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watchandwrite · 1 month ago

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Hey friend, I'd love to request something! I'd love to see a platonic Atticus X Reader where she lives on the streets, steals his purse and almost gets away with it, but he still catches her. Instead of getting her arrested, he is impressed with her technique and offers her a position amongst his informants. After all, beggars make for the best spies, since no one truly pays attention to them... Apart from Jesus, Whom she has a brief interaction with in the end. Feel free to make additions or leave out parts you don't like! Thank you in advance and God bless! 🫶

Jesus // Olive Branches // Platonic

Requested by @the-chosen-fanfiction

Author's Note: So this ended up being a bit different from what was requested! Both Atticus and Jesus are present, but Jesus ended up having more time dedicated to Him. As a result, this is labeled as a platonic Jesus x Reader. It's also been a while since I've written anything, so I'm not sure if the tone remains consistent. I prayed while writing though, so hopefully it's good! Enjoy!

Word Count: 2293

Ok, this guy’s lighter on his feet than he looks.

It was supposed to be a routine thing for you: look for an unsuspecting passerby — ideally a tourist, or at least someone that seems easy to distract — wait for your cue and grab their money. Your ‘partner-in-crime’ (read: your little brother, Yativ, who continued to call himself that no matter how much you rolled your eyes) would grab the attention of your target for enough time that you could escape unnoticed with a couple shekels or drachmas.

Granted, this last attempt was on a young man who was traveling with some famous Rabbi that everyone had been buzzing about. Risky? Yes. But Adonai had long given up on you, so you gave up on Him. Besides, popular preachers received plenty of offerings. He could afford to spare a few coins.

One of His disciples had brought his satchel with him. He was distracted, poorly concealing his emotions as he listened to the sermon being shared in the Temple court.

You had smirked to yourself. Only a fool would let their keeper of the purse carry their money so openly. This would be easy.

Everything had gone according to plan up till that point— your brother jumping in front of your target, “SIR!!! I like your tunic!!” The man nearly jumped a cubit into the air, how own curly smacking his face in the process.

“It’s olive green, yes? Did you know that olive green is my favorite color???! Because it reminds me of olives???!? DID YOU DYE YOUR TUNIC WITH OLIVES!?!”

As the guy attempted to handle your menace of a younger brother, you crept in closer. Your hand was right on the bag, nearly grabbing—

“Father, glorify your name!”

The earth seems to tremble at that moment. The skies roar like a lion.

"I HAVE GLORIFIED IT, AND I WILL GLORIFY IT AGAIN."

Was that thunder?? Why did it speak? And why did it feel so familiar? You turn to where both voices came from, and He meets your eyes.

His eyes glint with something - recognition. Your spirit does the same.

In your panic you ended up yanking the whole purse off the man's shoulder.

"Wh- HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THAT’S MY BAG!!”

Oh oops.

Worst of all, this guy's screech caught the ear of a couple Roman soldiers standing nearby.

And you, Y/N bat No One, decided to take your leave. The idea of getting arrested for stealing a man purse was a low blow to your pride.

“MEET ME AT THE SPOT YATIV!”

Chaos and clanging metal chase you as you bolt out the temple courts into the streets of Jerusalem, distancing yourself from the strange man who can speak to the sky.

Now, back to the present.

You had lost most of your pursuers early on, but there was still somebody following you. It irked you — you couldn’t see him now, and you don’t even know if he had been at the Temple prior, but you felt him. Could practically see the glint in his eye as he watched you from the shadows. He looked like an old man, so how was he able to keep up with you so easily?!!

No matter. This battle would be all instinct, but you had to win. The capital city of Judea were cruel, and Yativ needed you. Getting caught was not an option.

You had craftily evaded capture up to this point — all you needed to do was get out of sight and you’d be fine.

Slipping to the left, you scamper to the end of a small alleyway. Dust flies as you leap onto a canopy and pull yourself over the wall. Another alley greets you — completely abandoned. You have no idea where you are.

Oh well. You needed a break anyways.

The sounds of the busy streets fade into the distance as you lean against the wall, gasping desperately for air. Your vision blurs: ringing overwhelms your ears. You shouldn’t be exerting yourself like this on an empty stomach.

Undoing the latch, you open the leather purse to find two loose shekels in-between sheets of papyrus. Many words seem to be written on each piece.

Your initial assumption was incorrect, it seems. This is the bag of a scribe, not a coin keeper.

Your eyes catch on phrases like "the Son of Man,” and “bread of life,” and your curiosity gets the better of you. Dusting your hands off as well as you could on your worn-down tunic, you pull out a page that seemed more recent.

“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

You lower the page, heart racing within your chest.

You didn’t need to continue reading to know what happened next — it was all that anyone at the temple had been talking about lately. Everyone knew about the Ghost of Bethany. But to have an eyewitness account?

And, on top of that, with everything that you saw earlier? With everything that your entire being is convicting you with right now???

...

You couldn't keep this - you had to give it back.

You stare off into space — so overwhelmed by what you’ve read that you completely miss the growing sound of footsteps.

“Ah, here you are. John has quite the way with words, no?”

You gasp — How did He get here?!

The Man from earlier stands before you. Nothing from His appearance suggested anything out of the ordinary, but something within you knew better. Knew Him.

“Y-you ….. Y-You’re —“

He nods, and something cracks in you. Your face turns bitter. Angry.

“Where have you been? Why did You st-stop answering my prayers?” You don’t bother to hide your face as tears flood freely. “Y-Yativ and I — we needed you. Abba and Eema died, but when I asked You why You didn’t answer me. You didn’t help us when I asked you to! Why didn't you?!”

His eyes fill with sorrow as He cups your face. In spite of yourself, you lean into it.

“B-But the worst part?” You choke back a sob as He embraces you. “I-I …. I-I couldn’t hate You. I-I still can’t hate You. You mean too much to me”

“I know.” You know He knew, so why did He do nothing?

He inhales, pulling back slightly to look you into the eye, “I know you’ve had to go through so much.” His voice is raw as He kisses your forehead, letting you weep freely into His shoulder, “You may not understand now why it had to be this way, but I have never stopped loving you.”

Minutes pass, with the Son of God holding you through your grief.

Then again, He always has, hasn’t He? You would soon understand that His hand had never left you. That, even when you cursed His name, He never took His eyes off of you. You would see Him at His lowest, and your heart would know His. You felt the ache in your chest go away as His presence envelopes you. Everything will be ok.

Lifting your head, you wipe at your eyes, “So, now that you’re here … what do I do? I don’t even know where Yativ is, much less how we’re going to survive living like this.”

“Oh, him?” Jesus chuckles, not unkindly, as He helps you to your feet, “Don’t worry, he’s safe. He’s with my disciples right now, and my Eema’s made it her mission to spoil him rotten.”

You bark out a laugh, “I’m not even going to ask how that works, but ok. I trust you. Also—“ you gingerly hand Him the stolen purse, a sheepish smile on your face, “Your disciple — John, was it? I think he might want this back. Tell him that he is a very good writer when you give it to him. That I- well, that it just really feels like you’re there when you read it.”

This time He’s the one laughing, “Why thank you. Yes, He is very anxious to receive these back — though, I know for sure that he’ll appreciate the compliment.” There’s a teasing in His eyes that you don’t pick up on, but you’ll find out soon enough. “You can tell him so yourself, if you'd like.”

You brighten at that.

“I can?”

“Of course! He's there with your brother, after all.”

With a new burst of energy you go to follow Him. Weirdly enough, however, He stops walking and turns towards you.

“Not yet though.”

You blink, “… Why not?”

Jesus smiles knowingly at your confused expression, “The Father would just like to do something for you first. Go back the way you came and you’ll see what I mean.”

There’s a glimmer in His eye — the one that only shows up when He’s up to something. You raise your eyebrow at Him and His smile widens. He gives you a shrug as He exits the alley, whistling a hymn.

“But Jesus- Hey WAIT! When will I see you again??!”

“Soon!” He calls back, keeping stride.

You jump back over the wall as soon as He’s out of sight, your body thrumming with anticipation and glee.

Your excitement quickly fades, however, when the last person you want to see right now is leaning against the wall, holding a half-eaten fig in his hand.

“So," he starts, "Are we finished pretending that I couldn’t find you?” He states this nonchalantly, though his demeanor betrays some level of impatience and sarcasm.

You look up at the sky for a brief second. Geez, Adonai. This couldn’t wait?

“Look,” you start slowly, holding back some choice words that you’re aching to throw at this guy, “I’m sorry for taking that bag; it was wrong. I gave it back already to the honor — well,” you pause, “At least, someone who will give it back to them.”

“A-and nothing in there was taken out — I made sure of it. B-but I-I know that things need to be squared away accordingly and it’s ok if you need to arrest me or take me t—“

He lifts a hand to stop your ramble, and you’re shocked that it worked. “Please. If I was going to arrest you I would’ve done so already.”

“Ok so then…” You process what he said before your eyes widen slightly.

“Wait — hold on, you’re not detaining me?”

“Nope, unfortunately.”

“Why not?”

”Because,” he sighs, pushing himself off the way, “You escaped my men in a matter of minutes. No one escapes my men — but you did, and you did so easily. And right now, that’s extremely useful.”

The hand that he had used to point at you opens up, inviting yours into a handshake, “Atticus Aemilius Pulcher, Cohorte Urbanae. I rarely find myself this impressed.”

You stare at his hand for a second, still reeling from this whole situation, before slowly returning the gesture with a dry expression. “Y/N bat Josiah, Jewish beggar. So how am I exactly useful to you?”

“I need information, but I don’t need people to know that I need it, if you catch my drift.”

You nod slowly, gesturing with your hand for him to continue, “So….”

He groans, “Look — I need informants. A Pharisee has been able to have someone watching what’s been going on with this Jesus character since day one, and none of my men have come close to giving me the information I need." He barely attempts to veil his frustration. "I can’t do the job myself all the time but not one of my trained soldiers has proven to me that they could handle this sort of thing.”

You mull over his words, “... And that’s where I come in.”

“And that’s where you come in.”

“Hm….” You fold your hands across your chest, tilting your head.

“You said Jesus, yes? I think I can get close. What did you want to know?”

“Anything you can find out, but especially background information on Him. Rome isn’t very happy with how frantic the people are getting around this Man — but they don’t necessarily want any executions. The more we know about Him, the more we can dispute any claims that would cause civil unrest.”

You shudder at the mention of the death penalty, but Something tells you that you wouldn’t betray Him by taking this offer.

“Ok, I’ll bite. But what’s in it for me? I have mouths to feed.” Ignoring the unintended pun, you muster up some gusto to see if that’ll help your case.

That same Something from earlier internally calls you out for that, telling you that it isn’t necessary. Your bold pose turns a bit sheepish at that. You’re practically being offered payment for hanging out with the Messiah, so any amount would do.

The Cohorte doesn’t seem to notice. “It’s not much, but,” he glances to the slide, making sure no one is looking, before leaning in.

You gape. Vaguely, you recall hearing something along the lines of the cattle on a thousand hills.

Are you kidding??! ‘Not much’ my tzitzit.

Gaming your face once more, you look directly at the man in front of you.

“You know what Atticus, I think this is the beginning of a long, fruitful relationship. When do I start?”

#the chosen x reader #the chosen fanfiction #the chosen jesus x reader #the chosen fanfic #atticus x reader #atticus aemilius pulcher x reader #jesus x reader #reader insert #chosen x reader #implied john the apostle x reader if you squint #the chosen series #the chosen tv series #the chosen tv show #the chosen

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the-chosen-fanfiction · 2 months ago

Text

Gentile. | Chapter XLVII

On your walk through town, you run into someone unexpected bringing news just as unforeseen.

Chapter list

If you blink too often, you will miss it, you think to yourself as you observe Valerius gently resting on your chest one morning as you lay in the pleasant shade of the tree in the garden, a gentle hand on his back as he sleeps. He has already grown so much in the past weeks to the point that you can barely imagine that the infant has ever fit so snugly inside of your belly, even if he would curl up all the way.

A servant brings you sugared figs you had asked her to get you and you give her a grateful smile as she places the box next to your cup of water. Your recovery has been slow yet steady, but your heart is heavy nevertheless. The days go by without much going on, nor is there any news about Jesus that makes its way around town. Perhaps that He is busy in other cities, you have figured, settling into an almost lazy routine where you allow yourself to heal from your labour, mostly at Quintus’ insistence.

Your husband has not mentioned anything about his conversation with your father, making you believe that he has forgotten about it altogether, which is good all things considered. Perhaps that your father had been adamant about the wet nurse who could feed your son for you and that Quintus had considered it for a bit until finding out that you didn’t actually require help. At least, that is the conclusion you came up with yourself. A theory that will just remain a theory until it is important enough to be brought up by your husband again.

You are just enjoying the second sugared fig you’ve taken from the box when a servant blocks the light of the sun with his body and gives an apologetic bow of his head when you look up a little disturbed by his sudden presence. “Forgive me for the intrusion, my lady, but Primi Gaius just asked me to deliver this to you.”

As you sit up with a leaping heart, Valerius is instantly roused by the sudden movement, whining a little as you cradle him gently against your body and take the small roll of parchment held out in your direction. “Thank you,” you whisper, waiting for the boy to leave you alone until you inspect the letter up close. The seal does not belong to Atticus; at least, it is not the ring with the insignia he always uses. Instead, it seems as if someone has pressed it shut with a thumb, a faint fingerprint visible in the wax. It must have hurt to do, you think to yourself as you trace the shape of it with your own finger.

You shift to gently rest Valerius in your lap, his little feet pointed at your belly and his head between your knees, and you undo the seal with shaking fingers.

You had not expected Atticus to reach out, so receiving a letter from him in the first place was special in and of itself. How he had known about your labour would have yet to be revealed by the contents. Before you fully unroll the parchment, you look around agitatedly, making sure that nobody is observing you, lest it be some kind of trap set by Quintus to catch you in the act doing something you are not supposed to.

When your eyes roam over the words, your breath is instantly taken away at the sight of Atticus’ familiar handwriting, knowing that it must come from him.

“My love, forgive me for how short this is, but neither of us can risk being found in this brief correspondence. I am delighted to hear of the birth of our healthy boy and wish nothing more but to be with you as soon as I can. The Primi has told me about the current situation with Quintus. I swear to you that I will come find you as fast as my duty allows me. I am deeply sorry it cannot be sooner. I love you. Stay strong for me, my Flower. A.”

It takes you a moment to remember to breathe. You are glad that he knows about both the affair coming to light as well as the birth of Valerius, since now you don’t have to risk sending out word to him. You make a mental note to thank Gaius for his cooperation later. Knowing what you must do now that you have received the message, your fingers hesitate around the paper. You scrunch it up into a ball.

Carefully propping Valerius onto your arm, you stand and head back inside, the rest of your figs remaining in the garden to melt under the heat of the sun, and you walk over to the fireplace to toss the parchment into the flames. You watch how Atticus’ rare words of correspondence to you are consumed by the fire in favour of not being discovered. Your throat feels tight. You miss him.

Running a hand down the side of your face, you look at your son, who has woken up and seems a little fussy. Clicking your tongue, you gently touch his cheek. He squirms a bit, but soon falls back asleep. You wonder if you had been such an easy child, too.

Still, you crave some distraction outside of the house, no matter how delightful the babe in your arms is. Heading over to one of the servants, you give her a kind yet pleading look. “I am going to run some errands in the village,” you say, even though there are no chores to be completed by you, “Could you please look after my son as I do so?”

The young woman nods and takes the infant from your arms. The boy instantly protests, causing you to jolt and resist the urge to instantly reach out to comfort him. “I will be back within an hour,” you promise both the servant and your son, and make your way to the hallway, where you take the cloak that you had been wearing on your usual trips outside.

“Where are you going, my lady?” asks Julius, who is currently stationed at the door of the estate. You halt and look over your shoulder at him.

“To the market, centurion.”

“Without a chaperone?”

When you don’t verbally answer and instead look at him for a few long moments, Julius understands the inquiry. With a sigh, he turns to the other guard standing on the other side of the door. “Stay here,” Julius tells him, “I will escort the lady of the house lest something happen to her. Make sure that nobody gets inside.”

The soldier nods and Julius walks up to fall one step behind you, his gaze on the back of your head as you walk out in front of him. It makes you slightly uneasy, but you can hardly tell him to let you go by yourself. Should Quintus find out you went out to market in your current condition without someone watching over you, leaving your son back home with the servants… Well, you doubt he’d let you out of his office ever again.

You’d have preferred for Julius to walk next to you instead of behind, but you maintain a professional distance. Even though you are aware the man is a companion of Gaius, you cannot tell for sure what he thinks of you and you aren’t close enough to ask him outright. Deciding to focus on the fresh air instead as well as the rare treat of being away from the premises of the villa, you sigh and traverse the village of Capernaum.

After purchasing a wooden rattle for your son at one of the stands, you wonder if you could take a walk across the shores of the Sea of Galilee to let the wind blow through your hair and sweep away some of the worries inside your heart, but right as you turn to the outer rings of the village to head that way, a carriage not belonging to someone of low class comes to a screeching halt, the driver clad in clothes that are not from around here.

A familiar woman gets out of it, your heart instantly leaping at the sight of Joanna, a gasp leaving your lungs as you step towards her immediately, “Jo!” you breathe not loud enough for her to hear, but as soon as you see the dejected, distraught look on her face as she frantically looks around with a slip of paper in hand, clenching it to her chest, your brow knits together in worry. She came here in haste, you realise, and not for good reason.

Your friend begins to pace around, asking townspeople for directions. Coincidentally, she is near the place she has to be, and she adjusts the hood of her purple cloak as she hurries towards a door, instantly hammering on it with a flat hand, calling out: “Andrew!”

There is panic in her voice. “Andrew, are you home?!”

The door swings open and reveals the curly-haired fisherman you’ve seen around occasionally, his eyes widening in surprise. “Joanna?”

When she removes her head covering, you see the tears in Joanna’s eyes. Her lip quivers for a beat before she starts to sob, her shoulders shaking. Andrew starts to shake his head in disbelief. “No, no, no…”

“I’m sorry—” Joanna squeaks as another man walks up behind the fisherman and puts a hand on his upper arm.

“Andrew, what’s wrong?”

“No, it’s uh… It’s John…”

Joanna swallows away the lump in her throat. “Are you Philip?”

“No,” the blue-eyed man states, “I– I’m Judas. Philip is away.”

Andrew lets out a shaky breath. “I’ll tell Philip,” he mutters. “I’ll tell Philip.”

There is grief coiling within both him and your best friend, and it takes little else for you to put together what must have happened. It is a punch to the gut, even though you didn’t really know the Baptiser that well. Many letters received from Joanna contained teachings from the odd preacher, which you have taken to heart. She must be heartbroken, having grown close to him over time.

Judas helps Andrew sit down on the ground, and it occurs to you that Joanna might be in need of comfort, too. Right when you are about to approach her to make your presence known and offer a shoulder to cry on, you are cut off by a few of Jesus’ followers headed in her direction as well. They rush over to Andrew, Simon pulling his brother into his arms to embrace him tightly.

Mary and Tamar find Joanna’s side and for a moment you wonder if she needs you at all, but the sound of her name leaves your lips louder than earlier before you even realise it has formed there. “Joanna!”

Like one being, everyone turns to face you, a few faces worried, but others gasp in recognition. “(Y/n)!” Joanna breathes, accepting the embrace you give her instantly.

“Who is that?” Nathanael asks.

“A friend,” Tamar reassures him, “I have known her for a while now. Not only was she at Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, but she also used to buy my flowers for more than she owed me and refused to take back the change. And… I can see that she’s close to Joanna. She can be trusted.”

Andrew takes a shaky breath. “We knew this day would come,” he states, “We should have been prepared.” You gently hold Joanna’s hand as she lowers her gaze as a brief silence weighs heavily on the group. You let your gaze go through the mourning crowd. You had not expected to be standing amongst them like this, at such a vulnerable moment to begin with.

“We were,” one of the followers notes, all eyes finding him. “John came to prepare the way… And he did.” It is stated so matter-of-factly that the tension falls away just slightly. “He was not the Messiah, but… John came to bear witness that He would be here soon.”

A sense of peace comes over the group alongside their grief. The very purpose of the Baptiser had been fulfilled and he deserved to rest. “Now we have to… We have to find Jesus and tell Him.”

Matthew’s gaze goes to somewhere in the distance as he slowly turns.

“You don’t have to.” The former tax collector’s voice trembles as everyone pivots to see Jesus approach with show, deliberate steps, ash dusted on his forehead. The sleeve of His tunic is torn at the shoulder to express the state of mourning. The sight of His eyes brings a lump into your throat as Jesus halts a few steps away from the group, and He slowly looks at everyone, one by one, also lingering on you..

This was not the reunion with Jesus you had pictured when He said that the two of you would meet again some day. Then again, you doubt that you’d get a word with Him now. Not that you minded, for this was not the right time nor the right place. Wordlessly, Jesus brushes through the group of followers into the house of Andrew, finding comfort with the ones closest to His late cousin.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you whisper to Joanna, “You shouldn’t be completely by yourself in a time like this.” Before she can say anything in reply, you turn to Jesus’ followers. “I will look after Joanna whilst you go and be with Him, alright?” There is little protest in the group at your offer. The Roman woman next to you opens her mouth to speak, but you put up your hand to prevent her from doing so. “You will be able to speak to Jesus and His followers later. Let us give them some space, first.”

Joanna lets out a quivering exhale and nods. The sound of spending some time with you doesn’t sound too bad, either. As you step away from the group silently, you see Julius’ curious gaze on you.

The two of you walk ahead until you sense the shadow of your escort lingering somewhere behind. “How have you been, (Y/n)?” Joanna asks, “How is the…”

When her gaze goes down to your stomach, she freezes and feels a gasp leave her lungs. “You’re… Not pregnant anymore.”

You rub your arm and smile at her a bit apologetically. “I couldn’t… Couldn’t really send a letter these past weeks. Quintus has been… Very cautious about things regarding me… Uh… A lot has happened, actually.”

“The baby?” Joanna breathes.

“He is healthy,” you tell her, a small, proud smile tugging at your lips. “His name is Valerius.”

She gives you a look. “That’s not the name I expected. How did you get your husband to agree to that?” Shrugging, you hum and give a small smile.

“Hm. I just warned him how it could affect his honour if he made his wife break a promise to her powerful brother.”

Joanna grins a bit at that. “Well, congratulations, I suppose.” She leans a little closer. “And the father, how is he?”

Your smile falls into a more serious frown as you turn to her, grabbing her wrist. “Come with me to my house here in Capernaum,” you tell her, “We can have wine and discuss… Everything that has been going on lately.”

The Roman’s eyes widen a bit at the sudden urgency in your tone, but she immediately gives in, trusting you. “Okay,” she mutters, silently heading back to the villa at your side. You thank Julius for his cooperation and he simply bows, heading to the barracks for a well-deserved break.

When the two of you enter the villa, Joanna removes her hood again and looks around in slight awe. “I mean,” she muses, “Machaerus is pretty, but I wouldn’t mind a home like this, either. It’s the same, but with less business around you. It is… Quite cosy, actually.”

You hum. “Not as luxurious as you are used to.”

“Maybe not, but I like it.”

When you’re about to tell her about your experiences living here, the servant whom you had entrusted with your son rounds the corner and hands the wailing babe back into your arms. “He seems to be very hungry, my lady.”

You nod and smile at her. “Well, let me do something about that then, hm?” You can sense Joanna’s eyes on the infant held against you and you turn to her. “Shall we go upstairs to my study?” you suggest, “I could feed him there, and we could talk all we want.”

The Roman woman nods and you turn to one of the servants. “Please, bring us some wine and two cups, and some dates if that’s alright. Thank you.”

“So, this is your famous study…” Joanna muses as she steps inside after you, causing you to softly laugh and nod. You watch how she walks over to the bookshelves to inspect the titles on them, even though you’ve hardly read any of the classic works you keep on there for quite some time. You settle on the sofa, where a few stains of your labour have not been able to be scrubbed out of.

“Right,” you muse when the servant brings the food and drinks. “And that is the desk where I write all my letters to you.”

“I can see why you like this place so much,” she admits, “It’s so nice here. I wish I had a private study like this, but alas, I have to share my chambers with Chuza.”

You hum and bare your breast, settling your son against you to latch as the door clicks shut, leaving you and Joanna by yourselves. With a small noise of admiration, Joanna watches how Valerius eagerly drinks, large (e/c) eyes looking up at you.

“He’s so precious,” she compliments, pouring two cups of wine and handing you one. She takes your desk chair and sits near you, giving you the space of the sofa for yourself, which is a gesture you appreciate. You hum softly, rubbing a clean cloth over the dribble escaping over his chin.

“He is,” you croon, “And he’s such an easy child to take care of, too. At least, he doesn’t cry a lot and he manages to sleep through half the night, so I’m enjoying it while it lasts.”

Joanna, though childless, lets out a hum and smiles. “Just wait until he’s a toddler. He’d probably be at your bedside every other hour, then.”

Laughing at the notion, you exhale and gaze down at the newborn in your arms. “So,” Joanna wants to know, “How did it go?”

“The labour?”

“Mh-mm,” she hums in acknowledgement, causing you to shift and take a sip of wine as you get a little more comfortable.

“It was horrible,” you confess, “I mean, I’ve never felt pain like that. Quintus wasn’t exactly helping, either… He…” Your voice trails off as your gaze stares at the flickering flames of the fireplace, where a few remnants of your letter from Atticus stick to the logs. “He knows that he isn’t the father of this child.”

The fond smile that had been playing over your best friend’s lips fades. “Oh? Does he know… Who is, then?”

You slowly nod and let out a shaky sigh. “He does still intend to raise this child as if it were his own, though.” There is a hint of regret in your voice. “Atticus knows that Valerius has been born, but it doesn’t make it much easier…”

Joanna bites her lip as she traces the edge of her cup with a thumb. “I get that.”

Brief silence.

“What happened to John?” you suddenly question, causing Joanna to sharply inhale. “If you’re ready to talk, of course.”

The brunette’s gaze fixes on the face of innocence sitting peacefully in your arms, averting her eyes when you move away the boy to clean and cover yourself up once he’s done drinking. “There was a banquet.”

You hum. “Of course there was.”

Joanna lets out a noise. “Nothing new… Except for Salome, the daughter of Herodias, performing a sensual dance for the king…”

During your time at Herod’s court, you had seen the young woman in the halls or during dinners a few times. You had never exchanged any words with her, but a pang of pity goes through your chest when you imagine the corpulent, unsavoury client king leering at his step-daughter. What unnerves you most, is that her very own mother has most likely been the one to suggest that she should do so.

“You have seen Herod drunk,” Joanna says, a shudder involuntarily rippling down her spine, “You know how he gets.”

“He cannot say no,” you whisper, “To anything.”

Joanna lets out a regretful sigh. “And pleased he was…” A pit of dread forms in your stomach.

After a brief pause, your best friend finds the right words. “She… Herodias urged her to ask for the head of John the Baptist… On a silver platter.”

To use your own children like that for such a vile personal agenda is one thing, but this is something you never could have expected. The horror is written all over your face, for Joanna lets out a long sigh and rubs the bridge of her nose. “I know, it is disgusting.”

“It’s depraved,” you whisper, “I hardly know what to say. I know John was dear to you. I’m very sorry for your loss, Jo.” Reaching you, you grab her hand with yours, squeezing it softly. She gives you a watery smile.

“I am grateful that I got to know him,” Joanna admits, “I owe him my faith. And that he made me more certain in my faith in Jesus. I’m sure that one day, I will see him again, and then I’ll be able to thank him for it once more.”

You nod slowly at her, inspecting her face. There is not just grief, but also gratitude.

“That is a very comforting thought,” you say. She hums and lets her focus go back to the baby you’re holding. Right as she is about to ask if she can keep him in her arms for a bit, the infant’s stomach rumbles loudly, soon followed by the sound of him passing something more than just gas. The two of you burst out into laughter, breaking the mournful tension, and you let out a noise.

“I understand,” you light-heartedly say to your son as he lets out a small whine, “It’s not a nice feeling whenever you soil yourself. Let me put you into something clean, alright?”

Joanna hums fondly at the sight of you so affectionately speaking to your son, watching how you get up and head for the nearby bathroom to change his nappy. “Feel free to wait here for a bit,” you tell her, “I will be right back.”

As you exit the room to clean up Valerius, Joanna curiously walks through your room. She notices how the statuette of the Roman deity Juno on your mantelpiece is scratched and dented. It is clear that the damage on the figurine is not a result of a one-time tumble onto the tile floor. It has been thrown with a considerable amount of force and placed back in such a way that its eyes are not turned to the room, but rather to the wall.

Joanna explores on, seeing a stack of books on your desk, indicating they are your most recent reads. Tilting her head a little, she reads the titles on the backs, and realises something; they are on Jewish culture and meditations.

Right when she is about to reach out and open one of them, you return back sans Valerius. “I put him down for his nap,” you explain, smiling as you smooth your hands down your dress, halting in your step when you notice she is looking at your books. “…I thought I put those away.”

“Obviously, you didn’t.” There is a soft smile on her mouth as she looks at you. “How is your faith, (Y/n)? I know we’ve discussed Jesus’ teachings in great detail, but… How is your heart?”

You rapidly close the door and step closer to her. “Promise to not tell a soul.”

“You know me,” Joanna reassures you, “And you know what I believe. Do you believe?”

“Yes,” you whisper, “And I want to share something with you.” From your drawer, you take the journal you had been using to write your poetry lately about your newfound faith, and hand it to her. Joanna gives you a look, carefully opening the notebook to flick through the pages. Her eyes widen as she realises the impact of your words, what they mean. Tears spring into her vision.

“You wrote these?” she sniffles a bit, “They are beautiful.”

“Yes,” you breathe, “You may read them, if you want.”

Joanna nods slowly, smiling a bit. “Thank you,” she says, before her eye falls onto your collarbone. You frown, bringing your hand there without looking, wondering if you’ve had a little accident during the changing of Valerius’ underclothes, but you find the outline of the amulet Quintus had gifted you in the days after the passing of Valeria..

“You don’t need that anymore,” Joanna says with a soft smile on her lips. You mirror her expression and yank it so hard that the string that holds it behind your neck snaps.

“I never did,” you say, “Besides… It’s ugly anyways.”

The two of you turn towards the fireplace as one being. Although the statue of Juno had not been able to be burned to a crisp in it, the necklace in your hand might make for a better kindle. Before you can give it another thought, you toss it into the flames, watching how it is consumed alongside the bits of paper that remain from the letter you had preferred to keep. A sharp contrast.

Joanna gently takes your hand and squeezes, a gesture you reciprocate, and you stand there for a few long minutes, until footsteps head up the stairs and force you into a seated position, pretending to be busy gossiping instead.

The door swings open and reveals a tired Quintus. “Who is this?” he asks, “Why is she here?”

“This is Joanna. The friend from Machaerus I often write to.”

Joanna gulps hard as she sees your husband. The stories you told her about him do not do him justice; the way he glares at her makes her blood run cold.

“What is she doing here, then? All the way from the court, no less…”

“I wanted to see your child,” she quickly states, which isn’t a complete lie. “Congratulations, by the way.” There is no smile on Quintus’ lips as he looks between you and Joanna.

“Did you write to her without my knowledge, then?”

“She hadn’t heard from me in a while,” you say. “She was concerned about my wellbeing.” Still the truth.

The Praetor hums in that dangerous way he often does whenever he is not convinced of something, but he drops it. “Tell her to go home. It’s late.”

You nod and wait until he closes the door, turning sharply to Joanna. Your best friend has a horrified expression on her face, letting out a shaky breath. “He’s worse than I thought,” she softly murmurs loud enough to not be heard by anyone pressing their ear to the door. You swallow hard and shrug.

“I feel like something big is going to happen soon,” you admit, “Perhaps something to do with Jesus. I cannot quite place a finger on it… But as long as I trust in Him, things will be fine. Right?”

Joanna takes your hand and holds it gently. “That is all we can do. Wait and see.”

You bite your lip. “I have missed you, my dear friend. I don’t want you to go yet.” A sigh leaves her as she nods in acknowledgement, sharing that sentiment.

Walking her to the door, you lean against the doorframe as she adjusts her purple cloak. “I will write to you some time soon,” she promises, and you have to swallow the comment that you doubt you will receive anything due to Quintus monitoring your correspondence.

“Be careful,” you remind her. “And… May God bless you.”

The words earn you a smile. “God bless you, too,” she replies, loud enough for only you to hear. You watch how she heads out into the street, most likely to where Andrew lives to mourn with Jesus and His followers. You wish you could have come with her.

“Come,” Quintus says behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin, “Dinner is ready.”

You step away from the door, looking at the pink and orange sky for a few long moments, before joining your husband at the table.

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Next chapter Chapter list

#the chosen #reader insert #the chosen x reader #chosen x reader #atticus x reader #atticus aemilius pulcher #gentile #the chosen quintus #quintus x reader

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