#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?

[iamgonnagetyouback]

The second one is for Harry. I don’t have a plot for him tbh. Anything works…maybe something like James and lily are still alive and the reader is Sirius’ and Remus’ daughter (if you’re comfortable with that else she’s just Sirius’s daughter) and that her and Harry have feelings for each other but they make sure that their parents don’t know about this because they think they won’t approve but secretly Sirius and James have made a bet even before they were born that they’d end up dating.

Gonna sign off as - 👀

you bet on us?⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤ ㅤ���ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ harry potter

the morning started off innocently enough. you and harry decided, with great trepidation and a little bit of sweaty-palmed hand-holding, that it was time to come clean to your parents. you’d spent months sneaking around, dodging suspicious looks and sharing whispered secrets under that big oak tree in the potter backyard. but enough was enough. today was the day.

at breakfast, you sit on one side of the table, gripping harry’s hand under it like a lifeline. across from you, james is mid-story, waving his coffee cup wildly, nearly splashing sirius, who’s cackling in support. remus stands by the stove flipping pancakes, while lily is engrossed in her tea. it’s almost too peaceful. almost.

you exchange a look with harry, both of you gulping in unison. here goes nothing.

you clear your throat, trying to sound calm and confident but ending up squeaking, “we have something to tell you.”

every head swivels toward you. four pairs of eyes lock on, and it’s like they’ve turned into your jury.

sirius’s brows lift, eyes flicking to your joined hands, a smirk already forming. “oh, this is going to be good.”

james takes a leisurely sip of his coffee, not even trying to hide his amusement. “go on then, let’s hear it.”

“uh… well, harry and i…” you glance at him, wide-eyed. “we’re together. dating. you know, in a relationship.”

silence. deafening, horrible silence. you brace yourself for the absolute chaos about to ensue—a dramatic gasp from sirius, a whole speech from remus, something. but instead…

“oh, finally,” remus sighs, flipping another pancake like he’s completely unfazed.

“pay up, padfoot.” james holds out a hand to sirius with a smirk that could only mean one thing: they knew.

“are you—are you betting on us?” harry sputters, his face turning beet red.

sirius lets out a long, overly dramatic sigh as he fishes out a handful of galleons and plunks them into james’s waiting hand. “yep. and i had my money on last christmas, but nooo, you two had to make it as painful and drawn-out as possible.”

james shrugs, looking positively delighted. “i told him you two would take forever. i mean, you’re related to sirius, for merlin’s sake.”

“oh, come on!” you snap, indignant. “you didn’t even wait for us to tell you?”

sirius leans forward, smirking like he’s the world’s wisest sage. “kid, you were about as subtle as a hippogriff in a teashop. ‘oh, dad, we’re just going out to ‘study.’’” he air-quotes aggressively. “or, ‘oh, daddy, it’s so peaceful under the oak tree.’”

“do you know how many times i nearly hexed you?” remus says, shaking his head, clearly unimpressed. “once or twice would’ve been fine, but the ‘study dates’? please.”

harry’s face falls into his hands, groaning. “so you… knew? this entire time?”

james snorts, leaning back with the air of someone who has been utterly vindicated. “son, i’ve known since you looked at her like she’d personally invented quidditch.” he raises a smug eyebrow at lily. “which, by the way, was second year.”

lily laughs softly. “second year, james? don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

“oh, not at all,” james replies with a flirty expression. “i’d know that look anywhere—it’s exactly how i used to look at you.”

you and harry exchange an exasperated look. “so… none of you are upset?” you ask, bewildered.

remus grins, nudging you both toward the table. “not at all. in fact, this is excellent news because now i can finally use your time together as leverage for chores.”

lily laughs, patting your shoulder with a wink. “honestly, we were all just waiting to see how long you’d last before one of you cracked.”

sirius, meanwhile, is dramatically clutching his chest. “i was holding out for the christmas confession! so many prime opportunities wasted! i could have retired on those winnings!”

“oh, get over it,” james says with a slap on his back. “we all saw it coming from a kilometer away.”

and as you and harry sit there, faces hot with embarrassment and disbelief, the rest of them toast to the “official family binding,” clinking glasses and laughing like this is the best entertainment they’ve had in years.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎplease refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[ghostedgwen]

marauders band au, hear me out: established relationship with Remus - he writes her a song they were first dating (band is not that known yet) then fast forward to years later (band is now famous), he uses same song when proposing to reader

fade to nothing | r.lupin

note : FINALLY! omg Gabi ilysm I wanna keep writing for band au marauders after indulging in this one holyyy, thank you thank you for this amazing request! I had the best time writing 4.8k words of this absolutely amazing plot

warnings : some angst and falling out, breakups, situationships almost, fame and all the angst that comes with it, angst with comfort, hurting and healing, a happy ending

You were there from the beginning and Remus happened to lose sight of you and everything that mattered when fame came and the songs played louder, but surely if the love is strong you can fix what isn't entirely broken?

You find him backstage after the set, crouched on a flight case, tuning the same string on his guitar for the third time. The venue's still buzzing behind the curtain - voices raised, laughter echoing, cheap beer sloshing in plastic cups - but Remus looks like he’s somewhere else entirely.

He doesn’t look up when you call his name, so you try again, a little softer this time. "Remus."

His head lifts, slow, like he’s wading through a fog, and when he sees you, the line of his shoulders eases just slightly. "Hey."

You sit beside him. The flight case creaks under your weight, and he shifts his guitar to make room. The body of it knocks gently against your knee. You let the silence settle between you. It’s familiar by now - actually comfortable, in that uncertain, almost-there kind of way.

The set had gone well, you thought. Not perfect - James missed a cue in the second verse of their opening number, and Sirius got too excited with his distortion pedal halfway through the closer. But the crowd had been decent, the applause warm, and no one had stormed off stage or broken anything vital. By the Marauders’ standards, that was a win.

You glance over at him. His hands are still on the strings, but he's not really playing. Just touching, like he needs something steady to keep from drifting.

"You alright?" you ask.

He shrugs. "Yeah. Just tired."

It's not a lie, not exactly. But it's not the whole truth either. You know him well enough by now to hear the things he doesn't say. The tension in his jaw. The way his foot taps against the floor, subtle and uneven.

You nudge his arm gently. "You were good tonight. The new bridge on ‘Smoke Signals’ worked. People liked it."

He exhales a soft laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "You think?"

"I know."

Another beat of quiet. Then, with a sort of resigned breath, he sets the guitar aside and runs a hand through his hair. "I, uh... I have something. If you want to hear it."

Your eyebrows lift. "Something?"

He nods toward his worn-out rucksack, half-zipped and slouched against the wall. "It’s not finished. Just a rough demo. I haven’t even played it for the others yet."

You wait, unsure.

Remus has always been the most reserved of the four. James is bold and loud, Sirius even louder, and Peter - well, Peter tries. But Remus hangs back, watching, writing, always half somewhere else. His songs come out of nowhere sometimes, all tension and feeling and quiet devastation.

And he never shares them unless they matter. So when he pulls a battered cassette recorder from the bag, your heart skips.

He presses play before you can say anything. Just static, then the soft scrape of fingers on strings.

It starts tentative. A delicate picking pattern that feels like it could fall apart any second. His voice enters like he’s afraid to hear it back - low, fragile, like something said in the dark.

You walked in like a whisper / I wasn’t ready to be seen / In a room full of noise and flash and smoke / You looked right through the screen.

You blink.

The song is quiet and quite simple. But it holds a weight you feel inyour chest.

I’ve been running half a lifetime / Hiding all the parts I hate / You didn’t ask for pieces / But you stayed, anyway.

He doesn’t look at you while it plays. He stares at the floor, hands in his lap, thumb twitching.

The song winds through verses that feel like journal entries, private and unpolished. There’s a moment in the middle where the guitar falters, like he nearly lost the thread. But then he finds it again, voice steadier.

So if I fall apart tomorrow / And I can't find my way through / Just know there was one clear moment / When everything felt true.

And then the refrain, soft like a promise:

I think I found something real / In the middle of the noise / In the quiet after the soundcheck / In the tremble of your voice.

When it ends, the silence feels heavier than the music.

You don’t say anything at first, and neither does he.

It’s like something raw hangs in the air, and touching it might make it vanish. You could almost feel your heart melt out of your chest and spill to the floor.

He clears his throat. "It’s not done. Still needs work."

You shake your head. "Remus."

He glances at you, eyes guarded.

"That was..."

But you don’t have the word. Stunning? Moving? 

He waits. "You wrote that? For me?"

His mouth quirks, nervous. "Yeah. I mean. I didn’t know if I should. Or if it was weird. But I couldn’t stop thinking about... that night after Camden. When we walked back to the station. And you said you didn’t know what we were, but you didn’t want to stop finding out."

You remember it was raining. You shared an umbrella, not hands. You both pretended it wasn’t a moment. You look at him now, the real him, sitting there with his heart practically in your hands. And it hits you how rare this is. How brave.

"It’s beautiful," you say. "And it’s not weird. It’s... it means a lot."

He heaves a sigh, it was long and relieved.

"I’m not great at saying things straight," he murmurs. "But I meant all of it. I think you know that."

You do. Which is probably what makes this so much more magical, because you understood him so well like he was made for you to decipher, a poem just for you to get.

You reach over, lacing your fingers with his. His palm is calloused from strings and stress. He grips you gently.

"So what are we, then?" you ask.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at your joined hands like they might vanish if he breathes too hard. Then: "We’re figuring it out. Together."

It’s not a love song, not really quite there yet, but it’s something real. And in the backstage quiet, long after the music fades, it feels like a beginning.

The nights blur together. A haze of rehearsals, takeout containers littering the floor, cheap beer, and the low hum of amps that never fully shut off. Sometimes you're there with them in the thick of it - perched on the arm of a threadbare sofa while Sirius knocks over mic stands and James tunes his guitar by ear, stubborn and sharp. Other times you're in the background, notebook in hand, watching Remus quietly untangle melodies the way other people breathe.

Your role in The Marauders was more behind the scenes than on-stage with them. You helped get their name around, found gigs for them and even helped get them together at times. You were almost the anchor that held the band together, without them even declaring it, they knew. So did you.

Your relationship with him unfolds not in declarations, but in passing touches, exchanged glances, the brush of his shoulder against yours when he walks past in a narrow hallway. It isn't defined, not in the way others might need it to be. But you know the shape of it, and so does he.

Sometimes you sleep tangled in his sheets, half-covered in lyrics scribbled on the backs of setlists. Sometimes you fall asleep to the scratch of his pen, the low murmur of him humming a chorus to himself. There are no promises made, just moments. But they were more than enough.

The Marauders are starting to pick up steam.

Small shows turn into bigger ones. The crowds are still half friends and drunk uni students, but there’s talk now. About their sound, about the way James can work a room. About Sirius, magnetic and manic on lead guitar, playing like his life depends on it. Peter holds it together more than he doesn’t. And Remus - Remus writes like he's bleeding onto paper.

You catch Remus late one night, alone in the tiny kitchen of the shared flat the band uses as a crash pad. He’s nursing a cup of tea that’s gone cold, staring at the yellowing wallpaper like it just told him a secret only he can unfold.

You lean on the doorway. "You okay?"

He startles. Then gives a tired smile. "Didn’t hear you."

You cross the room, brush your fingers over the back of his neck. He leans into the touch without thinking. "You're in your head again," you murmur.

He shrugs. "Just thinking."

"About?"

He hesitates. Then, "About what happens if this actually works. If we make it."

You frown. "Isn't that the goal?"

He nods, but there's something unreadable in his eyes. "Yeah. But you don’t get to stay invisible when it happens. People look closer at everything."

You know what he means. About the scars that don’t fade, the nights he still wakes up clawing at himself. About the part of him he’s always tried to keep hidden beneath dry wit and harmonies.

You slide into the chair next to him. "You’ve never been invisible. Not to me."

He looks down, smile faint. "I know."

You rest your head on his shoulder. "Then what are you scared of?"

He doesn’t answer right away. Then, quietly: "That I’m not built for this. That if they see too much, they’ll leave."

You sit with that for a while, letting the softness of the silence wrap around you two. Then, just as softly, "They won't. Not if they have any sense."

He huffs a laugh. "You always think the best of me."

"I know the best of you."

He kisses your temple and whispers a thank you he probably doesn’t think you hear. But you do, you just smile through it as you knew he never needed to thank you.

A week later, you catch him slipping the demo cassette you remember into his pocket before rehearsal.

You arch a brow. "Finally going to share it?"

He looks caught. Then shrugs. "Maybe."

You grin. "Do it. You know it’s good."

He gives you a look like you’ve just dared him to jump into fire. Still, that night at the studio (more like the Potters’ spare room they never use), when the rest of the band is messing around with ideas for their next set, Remus clears his throat.

"Got something new. If you want to hear it."

Sirius pauses mid-riff, James turns down his amp, and eter puts down his half-eaten sandwich. Remus slides the tape into the player. Hits play and your song - his song, your song - fills the room.

No one speaks until it's over.

James is the first to break the silence. "Shit. That’s... damn."

"That chorus," Peter breathes. "It got me, mate."

Sirius whistles low. "Didn’t know you had that in you."

Remus looks stunned. Maybe a little terrified, but he nods. You catch his eye, and then you smile. It felt good to be someone’s muse, to have art made just for you that you knew would mean so much to you than anyone else could possibly understand.

Later, when you’re walking home under the quiet sky, his fingers brush yours.

"Thanks," he says.

"For what?"

"Pushing me."

You squeeze his hand. "Any time."

It starts small, that song. Tucked into the middle of a chaotic setlist. But people start to notice, and even ask about it. The quiet one, they say. The unusually quiet and comforting love song that was a nice surprise to end their sets on.

Remus hears that and flushes pink. You hear it and just smile, it was always your job to talk to people while the band either prepared to start or to leave. Remus always claimed you had a way with people and perhaps he was right.

You often find yourself chatting with the audience as they enjoy the show the band put on. They’d ask you about the band, about the members and you’d entertain them all. You even got the boys gigs as you made your rounds through the night.

James swears you are the best addition to the band, without actually being in it. He would go as far as to sar you are also a Marauder, as much as they are and you’d laugh, heart swelling with joy.

You were the one who sent the emails, made the calls, chased the bookings. You built their early buzz from scratch - wrote press blurbs at midnight, talked your way into indie zines, begged that one radio host to give them a spin. You did it because you believed in them. Because you believed in him.

And it worked.

One day, the email came. A scout from a mid-size label. He’d caught a set at one of the East End dives and saw something. A few meetings later, they had a deal.

Everything shifted after that.

More shows. Bigger venues. Studio time, and even interviews. The rush of something real, finally. You should’ve been thrilled. Part of you was. But the rest - the rest started to feel like a background player in a story you used to help write.

The label brought in producers. Real ones, with real opinions.

They listened to the demo, the song. Your song.

Then they tore it apart. “We need more drive.” / “Strip it down, rebuild it with a cleaner hook.” / “This bridge isn’t radio-friendly.”

Remus was quiet during the meetings. Didn’t fight them, not really. You tried. Brought up the emotion. The intimacy, claiming it was the point and tried to plead your case that the audiences back in their smaller gigs loved it.

One of the execs waved you off. “It’s got potential. But the personal angle - it doesn’t scale.”

You could see it on Remus’ face. The way his shoulders hunched in. The way he stopped meeting your eyes, and then the new version hit the speakers. Louder and way shinier. But hollow.

You didn’t say anything. Not then.

Tour started two weeks later.

You were there at first. Helping with the logistics. Keeping things steady. But there were new people now - tour managers, stylists, publicists. The chaos turned professional. Your place among the crew grew uncertain. No one asked you to leave but no one asked you to stay, either.

Remus was always moving. Always being pulled to the next thing. Photoshoots, interviews, soundchecks.

He kissed you when he could. Touched your hand when he passed. But the quiet space you’d shared - those slow nights and whispered mornings - vanished under flashing lights and back-to-back obligations.

The night of the London gig, it all boiled over.

They played the reworked version. The crowd loved it. Cheered like mad. You stood in the wings, watching Remus smile, watching him hold the mic like he was born for it. And all you could think about was the first time he played it for you, nervous and raw and perfect.

Backstage was a blur of congratulations. Champagne flowed in celebration. Flashes from press cameras. Laughter was overlapping as the cheers and applause echoed in the background.

You waited until the others filtered out before catching him in the hallway, breathless and golden with adrenaline. “You didn’t even look at me during the set,” you said.

He blinked. “What?”

“The song. It used to be ours.”

His smile faded. “Don’t do this now.”

“Why not? Because we’re backstage at a real venue, and you’ve got an image to keep?”

“That’s not fair.”

“No? Because I fought for you. For all of this. I believed in that song when no one else did.”

He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “And now it’s out there. Isn’t that what matters?”

You stared at him. “You didn’t write it to be out there. You wrote it for me.”

It was deafening silence after that. You could feel the cracks appear in the glass then, how the quiet settled between you to make you realize of the distance that had been there. He didn’t deny it, but he didn’t step closer either.

You nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You walked away before he could answer, and for the first time since this all began, he didn’t follow.

Tour season continued with a vengeance. Venues booked back-to-back. Interviews, press junkets, photo ops. The Marauders were no longer the scrappy underdogs playing pub basements. They were headliners, and it was loud, so loud it drowned out everything else.

You made your choice before the second leg kicked off. You weren’t going to follow this time. Not because you didn’t care. But because somewhere along the line, you’d forgotten how to care for yourself.

You took the foundation you’d built - the networking, the hustle, the branding knowledge - and pivoted. Found work consulting for other rising acts. Wrote press copy, coached new managers, ran social strategy. You had your own projects now. Your own calendar. Your own name in someone else’s liner notes.

But some nights, you still kept tabs. You’d see grainy photos in tabloids. Headlines swirling with speculation.

Remus Lupin spotted leaving afterparty with model—sources say they’re close. 

Band tension? Lupin’s emotional ballad scrapped from upcoming single release.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you knew him better than some column in a glossy rag. Still, it stung. He never reached out. Neither did you, and the rift between is ever growing.

You got the call on a Thursday, you had been buried deep in some paperwork for another small band you’d found playing at the pub where you used to watch the boys play. You answered without thinking much of it.

Sirius, voice clipped and shaken. "It’s Remus. He collapsed after soundcheck in Amsterdam. Exhaustion, they think. Maybe an infection. He’s asking for you."

You were on a plane within hours.

The hotel suite was quiet when you arrived. Dim. Sirius nodded at you in the hallway, eyes rimmed red. James gave you a tight hug. Peter, leaning in a chair near the wall,greeted you with a small smile, but murmured a low, “He’s down the hall.”

You found him in bed. Pale and almost flushed from the fever. The IV line taped to the inside of his elbow looked wrong. Out of place. You stood in the doorway for a long time before he opened his eyes.

"You came," he said, voice dry and cracking.

You sat beside him. “Of course I did.”

He stared at you, too tired to pretend. “I fucked everything up.”

You brushed sweaty hair off his forehead. “You ran too fast, too hard. Doesn’t mean it’s over.”

He closed his eyes. “It felt easier when you were around.”

That confession broke something between you, like a glass wall that you’d both build around each other. Too stubborn to bring it down and yet you can see each other through so clearly. Your hand stilled at his words.

“I needed space, Remus.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I just didn’t know how to keep going without making it worse.”

You watched him breathe. His breaths came in slowly and they were shallow.

“I read the articles,” you said finally.

He opened his eyes again. “They weren’t true.”

You nodded. “I figured.”

“I missed you,” he said. “Not just at gigs. All the time. In the quiet moments when I had no idea what the hell I was doing.”

“You didn’t call.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

The space between you was heavy. But not empty. He shifted, wincing as he reached for his bag beside the bed. From the front pocket, he pulled out an old, battered cassette. The label was peeling. Your handwriting still faintly visible.

“I kept it,” he said. “Even when they made me change it. I couldn’t throw this one away.”

He reached across to the small player on the side table, you watched him through his struggle knowing he wouldn’t want help. You swallowed thickly as he pressed play.

That same raw demo from all those nights ago filled the room. Slightly warped now with age. But still clear. Still beautiful.

Still yours.

You listened in silence, your eyes were glossy but tears didn’t actually form. When it ended, he looked at you.

“I never stopped meaning it,” he said.

You reached for his hand.

“I know.”

It didn’t fix everything. But it softened the break.

Sometimes, that’s the first step back.

Post-tour life moved slower. The kind of quiet that felt almost foreign.

Remus came back to London two weeks after they all finished the last two remaining cities from the tour. You opted out of accompanying him, you still had work back home. You met him at the airport, holding a homemade sign that said Marauder Down: Emergency Recovery in Progress. He laughed, tired and soft, and leaned into you like he remembered how to breathe.

You weren’t together again. Not officially but you were… something. Enough to share Sunday mornings and late-night tea. Enough to talk without something heavy hanging in the air for the first time in months.

You sat on the floor of your flat one evening, records scattered around you both.

“I don’t know if I want all of it,” he said, finger fidgeting the sleeve of a Bowie LP. “The touring. The cameras. The curated answers.”

“You don’t have to take it all,” you said. “Just take the parts you want.”

He looked at you then, eyes clearer than you’d seen in ages. “And what if the part I want the most is sitting right in front of me?”

You didn’t answer. You just reached for his hand.

He started spending more time in the small spare room of your flat, hunched over a borrowed acoustic guitar. Said he was just noodling. Said it wasn’t important, but you heard the chords through the wall. The same gentle cadence. The same fragile beginnings.

You didn’t push.

Meanwhile, James invited you to dinner - just you. Which was odd enough to be suspicious. You and James were close as much as you were close with the other boys from the band but you were never out alone with just one of them.

Other than your thing with Remus, you were pretty much a whole group.

“They’re planning something,” he said between mouthfuls of curry. “The next album. It's going to be different.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“Less polish, more truth. Remus is writing again.”

You tried not to let your heart leap.

“But he’s hiding something,” James added. “He’s cagey. Won’t show anyone the arrangement he’s working on. Not even Sirius. That’s when I know it’s serious.”

You smiled, just a little. “I might have an idea.”

The invitation to the televised performance came two months later. BBC special. A full set, plus an interview. Their first major appearance post-tour. By now they have about two to three songs in the top 10 charting and blasting on radio stations.

Remus was quiet the whole afternoon before. Not anxious, just… internal. Backstage was a blur. Techs running lines, makeup touch-ups, nerves buzzing like power lines.

Then it was lights, camera, cue. The band opened strong. A new track. A crowd-pleaser. Sirius was electric, James radiating joy. Peter was somewhat cool and poised. Remus… centered. Like he’d found something he thought was lost.

Then came the last song. He stepped up to the mic alone, guitar slung across his chest.

“This next one’s an old one,” he said, voice steady. “Most of you haven’t heard it like this. Not the way it was meant to be.”

The lights dimmed. Just a single spotlight on him, it felt like the world had slowed down as you heard those first few strum on the delicate guitar strings.

He played the original. Your song. Unchanged, untouched, like that first night he ever let you hear it. When it was quieter, when you were both unsure and the world wasn’t yet looking. 

You felt yourself choke up, hearing that song again like it was a promise being remembered. You couldn’t help the tears from flowing out of you. When the final chord faded, he let the silence sit.

“I wrote this before any of this,” he said, gesturing around the stage. “Back when we were barely getting gigs and figuring out who we were.”

You could almost throw up from the anticipation.

“And I never would’ve kept going if it weren’t for one person. Someone who believed in me when I didn’t. When I couldn’t. Everything I’ve become, everything this band has achieved - it started with her.”

The camera cut to you in the front row. You felt your heart stutter. Remus stepped forward.

“I used to think love had to be earned. That I had to prove I was worth the risk. But she never asked me to be anything other than myself. She just stayed. And helped me find the way back.”

He reached into his pocket, time that was slowing completely stopped. A ring, you could see the stone on it glisten from where the spotlight shining on Remus hit it.

“Come up here,” he said.

Your legs moved before your mind caught up. The stage felt impossibly bright. The crowd quieted. You could hear your pulse as some of the stage crew guided you up, their smiles so wide at you.

When you reached him, he took your hand.

“I don’t need the spotlight. I just need you. Always have.”

You blinked back the blur in your vision. “I’m not asking for perfect. Just for forever. Will you?”

You didn’t even let him finish. You kissed him first. The crowd erupted. It was almost uncharacteristic for someone as reserved as Remus to propose so publicly, but you could see the reason behind it.

He had spent some time too deep in his own head to truly appreciate you, what you meant to him and you both wasted time pretending like you mattered less to one another. With this big, grand declaration of his love, he will silence everything else.

All the doubt, all the whispers. He will close all the distance that had been in between.

Later, offstage, as the noise of the moment faded and the two of you curled into each other in the green room, he whispered: “I kept the song for you.”

You kissed his jaw. “I know.”

It was a beginning. A beautiful one, despite everything it took to get there. He had grown into this person that was no longer the Remus you first knew but you have changed as well, you both have.

Now the rest of your lives will be spent getting to know the new versions of yourselves.

The venue buzzed with the final echoes of the crowd, lights slowly dimming as roadies hustled to pack up gear. You stood just behind the curtain, swaying slightly as the adrenaline of the set faded. Remus walked offstage, guitar still slung over his shoulder, shirt damp with sweat and a wild, boyish grin tugging at his mouth. His eyes found you immediately.

“There’s my girls,” he said, kissing your temple first, then brushing his lips over your daughter’s forehead. “How are my girls?”

He looks at your daughter, all curls and oversized headphones, sat on your hip - wide-eyed and sleepy. “Tired,” you answered with a soft laugh, shifting your daughter to your other hip. “But we loved the show.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, me more than her.”

Behind him, Sirius bounded over and swooped your daughter into his arms dramatically, practically stealing her from you. “There’s my favourite groupie!” he declared, spinning her gently while she squealed.

James wasn’t far behind, ruffling her hair and pulling a face that made her giggle again. “You know, I think we’re the reason she has such great taste in music,” he said to you with mock seriousness.

“You’re the reason she knows how to headbang,” you quipped back, rolling your eyes fondly.

Peter approached a moment later, slightly out of breath from the encore. “Hey,” he greeted you warmly. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“I always do.”

He smiled. “Wish you could keep touring with us.”

“I’d love to,” you said honestly, “but I’m not hauling a three-year-old from city to city every other week.”

Remus laughed and nodded, wrapping an arm around your waist. “She’s got a point. I miss having you out here every night, but this one needs a consistent bedtime.”

“She’s got better tour stamina than you did at twenty,” Peter joked, nudging Remus.

Remus mock-glared. “Yeah, well, she doesn’t drink whiskey like water.”

Your daughter yawned against Remus’ shoulder now, tiny arms curling around his neck. The chaos of the crew and lights blurred around the six of you, like white noise under a melody that only the band - your makeshift family - could hear.

end. masterlist

[itsonlyjoseph]

Port Valley | Bucky Barnes x Reader - Chapter 2

Synopsis: Winnie forces James to walk you home, leading you to the realisation that you might like him...

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.1k

.

.

.

On Monday morning, you’d gotten yourself as presentable as you’d cared to. You had some concealer under your eyes and a little Clinique black honey on your lips. With your hair tied up in a loose bun at the nape of your neck, you decided it’d be good enough. Your eyes were still slightly red from all the crying you'd been doing this past week.

The walk to the bookstore only took about 5 minutes, considering the size of the town but it was a brisk morning. You’d be happy to get inside.

The bookstore was empty when you arrived, and still cold. It was clear the heating had only just been turned on if at all.

“Winnie?” You called out. You seemed to be the only person in the store. You put your bag down and took off your coat, leaving you in just your sweater. The skintight fabric prevented any cold air from sneaking in to kiss your skin.

Winnie was no where to be found when you’d looked through the aisles and called out a few more times. You had no idea what you were meant to be doing. You'd never had a job like this before.

The doorbell chimed, and you quickly raced around to greet who you thought would be Winnie, but were instead met with James, Winnie’s son.

“Winnie is that- oh, hi.” You mumbled, your voice getting softer when you realised you weren’t talking to Winnie.

“Hi.”

There was an awkward silence that filled the air.

“Uh- is there-“

“Do you know where-“

You’d both tried to speak at the same time.

“Sorry, you go.” You offered.

James didn’t seem to be able to hold eye contact for very long, often looking at the ground or anywhere else. But he wasn’t nervous. You could tell that much. He seemed to be either completely emotionless or very stoic. Either way it was… daunting.

“Uh, is Ma- uh, i mean Winnie here?” He asked.

“Uh, I don’t think so. I actually thought it was her coming through the door.”

“Okay.. bye.” He muttered and turned towards the door. You didn’t really say anything else before it left. It was a strange interaction but what you'd taken away from it was that he probably wasn't a fan of you.

****

James had wondered up to the book store, looking for his mother to fix the radiator in the shop. She’d complained that it was broken and that the shop was always cold so he said he’d fix for her.

But of course, in true Winnie style, she wasn’t in the shop when he turned up at the time she told him to. You were. He should’ve known that this was a ploy by his well meaning, if not overbearing, mother.

Sure, you were pretty and whatever but he wasn’t looking for anything. He was set in his ways and he didn’t think that was going to change. Plus, he didn't think any woman would want to be with him once all the baggage revealed itself.

He didn’t think you’d be interested in anything either. After all, he knew all about your rough breakup. Winnie blabbed to him about it every chance she got. Not in a gossipy way, but in a “hint hint nudge nudge” kind of way.

Bucky opened the door to his truck and hopped inside, pulling out his phone to text his mom.

Very clever but it won’t work

It took a few second before Winnie texted him back.

Oh the radiator! I forgot! :)

Bucky grumbled, putting his phone back into his pocket and driving off towards the lumberyard.

****

About 5 minutes after James had left, Winnie walked back through the door with two coffees, a bag of donuts and a wide smile.

“Hi dear! I got us coffee for your first day!”

“Oh, thank you, Winnie.” I smiled softly, taking the cup from her.

“My pleasure. Did James drop by?” She asked. She wasn’t even trying to be subtle. But you didn’t really pick up on it.

“Uh, yeah. He just left though.”

“Oh, did he say much?” She pressed.

“Not really. Not really at all.”

“He means well.”

You didn’t say anything to that, just sort of raised your eyebrows in a yeah, I’m sure kind of way.

“He’s always been quiet. Even with me. Even with his friends. He’s been a bit more moody though, since he came from Afghanistan.”

Your eyes flitted up to Winnie’s back as she worked around the shop, still talking.

“He’s a soldier?” You asked without really thinking.

“He was. Not anymore. But that’s okay, because he’s safe now.”

“I guess that’s why he’s so… big.. strong, I mean- I.. I've noticed that.. never mind.” You stammered out, embarrassing yourself. But Winnie didn’t seem to mind, smiling at your flushed face.

The day moved quickly after that. Winnie took you through the shelves and the filing system and talked you through ordering and delivering. Basically everything you needed to know.

Before you knew it, it was 5 o’clock and the sun had almost set, signally home time.

****

After a particularly gruelling shift at the lumberyard, Bucky wanted nothing more than to go home, have a shower and collapse onto his bed. He had splinters in his hands and a dull ache in his neck.

It was almost 8pm and the rest of the guys were heading to the break room to collect their belongings, chatting away amongst each other. Bucky was almost never involved in the chatter. It didn’t mind though, they were his friends, he just never had anything to contribute.

“Hey Buck, what do you say we go for a couple beers?” Sam asked as Bucky slung his pack over his shoulder.

“Nah, another time.” He mumbled.

“No, no. Not another time. This time. Come on, Steve’s driving!” Sam chuckled.

That’s how Bucky found himself sitting in a booth at the pub, surrounded by his work buddies. He’d lost the jacket and the hat, now just sporting his tight red shirt and long hair tucked behind his ears.

“Hey Bucky, who’s that fine little thing that hangs around your mom lately?” Steve asked after a lull.

Bucky’s eyes slowly came up to meet Steve’s and saw the rest of the guys looking at him with smirks.

“Yeah! Haven’t seen her around before.” Sam cut in, taking a sip of his beer.

“Uh, Y/N, I think. Works with ma now.”

“Y/N.” The guys mused in unison.

Bucky felt a little uncomfortable now that the conversation had turned to you. He knew that the guys only brought you up because of the way you looked but it made him think about his mother insistent pestering.

“Lucky man, Buck! Gettin' to be around all that.” John said slyly.

“I’m not really around her much.” James said, pulling his eyebrows together.

“Hmm, then you won’t mind if I have a crack?” John smirked.

“Knock yourself out.” Bucky said gruffly, taking a small gulp of his whiskey.

“Oh come on, John doesn’t stand a chance with a girl like that.” Sam started cackling.

“I’m not looking to marry her, just fuck her a few times. See what she’s got under the hood.” John shrugged.

Bucky loved his friends, he really did, but something he didn’t necessarily like was the way they spoke about women. Like they were stuck in the 50s.

Bucky rolled his eyes at John.

“Well, good luck!” Steve said sarcastically, making the rest of the guys laugh at John. Besides Bucky of course.

“Another round, boys?” Nat’s voice called out as she walked up them, rag over her shoulder.

“Please.” Sam smiled up at her.

Nat came back with four beers on her tray a few moments later.

“Nat, have you met Y/N yet?” John asked, sipping his new beer.

“The woman that works with Buck’s mom? Nah, why?”

“John thinks he can fuck her.” Sam mused.

“Oh please, John couldn’t fuck her even if he paid her.” Steve chipped.

“Can we not?” Bucky grumbled.

“Sorry, Buck. Didn’t realise you cared so much.” Steve poked.

Bucky just glared at his friend. He knew he didn’t care, he just preferred to keep the conversations about women respectful. His mom taught him well.

“Maybe I’ll go introduce myself to her. Make buddy buddy and tell her to steer clear of John Walker.” Nat joked, which garnered laughs from Sam and Steve.

The night was finally winding down, much to Bucky’s delight, as he made his way to his truck. The snow was lightly falling around him as he found himself thinking about you.

He hoped that if John did try to make a move on you, you’d shoot him down. Not because he was jealous or anything, but because he knew that John was a pig when it came to women and he knew that you didn’t need that right now.

****

It was almost 9pm on the quiet Thursday. The patrons became less and less frequent as the hours wore on and the snow came down harder.

“Okay, I’ve unloaded that order of Destiny’s Desire and put it on the website as well. Is there anything else you need from me, Winnie?” You asked her. It’s been close to one week working with her and two weeks in Port Valley. You did have to admit, the sleepiness of the town was starting to grow on you.

“You can take off, Y/N. I’ll stay back for a bit.” She smiled.

“Okay, I better call my dad. I still don’t have a car here.” You said, reaching for your phone.

“Oh, that’s okay! No need to bother him. James can walk you back! He should be hear in a minute”

“Oh he doesn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense, I won’t let you walk alone in the dark!” She mused.

And then almost like clockwork, James came through the door. You could tell by the look on his face that he thought you would have already left by now, his demeanour immediately turning shy.

“Speak of devil! James, honey, walk Y/N home please.” Winnie smiled.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he stared daggers at his mother.

“Oh, no, Its okay, really-“ You started.

“It’s dark, Y/N.” Winnie said.

You felt a little awkward, making James walk you back without a say.

“It’s fine, I’ll walk you.” You heard James mutter, already turning towards the door. His voice was once again as gruff as the last time you'd heard him talk. He didn't particularly want to walk you home but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep if he knew you walked alone in the dark. He also would never live it down with his mom.

You turned to see Winnie already holding your bag and coat out to you.

“Thanks.” You mumbled to her.

“My pleasure, see you tomorrow!”

The walk started out very awkward. Neither of you said a word and the tension could be cut with a knife but you couldn’t work out why.

You been here in Port Valley for almost two weeks and yet you’d barely spoken more than a few words to James.

“So...” you started.

“So…” you matched your tone, just several octaves deeper. You were both looking forward as you walked side by side.

“What do you do for work, James?” Yikes, here comes the small talk. Your nose scrunched up at the cringey question.

“I work at the lumberyard.”

“Wow, you must be pretty strong.”

“I guess so…” He said with furrowed brows, not looking at her.

God he was bad at this. But honestly, you weren’t much better right now.

“Your mom’s been very nice to me. She’s a great woman.”

“Yeah.”

“She actually reminds me of my mom, sometimes.”

Your comment made Bucky glance over at you, his face still hard.

“Sorry, about that.”

“It’s okay.“ you smiled over at him and found him already looking at you.

Before your little moment could even turn into any type of anything, you’d arrive at the steps of your dad’s house.

“Thanks for walking me back, James. I feel bad that you have to walk back to the store by yourself now.”

“It’s fine.” He said, arms stiff by his side.

“Thanks, though.” You managed out a little smile.

He squeezed one out himself which surprised you. It was an awkward, tight lipped, no teeth smile that didn’t really reach his eyes but it was still a smile. Especially for him.

You took a moment to look at him before retreating inside your dad’s house. James was handsome. Very handsome. You’d noticed it the first time you saw him at Winnie’s store last week. He was handsome in a burly, manly hallmark movie kind of way and he had the brightest, bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

It made you gulp.

You got inside and leant up against the closed front door, taking a deep breath, before sliding down to the floor.

“Uh, oh..”

[leaping-toadstool-caps]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

A/N: Just a lil piece I wrote AGES ago and I figured because it's getting close to the end of winter I'd post it :D

"No, no, I'm sure that Alyn was staying anyway. Anna definitely is, but I'm sure Alyn was too-"

"Students, may I have your attention please?"

James sat up quickly as Professor Weasley's voice rung through the Great Hall. He, Poppy, Alvin, Tori and Theo were digging into breakfast quickly so they could have some time in the snow before classes started.

"Fortunately, Headmaster Black has granted me permission to make this announcement." Professor Weasley continued. "For fear of pupils being unable to concentrate in lesson due to the cold weather, all classes will be postponed for all students for these last two days before the Christmas break. Do be careful out there, it is rather icy and we wouldn't want any students going home with broken bones."

The entire Hall erupted in a loud cheer. Tori whooped, punching James' shoulder.

"Snow day!" Poppy cheered, and Tori kissed her cheek.

"As usual, the quidditch pitch is open despite games being cancelled, if students so wish they may indulge in snow activities. However I must ask that you all please do use your wits and do not perform any stunts that I would class as dangerous."

"Alvin! Theo!" Matty rushed towards the Hufflepuff table looking flushed and excited. "Mum just gave me permission to stay in Hogwarts for Christmas break!"

"Yes!" James gave an excited air punch. "That's almost all of us, minus Cassie, Damien, ermm, Val, I think? Oscar's staying, I have no clue about Freddie, I think we're also missing a confirmed answer from Luci and Alyn. All we have to do is convince a few more adults and then we'll have the BEST Hogwarts Christmas ever!"

"Cassie's staying here." Alvin said quietly as Matty sat beside him. "Trouble at home." James gave Alvin's shoulder a squeeze to try and comfort him.

"Anyone got any news on Freddie?" Tori asked.

"His dad still refused to let him stay, but Freddie said he wouldn't get on that train home if his life depended on it." Jo said as she joined the conversation, sitting herself down. "I do hope he isn't punished for it. You know what his dad's like."

The rest of the group filed in. Val was grinning when she sat down, and she placed a sheet of parchment on the table.

"Professor Hecat herself wrote my parents a letter explaining why I have to stay. I have no clue what the letter says, but Hecat must've been persuasive because my mother let me stay in Hogwarts!"

Everyone cheered, and Matty hugged Val tight.

"Damien! Any news?" Luci asked with a smile.

"I'm allowed to stay" Damien said with a slight flush, though he didn't elaborate.

"Oh good! I had hoped so after-" Ellie cut off as Damien shot her a subtle death stare.

"What about Roan?" Damien asked quickly.

Roan raised a hand. "Easier for me to stay here, anyway"

"Gah, where the heck is Alyn?"

Jo replied, "I'm sure she woke up early, she wasn't in the dorm this morning"

"Alyn said she was gonna miss breakfast. Had something to take care of in the library. But I'm pretty sure she's staying" Luci furrowed her eyebrows.

Val nudged her, "d'ya think she's with-"

Luci quickly shushed her.

"I'm assuming Alex is staying if Alvin is" Val said casually. Cassie immediately perked up, sitting up a bit straighter. "What about the other set of twins?"

"Oscar's still checking things off his apology list. He's trying to make up for the damage he caused in fifth year" Cal explained, "Kiel is staying though. Him and Alvin are practicing for Quidditch"

"In this weather?" Jo furrowed her eyebrows. "I do hope they don't catch a flu."

"They'll be okay" James assured her.

"Jamie, where's Ren?" Cassie asked suddenly. Florence raised a hand from his seat at the end of the table. His nose was buried in a book as always, and he had a dark blue shawl wrapped around him, his pale nose pink from the cold.

"Before you ask, yes I'm staying here" Florence said sounding bored. "And yes, I've heard every word of your conversation. Reading doesn't make me deaf."

James grinned, moving to sit next to Ren. He threw his arm around his shoulder, and Ren shrugged him off pretended to ignore him, but everyone was certain the flush on his face was no longer from the cold.

"Is that everyone? Me, Ren, Cassie, the twins, the other twins, Poppy, Tori, Ellie, Luci, Val, Ale, Roan, Cal, Matty, Freddie, the triplets, Damien-"

James paused, eyes widening. "Damien? Is Sebastian staying?"

Damien flushed. "I... I did manage to convince him. I think he is."

James grinned knowingly. "I think that's all of us! Now, let's head outside because I've been itching to get my fingers on that frozen good-ness all morning"

[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?”

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

John the Apostle | What Matters Most | Platonic

Dialogue prompt: "Are you insane?"

Sibling-hood requires tough love, especially when inappropriate questions are asked.

Requested by J Bart

The Thunder Brothers aren’t subtle. At least not to you, their younger sister, who has been familiar with her siblings her entire life. You’ve learnt your way with them, learnt to stand up for yourself in their face, to bite rather than bark. In their teenage years, your brothers were even a little afraid of you from time to time, for the two of them have found out over the years that it is basically impossible to keep a secret from you. 

It’s written all over their faces when you find them stealing glances at one another, non-verbally communicating. You know these looks, these raises of eyebrows and twitching of mouth-corners. Of course you do — it’s the same way you can speak to them without saying a word. As you are walking with Andrew, bag around your shoulder as you had gathered your belongings for the journey up ahead, you clear your throat and quicken your step.

“What are you guys whispering about?” you ask as you force yourself between them.

You never fail to startle them, and whereas you otherwise would have found a sense of pride in the way their shoulders tense at the sudden sound of your voice, you now raise a questioning brow when they slowly turn to face you. 

“Ah, (Y/n), I think that’s none of your concern.” James mutters, unamused with your sudden interruption.

“You know it’s rude to whisper while in company.” 

“You don’t need to know everything.” James replies. 

John nudges him and gives him a look. “We can tell her.” he says, “We can trust you, can’t we?”

“It entirely depends on the contents discussed.” you say with a shrug. “Do I need to set you up with a girl, maybe I can put in a good word. However, if you guys need my help to hide a body, I have no choice but to report you.” 

They give you an annoyed look at your blasé answer. 

“This is a serious matter, (Y/n).” John mutters. 

“Yes, this is about—” James is cut off as John puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“Wait. I’ll tell her.” He halts in his step and turns to Andrew. “You two walk ahead for a bit.” 

Your oldest brother nods and starts walking off, whereas Andrew gives a confused look before joining the older Thunder anyways. Turning to John, you look at him curiously. 

“So… Remember what eema implored us to do during lunch the other day?” John begins, causing your thoughts to drift back to your recent meals together at home. “When she suggested that we ask for our role with Jesus, since Simon has received another name?” You wonder if this is why eema had sent you out earlier than your brothers when Andrew had come to fetch the three of you no longer than an hour ago.

“Oh. You… You are seriously considering that?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. “You guys didn’t think it was… A bit out of place to ask for these places in heaven? Do you think that Jesus actually has favourites?”

“Well, if He does, I want to make sure that James and I are among them. Nothing against you, of course, but you are one of His followers whereas He actually called James and I with the twelve of his Disciples.” 

Your eyes narrow into slits. “Wait. You think this is about you?” 

“What?” John blinks. “Of course not! We just want to make sure that we get the position we need to make all of this work! Besides, we’ve been with Him just as long as Peter has been.”

Letting out a long sigh, you turn away as you slowly start walking towards Andrew and James still waiting for you.

“Look, John, I think this is a horrible idea. I think it’s not your place to just ask such a thing out of the blue. Especially when it is about such an important position. It’s just… Not appropriate, at all.” 

“Psh, you’re just jealous.” 

“Jealous?! Are you insane?!”

“Yes, that we are actually called and you just decided to tag along.” 

You stare at him in disbelief, halting in your tracks with a brow knit together in both confusion and hurt. “I belong here just as much as you do, John. Just because you’re called by name to be one of the twelve doesn’t mean the rest of us are unimportant!” 

“That’s not what this is about—”

“—You know that it is. Isn’t the thing that matters most, that we follow Him and do what He says? Following Jesus’ example and learning from Him? It is all about Him! About God! Not about our own glory!” 

John huffs and grits his teeth. “You know what? Maybe we should just ask Jesus about it Himself, see what He has to say. Because I think that eema has a point!” 

You push your tongue against the inside of your cheek and exhale. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”

“We know what we are doing, (Y/n). Trust me. Trust us.” 

With that, he starts walking towards James and Andrew at a quicker pace, who are waiting for you on the corner of the street. There is tension between you and your older brother as you round it, heading towards the house of your friends.

A strange sight: the former Roman Primi-turned-Praetor exits the house you’re headed towards. Gaius brushes past you, beaming with happiness. You frown a bit as you halt and turn to look after him, wondering what he had been doing in Simon and Eden’s home and what has him in such a good mood. As you turn back again, your brothers have already headed towards Jesus, Who is exiting the home with a bunch of His followers in tow. 

“What happened?” John wants to know. 

“Gaius had faith that Jesus could heal his servant without even coming to his house.” Peter explains.

“We know He can do that.” James replies. 

“But such faith from a Gentile?” John adds. 

Jesus smiles. “Exactly.” 

James and John look at one another, as if quietly contemplating something. That same kind of communication that you are familiar with. It causes your heart to clench inside your chest.

“Let’s do it now. Let’s ask Him.” John nods in agreement. “It will change everything.” 

“Ask what?” Simon Peter wants to know. 

John nods at James, who straightens his back. “Rabbi?” 

“Yes, Big James?”

“Remember when You said that we could ask for anything and it would be given to us?”

John joins in. “Knock, and the door will be opened?”

Jesus frowns, looking at the ground in thought for a moment, His face twisting. “I… Don’t remember that.” 

The Thunder Brothers seem caught off-guard by that statement, suddenly flustered.

“Um… That was the right sermon. I thought eema told me it was the right…” 

Jesus grins. “I’m kidding. I remember, yeah.” 

They both breathe in relief. “Oh, of course. Yeah.” 

“We knew that.” 

Jesus chuckles. 

“Um, well, we have something to ask, and for You to do.” James states. 

“I’m eager to hear it.” 

Jesus gaze alternates between your siblings. “Would you…” John momentarily looks at James for affirmation, who nods at him to go on, “…grant for us… To sit at Your right and Your left hand in Your Kingdom?” 

Time seems to stand still for a moment as your brothers look at Jesus with a hopeful gaze, whilst the Lord Himself lets his gaze go from one to the other, something shimmering in his dark eyes that you’ve rarely seen on Him before. Perhaps that He looks like that from time to time, when nobody else is watching Him. Seeing Jesus like this makes your stomach drop. The tension that grows within the group swells rapidly. You feel your heart clench inside your chest as you observe the Sons of Thunder.

When you were younger, you had this habit that whenever they’d be sitting together, you’d sneak up behind them and slam their skulls together in a firm motion when they’d least expect it. Of course it wasn’t that nice of a move, but you weren’t exactly strong enough to get to them otherwise. After all, they never shied away from pushing you over either. 

Now you’re quite a bit older and thought you had outgrown said urge, but now that they are asking this question in spite of your warning, you have the overwhelming compulsion to do so again, especially now that they stand with their bodies turned away from you, with Jesus looking between them as if they have just asked Him the most insensitive question ever. And in a way, they have, for Jesus appears to grow distressed at their query.

Jesus takes a deep breath, His bottom lip quivering. “You don’t know what you’re asking.” 

A few beats of intense silence fall. Your siblings’ gazes are full of regret as they realise how much they’ve hurt their Messiah with that question. Wordlessly, Jesus walks on between them. Nothing is said as Simon follows Him.

“What? Rabbi…!” John and James rush after Him, the rest of the group soon in tow, including yourself. There is tension in the air as Jesus legs away, causing everyone to hurry after Him. 

“Rabbi, what’s wrong?!” John breathes with worry in his voice, Jesus halting in His step as He sharply turns to the man asking Him the question. 

“Are you able to drink the cup that I would drink, or be baptised with the baptism with which I am baptised?”

“Yes, we are able. We are the Sons of Thunder.” James immediately responds with conviction in his tone.

“We’ll do anything for You.” 

“You don’t even know what that means, either.” Jesus comments, but they still hold on, not reading the room.

“Tell us. We’ll do anything.” James states. 

Jesus swallows hard, then shifts on His feet, breathing in to speak. “It means that when we go to Jerusalem, the Son of Man will be delivered over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn Him to death and they will deliver Him over to the Gentiles. And they will mock Him, and spit on Him, and flog Him, and kill Him. And after three days, He will rise.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest right now. Jesus looks so defeated and sorrowful that it nearly causes your throat to tighten. Your brothers had seriously overstepped and you stand there with second-hand embarrassment.

There is such a line etched into Jesus’ brow that everyone remains quiet for a moment. With his eyebrows knit together, John softly asks: “Who are You talking about?”

“I thought the Son of Man was You.” Matthew says behind you, and you give him a nod that you agree on that.

“And you will drink the cup that I drink, and be baptised with the baptism with which I am baptised. But you do not want that now. You are not ready for it. To sit at My right hand and My left, it is not Mine to grant… But it is for those for whom it has been prepared by My Father.” Jesus points at the sky as He so often does, a powerful gesture whenever He speaks of His Father in heaven. 

“You have no business asking what you did.” Nathanael speaks your thoughts exactly.

“No offence Nathanael, but we were here long before you.”

Judas steps forward, too. “How could you ask it? And in front of all of us.” 

Peter slowly shakes his head. “Now, ruling positions, high seats of honour—”

“—Oh, look who’s talking!”

Your heart sinks as you see Jesus turn away, swallowing hard as you see the defeat in His shoulders. 

“Hey, I didn’t ask for it! He gave it to me!” 

“You don’t even know what ‘the rock’ means!” James counters.

“Stop!” Jesus exclaims, pivoting to the group with a tightened jaw. “All of you have been granted leadership and authority. All of you make up the foundation on which I’ll build My church. But you are thinking like the Gentiles, whose rulers lord their authority over their inferiors. That is not how My Kingdom works. I have told you this before… And you still don’t get it.” 

Suddenly, you are overcome with a sense of guilt, too. Even though you had tried to stop your brothers from asking this question, this is not a one-time incident where people had been bickering about positions within the group and beyond, and you hadn’t seen the full picture, either.

“This has to change, because their way is not how it will be with you. Do you hear Me?”

A few murmurs from the group, positive answers that they had heard the message loud and clear. 

“Whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave. Because even the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve. And to give His life as a ransom for many.” 

The words He speaks do not fully make sense to you. You aren’t the only one who is confused, Simon Peter voicing the same question out loud. “A ransom for who?” 

“Who is being held hostage, Rabbi?” Zee asks in a serious tone. 

Jesus plants His hands on His hips as He steps away, gathering His thoughts, as if none of you have understood it yet. And perhaps that is the exact reason He is upset, because you indeed haven’t. He is spelling it out, word for word, and met with nothing else but either ignorance or protest. Your throat is clawed red with sudden shame. Even though you thought you knew it so much better than your brothers, that you had been so convinced that you had been on the right track with your thinking, you knew next to nothing, as much as they did.

A sniffle. Jesus is trying to keep it together in front of you. As you look upon Him, you suddenly realise how limited your own knowledge is. You had been quick to judge your brothers and your mother for wanting to ask Jesus such a thing, but you were no better. You had to learn a thing about the words you had preached to John, too. To do what mattered most — to actually listen to what He said. To process the words, not just the signs and wonders. To live by them. To trust. It still didn’t make much sense to you. You hoped and prayed you’d learn in time.

“Go.” Jesus whispers after a long silence. “Continue south to Jerusalem.” 

John steps forward. “Rabbi, do You need any—”

“I will catch up.” 

“I can stay with You.” 

“I said, I’ll catch up, Zee.” There is a slight raise in the Messiah’s voice, but He lowers it just as fast.

Jesus is adamant about it. You join the others, glancing at the Messiah upon passing Him by. Your heart clenches at how defeated He looks. Catching up with John and James as Jesus remains behind, you walk in silence for a bit as you prepare for your trip to Jerusalem. The entire group is quiet for some time as you ponder over the words that Jesus had spoken.

“What do you think He meant?” you hear Andrew ask his brother, but Peter knows just as much. You cannot answer it, either. 

“You were right, (Y/n). It wasn’t proper to ask.” John whispers apologetically.

You give a small shake of your head. “I am no better than you guys. I have no idea what Jesus meant and I’m starting to wonder if I’m hard of hearing.” 

John looks at you from the corner of his eye as you walk. “Do you think He’s angry with us?” 

Your shoulders lift and drop again. “I’m not sure. He’s definitely upset, but angry?” 

“Disappointed?” James suggests. It somehow hurts more. At the same time, it sounds more logical. 

“Perhaps.” you sigh. “I think we all should be more humble and pay better attention to what He teaches us. Ask Philip what he knows about the prophecies regarding the Messiah.” 

At the mention of his name, Philip looks over his shoulder, but when you just nod at him while smiling in a friendly way, he returns the gesture and turns back. 

“We hear, but do we listen?” 

“None of us is better than the other, I suppose.” John concludes, “Special name or not.” He glances at Peter, who walks in front of the group. The usual swagger in his step is absent.

“Are you still a bit miffed about that?” you ask with a hint of humour in your voice. John shrugs. 

“Maybe a little.” 

You huff and roll your eyes. 

“As I said. We all have a whole lot to learn. Some more than others— Hey!” 

As John ruffles your hair through your veil, it lightens the mood, and the group of followers set out to Jerusalem, knowing there is much work to be done, both in the city itself and in your own hearts.

[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 think 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 that 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'.

[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 ✨

[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.

[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.

[leaping-toadstool-caps]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

A/N: Just a lil piece I wrote AGES ago and I figured because it's getting close to the end of winter I'd post it :D

"No, no, I'm sure that Alyn was staying anyway. Anna definitely is, but I'm sure Alyn was too-"

"Students, may I have your attention please?"

James sat up quickly as Professor Weasley's voice rung through the Great Hall. He, Poppy, Alvin, Tori and Theo were digging into breakfast quickly so they could have some time in the snow before classes started.

"Fortunately, Headmaster Black has granted me permission to make this announcement." Professor Weasley continued. "For fear of pupils being unable to concentrate in lesson due to the cold weather, all classes will be postponed for all students for these last two days before the Christmas break. Do be careful out there, it is rather icy and we wouldn't want any students going home with broken bones."

The entire Hall erupted in a loud cheer. Tori whooped, punching James' shoulder.

"Snow day!" Poppy cheered, and Tori kissed her cheek.

"As usual, the quidditch pitch is open despite games being cancelled, if students so wish they may indulge in snow activities. However I must ask that you all please do use your wits and do not perform any stunts that I would class as dangerous."

"Alvin! Theo!" Matty rushed towards the Hufflepuff table looking flushed and excited. "Mum just gave me permission to stay in Hogwarts for Christmas break!"

"Yes!" James gave an excited air punch. "That's almost all of us, minus Cassie, Damien, ermm, Val, I think? Oscar's staying, I have no clue about Freddie, I think we're also missing a confirmed answer from Luci and Alyn. All we have to do is convince a few more adults and then we'll have the BEST Hogwarts Christmas ever!"

"Cassie's staying here." Alvin said quietly as Matty sat beside him. "Trouble at home." James gave Alvin's shoulder a squeeze to try and comfort him.

"Anyone got any news on Freddie?" Tori asked.

"His dad still refused to let him stay, but Freddie said he wouldn't get on that train home if his life depended on it." Jo said as she joined the conversation, sitting herself down. "I do hope he isn't punished for it. You know what his dad's like."

The rest of the group filed in. Val was grinning when she sat down, and she placed a sheet of parchment on the table.

"Professor Hecat herself wrote my parents a letter explaining why I have to stay. I have no clue what the letter says, but Hecat must've been persuasive because my mother let me stay in Hogwarts!"

Everyone cheered, and Matty hugged Val tight.

"Damien! Any news?" Luci asked with a smile.

"I'm allowed to stay" Damien said with a slight flush, though he didn't elaborate.

"Oh good! I had hoped so after-" Ellie cut off as Damien shot her a subtle death stare.

"What about Roan?" Damien asked quickly.

Roan raised a hand. "Easier for me to stay here, anyway"

"Gah, where the heck is Alyn?"

Jo replied, "I'm sure she woke up early, she wasn't in the dorm this morning"

"Alyn said she was gonna miss breakfast. Had something to take care of in the library. But I'm pretty sure she's staying" Luci furrowed her eyebrows.

Val nudged her, "d'ya think she's with-"

Luci quickly shushed her.

"I'm assuming Alex is staying if Alvin is" Val said casually. Cassie immediately perked up, sitting up a bit straighter. "What about the other set of twins?"

"Oscar's still checking things off his apology list. He's trying to make up for the damage he caused in fifth year" Cal explained, "Kiel is staying though. Him and Alvin are practicing for Quidditch"

"In this weather?" Jo furrowed her eyebrows. "I do hope they don't catch a flu."

"They'll be okay" James assured her.

"Jamie, where's Ren?" Cassie asked suddenly. Florence raised a hand from his seat at the end of the table. His nose was buried in a book as always, and he had a dark blue shawl wrapped around him, his pale nose pink from the cold.

"Before you ask, yes I'm staying here" Florence said sounding bored. "And yes, I've heard every word of your conversation. Reading doesn't make me deaf."

James grinned, moving to sit next to Ren. He threw his arm around his shoulder, and Ren shrugged him off pretended to ignore him, but everyone was certain the flush on his face was no longer from the cold.

"Is that everyone? Me, Ren, Cassie, the twins, the other twins, Poppy, Tori, Ellie, Luci, Val, Ale, Roan, Cal, Matty, Freddie, the triplets, Damien-"

James paused, eyes widening. "Damien? Is Sebastian staying?"

Damien flushed. "I... I did manage to convince him. I think he is."

James grinned knowingly. "I think that's all of us! Now, let's head outside because I've been itching to get my fingers on that frozen good-ness all morning"