparrow" James whispered.

"You need to leave, don't come looking for me anymore, your safety is my highest concern" James looked around the hall outside of Beckett's office.

"You're precious to me, more than any I've known," James suddenly pushed his lips to meet yours, like it's a goodbye kiss.

"Now go," James ordered you.

You listened and left without a word as James breathed a sigh in relief and attended his duties toward Lord Beckett.

If James were to confess, it would be like "y/n, you're a fine woman/man/person, and you would make an even finer wife/husband/partner."

Tia Dalma 🐚

Tia was a wild woman. She was extraordinary compared to the rest, she likes to explore those she's interested in.

Tia had only loved once, a man from a long time ago but he betrayed her.

Tia being in love would finally heal her wounded heart.

She would be able to move on but not destroy Davy Jones as he was her past.

Tia was greeting Jack Sparrow, an old friend.

"Jack Sparrow," Tia smiled at the captain.

"Tia--" Jack noticed you behind the back "question, who's that" he pointed.

"She/he/y/n is a child with a destiny," Tia said no more than that.

"New friend, congrats, love," Jack smiled.

"She's/he's/their more than just that," Tia implied.

Jack was astonished, although he didn't know the full story.

Tia had guided you from the beginning, she was a goddess you fell for.

When she confronted Davy Jones, you felt Jealous knowing her past.

Davy would kill you for taking his lover.

If Tia confessed, she would do it after her Goddess form "my y/n," she whispered.

Carina smyth ✨

Carina was a very smart woman, an astrologist curious to know who her father was.

Carina being in love is more likely to involve her being caring toward you.

She would spend time with you and tell you about the stars and her past.

Carina was talking to Henry; Henry respected her decision but felt bad for himself as he had a crush on her.

Carina was watching over you as you were tied with Henry and Jack to lead Barbossa and his men toward the trident.

"I don't believe now's the time to be asking odd questions, henry," Carina whispered.

"You like her/him/them. I understand, but what would happen if the captain killed us? " He whispered back.

"I think you should tell her/him/them, or they'll be no other time," he said.

Carina looked toward you as Captain Barbossa untied her to guide them over the waters.

She quickly demanded a word with you, or she won't tell them. Barbossa impatient said she had 5 minuets.

"Y/n, listen, I should've said something earlier, but I'm glad you're here with me," she admitted. "If I ever did meet my father, he would be proud of us".

If carina confessed, it would be after she found out who her father was. "I love you; I really do."

Armando salazar 👻

Salazar was sailing the seas, hunting down pirates until he died from the hands of Jack Sparrow.

Armando was human and when he fell in love he showed it through his soft side.

When he turned into the un-dead, he became cruel, cold and merciless.

Salazar kept an eye out for only one thing; revenge on sparrow.

He looked over the deck to reminisce over his past life.

He remembered you, your warmth and soft touch.

It was the only part that made him feel human.

You were probably long gone by now since Salazar had lived on for quite sometime.

That was until Jack had an encounter. After Salazar had become human from the trident breaking.

His flesh and memories were flooding back, ones of love and joy.

"I am back mi amore, I am alive," he muttered.

However, it was short lasted when Barbossa sacrificed himself to the sea killing him in the process.

"I-am-alive" as his last and final vision was you.

If he confessed, it would be when he was human and did it in a shy yet ambitious manner. "Sounds stupid, doesn't it, but te amo y/n."

Phillip swift 📔

Phillip was captured by the infamous blackbeard.

He was forced to work under his name, as a servant of the pirates.

Phillip had been tortured, physically and mentally by the captains cruel nature.

The only thing that kept him going was his bible.

When Phillip was in love it would've been with you either as a captive or a mermaid/merman/merperson.

Phillip escaped the treacherous crew from the fountain and ran back to find you.

"You came back" you said with your hands tied up to a tree "why".

"God gives love to all, gods creation shall be protected." he used a small dagger to untie you.

"I am his messenger, I will not let you die," he tried hard to uncut you.

"Phillip, I'm not special, I'm not worth your time," you said.

"What, of course you are. You are god's beautiful gift to this world, as you are mine" he finally uncut the bonds holding you.

You fell back into the water as he let you escape.

You had some options to take him with you or leave him on land.

If he confessed, he would say outright, "You are a beautiful creature, made from the heavens above."

Syrena 🧜‍♀️

Syrena was caught by the crew for her tears.

She didn't know the human world, but she knew cruelty.

You were a boatswain on black beard's ship. Angelica prompted you as she thought you were more tougher.

You kept an eye on everything, the riggings, the crew, and the order.

Syrena became friendlier with you and Phillip. However, you were short lasted as you started to have feelings for syrena.

One night, while Jack was hunting for the chalices. You stuck out.

You brought a small cutlass with you and cut the bindings.

With no word you grabbed syrenas hand and ran.

"Where are we going" she said.

"To freedom" you replied.

Phillip got up and went to check on syrena when she was nowhere to be found.

The crew had no idea where the mermaid or you went but it put angelica and her father in a heap.

They were ordered to hunt you down and kill you.

She looked into the sea yet without a second thought looked back.

"Come, come with me, you save me, I do the same in return," Syerna held your hand.

"I, I can't, you're a mermaid, and I'm a human it wouldn't work," you said sadly.

Syrena looked up and kissed you before diving into the sea. Her tail sparkling in gold.

"I understand, but what's left for you up here?" she pointed toward the way back.

You held your hand out as Syerna dragged you into the sea, never to be found again.

If she confessed, it would be, "I feel it for you, a human feeling for you, I love you."

Angelica tech 👢

Angelica was under the eyes of her father, she had to play a very strict role in order to survive.

She was no mere lady, she was the first mate of her father.

She was Jack sparrows ex-lass, an old flame, broken woman of the seas.

Angelica trusted no one. She didn't want to be played for a fool ever again.

Angelica in love would be like having a second chance only, be careful not to break it.

One night, you set up a romantic giving that was until Jack ruined it.

"So let me guess this straight, she likes you, you like her, and you hate me," Jack questioned. "And you're just here," he pointed to the bard, who smiled and waved back.

"Aye, Jack, this is none of your business," Angelica spoke.

"You should've known. If you wanted me back, you wouldn't have left, " angelica concluded.

"Nah, but see here, love, she doesnt know who you are" Jack turned to you.

"Jack, she/he/y/n doesn't have to know of my life," angelica persisted.

"Though you proclaim to be the daughter of-" Jack nearly spilt her secret.

"I'll cut your eye out Jack!" Angelica interrupted.

"I got a second chance, a chance that you never gave me, and I'll be damn sure you don't ruin it" Angelica threatened.

"Hang on, don't she/he/they know that's blackbeards daughter" the bard spilled.

"Now that wasn't me," Jack defended.

"You're a pirate," you question.

"Yes, yes I am, at heart like my father" angelica admitted.

"Pirate or not, you're still the heart of my sea," you asked.

If angelica confessed, it would be sweet and passionate. "My y/n, you are always mi amore."

Edward tech🏴‍☠️

He was one of the most fearsome pirates known to date.

In the fountain of youth, you were captured as a concubine/concubinus/partner.

You weren't exactly treated with care, always expected to somehow pleasure and entertain all the crew and its captain.

You grew to be tough once you were in the fountain of youth you were forced to join.

Phillip and syrena were the closest you had ever gotten to a friendship.

One night, you entered the cabin to confront the captain.

Though it wasn't as planned as you were held back.

It wasn't easy, but as time went on, you had grown soft for his daughter.

On the other hand, it was decided you were to be made as a pirate bride/husband/partner.

You grew to hate the life but slowly developed feelings.

As you got to the fountain of youth, it was surprising he chose to sacrifice his daughter instead of you.

Though in the end, he may have died, but it was revealed he indeed had feelings for you as he muttered out your name before falling to bone.

Joshamee Gibbs 🍻

Gibbs was Jack's loyal first mate, a member of his crew.

Gibbs was more logical than Jack was and acted like a father figure toward him as a dear friend.

Gibbs was surely never once had been in love as he valued the sea more.

One day, you came on board as Jack's "friend" to see the pearl.

as he set sail, Gibbs had taken more of a liking to you.

Jack would certainly get jealous of all the attention Gibbs is giving you.

Usually falling off the barrels as you walk past from drinking as he was caught off guard.

He would speak to you about the ways of the ship, boasting on about Jack.

Gibbs eventually settled his mind on one thing yet he had to make a hard decision to choose you or the sea.

Gibbs one night decided to take you on a date with the help of "jack".

One day, Gibbs came in to admit something.

"Ah, Master Gibbs, glad you're here, I need yo-" Jack noticed Gibbs's words.

"Jack, it ain't easy, I thought it be the sea, but oh, miss/mr/y/n was certainly a sight." Gibbs reminisced.

"Who, the girl/guy/person, well bloody didnt well know that," Jack furrowed his eyebrows.

"Jack, ye've been intertwined wit lasses before, whaddya do ta reel them in" he asked for advice.

Jack smiled, thinking, "Guess I won the bet, ye owe me a lot of shillings and doubloons Hector".

"Right mate, first you have to set the mood hm, then add some passion t'your evening then--" Jack gave Gibbs a sly look.

"Then wha" Gibbs smiled following along.

"Then you leave the next morning and set your sights on the sea," Jack smiled.

"Jack, I ain't spendin' a crack at jenny's teacup wit her/him/them," Gibbs firmly said.

"Hm, then that's on you, mate," Jack wandered off to find some rum.

If Gibbs confessed, it would be like the old school couple kind "y/n, I ain't usually interested in many bah, ye be one o' a kind, I love ye from the bottom o' the briny deep ta tha top o'tha shining stars".

Ragetti and Pintel 👁💢

Ragetti and pintel are two of the same, not the smartest but not the worst either.

One day in tortuga, the two spotted the sight of a good looking lass/lad/person.

"Look o'er there, quite a looker ey" pintel winked.

"Yeah, bets they taken though" Ragetti thought.

"Only one's way ta find out," Pintel smiled.

"Wait, we's can't just goes o'er there, i means look at them and looks at us" Ragetti halted pintel.

"Who cares if she/he/they's aint inta us, well plunder er/im/em," pintel replied.

"I wouldn't do tha', I would take em out ta sail unda' tha stars n' then dance wit them under the moonlight, reciting some love words" Ragetti swooned at his idea.

Pintel looked at Ragetti like he was repulsive "I would's bring er/im/em ta tha brigs n' if cap'n don't want er, then I'll take em" pintel smiled at the evil thought.

"Ya's ave' ta be in love ta treat em right, I wouldn't hurt em otherwise" ragetti intervened.

"Love, it's repulsive t'ward pirates, keeps us doin' mushy stuff tha aint them" Pintel cringed.

"N'alright, if ye ain't gonna treat em right, then i's will." ragetti approached you.

Pintel grabbed him by the arm. "Hangs on who's says you's get firsts claim".

"I did" ragetti growled. Then the two grabbed out their cutlasses and started to sword fight over the pettiness of you.

If the two were in love, it would be weird yet funny to watch. Ragetti would be intelligent in his ways of speaking to you while pintel would probably scare you off.

Captain Teague 🎸

Teague is an old sea salt, the keeper of codes and the first in the Brethren court.

He would be seated in the Brethren courts meeting when Jack greeted his dear old dad.

"Ello' Jackie" Teague greeted his son.

"Dad" Jack greeted back.

"Been a while, hasn't it" Jack admitted.

"Hm, seems so" Teague replied.

A woman/man/person comes around and greets their husband with a smile and curtious look.

"Who's that" Jack asked.

"They be my new mate" teague didn't reply much more then that.

"Does this mean I ave' a new parent now" Jack looked confused.

"How's mum" Jack asked curiously.

Teague pulled out a shrunken head of her as Jack smiled awkwardly. "She looks great."

You on the other hand smiled at Jack's reaction as you wrapped yourself around your husband.

"Sparrow" you muttered.

Teague treated you with respect and sometimes played his guitar to you.

If he confessed, it would be sudden. "Hmm, guess I would say I love you, but be a bit cliche really".

Bootstrap Bill🐚

Bootstrap was apart of the cursed crew on the Dutchman.

He had no free will and even missed his son.

You were the only bright part of his life, he would protect you from Davys grasp.

Bootstrap Bill in love would bring back memories of his former, dead lover arabella.

You looked after bootstrap as he talked about his son.

One day bootstrap got punished by Davy Jones.

"No, it's not her/him/them it was me" bootstrap defended.

Bootstrap held his end for you and got whipped at the boucan.

Bootstrap would be the most protective man that would stick out for you.

Bootstrap admitted his confession when you were hurt. "I'm sorry y/n, I loved you, I couldn't go through with Davy hurtin' you."

Redd the pirate 👩‍🦰

Redd was a tough woman. She was previously a wench and now she's a pirate.

Redd would be protective of you and she would defend you in any way she could.

She would hold many adventures with you and let you set sail with her.

"Seem's the ol landlubber knows how ta sail" she smiled to you.

"Seems the ol' lass knows her words" you replied.

Redd would be hanging around Tortuga while having fun.

She was auctioned off originally for being a pirate bride however she sailed with barbossas old crew on the wicked wench.

You showed redd respect compared to the rest of the drunkards.

If she confessed, she would kiss your forehead while saying, "Be not many like ye, a true lady/gent/person ta show this lass a yey ol time. I be willin ta spend e'ry shillings on ye if ye take this lass out on a blissful evenin".

Anyways that's all I have for now:

Ta Ta ✨

[tilebytiles]

star treatment - a.t. (part 5)

summary: there’s a strange man named alex that has a strange obsession with you, and he makes the strangest offer of your life. word count: 3.8k warnings: none part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

Your time on the moon was almost over.

With the close of your galactic journey came a bittersweet feeling; you’d had a lot of fun at the hotel. Although you neglected the casino aspect (you’d never been much of a gambler and didn’t intend to start), you took multiple dips in the pool, perused the library countless times, and even ventured into the gym once or twice. The fitness jungle was intimidating, so you only really used the treadmill, but it was still something. You’d gotten to talk to Alexa and Miles a lot more, and they both agreed to keep in touch with you once you were all back on Earth.

The person you’d miss the most, though, was Alex.

You hadn’t seen much of him over the last few days, despite your stay being extended; James had been sent back to Earth prematurely, and a round trip for the rocket was at least six days, so you were more or less stuck up there until further notice. Although Alex’s glances towards you had become more tender, his touches more like caresses, his words spoken in a soft tone he didn’t use with anyone else, you hadn’t spoken much to each other since your impromptu sleepover. You were hesitant to ask him about it; you yearned for his attention, but you also understood how it might look if he was suddenly doting on you every hour of every day. You’d be proving James right, more or less. You would rather step out the airlock than do that.

You also knew talking to each other once you got back home wouldn’t really be an option; he told you once that he’d open the hotel to the public within the next month, meaning his attention would be entirely consumed by his project. You would return to your regular job, and he would remain an unfinished canvas, a story never to be completed. Would he even come to the café anymore? Would he want anything to do with you?

"What's got you all worked up?" You jumped at the sound of Miles' voice and whipped around. He was leaning against the doorway of your room, his arms crossed over his chest and his left eyebrow cocked up.

Your own eyebrow rose at his question. "I'm not worked up. I'm just standing here."

"You get worked up in your own ways," he said with a shrug. "You tend to zone out. In this case, I've been here for nearly three minutes trying to get your attention, and you've just been starin' at the clothes you've got on the bed."

You cringed at the mental image his words painted in your head. "Sorry. I'm just thinking."

"About what?" When you didn't answer and instead looked back down at the clothes - the tee, joggers and socks you hadn't worked up the courage to give back to Alex yet - realisation seemed to hit Miles like a truck. "Oh. About Al?"

Miles was the only one that had approached you directly about whether or not there was anything between you and Alex. Alexa had taken a more subtle approach, nudging you with her elbow and winking whenever Alex smiled at you in passing, but Miles had been much more direct, his curiosity regarding your relationship coming in the form of an abrupt "Are you shaggin' him?" over lunch one day. You told him no repeatedly, probably so much so that it could be read as yes. You didn't dare allude to what had really happened between the two of you, but you were honest with him in admitting there was something there. Something you both felt.

"Why don't you just talk to him?" His words dragged you back to the present.

You sighed. "I wish it was that easy," you mumbled. "But what am I supposed to say? For all I know, I might just be some fling of his."

Miles barked out a laugh at that. "You're kiddin', right? He's bloody obsessed with you."

"He could just be playing it up."

"Y/N," he said, his voice taking on a much more serious tone, "if Alex was fuckin' around with you this whole time, I would seriously harm him. That's a major 'if', though. I've never known him to be that kind of person, and neither has Alexa. He isn't the type to toy with someone else's feelings."

A voice rang out from somewhere down the hall. "Hey, Miles, have you seen my camera?" It was Alexa.

Miles sighed and offered you one final sympathetic glance. "I mean it," he said softly. "Right now, I doubt you're the last person he'd think of leavin' behind." And with that, he left your room, shouting down the hall about how he hadn't seen Alexa's "bloody fuckin' camera".

You looked back down on the clothes you'd neatly laid out on top of the bed. You'd been planning to give them back that day, actually, but every time you finally worked up the courage to do it, you quickly convinced yourself it would be a bad idea. You hated how insecure you suddenly felt; you were positive that even if Alex was obsessed with you, someone better would come along. Someone more deserving of his obsession and unwavering affection. The more desperate side of you wanted to believe Miles, but the more rational side of you knew that whatever existed between you and Alex right now would be gone as soon as you set foot back on Earth and returned to your routine lives.

Your time on the moon was almost over, and you hated it.

•••••

Miles had delivered the clothes in your stead. Now that they were finally out of sight, out of mind, you found yourself laying face-up in the pool, staring at the vast expanse of stars above you. The water was cold, uncomfortably so, but you didn't care; you just needed to think. You needed something else to focus on, something that wasn't the man with the heavenly Northern accent and the well-kept goatee and the shoulder-length hair that was always an elegant mess and the crisp suits and the smile that could charm God. You felt a little pathetic, if you were being honest with yourself - this time, you didn't do that as reluctantly. Maybe self-degradation came to you a little too naturally. Technically, you'd known Alex for months, but it was mostly his existence you knew of, not who he really was. Well, that and his favourite kind of coffee. Still, that didn't really tell you much about the kind of person he was. Knowing he liked his coffee burning hot didn't tell you his favourite colour or favourite food. Knowing his surprising disdain for pumpkin spice lattes didn't tell you his favourite book or his hobbies. Knowing the only pastry in the display case that he ever ordered (on the rare occasion he did order something besides coffee) was the pain au chocolat didn't tell you his middle name, his hometown, his favourite music, his dreams as a child, the things he was nitpicky about, his favourite animal, his greatest fear, how he wanted his body to be dealt with when he died, or whether or not he'd seen Blade Runner.

You would be lying if you said you hadn't imagined his response to all of those things before. You guessed his favourite colour might have been something like orange or yellow. His favourite food was something savoury, no doubt; he never struck you as the type to have much of a sweet tooth. His favourite book was definitely one of the classics. His hobbies had to be reading (that was an easy one), perhaps writing, maybe even playing an instrument. His middle name was something prim and proper, his hometown was somewhere like Newcastle, his favourite music was the oldies, his dreams as a child were to be an astronaut in space, he was nitpicky about his appearance and having everything in perfect order, his favourite animal was something predictable like a dog, his greatest fear was being forgotten, he wanted to be cremated upon death, and he had most certainly seen Blade Runner and would consider it criminal for anyone else not to have. Those were all just guesses, though, and you knew some of them were probably painfully inaccurate. But you didn't think you would ever get the answers.

Somewhere nearby, you heard a door open and then close, and for a brief moment, it dragged you out of the monotonous trance you'd placed yourself in. You quickly slipped back into your lull, though, continuing to stargaze and letting the water around you prick at your skin, giving you goosebumps. You didn't notice the door to the changing room shut, nor did you notice the small splash that accompanied the unidentified individual lowering themselves into the water. You were beginning to think you were perfectly content with staying in that pool forever when the water around you began to rock and bob, bouncing you with it. A figure came into your periphery, and the small glimpse you got made you turn your head, water instantly flooding into your right ear. Alex was wading beside you, casting small ripples into the pool water as he stroked his arms across the surface, keeping himself afloat. You slowly turned your head back to its previous position, feeling the water dribble out of your ear as you continued stargazing.

He was the first to speak, and you hated how your heart lurched at the sound of his voice, as if it would burst from your chest and wait for him to take it. "You've been avoiding me."

His voice remained neutral, but the underlying hurt in his words was glaringly obvious. "I wasn't trying to," you said quietly. "There just haven't been chances for us to talk."

"That's bullshit, Y/N, and you know it."

You shifted and struggled in the water for just a moment before assuming the same wading position he was in. For a few seconds, ones that suddenly felt uncomfortably long, all you could do was stare at him. His expression was neutral, too, but his eyes betrayed his emotions. They always had. You were reminded of the quote about the eye being the window to the soul. "I'm sorry," you finally said.

He let out a small scoff and looked down at the water between you. "At least tell me why."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll think it's stupid."

"What's stupid is thinking I'll think it's stupid." His gaze darted back up to meet yours, and you could tell he was having a difficult time keeping himself contained. You were reminded of the look of anger he'd had the night of the party, and how horribly it contrasted with his features. You didn't think he was built to be angry, and you hated the thought you were making him feel anything close to that.

You sighed and tilted your head back to look up at the stars again. Not looking him directly in the eye made it easier to confess what had been weighing you down so much recently. "I'm scared you'll forget me, Alex."

Silence followed, then, "What?"

"You're going to get famous because of this hotel. You have to know that. You won't have time for me anymore, which is fine because I'm just the girl that made your coffee, anyway. Even if you did have time, there's a chance some other girl will come along that's way better than me in every aspect. She'll be prettier, nicer, more successful, more important. I won't even be jealous of her, because I'll know she'll be far more deserving of your attention than I am. You'll fall in love with her and forget about me and I'll force myself to move on and maybe, eventually, I'll fall in love with someone else, too."

More silence punctuated your words, but this time, Alex didn't fill it with objections or utterances of confusion. Although you were staring up into space, from the very bottom of your line of sight, you could tell he was still staring at you. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he was struggling to think of exactly what to say. You didn't blame him; how could you? You'd just dumped an absolute boatload on him.

It felt like an eternity had passed before he tried to form an answer for you. “I could never forget you, even if I wanted to.”

Slowly, your head lowered again, and you stared at him, unsure of what to say in response. Now it was your turn to be stunned into silence. You looked off to the side, then at the edge of the pool behind him, then back at him. “Why?”

He sighed and ran a wet hand through his hair. “The first time I saw you,” he began slowly, “I was ready to worship the ground you stood on. You might think yourself to be plain, Y/N, but in less than a few weeks, you became my whole world, only leaving enough space for …” He gestured around the two of you, his eyes widening a bit, much as they always did when he wanted to emphasise something.

Your brows knitted together at his confession. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was well aware I’d sound mental,” he said bluntly, dropping his arms back into the water with a small splash. “Because I knew you’d think I was a creep. I was obsessed, and I felt guilty for that, even if I wasn’t tryin’ to stalk you or anything.”

You considered his words. Although you wanted to deny it to make him feel better, you knew he was right; you probably would’ve told your manager if one of the customers tried to confess his undying love to you. “But …” You trailed off, trying to think of what to say next. Your gaze dropped to the water again. “Who’s to say you still feel that way, now that you know me?”

He let out a short laugh. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N. You’re quite stubborn, aren’t you?” When you didn’t respond, he continued. “When I told you how I felt the night of the party, I meant it,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t lying to you or trying to comfort you. I’ve always had feelings for you, and as far as I’m concerned, I always will. Nothing will change that.”

You didn’t say anything and looked away a little shamefully. You felt a bit silly for being so doubtful up to this point; it was clear Alex liked you, a lot. He called it an obsession, but you didn’t know if it really was as dramatic as he was making it out to be or if he was so inexperienced that having feelings for anyone qualified as being madly in love. Then again, he’d never struck you as the inexperienced type … quite the opposite, really, especially when you considered the ease with which he’d eaten you out.

Alex seemed to pick up on your remorse. He let out another sigh before saying, “Let’s get out of here, yeah? I don’t know about you, but I’m fuckin’ freezing.”

The two of you clambered out of the pool, heading into one of the changing rooms to dry off as best you could and wrapping yourselves up in robes. You’d have to shower later, you thought to yourself. You wondered if you could shower with Alex, and the mere thought tinted your cheeks a light shade of pink. Although you didn’t vocalise any of your thoughts, he seemed to be thinking the same thing as you, for he entwined his hand with yours and said, “Shall we go to my room?” All you could do was nod.

Inside his room, things were the same as they’d been the last time you were in there. You followed him into the bathroom, watching as he gently shut and locked the door before turning to face you. He offered you a small smile, a gesture that made you feel comfortable enough to shed your robe and strip out of your bikini. He followed suit, letting his robe and his swim trunks hit the floor in a circle of damp fabric around him. You refused to let your gaze wander to any part of his body that wasn’t his face, and at the sheer effort that seemed to take on your part, he couldn’t help but laugh.

One of the things that scared you the most about taking a shower with another person was the possibilities. As Alex turned on the water and tested it a couple of times, making sure it was warm enough before stepping inside with you following suit, your mind immediately jumped to the possibility of Alex rearranging your insides against the shower wall. Did that idea come into your head a bit too eagerly? Yes. Were you embarrassed by it? 100%. Would you ever tell Alex you had that idea? Fuck no. Were you a little scared of it happening because Alex was the only man that had ever touched you and you weren’t even sure if you’d like having sex? Absolutely.

To your surprise (and perhaps relief), though, nothing of the sort happened. Alex let you shampoo his hair first, letting out small sounds of contentment as you massaged his scalp. You worked slowly, not wanting this moment between the two of you to end anytime soon. Once his hair was adequately shampooed, he washed the suds out of his hair, then grabbed the bottle off the shelf and squeezed some into his hand. He snapped it shut on his wrist, set it back down, then began massaging the apple-scented shampoo into your own hair. You didn’t have to lean down like he did, considering you were shorter than him and he could access your scalp much easier than you could his.

You two had been in a rather comfortable silence, and he was the first to break it, although not jarringly so. “D’you like cookies?”

A small laugh erupted from you. “Who doesn’t?”

“Fair point,” he mumbled. “I was just askin’ because the café made too many yesterday, and I was gonna steal some for you.”

“Well, what kind are they?”

“Chocolate chip. Close your eyes.” Alex seized the shower head, and you quickly did as you were told, feeling the water and shampoo rush down against your head. Every so often, the water would hit your hairline, and it tickled. As he worked, he continued talking, although the torrent made it a bit harder to hear him. “I might steal a dozen, then we can split ‘em.”

When he finally pulled the shower head away from you, you reached up to dry your eyes. “Bold of you to assume I would share.”

“Ah, well …” He looked off to the side, then back down at you, his hands settling on his hips. “You’re talking to the hotel owner, so I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

“It’s a bit cruel of you to use your position against me.”

He merely hummed in response, unable to hide the smile your words generated, and grabbed the bottle of conditioner.

The rest of the shower went smoothly, and you were a little sad when it ended. It was, arguably, the most intimate you’d ever gotten with him. You two had helped each other wash, and gradually, you became less shy about touching each other. It made you realise something; you’d been viewing this kind of physical contact as sexual for an embarrassingly long time, but now that it was happening, it wasn’t sexual at all. You regretted the lewd circumstances your mind had tried to frame a shared shower in.

You’d gotten dressed following your shower, and now you found yourself back in Alex’s bed. This time, he was laying with his cheek pressed against your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat. On occasion, his fingers would begin to tap out the rhythm against your sides, although they’d stop a few seconds later. Your own fingers worked absentmindedly through his hair, and at some point, you’d begun to work on a small braid. You didn’t think he could feel it; if he did, he didn’t say anything. It would be amusing to see him discover it later.

His voice was a low rumble, and you got the idea he was more tired than he let on. “Thank you.”

Your fingers halted their movements. “For what?”

“For existing.”

Those two words made you want to cry, and you had to force yourself to blink back tears. You worked more urgently on his braid, trying to keep yourself distracted, but this meant he could feel you tugging at his hair now. His head lifted from your chest, and his expression softened into one of understanding as he shifted his body upwards and pressed a kiss to each of your cheeks, catching tears that weren’t there. “I mean it,” he murmured. “And … thank you for giving me a chance.”

That brought out the waterworks, and the tears, hot and heavy, poured from your eyes before you could stop them. His hands left your sides and came up to cup your cheeks, his thumbs wiping away your tears. He kissed your forehead, your nose, and then your lips, lingering there longer than the rest. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, staring deep into your eyes. “Stay with me.”

Your eyes widened a little. “What?”

“Stay with me,” he repeated. “Help me manage the hotel. Or … hell, if you don’t want a thing to do with this, I understand, just-” He sighed and screwed his eyes shut. “Stay in my life,” he whispered. “Please.”

He didn’t have to ask that of you. The answer would always be yes. In a million universes, a million more lifetimes, the endless aisles of circumstances that were lined up neatly in the library of what could have been, you would always follow him. Maybe in one world, you would meet as a biker / florist duo. In another, he’d be a dazzling musician, and you’d be an awestruck photographer. In another, he might be a damn vampire, trying to navigate the world without being killed and while shunning the daylight and wearing sunglasses positively everywhere. He could be some eldritch horror, and you would still follow him to the ends of the earth. You knew that even if you were under a horribly strong curse, he would always find a way to break it. He would always find a way to make sure you could follow him. “Of course I will,” you whispered in reply. “Always.”

His eyes slowly peeled open, and he managed a soft smile at you, kissing you once more. “The day after you stole my heart,” he murmured against your lips, “everything I touched told me it’d be better shared with you.”

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @not-a-big-slay

[thetamehistorian]

I recently rediscovered the joy of Primeval and it's derailed all of my other writing plans so enjoy this snippet I guess!

Portsmouth, UK

Captain Hilary Becker had survived SAS selection, two tours of duty – which had included four miserable months in the Afghan desert with insurgents taking pot shots at him on the regular – and growing up as the only boy in a household with three older sisters.

That was to say that he categorically refused to let an overgrown prehistoric chicken become the reason his mother received a knock on the door from a sympathetic officer. With the butt of his EMD rifle nestled firmly in his shoulder he let off another burst and finally hit the sodding thing. It had been getting a little too close and bite-y for comfort for a moment there.

“Sitrep Captain?” Evan, his second and frequent bane of his life asked over the comms, presumably in the hopes that she could get off babysitting the scientist duty and have a piece of the action.

Becker didn’t so much nudge the stunned dinosaur back through the anomaly as shove it home with extreme prejudice. Look, what Abby didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “Fan-fucking-tastic, Lieutenant.”

“SNAFU, copy that sir.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

Becker could hear the grin in Evan’s voice. There were days he was glad that Special Forces hadn’t recruited female officers back when he’d been in training. Evan was exactly the kind of feral that would have thrived in that environment, which probably explained how she’d ended up in his unit, thinking about it. It took a certain type of person to last at the ARC.

Becker tried not to contemplate what that must say about him.

Heaving himself up, EMD still trained on the anomaly, he held back at grunt as the scar tissue on his side twinged at the movement. “ETA on Temple?”

“Two minutes,” came the reply, echoed a second later by the man himself.

Finally, some good news. After the fiasco with the first, very broken, locking mechanism, and then the creature incursion, Becker could do with some haste.

“What are these little buggers anyway?” he asked, having set up in a better position to snipe any others that got ideas about coming through.

“Eoraptors,” Temple informed him, slightly out of breath. Over the sound of the comms, Becker could hear approaching footsteps. “Late Triassic.”

“Small, fast, lots of teeth, omnivores,” Matt added helpfully from somewhere halfway across the country.

Two anomalies opening at once wasn’t exactly common, but it wasn’t the first time it had happened during his time at the ARC. Becker hoped they were having more luck corralling the herd of peaceful giants back through their anomaly his team were with the overgrown chickens. Sorry – Eoraptors.

With a scuff of boots on the floor, Connor Temple burst into the room, set down the new locking mechanism and activated it with a speed that would have the instructors at Sandhurst grudgingly impressed. This time, blessedly, the anomaly behaved itself and shrunk down to a closed state. Connor let out a sigh of relief. Becker did too, but he was more subtle about it.

Then the mad genius that Becker had the misfortune to call his colleague looked at him, grinned in a mildly manic way that could have been either the result of too little sleep, or humour, or both, and said, “So, James, eh?”

Despite his attempt to hide it, Becker did not miss the way Connor’s eyes flicked down to the ID plate on his EMD, the one that matched the dog tags round his neck which clearly proclaimed him to be one Captain H J Becker.

He was well aware of the ongoing debate at the ARC regarding what those initials stood for and was just glad that Connor hadn’t overheard the first part of the conversation.

There was a reason he went by his surname, after all.

Banging his head against the wall, Becker looked up toward the ceiling of the powder magazine – grade II* listed Hils, Maddy has enthused upon their arrival, one of the best examples of a bastion trace fort in the country - and once again cursed the universe for opening an anomaly at his favourite sister’s place of work.

SNAFU - "Situation normal: all fucked up" or 'this sucks, but that's the normal state of affairs'.

[heartofspells]

More from the band au? 👀 Yes, yes, of course. We're five chapters in and going strong. You'll all hate me, I'm so excited.

"Soon if you have anything to say about it," launches Lily, not looking amused, but Sirius smirks. "Why can't any of you be like Remus? He hasn't moved since he sat down. I haven't had to chase him once!"

Sirius glances over to the seating area where Remus is indeed relaxed at one end of the small sofa, the phone Lily had given them all a few years before held in his hand, looking perfectly content with where he is. Remus is the only one of them that had really mastered the device at all, Sirius rarely using his own, though he did have a fondness for YouTube.

"Moony is an entirely different species. He came out of the womb calm and ready to please," says Sirius as he turns back to Lily and lifts the wrap back to his mouth. "Count yourself lucky that you've got him and accept your fate with the rest of us."

Lily snatches the wrap from his hand before he can take another bite and glares at him as Sirius squawks indignantly. He tries to grab it back, but Lily holds it out of his reach behind her.

"Sirius," she says, his name long and suffering on her tongue, "you have five minutes until this interview starts. Please – I am begging you – go and sit down."

"But – "

"You'll get this back once you're finished," snaps Lily, waving the wrap at him a bit viciously. A piece of cheese flaps its way loose, Sirius dodging it as it flies through the air. "Go."

Sirius grumbles under his breath but relents, beginning to venture towards the others. He glances back in enough time to see Lily take a bite from the wrap and Sirius scowls at her distrustfully, but the woman only points her finger, her green eyes dancing. He sulks over to the seating area, plopping down on the sofa beside Remus. Sirius studies him for a second, the other not glancing up and only acknowledging his presence by the subtle incline of his head. He leans sideways, his arm winding across the back of the sofa behind Remus' head as he peers over his shoulder at the phone, balking a bit.

"Are you reading, Moony?" he murmurs low enough so that no one else can hear him. "I should have known."

Remus hums faintly, the corners of his lips quirking upwards in the beginnings of a smile. "Keeps Lily from hexing me," he responds distractedly.

"Lily never wants to hex you." Remus waves the phone around a bit as indication, one eyebrow arching pointedly, and Sirius snorts. "Not a chance. Anything I use that thing for would only make her want to lock me away somewhere, and we can't have that, can we? Why not an actual book? I'll never understand reading on those things."

Remus finally glances up at him, all half-focused brown eyes like he's still trying to come back to reality. "It's difficult to pack a book around everywhere we go, you know that," he says logically. "Besides, this way, there's no chance of me forgetting about it and leaving it behind somewhere."

Sirius scoffs lightly, leaning a little closer and nudging at Remus' phone until he rolls his eyes and stows it away from sight. "Need I remind you that you're a wizard," he whispers with a grin. "That's what shrinking charms are for. Make books fit perfectly in your pocket. And you never forget or lose anything, Remus. Be serious."

Remus' smile widens as Sirius speaks, his distraction clearly fading away. "That's you," he murmurs, and Sirius beams, his mouth opening to respond, but he's interrupted by the crew assembling and beginning to count them down. Sirius huffs and shifts away from Remus a little, turning to face forward again.

The interview starts the way they all do, with greetings and light banter, the foursome joking easily with the man quizzing them about their new album and future touring plans. James and Sirius take the helm, easily slipping into their roles, Peter speaking up when he feels like it, always charismatic and effortlessly charming with his lazy smiles and exuding warmth. Remus says the least of them all, but people seem to have grown used to that by now, their fans fawning over him for that aspect alone.

"This album is shaping up to be your best yet," compliments the man in front of them. Sirius has already forgotten his name. "Released barely a week ago and it's already topping all the charts, skyrocketing in a blaze. That must feel good. And Scatter the Shadows is quickly becoming your most downloaded song to date." Sirius squirms a bit, making it look as though he's only readjusting in his seat, the man's eyes turning towards him. "Sirius. I understand you wrote all the songs for this album."

"He did, but that's not unusual," speaks up Remus, sounding proud. "He writes most of our songs."

The man across from them hums in acknowledgement, his eyes shifting between them before flickering to James and Peter. "A talented man, so we've all heard. Though, you all are, aren't you?" he says brightly, his smile all teeth. "There is a bit of the album I'd like to talk about right now, if that's amenable. The little bonus at the beginning of Scatter the Shadows. It sounded like you lot were having loads of fun."

James laughs, leaning back in his chair, balancing his ankle over one knee. "We were, yeah," he admits, humored. "Marlene, our producer, loved it. Convinced us to include it on the album."

"I'm sure you have loads of moments like that," encourages the man, tilting his head curiously.

"All the time," voices Sirius. "It's one of the great things about doing something like this with your best mates. It's not work or some sort of slog. It's just living and being."

"That's incredibly deep. Quick, write it down for a new song!" exclaims the man enthusiastically, and Sirius refrains from rolling his eyes. "But turning more serious now – no pun intended – " Sirius bites the inside of his cheek even as Remus nudges him with his elbow. " – this particular bit we're discussing is a curious thing. Some astute fans of yours managed to pick something out of it that's raised a lot of questions. I was wondering if you'd elaborate?"

His eyes are fixed solely on Sirius, causing his skin to itch beneath the surface, a prickle of unease rising. Sirius arches his eyebrows, and the man smiles effusively.

"Let's play it for you so that we're all on the same page," says the man, nodding to someone off-set.

The recording blares loudly, their four voices laughing around them. James is bickering with Peter good-naturedly, Sirius lobbing out insults from the background. He can hear Remus grumbling vaguely about needing new friends, but then the sounds change, the main voices distorting, like whoever is controlling the volume has focused in on whispers, and Sirius' plastered smile falters, turning to a frown as Remus stiffens beside him.

Fuck.

[mhalachai]

Hi, I know I'm years late on Hands of Clay, but I hope you'll entertain one more question about it! Does Natasha ever call Steve a variation on Dad? Does Clint call Bucky "Dad"? What do the twins call them? Sorry if you're tired of hearing about HoC, but I can't tell you how much I loved it!!

hello and thank you for reading Hands of Clay!

So i figure that the kids keep calling Bucky and Steve "James" and "Steve" for a fairly long time - mostly because they each call their respective father "Dad", so they have no incentive to change that up.

Around the time Steve is adopting Natasha, they have a Family Conversation (following a not-so-subtle nudge by their lawyer) in which Bucky and Steve ask Natasha if she wants to call Steve something else, like Papa, and Natasha and Clint both look so mortally offended that the grown-ups are taken aback. "Dad is my dad," Nat says hotly, while Clint nods solemnly. Then, Clint signs, "My dad," and points at Steve.

James sighs. "If you want to…" he says half-heartedly, and stops when Natasha goes over to him and squishes his cheeks between her hands.

"No," she says again. "You're Dad. And Steve is Steve."

"And you're James," Clint signs, using the unique name-sign he's been using for Bucky since their third family sign language lesson.

"Then I guess that's that," Steve says ruefully. "Nat, please let your dad go before his face freeze like that."

Natasha lets Bucky go, and he makes silly faces until the kids giggle and they all let it go.

Until bedtime, when Bucky corners Steve (well, more like turns to him in bed once they're all tucked in). "Did that bother you? About Natasha not calling you Papa or something?"

Steve looks almost confused. "I mean, no?"

Bucky gives him a look. "You asking me or tellin' me?"

"Telling, I guess." Steve turns out the light. "I mean, I called my dad 'Abraham' until i was fifteen, but it's different, you know? I don't know if I could ever have called someone else Mom."

"It's no the same," Bucky says as Steve cuddles up.

"I know. But it doesn't really matter, right?"

"How'd'ya mean?"

"Doesn't matter if Nat calls me Dad or Papa or Steve. We’re still a family."

And okay, maybe Bucky tears up a little in the dark. "We sure are."

Anyway we're way past the tl'dr territory here but this all continues until the twins appear on the scene, at which point our two dads have to sit down and think about what they're going to call themselves as they raise the kids.

"Papa?" Steve suggests

"I want to be Dad, still," Bucky argues.

"Flip you for it?"

"Nah." Bucky shakes his head. "Hey, how about Padre?"

"Yeah, if you want to get struck by lightning."

They go back and forth like this for a while and come up with nothing, until it's time for Bucky to take Lucky the dog out for a mid-day walk. While they're out, staring at the traffic sliding past at a light, Bucky gets an idea.

A good idea.

A great idea.

On returning to the house, he trails Lucky into the kitchen, where Steve has the twins pinned in their high chairs and is trying to feed them rice cereal. "I've got it!"

"Yeah, well, don't go spreading it around, the twins are still waiting on their next set of shots," Steve snarks.

"Ha ha." Bucky goes to the table and ruffles Pietro’s hair. The boy grins gummily at him. Then he does the same to Wanda, who ignores him entirely as she takes another spoonful of cereal. "No, i got it. what the kids can call us."

Steve looks at him sideways. "Oh, this ought to be good."

"Boppy and Bopah."

Steve freezes. Then he sets down the spoon and bowl, to Wanda's chagrin, and turns bodily towards Bucky. "What?"

"You don't like it?" Bucky grins. "I can be Boppy. You're Bopah."

"No."

"Steve--"

"No."

Bucky pouts. "Then how about Sarge and Captain?" he suggests. "People are going to think we're weird if we make the babies call us James and Steve, Steve."

Steve straightens his spine and deliberately turns back to the highchairs, where Pietro is affecting an escape and Wanda is shrieking up a storm. "Fine. I give up. You can be Dad, I'll be Papa."

Just for fun, Bucky ruffles Steve's hair. "Sure thing, Papa."

"Gah," Steve mutters.

Anyway, for some reason Natasha at twelve finds this all screamingly funny. She calls Steve "Papa Steve" as a joke until she forgets that it's supposed to be a joke, and she alternates with Steve and Papa Steve for the rest of her life. Clint ignores this all and keeps calling Bucky "James".

The twins do end up calling Steve 'Papa' and Bucky 'Dad' when they're speaking verbally, but they both use Clint’s name-signs for them (Dad for Steve, James for Bucky) when they’re signing, and that makes Clint the proudest big brother of them all.

And they all live happily ever after.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Heart-Shaped Box💟9/End

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), forced pregnancy, some violence, intimidation, some elements untagged for sake of plot.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister Series: Get Your Fix

Summary: You accept a job as an au pair, but not all is as it seems.

Note: Finally finishing this one up. Sorry it took me ages but I’m doing my best to go back and wrap up whatever I can.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Masterlist

Bucky pulled out of you as he held your head down, bouncing the bed beneath you as he pushed himself onto his back. You panted as your sweat dampened the sheet beneath you and he leaked between your thighs. You winced as you rolled onto your side and slowly sat up. 

He had you whining loud enough that you had no doubt your guests heard it all. It only seemed to encourage his partner-in-crime as you soon heard a similar scene on the other side of the wall. You were sickened by that noise and stood warily as you cupped your hand over your cunt and scooped up his cum before it could drip onto the floor.

“I told you to keep it down,” he snickered and sat up, his muscled back to you as he stretched his arms above him, “get the shower started, I’ll be in shortly. You girls have a lot of work to do today.”

You grumbled and dragged your feet to the attached bathroom. The low buzz of the pipes filled the silence and you stepped under the steamy water. The moment of calm broke sharply as Bucky appeared from the other side of the curtain and stepped in behind you. He had you clean him with a lathered loofah and you bore it only for the eventuality of time away from him.

The other woman meant you wouldn’t be trapped with just him. It was little help or hope but it was better than your former solitary torture.

You dressed in black dress with daisies and made yourself look like his perfect housewife. You couldn’t hold the smile and make him believe it all the way but he wouldn’t anyway. He flicked your chin and clicked his tongue.

“Mmm, you’re getting there,” he mused as he dropped his hand and reached around to slap your ass, “better go get breakfast on. I’ll check in on our guests.” He squeezed and winked, “be a good girl.”

Those words made your insides curdled but you swallowed your disgust and nodded, “yes, sir.”

He stepped out behind you and watched you go down the hall to the stairs and you heard him knock on the door as you descended. You went to the kitchen and pulled out the frying pan and the coconut oil. You lined up the ingredients for crepes on the counter and took two bananas from the yellow bunch. Your mother used to make the oversweet delicacy and you needed a reminder that you were still that girl.

You stopped as you searched for something to keep the crepes warm after you assembled them, a lid that could fit over the plate or something akin to it. The lower cupboards you rarely opened. Bucky left the cleaning supplies on the counter with your chore list every day and you never bothered to look for anything else.

You stopped and stared at the drain cleaner and the can of toxic oven spray. Well, that wouldn’t be subtle enough, would it? They’d smell either of those a mile away. Anything under the counter would be easily discovered but it did give you an idea.

You closed the wooden door and went back to your task. You heard the voices in the next room and the scrape of the chairs on the floor. Steve’s girl appeared in the doorway, rubbing her stomach as her face contorted.

“Smells sweet,” she said as you simmered the bananas with brown sugar, cinnamon, and a little butter, “almost too sweet.”

“Morning sickness?” you asked innocently.

“All the time sickness,” she sighed, “anything I can help with?”

“Do you know how to make crepes?” you asked as you whisked the batter.

“Not really,” she shrugged, “but I can learn.”

“It’s easy. Takes less than a minute,” you waved her over and tested the temperature of the pan with a flick of water, “so you wanna put just a little batter in…” you ladled in a careful dollop and lifted the pan, “you spread it like this,” you tilted it so the batter spread all around, “you just use the spatula a little on the edges to make sure they don’t stick and you flip.”

It was like second nature and she nodded quietly as she watched. The crepe cooked quickly and you threw it onto a plate and put the pan back to the burner.

“You think you can handle that?” you covered the plate with the lid of a pat to keep it warm. “Then we put some of the bananas and wrap them, bit of cream on top and some icing sugar…”

“You like to cook?” she wondered as she added batter to the hot pan.

“Not particularly, but my mother taught me,” you shrugged, “she can cook anything.”

“Oh,” she flipped the crepe and glanced at the door, “I suppose… it keeps him happy.”

“He’s never happy,” you murmured and cleared your throat, “so, you must be excited to move in!”

“I guess,” she slid the crepe onto the plate as you lifted the foggy lid, “you know how it is.”

You smiled and she tilted her head as she squinted at you. You went to the drawer where there was a box of blank recipe cards and continued speaking as you fished out a pencil from another.

“It’s always nice to get settled,” you said as you wrote, ‘they can hear us’.

“I suppose, nice to be in one place,” she replied stiffly as her features relaxed.

‘I have a plan,’ you wrote and raised your voice just slightly, “oh, you know, we didn’t even get you a housewarming gift. I’ll have to remind James.”

You went to the burner and held out the card under the coil until it caught. You threw it into the sink and watched it burn and curl. You ran water over it as it turned to ash and washed it away. You nudged the bowl towards her and leaned on the counter, “need help with that?”

“No,” she said as she started again, “I’m getting the hang of it.”

💟

You looked around the front room of the house next door. Steve’s girl opened one of the stacked boxes. For once, the men were gone and you could just enjoy their absence. 

Bucky agreed that a gift was in order and Steve had mentioned wanting to explore their new hometown. You tried not to seem eager but even the small walk across the lawns enlivened you. How long had it been since you’d been outside?

You started with the pictures. You left the frames in a stack as she assured you Steve would put the nails in and hang them. Then you moved onto the kitchenware and you kept her from lifting the heavy box of dishes. She seemed to forget about her condition and the reminder made her frown.

You stood behind the counter and set the dishes in the cupboards one at a time, the plates clacking one on top of each other. She watched from the other side as she arranged the silverware in the plastic tray.

“Can you do me a favour?” you asked as you kept on.

“What?” she asked as she dropped a butter knife with the rest.

“I know they’ve locked us in but can you check the garage door? Can we get in there?” you asked evenly.

“What?” she blinked and pushed herself straight, “even if we can, they won’t have been stupid enough--”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I know we can’t get out that way either. It’s the same at our house. Everything is bolted up tight.” You assured her, “just go and check while I get these sorted.”

She left you and you snapped shut the door and finished with the utensils. You slid the tray into the drawer as she returned, rubbing her stomach.

“Yeah, we can get in but it’s mostly empty,” she said, “so…”

“Mostly empty?”

“Yeah, just the car--”

“The car,” you rounded the counter and curled two fingers for her to follow you.

You headed for the plain white door that led to the garage. You hopped down the steps as she remained at the top and watched you tentatively. You went to the car as she crossed her arms.

“He took the keys,” she said.

You tried the handle and the door opened. “I know,” you said as you put a knee in the front seat and peered into the back. Nothing. 

You felt around under the dash and found the lever for the trunk. You pulled it and it popped. You shut the door and went around the back of the car. You felt around the spare tire and your hand felt something plastic. You grabbed the handle of the half-filled jug and pulled it out.

“Hey,” you held up the bright blue anti-freeze, “do you wanna cook dinner here tonight? A housewarming dinner?”

Her brows knitted and she gave a long blink. Her lips parted then curved.

“You can’t mean--” she let out a scoff.

“It’s sweet. Hopefully they won’t notice if I add enough sugar to the cake,” you breathed, “we can’t let them settle. This is our chance.”

“I don’t-- I don’t know. What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’re still in the same boat,” you turned your free hand out, “that man has drugged me for months. I think it’s only fair that he gets a taste of his own medicine.”

She swallowed and looked down at her stomach. She inhaled and cradled her bump. “It can’t get worse than this, can it?”

💟

You spent the day unpacking, the distraction not much of one as you thought of the bottle you hid at the back of the cupboard. By the time the men returned, you were ready to move onto the second floor. 

Bucky offered a bottle of non-alcoholic wine and basket of expensive macarons as your gift to your new neighbours. He forced a kiss from you before he let you follow Steve’s girl upstairs.

You sat in the bedroom and heard the men ascend shortly after. You peeked in on them as you opened the linen closet to shove in the spare sheets. They were hammering together a crib. You knocked lightly on the doorframe as you watched them.

“Huh, what’s going on?” Bucky looked up from the directions.

“Um, we were just… thinking, we could have dinner here tonight? A little housewarmer? I could grab some ingredients from ours--”

“Give me a list, I’ll grab it,” Bucky puffed as he bent to help hold the rail in place for Steve, “that sound okay?”

“Fine by me,” Steve smiled, “it’ll be nice to have our feet on solid ground.”

You left them and returned to your only ally as she sat on the bed and stared at a packet of pills. She crushed it in her grasp and huffed. She flicked away tears with her knuckles. She tossed them over her shoulder.

“He kept them,” she snarled, “it’s like he’s mocking me.”

“What?” you neared her and sat carefully beside her.

“I never… I worked with him, you know? He brought me these drinks and I didn’t realise he was dosing them. The stuff, it made me itchy… it made me so hot and I just needed anything. I hopped on him I was so desperate and-- I told him to stay away. I realised what he’d done and I told him to leave me alone and you know what he did,” she crossed her arms over her stomach.

“No, I--” you touched her elbow.

“He broke into my apartment and replaced my pills. And he didn’t leave me alone,” she spat, “he did this all and he still has the goddamn pills like they’re some sort of trophy.”

She hung her head and grunted in frustration. You leaned against her and put your arm over her shoulders. She let you and the tension drained from her body.

“Even if we get out…” she whispered, “I’ll always have this piece of him.”

She pressed her palms to her stomach and you frowned. There was nothing you could do or say. You’d been lucky so far, even if it only fed your suffering. You didn’t have another life to worry about.

“We don’t have to if--”

“I want to,” she hissed lowly, “I want him dead.”

💟

Usually, you tasted the icing and licked the spoon. Not that night. The blue shade of the frosting was anything but suspicious as you spread it over the fluffy cake. It was a perfect disguise. You topped it with blueberries to add to the theme and dusted on a few coloured sprinkles. You stood back and admired your work as the smell of garlic filled the kitchen.

“I know it’s not much,” Steve’s girl said as she stirred the sauce, “but it’s what I can manage.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” you said as you took the meatballs of the burner and tested the spaghetti, “noodles are perfect.”

You strained the pasta and helped pour the meatballs into the sauce. You mixed it up and poured it into a large glass dish and the noodles into another. You brought them out to the table and called the men to dinner before you fetched the wine, both alcoholic and not.

Steve’s girl sat as you poured a glass for each of you and the men sat. You set the bottle down and nestled in next to Bucky as he served himself. When the plates were full, the other woman nudged Steve and whispered in his ear.

He cleared his throat and stood, “um, I know it’s just us but I guess I should say thank you for all the help and we’re excited to be neighbours… can’t wait for the kids to be running around these halls together.”

“Mmm,” Bucky lifted his glass, “hopefully…” he muttered doubtfully and looked at you, “that better be what she’s having,” he nodded to your glass.

You held it out for him to sniff and he gave you a sour look. He tutted and sat back to twirl noodles around his fork as he set aside his glass. You took a sip of the gutless wine and speared a meatball on your tines. You chewed and looked at Steve’s girl. She let Steve rub her thigh under the table and forced a smile.

She was playing it well and you felt as if you would fall apart. You felt as if Bucky would see right through you the minute you walked in with the cake. What would he do then? Steve couldn’t hurt his girl, she had the baby, but you, Bucky could replace you still. Maybe that was for the best but it didn’t mean you weren’t scared shitless.

You cleared the plates and retreated to the kitchen. Just you. You’d gone over it, you didn’t want them to catch on. You didn’t get too close with them around, you acted like strangers, you really were after all.

You sliced the cake into careful portions and came out with two plates at a time. You put them in front of each chair and sat. As you did, Steve’s girl covered her mouth and gagged. She pushed herself up unsteadily.

“Honey?” Steve asked as he rubbed her lower back.

“It’s the baby I--” she gulped sickeningly, “I gotta--”

She rushed out and Steve gave a look, “nausea. It’s been like this for weeks.”

“I’m going to make sure she’s okay,” you stood, “go ahead and start without us.”

You went down the hall and as you neared the bathroom, Steve’s girl opened the door and pulled you inside. She looked genuinely sick and you smelled vomit on her breath. She turned and rinsed her mouth and shuddered. 

“I didn’t actually feel sick until I got in here,” she wiped her face with the hand cloth, “when I realised--”

“Everything’s in the trunk,” you assured her, “once they’re out, we get the keys and go.”

“How do we know--”

“Retch,” you hissed, “we wait until we’re sure.”

She gave an exaggerated hurl and you heard the clink of porcelain and silver and the drone of voices. You listened through the door as she watched you in the tight space of the half-bath.

“I’m thinking about getting her an… exam,” Bucky’s deep tone carried, “maybe she can’t…”

You let out the breath you were holding and closed your eyes. Just a little longer. 

When you heard a sudden lull, your eyes rounded and you turned the handle and let yourself out into the hall. She crept close behind as you peered through the open archway. Both men had their faces on their plates in the crumbs of vanilla cake and smears of blue icing.

“Let’s go,” you went to Steve and shoved your hand into his pocket, “shit, they’re not here.”

“Here!” she pulled her hand from his jacket hung on the rack, “you think they’re dead?”

You looked from one to the other and shakily felt along Steve’s neck. “Still a pulse. I think maybe… they’re only knocked out.”

“The serum,” she shook her head, “means we have to go quick.”

You hurried after her and followed her down into the garage. She climbed into the driver’s seat and moved it back as her stomach pressed to the wheel. You got in the other side as your body trembled with adrenaline. She hit the button attached to the keys and the door slowly raised behind her.

As she reversed, you felt a sudden shock around your neck and yiped. You’d forgotten entirely about the necklace. She stopped suddenly and watched you writhe in agony.

“Shit, shit,” you leaned forward until the shock stopped, “the necklace.”

“Fuck,” she reached for it and you batted her away.

“No, you’ll get zapped,” you gasped as you pulled on it desperately. It was too tight to get past your chin but too strong to snap. 

She took the keys out and tossed them in your lap. You lifted them and twisted the necklace around the house key but there was no give. You sobbed and dropped your hand.

“I can’t,” you looked at the bent key, “you gotta go without me.”

“What? No, I can’t--”

“You have a baby,” you said as tears burned in your eyes and your throat tightened, “go, please.” You dropped the keys on the dash and opened the door. “I can’t--”

“No, you have to come with me,” she begged.

“No, you have to go before they wake up,” you got out as you grasped your neck, the searing pain still hot on your flesh, “I’ll… I’ll survive. I have this far.”

“N--”

“Shut up!” you slammed the door and hit the hood, “go!”

She stared at you and her lip quivered. She gave you one last sad look and grabbed the keys. She sniffed as she gripped the wheel and backed out down the drive. 

You fell to your knees and sat back on your ass as you watched her drive away. You shook your head and held it in your hands as you sat behind the invisible wall of your prison.

The tires screamed at the end of the street and the noise of the engine faded into the distance. You laid on your back across the concrete and covered your face with your arm. At least you could live with knowing you got her out. Well, you couldn’t really say you’d be living. You’d be alive but little more than that. 

But you’d survive knowing that you kept one person from that pitiful fate. Even if it wasn’t you. Even if you knew that you would pay for it in the end. Even when those men woke up and found you laying in the garage, the sweet flavour of antifreeze on their tongues as the bile of their anger overflowed and drowned you. 

You couldn’t do anything but wait. If you were lucky, they might just kill you and that in itself would be freedom.

💟 💟 💟

END

[the-dream-team]

Chlorine

A fluffy little one-shot for @efkgirldetective's summer of jily week two prompt: swimming with friends // Today we're younger than we're ever gonna be <3

“What in Merlin’s name is that smell?” gagged Sirius, bringing his towel up to cover his nose.

Mary swotted him with a bright green foam noodle. “That’s just the chlorine, you knob. It’s a chemical Muggles use to keep the water clean.”

“The water’s not clean?” squeaked Peter, his beady eyes widening.

“Take a look around Pettigrew,” laughed Mary, gesturing wildly. “There are about a trillion little kids running around with saggy trunks and juice-stained mouths, it’s not exactly the Prefect’s bathroom here.”

The group of teenagers took a moment to survey their surroundings. Sirius was right, the thick summer air reeked of chlorine wafting from unnaturally electric blue swimming pools, packed with screaming children, brightly colored floaties, and haggard parents. Behind the main pool, reaching up to the sky, stood two impressive slides, winding and bending in every direction before opening up into a smaller basin. Once every minute, the slide discarded a new, squealing child into the water with an eruptive splash.

Lily eyed the Muggle kids with some trepidation. “Are we too old to be here?” she asked, eyes shifting as she clutched her copy of Herbology for Potioneers a little closer to her chest. “It feels like everyone else is about a decade younger than us.”

“Don’t worry too much about that, Evans,” said James, a bright smile aimed in her direction. “Today we’re younger than we’re ever going to be, anyway!” He nudged her affectionately, resulting in a rosy hue that spread across her cheeks as their bare shoulders made contact.

“Alright,” announced Remus after barely dodging a rogue beach ball, “let’s find a place to put our towels before these buggers realize we’re easy targets.”

They managed to snag a row of plastic lounge chairs beside the wave pool to dump their belongings on before Sirius set his sights on the towering waterslides across the park.

“You said these slides were crazy fast, right MacDonald?” Sirius asked, a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“They’re the fastest in Britain,” grinned Mary, tossing her sunnies aside. “And you get some serious air on your way out, it’s the closest thing Muggles have to flying, I’d argue.”

Lily tensed and quickly diverted her attention to her book, though her eyes remained still as she stared at the pages. Almost no one noticed her sudden discomfort.

“That’s bloody brilliant,” grinned Sirius. “Last one to the top has to buy us a round of those mushie drinks.”

“They’re called slushies, Padfoot.”

“Call them whatever you want, Moony, but I want a blue one.” Sirius discarded his t-shirt onto a chair and kicked off his sandals in preperation. “Prongs, do you think we could convince the lifeguards to let us go down the slides together?”

But James wasn’t paying attention to Sirius. “Nah, go ahead without me,” he said, eyes trained on Lily as she continued intently staring at her book. “I think I’m gonna start out a little slower with the lazy river. Evans, care to keep me company?”

Lily’s eyes snapped up to see Sirius’ dropped jaw, Mary’s raised eyebrows, and James’ steady smile.

“Oh,” she said, her voice finding a higher octave than usual, “sure, I could join you.”

“Fine,” grumbled Sirius, pulling the others along with him, “but I’m coming to find you at that dopey river after our first round on the slides. I won’t let you be boring all day, Prongs.”

James shrugged, barely paying the others any mind as he extended a hand to Lily. She watched their friends saunter off before accepting his help to stand up.

“Hold on there, Evans,” said James, plucking her book from her hands and tossing it back onto their pile of towels, “I can’t have you doing homework; today is all about having fun!”

“Then why aren’t you going with the others to the slides?”

He paused, considering her question with a smile. “Because you’re way more fun than a couple of waterslides.”

Before she had a chance to respond, James pulled her away from the chairs and towards the center of the park, their bare feet slapping against sizzling cement as they navigated around young children and indifferent lifeguards.

The lazy river lived directly across from the concession stand, perfectly situated for parents who wanted to keep an eye on their floating kids while they enjoyed a cool beer and a basket of hot chips. The river wound itself around an impressive structure resembling a fairytale castle, complete with canons that sprayed water onto passerbys and waterfalls that poured over plastered mountainsides and into its surrounding moat.

At the water’s edge sat a pile of tubes, growing hot under the unrelenting midday sun. James released Lily’s hand to secure them two floats, missing her subtle disappointed huff at the loss of his grip when he turned his back on her. But by the time he handed over her tube, she’d managed to rearrange her face into a neutral smile.

“After you, Evans,” he said with a little bow, extending an arm towards the gently rolling river.

She rolled her eyes at the exaggerated chivalry, but stepped forward nonetheless, carefully placing her tube in the water and lowering herself into the center. The water, cool and refreshing, lapped against her backside and kissed her heels as she hung her legs over the tempered rubber.

James took a different approach, choosing to throw his own tube unceremoniously into the water before giving himself a running start to cannonball onto it. Lily screeched as he nearly jumped directly on top of her.

“You prat!” she laughed, splashing water on his face, covering his glasses in little droplets.

“You know you love me,” he teased, a glint in his eye.

The pink glow that spread across her cheeks could have passed as a light sunburn, but the way James’ eyes flashed suggested he’d picked up on the truth. His dimples appeared despite the attempt to keep his grin at bay.

“So, Potter,” she started, choosing to change the subject, “what drew you to the lazy river, other than the obvious similarities you share?”

James drove an imaginary dagger into his chest. “You wound me, Evans! But if you must know, I thought it’d be the perfect place to chat with you.”

If the river’s current hadn’t continued pulling them along, Lily might have thought time had stood still. “To chat?”

“Yeah,” he responded as though it were obvious, “the playground would be too noisy with all the kids running around, it seems like we would’ve spent more time underwater than above it at the wave pool, and the hot tubs are simply not weather appropriate.”

“With me?”

It was finally James’ turn to look surprised. “Of course! I’ve spent my whole summer mucking about with the boys, but I’ve hardly seen you since Peter’s party and I missed talking with you.”

Lily tried passing off her pleased burst of laughter as a scoff. “I always forget how forthright you are.”

“I’m an open book,” he replied, sticking her with a pointed stare she couldn’t see as she averted her own gaze, attempting to hide her growing blush he had already clocked.

“I wish I could be more like that,” she spoke to the distance, to the cloudless expanse of sky, hoping it would relay the message to the boy whose intertube continued bouncing rhythmically against her own as they traveled in endless circles.

“As a kid,” she continued, “I loved playgrounds. Gravity melted away when I sailed off swings and soared through slides, when my magic took over before I even knew what I was. But the uncontrollable flying always scared my parents, so when my family visited parks, I’d be kept on the sidelines, hidden away to avoid causing a scene. I guess I got pretty good at hiding.”

“Do you want help practicing?”

Lily jerked her attention back to James and his easy eyes, his ruffled hair. “What?”

“Do you want help practicing being an open book?” he repeated simply. “I happen to be an expert and I’d be happy to lend my talents.”

His cheeky grin earned him a light splashing and an only-slightly-exasperated huff. “You know what, fine. Teach me your ways, Potter.”

“Alright,” he said, eyes brightening as he adjusted his position on his tube to face her more fully, “we’ll start with easy questions and then get gradually harder from there. The only rule is that you have to answer honestly.”

Lily sunk slightly into the hole of her intertube, but nodded, resting her chin on her folded arms, fingers mindlessly dipping in and out of the passing water below.

“First off, who is your best friend?”

“That’s your easy question?” Lily guffawed.

“What?” asked James, watching her curiously. “I already know the basics. Your favourite colour is forest green, you like chocolate biscuits best, and your sister is a piece of work. Now, who is your best friend?”

“Mary, I guess?” said Lily, brows furrowed slightly. “We immediately clicked since we first met, what with us both being Muggleborn, and after Sev was out of the picture…”

“I’m familiar with this part,” James grimaced, his focus shifting to his fingernails. “So, next question. If you had to be sorted into a different house, which one would you choose?”

“Hufflepuff,” she responded without blinking. “Closest to the kitchens, obviously. Next question.”

“Respectable,” he chuckled. “How about… do you prefer Butterbeer or Firewhiskey?”

She paused, catching his eye for longer than she’d planned. “You probably already know the answer.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards with a jolt of hope. “Butterbeer spiked with Firewhiskey?”

“Butterbeer spiked with Firewhiskey.”

James leaned forward slightly, his arm extending absentmindedly to reach for the cloth handles on Lily’s tube to pull her closer. “Like the ones we made at Peter’s birthday party last month?”

Their hands mingled together in the water between their tubes, pruned fingers brushing against each other as the current pushed them together. “Exactly like the ones from Peter’s birthday.”

He was near enough to count every sunkissed freckle spattered across her nose. She could practically fall into his growing dimples.

“Oi, Prongs!” came the disappointing voice of Sirius Black from the concession stand’s picnic tables. “You can’t hide from us all day, mate!”

“Maybe not,” James called back, a lopsided smirk sliding across his face, “but I can try!”

Before Sirius had a chance to respond, James sunk through the center of his intertube and disappeared under the water’s surface. Lily peered into the river, wondering if he could have possibly brought his Invisibility Cloak with him to the park, but her thoughts were quickly interrupted when a hand grabbed her ankle under the water. It tugged lightly, willing her out of her tube and into the depths of the lazy river.

Once fully submerged in the water, Lily squinted her eyes open to see her new surroundings, blue like the sky with ripples of sunlight refracting through the flowing stream, circular shadows overhead from the tubes they left on the surface, roaming away like drifting clouds searching for different horizons. A hand found her arm and spun her around, bringing her face to face with James, his glasses attempting an escape into the river’s flow, tiny air bubbles escaping through his nose and growing smile.

He pulled her across the width of the river, through a shower of bubbles from the underside of a waterfall, and into still water again before finally leading them both to the surface. They broke back into the world with gasping breaths and laughter, finding themselves in a dark, quiet alcove behind one of the castle’s waterfall features. The lazy river continued on as they stood together in their hidden cave, separated only by a wall of tumbling water. Despite no longer being pulled by the river’s current, the two found themselves drifting closer and closer to one another.

“Do you have any more questions?” asked Lily, her whisper echoing around and joining in with the soft roar of the waterfall.

James tried to control the beating of his heart, which must have been reverberating all around their little retreat based on how loudly he heard it pounding in his ears.

He cleared his throat. “Did you want me to kiss you that night at Peter’s party?”

She inhaled sharply. “Yes. Next question.”

“Do you want me to kiss you now?”

“Yes.”

She barely got the word out before James’ lips found hers, crashing down like a wave against the shore, pulling them into a riptide of racing hearts, fluttering eyelashes, and sighing breaths. They kissed and kissed and kissed until their heads spun, either drunk off the thrill of new beginnings or thoughts of Firewhiskey-spiked Butterbeer. Or possibly it was the intoxicating combination of magic mixed with chlorine.

[millers-planet]

The Vice and the Virtue - Part One

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x GN!Reader (later established as F following more parts)

A/N: i appreciate you guys so much for how quickly you blew up the sneak peak i did. it really motivated me to writing this

POV: Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Use of "Y/N". Angst?

Words: 2.3k

Description: How does one live a life of virtue when past vices begin arising after a successful jailbreak with untied ends?

It was terrifying as I watched my home be stripped of everything it knew, it was as if with every furniture upturned or removed, a piece of me was taken with it. It was the couch, the tables, the side-tables, the food from the fridge, everything. By this point, it wasn't our home anymore, it was the home. Everything was out of my control, I had no say in what the strangers robbed me of for their 'investigation'.

I was questioned for days about what he did, about why he did it, and if I was an accomplice. Fingers were pointed at me without any real reason behind them. I didn't even know what they were talking about, he simply told me it was a business trip or some family thing-- I don't remember but I wish I did. If I had, I might've been able to save myself the hassle of convincing everyone else that.

Zemo always wanted and always was isolated and by himself. While he had friends, or contacts as he called it, he preferred to be lonesome. By lonesome, that means either in a crowded place with no one with him, or at the house with me. It was something odd to get used to, but I never wanted to trade a day with him for a day with some people who call me their friend, only to turn around and talk bad on me.

Now, I'd trade all my days for just one more with him.

With the sun having just set and the aroma of freshly brewed tea filling the air, it became a good day. Until I saw on the news of a jailbreak that just occurred, several prisoners being injured and one-- a highly dangerous prisoner (as the news described it)--escaping. I saw that it was in Germany and I believed for just a second that it could've been him.

I was fortunate enough just to keep the home, after a few months of it being held hostage from me. With every night I slept here, the more desolate I began to feel, for I can't dare try and show my face to the world. I'm too afraid people will talk and say that I'm "the one who dated the man who destroyed the Avengers". Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but something doesn't feel right if I go out without him or if I just go out in general. It feels as if I've been under house arrest or exiled from the public for years.

It was another simple night, a warm one just cool enough to keep the windows open. I love hearing the sounds of the crickets outside the large bedroom windows accompanied by the occasional whispering the leaves made when wind made them rustle. The moonlight gazed perfectly onto the door, illuminating a path outward if I had to get up at some point; which I usually did because sleeping soundly was no longer an option. Though, I was almost asleep until the large hum of the garage being opened startled me.

Quickly, I turned on the bedroom lights and walked into the large, open main room that had stairs leading to the garage. I flicked on the lights and saw the shadow of a figure grow as it climbed to the top, the breath staying stagnant in my lungs. Should I grab a weapon? Should I find an escape route? All of these life-determining questions crossed my mind until I could comprehend who really was climbing the steps.

His eyes scanned the room, as if he was a child lost in the store looking for their parent, until his eyes finally met mine. All of his concerned features dropped into something softer, something kinder, something I never saw from him before. “Wha- Why are you here?” The ends of my mouth rose into the biggest smile I could possible create, without even realizing it.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d be back?” His strides were wide and swift as he made his way to me, cupping my face into his gentle hands and pressed a kiss to my lips. A kiss I have never felt before, it had a different feeling behind it, a different motive…

…He missed me.

I placed my hand over the one that laid carefully on my face, taking in every bit of him. I forgot how small wrinkles came down from the corners of his eyes, or how his cheeks curved in slightly. I forgot how when his features softened and when he gazed into me, my legs felt weak and butterflies filled my stomach. I forgot how much he loved me.

He pressed the smallest kiss to my forehead and looked back down to me. "I have some people for you to meet. We have guests." I didn't know what he meant until two large men came up the same steps. The small bubble of comfort and renewal was broken when Zemo's attention drifted from me and onto them. Despite those few moments being a few measly seconds, it felt longer than the years past.

The two men grew tense and one of them shouted, "Zemo who the hell is this?" Almost instinctively, as the two strangers approached me, he placed his arm in front of me. "So you're telling me not only are you rich, but you had a girl waiting for you the whole time?"

"You could say that, but I never asked her to wait or stay." He looked to me and the corners of his mouth rose ever-so-slightly. "Y/N, this is Sam Wilson and James Barnes, or Bucky." The metal-armed man raised his flesh hand when his name was called, almost like taking attendance.

I passed out cups of tea and coffee for the three men and sat down on the couch next to Zemo, trying to comprehend what the three of them were telling me. "Then after we realized that neither Sam or I really knew how to handle or hunt the super soldier serum, we decided to contact the one guy who does."

I looked at them clueless for a second, "but didn't Zemo frame you for assassinating a king? And cause the Avengers to break up?" Zemo looked at me and nodded, with a look that essentially said 'really? you had to bring that up?'

"Yes, yes the man did." The other man, Sam, was now talking. "After that, Tin Man over here decided to break Zemo out of jail, which I had no part in. Frankly, I still don't see why we need him." Bucky just stared at Sam from the metal remark. They looked like they were good friends but argued like a couple with marital problems.

The three of them went back and forth about what to do next, throwing out different names and places. I pulled my knees up to my chest and placed my drink down on the chestnut side-table next to me, remembering the way policemen ripped open the table and threw it around, the scuffs on the sides to prove it. The tugs they made on the drawers tugged on me as-well, making me lean my head against Zemo's shoulder. After all this time, he still kept his muscles, but to be fair he also had a lot of time on his hands the past few years.

Suddenly, a yawn escaped my mouth and I tried to stifle it. His attention quickly shifted to me and put the conversation at a pause. "If you would like, we can go to bed," the words made my heart simply explode. It was a simple action that I didn't even notice I missed so much, it had been so long that the idea of sleeping with someone else feels so foreign. Although, it's a humbly welcomed foreign experience.

I nodded quickly and stood up, realizing I should probably be a good host and give the two guests a place to sleep. "If you guys want to follow me, I can show you to your rooms." I led them down the hallway, trying to keep my feet of the floor as much as I could because it felt like ice. I don't remember the last time I was down here, I didn't really have a reason to. Opening two doors, I turned to face them, "here are your rooms. Bathroom is first on the left." Bucky smiled and nodded quietly.

Sam, on the other hand, went and said, "so is there a breakfast in bed option or will we have to go out there to a chef?" Bucky rammed his metal elbow into Sam's stomach and glared at him.

"Thank you, Y/N. And please ignore Birdy over here."

As I began to walk away from them I heard a quiet exchange of cursing. Looking back, the two were pushing each other and fighting to get towards the bathroom. Bucky eventually pushed Sam against the opposite wall, then ran into the bathroom, with a subtle click of the lock. Sam locked eyes with me, nodded his head down and shuffled into his room like a dog with his tail between his legs.

"Those two are quite the duo," I murmured softly as I pushed open the bedroom door. I fully expected to see Zemo passed out from his endeavor from earlier, but it was a welcomed surprise when I saw him and the same look of bliss spread on his face as he sat on the end of the bed, having just changed into a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. Those same quick strides closed the gap between us, but this time he was softer and slower, as if he wanted to make up for lost time.

Starting at the bottom of my earlobe, his fingers traced my jaw, his eyes following them and scanning each and every one of my features. The way he stared and touched me reflected how touch-starved he really was all this time, turns out we were in the same boat but different countries. His gentle hand flowed from my ear, along my jaw, and when it reached my chin, he cusped my cheek. I leaned in nearly automatically into the touch, finally making eye contact when he looked at me.

With a small movement, he pressed a loving kiss to my forehead. "I never thought I'd be able to see you again. Or do that. Or do this," his other hand reached my cheek and brought me in for a kiss on my lips that was full of longing. "Or do this," he nudged my thighs and I jumped into his arms, now truly aware of what I was missing these past few years. Zemo set me down in the bed and got in next to me. "Or do this," he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in gently, holding me as tightly as he could without suffocating me.

Laying on his chest, I took in everything and couldn't imagine how I went so long without him. It felt like night and day. For so long I was living in the dark, completely isolated from the outside world and anything that could possibly hurt me anymore. Once he returned, he turned on the lights, he brought me back into the sunlight. I know he just got home but it feels like everything is back where it's supposed to be, like nothing ever changed. Somehow, with his return, the bed also feels softer.

"Why did you wait?" His sudden question caught me off guard. "I mean, I cannot say how excited I was to see you--but why didn't you move on?" I looked up and saw a confused expression, with his eyebrows furrowed together and lips pressed.

I didn't know how to answer him, how do I express everything I've felt these past years? How do I accurately tell him that after seeing my home destroyed and ransacked, the only thing I could think or do was to picture rebuilding it?

"When you were arrested, men came and took everything. They destroyed the house and didn't leave a single thing unturned. It was months before I could step back into the house and I think almost two years before I could begin the process of restoring it." I could feel his breathing slow down and become deeper, reminding me to pull myself together. "When I could finally put the pieces of the home back together, it didn't feel the same, because you weren't there. I wanted to try and go out but it wasn't right to go into the open world without you.

So, I waited. After watching strangers destroy the things I loved, and the things I had so many memories of, I could only think to fix it all and rebuild it all. But, I couldn't do that without you. I needed you. I need you."

With one movement, he changed our positioning so his face was now over mine, leaning over me. "What did I do to deserve you, meine geliebte," he spoke softly and pressed one final kiss to me and whispered with a smile, "shall we go to sleep now?" I nodded slowly and watched him get up to turn off the lights.

When we were sleeping, or when he was sleeping, all I could think to be was wide awake. Last time, he left suddenly during the day and promised to come home, I didn't know that previous night that he'd be disappearing from me. So, while he was in bed with his arm draped around my waist, holding me close and occasionally moving his arm to pull me closer, I was remembering every single thing.

I savored the way the sheets felt hotter than usual with him being home. I savored the way his breath against the back of my neck made me ticklish. I savored the way he moved his thumb in circles against my skin every few minutes, even when he was asleep. I made sure to remember how his heavy arms made it more difficult to breath. I couldn't bare to forget any of these things, so when he leaves again, I'll remember.

But right now, he's home.

He's back at our home.

part two

get tagged - masterlist

tags: @blondekel77 @mysticdeerpolice @dexthtoyounglings @anthrogothic @darlinloves @hollmarch

[bjornthorsson20]

The Boy Who Lived (In the Closet)

Sigh.

That one fleeting sound broke through Harry’s concentration on his essay. Looking up, he saw his bushy-haired friend leaning on the table across from him, her head resting in her hand, glancing at something from afar. Following her line of sight, his eyes landed on his other best friend, the ginger boy who also happened to be the object of the witch’s affections.

Harry was aware of how these two started to develop some feelings towards each other beyond their friendship a while back, a perception shared by many of their housemates, but one that the two of them were somehow still oblivious to. Harry had to admit that he could be pretty oblivious to things around him most of the time, but they were not even trying to be subtle most of the time. Their mutual pining while running in circles around each other was beginning to irk Harry to no end.

He decided he had enough. If they weren’t going to make a move, he would. With that goal in mind, he cleared his throat, instantly bringing Hermione’s attention to him. She gave him a half-hearted smile, setting her hands on the table and pretending to concentrate on her book.

“Hermione.”

“Y-yes?” she squeaked, smiling so wide Harry felt his cheeks hurt just looking at her.

“Look, if you’re going to simply stare longingly at Ron without doing something about it, I’m afraid I’ll have to step in,” said Harry in an unusually stern tone. He hoped what he was about to say would work.

Her voice became shrill as she vehemently tried to deny her blatant ogling. “I’m sorry? W-what do you mean? I-I was not star-”

Harry cut her off with a snort. “Oh please. The truth is written all over your face. Now, you either go up to him right now and spill your heart out, or I will claim him for myself.”

Hermione’s eyes became the size of saucers as her mouth hung open. She sputtered, stuttering something incomprehensible before getting her words out. “W-what do you mean? I-I-I, you can’t be serious, no…”

“You heard me. If you won’t kiss him, I will do it myself. I’ve always wondered what his lips taste like. Probably like Chocolate Frogs and roast.” Harry was trying really hard not to laugh. However, judging by the fierceness in her eyes at his words, Hermione found it anything but amusing.

“Harry James Potter, you wouldn’t,” said Hermione in a low threatening voice.

Harry wasn’t backing down, though.

Raising one eyebrow as a challenge, he looked at Ron, intending on calling for him. As soon as he opened his mouth, Hermione leaned forward suddenly, clamping her hand over his mouth. “Okay, okay!” she groaned, getting up and walking towards Ron, as Harry grinned deviously at her back as she walked away. He saw her whisper something in Ron’s ear, which made his face grow red as his eyes nearly bulged out of his head, and the next moment she was tugging on his hand as she pulled him out of the common room.

Harry smiled, triumphant in being the one to get the lovebirds together at last. He just hoped that no rumours would start circulating the hallways about him being interested in Ron, but he knew Hermione wouldn’t be one to say anything anyway.

After all, there was no way he was attracted to his best friend. Not at all.

___________________________________________________________

Sometime later in the evening, his two friends returned to the common room hand in hand with goofy grins on their faces. He watched as Hermione said something to Ron, before giving him a quick peck on the lips and climbing the girls' staircase.

Ron stood there for a moment, watching her retreating figure, before his eyes turned to Harry and he gave him the biggest smile he had ever seen from Ron. He hurried over to where Harry was still seated on the table, a spring in his step, his body language something akin to a kid excited for Christmas.

“Mate, I can’t thank you enough! Hermione told me you gave her the nudge needed to make the first move, and I’m bloody grateful you did, because I don’t think I would’ve had the nerve to if it was me,” he chuckled with a sheepish grin, shrugging, before his expression turned serious. “About what you told her, uh, look, I don’t want things between me and Hermione to make you feel weird or anything. I know I’m irresistible, mate, but don’t go pining over me, yeah? I’m clearly taken.” He smiled lopsidedly at his own joke and then went serious again. “But… I still love you,” he finished with an awkward grin, grasping Harry’s shoulder.

For some reason, Ron’s touch caused a strange feeling to course through Harry, and the firmness with which Ron was gripping him made his shoulder tingle in an unusual way. He also felt Ron was just a bit too close to him, and for a moment, Harry had the irrational urge to lean in closer. The way he towered over him in his current position also contributed to this pleasant yet foreign sensation.

Wondering why his throat felt suddenly dry, Harry gulped. “I-It’s okay, mate, d-don’t worry about me. I’m gonna be okay, and no, I won’t feel weird seeing you and Hermione together. I’m really happy actually, it’s brilliant. And I-I love you too.” He hoped Ron wouldn’t question his sudden nervousness, as not even he knew what was happening to him.

Thankfully, Ron simply smiled and patted his shoulder, thanking him one last time before heading to the boys' staircase. Harry couldn’t help but notice the swing of his hips as he walked, and he had to admit it was quite…

No, he was most definitely not attracted to his best friend.

[keouil]

how you forget to be human

“so is she like,” scott hesitates. “cap’s first lady or something?” rated t. 2k+. steve/nat. also on ao3 / twitter / cc

Scott hasn’t been with the team for a long time, but he thinks he at least has enough working knowledge of how everyone operates.

The Winter Soldier—Bucky to Steve,  James to anyone who dared—quite frankly still scares the living shit out of him, and that’s Magneto on a good day. It didn’t take much to deduce he seemed wholly uncomfortable in his own skin, his jaw coiled perpetually tight and the rigid set of his shoulders always in alert. It was uneasy just being around him, his discomfort bleeding over others and charging the air around his space with its own brand of disquieting; but always, without fail, Steve cushioned whatever apprehension anyone aimed toward his bestfriend.

Most of it came from Sam, and almost always in good nature as if to ease the brainwashed supersoldier into some semblance of normality; and Scott would fear for Sam’s life every time he opened his mouth, were it not for the also very obvious fact the Falcon held his own and didn’t appreciate handouts and the three of them seemed to be getting along uniquely (if not a little oddly) well enough.

The witch was a small problem, however. Simply for the fact she was a witch and Scott is wary because history taught him they burned all of them down in Salem. 

He sees her wiggling those voodoo fingers around sometimes, almost unconsciously, and feels the hairs on his arms rise with every flick of her wrist. The energy around her isn’t suffocating the same way Bucky’s is. It was more a subtle nervous tingling; like she herself was afraid of the gravity of her own powers she had yet to have complete reigns on. Scott is oddly humbled by the fact and even empathises with her a little.

Steve keeps an eye on her and doesn’t bother hiding it, but it’s the archer who gets past her when it really counts. Clint Barton, who, surprisingly is the one he’s on the most similar wavelength with out of all of them: family man and all.

Clint Barton whose also friends with Natasha Romanoff.

.

.

.

Hawkeye who has simultaneously the most complex and impossibly simple relationship with Black Widow.

“I swear to god if you ring me up next time you’re out of goddamn Fruit Loops,” Natasha warns, digging through one of the five grocery bags on the kitchen island. She fishes for a few more seconds, before popping a colourful cartoon box out from under the bag and tossing it to Barton. “I’m bringing you in for real.”

Clint scoffs, placing the carton on the top shelf. “How many times have I heard that before?”

“Apparently not enough,” Natasha glares at him from her peripheral, scooping out Nutella and a pack of store-bought pryanik to lay on the table. Russian biscuits. For Wanda. “If I’m still stopping by an abandoned boarding house in the slums of Siberia every other week. Y’all grown men can’t do grocery shopping by yourselves?”

Scott blinks from his spot by one of the stools. 

Of all the things he expected to wake up to in hiding from 117 countries from possible charges of aiding and abetting a war criminal, Black Widow casually arranging and organising their weekly rationale was nowhere near the top of the list. She did this all the while supposedly fighting for the other team.

This one needs no introduction.

Scott knows who Black Widow is. Scott knows Captain America, after all. 

You don’t grow up in the land of the free without knowing his legacy even in minute passing. The man has been plastered on nearly every surface of the continent since the dawn of America. Scott has seen the news footages, read the official accounts, willingly devoured every single documentary or biopic helmed in honour of their nation’s greatest hero: he knows, down to the bone, the star-spangled man with a plan. 

A forgotten and revered and rebirthed war hero. 

How he came to know of her, however, is an entirely different story: because come the news footages, zoom in close enough you’ll see the infamous shield covering a much smaller and daintier figure; go over the accounts with a fine-toothed comb, they speak of a levelled dynamic between a commanding officer and a shadow leader; and, lest history not forget, the documentaries: Peggy, because behind every great man is a woman, Natasha.

“Now why would we do that if we got you?” Sam. He comes up from behind the hallway to playfully grin at Natasha before enveloping her in a small hug. She returns it easily.

Scott braces himself for what’s to come, because they came in a pair, and so: “Nat,” Steven Grant Rogers, in the flesh himself, pokes his head in not a moment later with a barely indisputable frown on his face. “You came here again?”

Natasha clicks her tongue at him. “Someone had to make sure you boys were fed.”

“That’s not— We can—” Steve stutters as he strides in, and Scott has to very carefully school his features into nonchalance because Captain America does not stammer. He sighs deeply before settling next to her, nudging her with his hip. “Tony atleast know you're here?”

Natasha gives him a pointed look. “Who do you think paid for all this?”

.

.

.

Scott watches their silhouettes grow smaller and smaller by the distance.

Even from afar, he can make out Steve’s absolute hulk of a frame: back impossibly straight in a way that bespoke authenticity, years of rigid military training drilled into his bones; only he seemed to mellow, somehow and very slightly, the fine lines of his shoulders angled in the direction of her voice. And Natasha: brave and lithe, nearly a head shorter and so much more smaller, facing forward in full confidence and a leisurely stride in her steps.

Siberia has a biting night air that seeps deep into the bone. But it’s also comforting somehow; all of them knowing, in one way or another, what it was like to be iced out from society. 

They were all huddled by the makeshift campfire Barton fashioned out of some wooden logs and a matchstick. Sam, in charge of roasting marshmallows, was gently coaxing Bucky into eating one and promising him it’s not poisoned. Wanda was handing out steaming cups of hot chocolate brewed from the pack Natasha brought in a few hours ago, a staple in her weekly grocery runs because apparently the kid witch liked sweets. 

Scott gingerly takes a sip from his mug, some of the warmth seeping into liquid courage he was building up for weeks now. He takes a deep breath before plunging himself into the waves.

“I can’t be the only one worried that the enemy has infiltrated our territory, right?”

To their credit, neither of them kill him on sight. 

Wanda pauses in levitating one of the wooden logs above the hearth, a single bark of kindling hovering uncertainly over the air. Bucky has an unreadable expression on his face when he regards him. A look passes between Sam and Clint, betraying nothing of their inner thoughts at his outburst.

The fire is nice and toasty, but the air is stifling now and Scott has never felt more the outsider than at that very moment.

Until Sam breaks into a hearty laugh. “Widow?” he shakes his head amusedly. “No, man, Steve and Nat are tight. They’re past stuff like that.”

Scott furrows his eyebrows in concern. “But isn’t she—”

“On Tony’s side?” Clint quips, poking at one of the planks. Wanda finally drops the floating bark, and Scott doesn’t miss the flash of something in her eyes when she glances at him from the other side of the fire. He thinks he saw a spark of red for a second. “Sure, I guess. Technically she’s Team Iron Man or whatever that means. But Natasha is also fiercely loyal, especially when it comes to Steve.”

“What does that  mean?” Scott asks in genuine confusion.

Sam opens his mouth to elaborate, words already forming on his mouth; before he seems to come to a belated realisation, blinks, and manages a nonchalant shrug. "Damn if I know,” he admits, turning over a puffy mallow and watching the crackles of fire burn its edges. “But she’s good for him. That’s all I care about.”

“And he’s good for her,” Clint returns easily, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “Maybe sometimes it’s just that easy.”

They hear the crunching of footsteps on snow creeping up behind them, and Scott takes this as his cue to stash the conversation for another time. 

He watches them stroll in together carefully.

Steve holds the gate open for her and places a small hand on her back as they advance in the small patch of woods by the backyard. Natasha settles next to Wanda, hands going up and down her arms to warm the younger girl despite being the one having only just gone out for a walk in the middle of Russian winter: because, and at this Scott is now confident, the jacket resting on her shoulders three times her size was keeping her warm enough.

.

.

.

The quinjet doesn’t start up right away.

Scott is slowly panicking, because the realisation that he was truly out of his depth at fighting in the next greatest civil war of the century notches above his pay grade only viscerally begins to take hold. 

He has a family back home, pets to feed, a little life saving every now and then; but never this colossal of a scale, never with the stakes stacked up so high against them, that it really could only ever be toppled down by the likes of fucking Iron Man and Captain America.

But Steve is still confident.

It’s so bloody obvious he was always going to keep at it, gunned down the concrete walls of the airport and clawed his way out of it brick by brick if need be. He was really and truly the good man underneath it all, and at the back of his mind, Scott still finds himself awed at the fact.

But he doesn’t know how on  earth  the man came out of that airport not visibly rattled, not at all unlike how Scott was currently feeling; and, as he processes the rest of their wayward expressions, he knew he wasn’t alone in thinking so.

“Cap,” Sam wheezes by the floor, fighting to labor his breathing with a hand clutched on his dislocated shoulder. “I still got the jeep parked outside. It’s not too late. We can hike the rest of the way.”

“No,” Steve replies, an edge of conviction in his voice. There is not a single tremor in his stubborn hands gripping the wheel. “That’s gonna hold us back days. We just need to be up in the air for now. We need—”

“A woman to come to your rescue again?”

This time, it’s Scott who sighs in deep relief at her voice. This time, Scott doesn’t fight the churn in his stomach at the prospect of having someone who nearly nicked him lifeless not even hours ago this close a range with them again. This time, she is not Black Widow, but simply Natasha Romanoff; Steve Rogers’ friend.

This time, Scott thinks, he will let them be easy just like that.

There was no more a sign of tremble in his voice or hands the entire battle, but at the lilt of her voice, he just crumbles. 

“Nat,” Steve breathes out when he turns to her, hands fisting at his sides in an attempt to regain control. Just like that, he unravels; so easily and without preamble in the face of her steeled strength. “I can’t get it to turn on— And I— We have to get Bucky—”

“Work through it, Steve,” she cooes in probably the most placating voice he’s heard of her, but she doesn’t move to touch him when she comes close. Her hands are going a mile a minute over the control panel, pushing buttons and lifting levers. Steve is hovering by her side like it's the only thing holding him together. “You know how to fly this thing, right?”

Steve is visibly taken aback and angles his body to face her. “You’re not coming with us?”

The question hangs in the air.

It charges the silence around them and quells any of their growing uncertainty, because, clear as it was of Steve’s well-founded and undeniable leadership skills: they also knew, intimately, she anchored him through it all.

Sam was putting pressure around Bucky’s human arm as he looked back and forth at them tensely. He could feel Wanda hitch her breath behind him.

Natasha’s fingers keep flying away at the keyboard, until they feel the telling signs of an engine rumbling underneath and the overhead lights spurting back to light. The whole jet roars to life in the next second, heating fans whizzing and technical sounds beeping. She shifts some gears around and locks in a destination with the GPS navigation.

When she turns to look at Steve, it is then Scott forces himself to pry his eyes away and not bear witness to this part of his already over documented life. In that single moment of uncertainty, the what does that mean is meant like this: an intimate baring of a soul, heart, trust: in a way no words could ever begin describing or should even attempt to put to paper. 

It is friendship at the most intimate level, it is soulmates on the most soul-crushing departure, and it is the everything else that comes after.

“Not this time, Rogers,” he hears her say, and Scott doesn’t have to imagine the slight fracturing of his iron-clad footing in the world swaying ever so slightly, when he replies with: “Then I guess I’ll see you around, Romanoff.” .

.

.

“So is she like,” Scott hesitates. “Cap’s first lady or something?”

They’re some seventy feet off the air above the Pacific Ocean, the moisture from the ocean drifting up to the open barracks and making the air glisten around them. Bucky is fast asleep somewhere down the lower levels with Wanda keeping watch over him, upon the fervent insistence of Steve arguing he needed rest. It came as no surprise that he also self-assigned himself the first watch of the night. 

Sam is sharpening his knives, the grating sound of sandpaper slicing over iron piercing through the silent hum and drum of the night. 

“Please,” he scoffs, looking over at him. “If anything, Steve is her first lady.”

[cognacdelights]

all hands on deck [preview]

a part two to rock the boat

As she retrieved one of the ice-cool, condensation-laced beers from the very centre of the wooden table, Kenzie peered up at him with her mischievous, amber eyes — gently nudging his ankle with the very tip of her well-worn, off-white Converse, “don’t get too comfortable, Maybank, we’ve got a score to settle.” A playful smirk upturned the corners of her full, rosy lips as her languid gaze travelled slowly from the teal-eyed, shaggy-haired blonde, over her exposed shoulder, to the now unoccupied pool table that stood in the very centre of the slight platform beside them.

A low, throaty, but hearty chuckle rippled through his robust, t-shirt clad chest as he took a nonchalant sip of his cold, bitter-tasting beer, a similar, sprightly smirk quirking the corners of his thin, chapped lips upwards, “what score? I win every time.” His tone was light-heartedly incredulous as the broad flats of his toned, squared-off shoulders rose and fell with each soft but amused laugh. He felt the burning glare of her scolding, unimpressed expression pierce his skin, before giving a lackadaisical gesture towards the vacant pool table with one hand — the other, calloused palm coiled around the green-tinted glass of his beer bottle in a loose but secure hold. “Fine, I’ll play along, but don’t go all sulky on me when you lose for the millionth time.”

“I don’t sulk,” Kenzie rebutted his statement adamantly as she swiftly stood from the uncomfortably rigid, rickety chair — adjusting the slightly bunched-up denim of her enticingly short, black shorts, “I’m just not enthusiastic about your win.” Taking her freshly-opened bottle of Heineken with her, she made her way through the cramped, obstacle course of rogue tables and chairs — audaciously slinking her way through the bustling crowd of bar-goers as she did so. “But I’m going to win this time, I’m telling you. You’re going down, Jesse James Maybank. You’re gonna eat a big, ol’ slice of humble pie.”

His attentive, cerulean eyes fixated almost instantly on her voluptuous, perky ass — that was perfectly accentuated by the tight, but rigid, denim material of her shorts — as he obediently followed suit, observing intently as her hips swayed with a subtle seductiveness, “I know what I’d rather be eating instead.” His voice was deep and gravelly, and an air of flirtatiousness echoed throughout his suggestive words before dissipating into the mindless, drunken chattering that lingered within the background. He watched on, entertained, as her neck snapped backwards with a rapid motion — her dark, terracotta eyes boring deep into his with a fire-like glower, serving as an unspoken warning to honour their previous agreement. A second, imperious grin consumed his sun-drenched complexion as he stared back haughtily, “some shrimp and grits. Loser buys.”

“Get your wallet ready,” she uttered lowly, returning her focused vision back to the unoccupied pool table before her.

“For what? I’m not going to be the one buying dinner tonight, sweetcheeks,” he quipped a playfully sarcastic response as he casually discarded of his freshly-opened beer atop the high, wooden ledge littered in thin, cardboard beer mats that ran the length of the entire back wall. With the same brazenly dauntless smirk contorting his defined, stubble-lined features, he picked up one of the pink, well-used chalk cubes that sat absent-mindedly beside his beer, before coolly reaching for one of the longer, varnished pool cues and masterfully rubbing the indented chalk cube against the very tip of the pool cue, “I’d say ladies first, but the scratches and bite marks on my back say that you’re everything but so I think it’s fair game if I take the first shot.”

“Shark. Bait,” Kenzie spat lowly but meaningfully through a tightly clenched jaw and gritted teeth — her tongue abundantly laced with venom as she sent an evident warning shot at the tousle-haired blonde. 

[deceasedanddesist]

unrequited ( lily evans )

this is for @strawberrywafer​‘s 300 writing challenge 

pairing: lily evans x griffyndor!reader

fem! reader ( pronouns are not specified )

warnings: lots of angst, not a happy ending, mentions of homophobia, lots of talk about emotional turmoil and pain.

notes: i love me some angst, especially if its sapphic. i personally have experienced being in love with your straight best friend and I may or may not have cried writing this. enjoy :)

word count: 2.2k

you were in love with your best friend. it was the most gut wrenching form of self sabotage that you could fathom, and the worst part was you couldn’t even be mad at her, or even james potter for that matter.

its not like you couldn’t see the appeal, i mean he was stuck in the same boat as you. almost. if you didn’t see her subtle double takes when he walked into a room or the lingering disappointment in her eyes when he did something ridiculously immature, you probably would have bought the half-hearted glares and demeaning nicknames. if only you hadn’t paid so much attention to her striking emerald eyes as she watched the back of his head at the first feast of seventh year, you probably would have been fooled along with everyone else.

that was when you knew you were royally fucked, because she just didn’t seem into it this year. at first you tricked yourself into thinking it was because she was finally sick of him after all the years of extravagantly expressing his undying love for her, but a few weeks into your final year at hogwarts you knew. you knew it wasn’t because she was tired of him, it was because she was tired of pretending she didn’t love him back.

so no, you weren’t mad at james potter, in all of his arrogant, quidditch all-star glory. and you weren’t mad at lily evans—but who were you kidding, you could never be mad at her. you realized the anger you felt, that burning, self destructive pit in your stomach, was directed at yourself.

how could you let this happen? it had been in fifth year when you realized the feelings you harboured towards your roommate were not something a friend should feel for a friend. you kicked yourself for it then and you do the same thing now, because you always knew the red-head talked about james potter too much for it to just be out of hatred. what was it that you were always telling her, “there’s a thin line between hate and love, lils”, and it felt like you took a stake to the heart when you found out that she began to look at him with something in her eyes that you knew oh-so well. it was the one thing you and potter had in common.

then they were together, it happened faster than you could say quidditch. one minute james potter was professing his love, as per usual, and none of your peers looked twice at the impromptu great hall confessional. well, until people realized lily wasn't yelling and calling him an ‘arrogant toerag’. 

you knew it was coming, and as much as you wanted to squeeze your eyes shut until they’d have to be pried opened by marlene, you forced yourself to watch as she finally said yes to the love of her life. you don't know why you did it, looking back, you would’ve walked out as soon as you came to the realization. maybe you felt you deserved it, after all, your parents aren't very supportive of who you love. maybe your mom’s world-crushing passive aggressive comments, or your dad’s suggestion about sending you away to some church town in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere were finally getting to your head. 

they found out this summer, unbeknownst to all of your friends and peers. you still aren’t quite sure what happened, all you knew was that they found a more than friendly unsent letter to a beautiful red-head, and you certainly didn’t think your life could get any worse.....until now. 

you hadn't realized your head had gone off into space until mary macdonald nudged you back into reality, giving you time to evaluate the situation. 

lily had sat back down and began to furiously blush, while james was getting patted on the back by people from numerous houses, even he himself looked quite shocked she actually agreed to go out with him. 

you told yourself you tried to listen to what lily was telling the group of girls, but in reality you were accumulating strategies in your head on how to slip away unnoticed to go cry somewhere. you didn't want to hear lily talking about where james was going to take her, and you certainly weren't gonna listen to her go on about how hard it was to keep up her resolve all of these years. 

so you left, and when you looked back, she hadn't even glanced your way. 

it didn't even come to a surprise to you that you were easily forgotten, and you hated yourself for it. you hated yourself for ignoring the obvious fact that lily evans and james potter were always meant to be together, and you hated that you would ignore factoring it into the equations you imagined in your head.

you hated being out of control, so you focused on the one thing you could. staying away from her. 

it was completely selfish. you knew it, and so did marlene, mary, and dorcas. but you didn't give them time to convince you, because in your head this was the only option to help you get over her. 

you walked into the dorm after you got confirmation lily was asleep, and you were gone before she woke up. lily didn't have any idea why and you almost felt bad for her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. why? because she's the one that gets a happy ending, and the absence of one friend ( no matter how important you were to her ) isn’t going to fuck that up. 

you were unlucky enough to get the short end of the stick, and it made you want to scream. the pressure of doing good on your n.e.w.t.s so you don't have to spend another suffocating summer with your parents, and now, with all of this unexplained weight on your chest that you have yet to figure out how to get rid of. it was infuriating, and letting it all brew up inside yourself was bound to make a mess later. 

you knew that later would come eventually, but you never knew it would be in the form of james potter. 

the realization came to you as soon as you saw the look on his face as he walked towards you in the hallway outside of the potions classroom you just walked out of. he looked spooked almost, like he felt a severe sense of dread to have this conversation with you. 

“hey.” he dragged it out as the one word left his mouth. yup, definitely dreading this. 

“hi.” you matched his awkwardness, he cringed like he was realizing how stupid he sounded. “you’re here about lily.” 

you saved him the trouble. both of you didn't want to be here having this conversation, and he looked like he was on the verge of a stroke. not the confrontational type, you noted silently. 

“yeah,” he paused and took the time to observe your stance, his brows furrowed almost, like he was wondering why you were so nonchalant about this. “just here to clear up a few things.” 

it was your turn to furrow your brows. clear up a few things? why would lily send james to do her bidding? 

“I don't know what exactly needs to be cleared between us, potter.” you unintentionally spat his name out like it was poison to you. immediately deflating when you saw his face drop, this wasn’t his fault after all. 

“okay, it’s clear that you don't like me, but I don't know what that has to do with lily.” he paused once again before reluctantly continuing, “at first I thought it was because you fancied me-” 

his words were cut off by your laugh, “how heteronormative. no offence james, but you’re really far from my type.” 

his eyes widened, you nodded.

“if lily wants to ‘clear up a few things’ she can come to me herself.” 

you left with the last words, and a bewildered james potter as an added bonus.

it had been a few weeks since that conversation, and you didn’t think lily got the message. well, that was until she somehow bribed mary into telling you she went to sleep early and  managed to clear out the room. you guys always joked that she was the weakest link.

you were dissatisfied with yourself when you found that when you looked at her, all you could think about was how beautiful her eyes were. her red tresses appeared to be lazily thrown up into a bun, and she adorned some gryffindor pyjamas that the school provides you with every year.

you let out a breath you’ve been holding ever since the decision to distance yourself from her. it was like the weight you’ve been carrying was replaced with dread, because now you had to tell her, and you weren’t worried for your feelings, you were worried for hers. one think you knew for sure was that lily evans had an enormous heart, and it would be like passing the weight of your unrequited feelings onto her, and who would want someone they loved to deal with that.

“hi.” you decided to initiate the heavy exchange that was about to occur, you don’t know why you did it.

“we need to talk, y/n”

you just nodded. wanting to hear what she had to say first, you gestured to her meekly.

“i know you and james had a conversation, he told me,” she paused, seemingly collecting herself before she addressed the question that you knew she already knew the answer to. “i’m just a tad confused about the context of your side of it.”

“no you’re not lily.” you whispered it so softly you weren’t even sure she heard you, but the bit of breath she took in out of shock let you know she caught the innuendo.

“i-,” she collected herself once again, “i don’t know what to say, y/n.”

you looked down, because the pitying look she was giving you was going to make you mad if you looked at it any longer. with every utterance of your name, you felt a pang in your chest, the congestion of emotions finally clawing their way out. it was thick and it was coming out of you with the speed of a freight train, you broke the silence first.”

“look, you don’t have to say anything. i know you don’t reciprocate, and i’ve accepted it.” you hoped the one conversation you could never control the outcome of was over, and you did try to leave it at that by walking to your trunk and grabbing your night clothes, but something lily said stopped you.

“why did you keep this from me?” she seemed a bit angry, and the shock of it rolled through you as you processed the tone in which she spoke.

but to her surprise you just let out a wet laugh, wishing she would just let it go and let you sob it out in peace, but before you could even open your mouth to speak she did it for you.

“you just ignored me, like i had no business knowing that you feel this way towards me. it could have been different, you know.” she looked like what she said pained her to do so, and you hated it.

the tears were already flowing freely down your cheeks when you turned back around to face her,

“i was right here lily, by your side all along but you never saw me, did you?” you were full on snot nosed crying now, but you continued anyways.

“i know you’re angry because i’ve been ignoring you, but i just want you to be happy, and that can’t happen if you know i’m in love with you.”

“why-”

“because i’m around you constantly, lily. you’d never forgive yourself for not reciprocating, so we’re better off like this.” she looked like she was gonna disagree, so you added “i know you, and you know it’s true too.”

she took one unconscious step closer to you, to which you stepped back.

“just let me go,” you begged, “it’s better this way, i promise.”

she took one good look at your tear stricken face, “how can you know this is better y/n, look at you.”

you wiped your nose on your sleeve, “i’ve been dealing with this for so long. just let me go, if not for your sake, do it for mine.” she wasn’t going to let up until you looked at her and attempted to once again beg, but it just came out as a silent plea overcome by your fresh tears.

you just looked down, waiting until you heard her footsteps out the door to let your knees give out.

you really hoped all this pain would be better for you in the long run.

[kaetastic]

Bound To Be Spilled

pairing: Post-Azkaban!Sirius Black x Harry’s-Former-Crush!Reader

summary: Wrapped in the golden circle had meant Y/N was bound to run into trouble, if only she’d know the trouble was Harry Potter’s Godfather. Only, she had been oblivious to Harry’s glances, and his attempts to court her previous years ago.

word count: 4.3k

warning: fluff, angst?, happy harry, confused harry, unprotected sex, smut, interruptions because why not

note: the reader is of age, of course! she’s in her last year, 18-19 y/o :)) this is also set in order of the phoenix balalalalalalalal sirius black doesn’t die blaalalal he never dies blalalalalalal also i didn’t know what to do with the ?!Reader lmao yes

The elegant green wallpaper of the house had been the standing piece of the pureblood’s proud house. Well, not so much elegant as time paced without a sole concern for the maintenance of the quality. Even though Sirius remembered it being green during his childhood, he believed that the colours had begun to fade away in shades he thought wasn’t even possible. The walls began to look like Swiss cheese, chunks scraped off- vanished to leave a unique design. The unfortunate pieces were probably nudged under moulding furniture or swiped away by the only creature who cared to exert an effort to clean the abandoned place- Kreacher. 

The house lingered after the tragic death of the last remaining member of the Black family to place the property on the minuscule hands of a house-elf as the sole living heir to the house was locked away in the walls of Azkaban. Walburga did not only think her oldest son would rot in the prison after receiving a Dementor’s kiss, but she believed it. She knew Sirius would not come out alive. 

The passing down of the property was a reminder to the next generation who would be receiving the key of their loyalty that prided itself to the generations-worth of being sorted into the right house. To the green serpent. Except, the current holder wished he could’ve found a way to strip every bit that reminded him of his neglected childhood. Although, Sirius wasn’t sure if he was neglected, or he had been the one to avoid his parents every possible moment during his youth. It was more or less of not wanting to hear their voices and wanting to annoy every fibre of their being. 

The framed portrait of his mother that he could not find a spell to yank out of the wall, the room that had been the sole reason for the outrageous family tree, and the house-elf had been only a small list of things he couldn’t get rid of. Oh, the house-elf. It was so easy for the creature to get on the wizard’s nerves that the pureblood believed his tolerance had run short. It wouldn’t be long before Sirius Black snapped towards the elf that never took a liking to him ever since a child. That was what Sirius feared. Locked in the prison walls of Azkaban for a crime he had not committed, he feared he would be chucked back in for a crime he was sure to commit by the murdering of Kreacher.

Despite his hatred for the slimy creature, and how he wished to throw a ragged sock on his face so Sirius could be free from the torture of the elf, Kreacher had been useful in some ways such as cleaning the house. That, and accompanying his mother’s babbling portrait. It had only been a few years since he had left the tainted walls of Azkaban. Years he had tried to set himself in the right mind space, years he had tried to renovate himself, not to be the boy he was but the man he wanted to be. The same years he wanted to change things up in the house he grew up in. Except, he hadn’t found the energy and will to do so. Call it procrastination, Sirius called it refilling his wizard’s magic bar. 

There had been times when he wanted to rip everything, redo the whole house. Despite the engulfing thoughts of him doing productive chores, he could never find himself pulling his body up from the couch to enter his parents’ bedroom nor his little brother’s. The emotion- he couldn’t describe. Maybe he could if he had done a little digging with care; however, Sirius didn’t want to hear the truth. He didn’t want to know what that feeling of sympathy was. So, he steered away from their rooms. It wasn’t accidental laziness. He only intended extending the time he wasted so he didn’t have to face the obstacle. 

With his successful escape from Azkaban, numerous things had changed ever since he had been thrown into the prison. No matter the number of times the shadowy figures of Dementors had walked past him while he cowered in the corner of the cell, nothing would get rid of his youthful personality. That was probably why one name kept echoing in his head. Sirius Black was known to be a charmer during his years in Hogwarts, to say the least, he believed that it had never gone. James had placed such a label on Sirius’s head. The memory of James losing a bet to say the true words had been blurred away. There was no need for a bet as the words had been a prophecy. 

Sirius Black wasn’t sure what to feel after the meeting. It had been fiery as he had expected. Words had been thrown around, over and under the table of where the Order Of The Phoenix was to go with the terrifying news. The news that Harry Potter was to be the new target of Voldemort. He was just a mere boy for Merlin’s sake. Sirius wasn’t sure where he got it from, the sudden rush of a mother bird defending his belief that the young target of the Dark Lord should be aware of what was to come. He stood by it without a quiver in his ageing knees. Harry had every right to know what the Order suspected in the upcoming time. Hell, if it was not rights- Harry must know for his own safety. Except, the Weasley’s mother heart laid elsewhere. 

“You sure you’re all right, Harry? Gave us quite a turn.” The words fell off Arthur’s lips in a swift swerve. 

“Harry Potter.”

Parting from each other quite reluctantly, the parents of the Weasley’s stood by the wall, widening space for the Godfather and his Godson. Harry stood there, eyes dazzling at the figure in joy, a feeling he had latched on for years. The only family he had left. Sirius might’ve not been related to him by blood, but he was a family nonetheless. The young wizard didn’t waste time jumping into the embrace of his Godfather. The warmth he had been craving for so long had finally come under the roof of a house that had only sent him mere creepy shivers, “Sirius.”

Although Harry’s figure that was wrapped in Sirius’s arms had made him smaller, comparably, the pureblood wizard couldn’t help but linger on the thought of how fast the boy had grown. Just years ago, Harry had aided him onto the back of Buckbeak, now, he was a man. Well, Molly Weasley liked to believe otherwise. Despite the sentimental interaction of the two, he had no control of his eyes that trailed towards the leaning figure against the railing of the endless stairs. The pureblood wizard wore a wide smile, no doubt, everyone would assume was from the embrace he had longed for. If only they had known. Y/N returned the gesture. 

It felt so warm, the glowing feeling in his chest in knowing he had the privilege and the blessing to become the Godfather of James’ son. Sirius still remembered when the news was revealed to him. Oh, he felt as if he was swimming over the misty puffs of clouds. As the two figure pulled away, Sirius reluctantly peeled his eyes away from the woman to face the overjoyed wizard, his palms sat on Harry’s shoulders, “How about you go first? I need to grab something from my room.” The boy nodded, the corners of his lips curling up at the soft pat on his back- no different to that from a father figure. Harry could sense the speckle of sorrow at the mention of the word, yet, with everything that surrounded him: family, friends- there was nothing else he wanted more. 

Sirius’s eyes trained on the group that faded to the kitchen, some bustling noise had trickled along the hallway. It was so lively. Finally. The word sung in Sirius’s head. Not everyone was willing or free to accompany the sad old escapee. He knew no one wanted to, especially with the fact that they would have to rest in the pathetic house. The times when he would cower in sorrow had been long forgotten at the uproar of life set by the Weasleys. Especially with the twins who displayed mischief, he could only think of when he was the same age as them. The bunch of their heads were enough to create an army. 

Even though his stomach had endured enough of the sad excuse of meals in Azkaban (well, what was he to expect in such a place?) was growling in anger to why his body began pacing towards the stairs, away from the scrumptious goodness that was baking up by Molly, the wizard didn’t bother to smother care as one thing was plastered across his head. He couldn’t help the corners of his lips curling up at the figure that stood there seconds ago. Steps creaking with every kick of his leg, the pureblood wizard didn’t bother to make his haste pace stealthy. It had been some time since he had seen her. The desperation of needing her body in his arms and her lips against his had blurred out any other thoughts. 

Y/N’s eyes snapped towards the shadowy figure that barged into the owner of the house’s bedroom. It wasn’t exactly her first time in the room that screamed out ‘Gryffindor’ from the simple decorations that built up the empty room. Yet, every time she entered the bedroom, she couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the subtle things that made up Sirius’s childhood. 

There had been some things he was embarrassed about like the pictures of Muggle women clad in bikinis that were magically plastered onto a wall. Even though he had been the one to bind them to piss off his mother who would pull her hair out when she could not peel it off, he wanted to do nothing but rip it out. Especially when he would have a woman screaming his name in his room. Sirius didn’t know what spell would take it off. 

With graceful aid from the warm glow from the spherical light source, the minimal smear of light jabbing from the dim corridor splaying to blur out a smudge around his figure danced with one another to sharpen the figures. A second lingered in the air. A second where their eyes beamed onto each other’s, relishing the other’s outline- though, that only applied for Y/N as he could make out every detail of her. Sirius shut the door. He had to remind himself to make less noise to not quiver suspicion from those who were in the kitchen. Even though he knew they were waiting for him to begin devouring dinner, there was not a smear of guilt in him. Yet, with the pushing suggestion of lowering down sound, he couldn’t help but hear the ancient hinges crying out a plea for mercy. 

Then, the wishes he had begged for during the hopeless days of his pathetic soul locked in the walls of his childhood home came true. The only difference when he was in the prison than stuffed away in the house was the pesky presence of those shadowy blankets were no longer. Oh, he also had more freedom and space to wander around in the house- but still, it didn’t feel good to be bound to a house because a whole government was scrambling to throw you back to prison. A sacrifice it must. Her soft fingers rested on his cheeks, the pads grazing over the curls on his jaw. The trimmed and groomed patch of hair looked great on him. 

The pureblood wizard bit his bottom lip once they pulled away. He took in everything she had to offer, the warm gaze of her eyes, her scent, and the gentle kiss of her fingers against his skin. Sirius had no control over the corners of his lips that curled up. He basked in her appearance, in her presence. 

“Hello, darling,” Sirius slipped out, the warm puff was squeezed out of his chest, heaving the exhalation to pierce her lips. Even though the lamp that sat in the corner of the room had only splayed out a smear of light, he could tell the glint in her eyes had glittered. “It has been some time.”

“It has.” The witch chuckled out as she wrapped her arms around his neck to lower him, the gentle brushing of her skin against the prickling bristles of his hair felt more comforting- far more than when people who lived on the edge or people who cared for animals had petted him while he was in his animagus form. There were times he liked their caring pets, some had even ruffled nasty fleas. Although, some had stood on the tip of their toes as they ran their hands over his fur. It had not been a fun situation to be in. 

Sirius leaned in once again. He couldn’t- no, he didn’t want to resist the urge of his lips on hers. During his youth in Hogwarts, he had spent his time ogling girls. Somehow, he had managed to receive decent marks. Well, he had to give credit to his old pal, Remus Lupin who had been the one to drag him by the back of his shirt to the library. Remus had once also used a silencing charm on the pureblood wizard since the boy could not comprehend the terms of being under a library’s roof. But not one girl he had long histories with made him feel like what he felt when he was with Y/N. It was new. It was foreign. He liked it. His fingers trailed down onto her waist, inching her closer to him while their tongues danced; even though she wouldn’t mind him yanking her onto his chest.

“Look at you. You look dapper in maroon… or is it burgundy?” Sirius rolled his eyes, the sweet song of her laughter was silenced by his lips. Locked away in the house had only meant his head had sprinted for ideas on end. He had tried every little idea that suggested time to pass in a blink of an eye. All from trying out new hobbies such as knitting to playing chess by himself. Sirius had used magic to enchant the board given by Arthur. However, it seemed every time he was up against the spell he had cast, he would lose. Nothing helped but spacing out in dreams he could only ponder hours on end. Dreams of a life where he could saunter across the street without having to bother about being captured. Dreams of a family. 

“I look good in everything.” 

“You look better in nothing.” 

With a quirk of a coquettish smile, she had expected the man to be pulled abruptly at her uncalled words. However, it was Sirius Black. And Sirius always managed to steer away from people’s expectations. Humming at her statement, his fingers descended to grope the swell of her ass. The wizard relished in the way her breath hitched in a gasp. He didn’t bother to make his path down go by unnoticed, he wanted her to feel every drag of his rough pads. Despite their few years of acquainting one another, it felt as if Sirius had learnt a whole load about her. Especially how she liked it. With languid movements and deep gazing into her eyes, he opposed, “I look my best on you.”

“Hm? Why aren’t you looking your best, then?”

Oh. Sirius wanted to do nothing but throw her on his bed, peel off every stubborn layer that stood between the two. He didn’t even think about the guests who were still waiting for his arrival at the table. It sounded too good.

“Sirius! Move your ass, won’t you? Your seat at the head is left empty, everyone’s waiting for the news.” The sweet, sweet voice of Remus trickled into the cracks of the door. Sirius could feel his neck craned down to stare at the sad state of his floor, frustration easing into his muscles. There was great disappointment, irritation, and overall, the need to shake his old friend. Remus didn’t know about the two. No one did- fortunately. Somehow, one way or another, what the two had done behind walls did not leak out… yet. Just yet. 

The pureblood wizard was proud of his achievement; the fact that he had managed to keep such a secret without spilling it all into Remus’s ears meant a great deal. Especially with his Godson. Just the thought of Harry finding out what his Godfather- the man his father trusted his whole life with, had been doing with his former crush would just worsen the boy’s life. What’s worse is that the boy already had the bar of his life’s difficulty high up. Sirius still remembered the time Harry told him of the observing crush he had on Y/N who was roughly three years older than his age. She had been around her fifth grade when Harry was just a mere second grade. 

Sirius recalled the time when Harry confessed he had moved on from the silly crush. The boy did everything he could in hopes she would see him. The hopeless feeling for the older woman was long gone… maybe. Well, that was what he told Sirius anyway. Subtle sticks of flowers, running into her occasionally- nothing had worked. What Sirius did know was that the witch felt something for him, the Godfather of the boy. Before he knew it, he threw himself in a hole, surrounded by revolving gears that would churn boisterously with every slight movement he made. To get out of it, he would have to rest his hand upon the gears. Something was bound to go wrong. It just hadn’t. 

Y/N was more hooked onto the ‘news’ Remus was talking about while Sirius could feel steams of fury huff out of his ears. Seconds of silence hung upon the air. Sirius could feel the negative emotions lift from his chest as he swam through the elating feeling. There were only a few centimetres between their lips before Remus’s voice cladded around their heads, “Have you seen Y/N? I swear I saw her…” 

The wizard pressed his lips, a heavy exhale echoing into the air, quite audible to the man who lingered in front of the door, “No! I haven’t seen her.” Neck craned towards the door to yell out his reply, Y/N muffled her giggles with her hand at his frustration. 

“Come on, old man, don’t want them becoming suspicious.”

Even though the news cracked by some willing members of the Order of the Phoenix had cracked over the youthful heads of wizards had been terrifying which sent shivers down their spines, stolen glances were not wasted. Y/N had to swallow down the chewed up ball of scrumptious meal Molly had made with the chilling fact that the boy she knew would have an enormous red target over his head. And because he was Harry Potter, he had insisted on standing beside the Order, scratch that- join the Order to defeat Voldemort. She wasn’t exactly sure what weapon the Dark Lord wanted according to Sirius’s words, but with connecting vague dots and assumptions, she had made a large leap.

Even if her theory to the weapon had sounded astounding, the fact that Harry had been the victim of many Voldemort’s doings had proved as evidence. Cedric’s death had been a strong proof that Voldemort had returned to his body. Yet, with words and power- eyes were sculpted to narrow onto one perspective: the lies of the Minister. 

Harry bore the mark, Harry cried out for the unfortunate death of the Hufflepuff- but he was portrayed as a little boy who lied, the boy who cried wolf. It was fear. All fear. The Minister was being thrown in the palms of fear, it warped around his mind, pinching the wizard to be blinded by the possibilities of him being thrown from his powerful position. If the man was trying to not shake the entire wizard population, merits could be given for his thoughtful idea. Except, the entire population he did not want to stand on their toes were far from moving… they had been dripping icicles. Well, some. There had been people who were qualified to steer away from the captivating words.

It took some time to gulp down the words. Now, she was gulping down wanton moans even though Sirius had insisted multiple times to let out all the noises. With her knees dug into the red cover of his bed, head planted onto the staggering rocks of the mattress and wrists held by him, there was no longer pain or aching muscles for all of it were overlapped with pleasure. A growl echoed from the pureblood’s throat, guttural, swimming in pools of pleased needs. Needs that had been building up for years. Needs that made way into his mind at the thought of the woman.

He threw his head back at the clenching of her walls against his shaft, Sirius grasped her waist to thrust deeper. Beads of sweat had woven through his hair, damping strands to splay against his forehead. The creaking of the ancient bed trickled into the air, mixed in with the slamming of the wooden post against the wall. Sirius could not bother if everyone was wide-awake, listening to the banging of the walls. Free concert, he tutted. Although, the noise within the walls was much more enjoyable- to Sirius. His eyes grazed over red that had plastered all over his room. The corners of his lips curled up as he remembered his rebel-self during his youth. 

“Oh, fuck, I’m going to cum.” The words hissed out of his mouth sent shivers against her skin, pricking with teasing pinches. Y/N panted, eyes squeezed tight as his thrusts snapped harder. Her lips were parted open, sharp moans stinging out while her fingers clambered into the blanket. It wasn’t long before they chased their own release. 

Once she managed to turn herself, back splayed out on the bed, chest still heaving from the strenuous laps, her eyes narrowed onto the man. Oh, what a sight it was. 

“Full of energy even though you’re an old man.” Sirius threw his head back, boisterous cackling from his lips rebounded from the walls into her ears. The noise finally died down. Y/N finally realized how great he looked with red. Every angle she craned her neck, she would be met with the sole colour. She couldn’t see Sirius with green. 

His arm planted beside her head, the other creeping up her thighs to rest it against his hip, “Who said I’m old?” The same lust-filled eyes gazed deep into hers. 

“Sirius, there’s been some things I’ve wanted to, holy-” 

Eyes snapped onto the door that swung without creak that would cry out whenever the wizard would turn gently. Y/N was the first to react, her hands swung to yank the shivering cover while Harry stood still under the door frame as if he had been cast with Petrificus Totalus. The boy barely realized he was staring at the couple who had just finished one of their many rounds until his eyes trailed to meet his Godfather’s. Red smeared over his cheeks, quite prominently once he had gulped down the fact that he just saw the bare body of his father’s friend hovering over his former crush. Sirius hastily got off the bed, rushing across the carpeted floor- butt still open to the air. Even though he felt this day would come, where the secret would rise to the surface- he did not expect or assume it would be like so. He didn’t even spend a cent on having his Godson running on him bare.

“Just one second.” Sirius murmured, hands yanking up the trousers he had thrown haphazardly all across the room before draping his shirt on over his shoulder without buttoning. The fabric would swing with every churn of his body, exposing the marking that smeared all over his chest, proudly made by Y/N, sprinkled in the exhausting rounds.

Harry only heard the rustling of cloth brushing harshly against skin, swirled into faint mumbling between the two, “Well, time for an explanation, right?” 

“Without a doubt, Sirius,” The boy hissed to his Godfather, his body inches away. The words slipped out of his tongue in whispers. “What are you doing? Don’t you remember that this is the exact girl I told you I liked.”

“Liked, Harry. Past tense.” The pureblood wizard patted Harry’s shoulders.

“That doesn’t make this situation any better.”

“No, it wouldn’t… I don’t do too well with easing tensions, though, there are some times when I would say otherwise.” Harry let out a huff, eyes rolling at Sirius when the man craned his neck towards the woman who sat on the ruffled bed. 

“Just- when did this all happen? When did it start?” Harry gestured towards the two.

“A year ago? Maybe?” Y/N shrugged her shoulder, not remembering when the two had fallen into the routine.

“This is a lot to take in…”

Sirius grinned, his palms slammed onto his Godson’s shoulders, “Listen here, Harry. This isn’t a competition. Because if it was, I would win. Anyway, I hope you can keep this to yourself since we hadn’t really found the comforts to… bring up the story to the rest. Also, don’t say a word to your friends.”

Harry met his eyes that glared into his soul, “I’m not sure how to feel. I guess I’m glad you’ve found somebody? This is just so weird.”