#captain james crook

[ghostwritermia]

Jegulus x reader request?

Where the reader is also a quidditch player and basically she is in hufflepuff/ravenclaw and their team wins, but one of the boys get mad preferably regulus and reader gets upset james comforts her. Basically angst to fluff

P.s u don't have to do it, I hv been writing a poly moonwater for a week and haven't completed yet. Ik writing is hectic

Lots of Love, babe

Hi Hi! Sorry this took so long. I was in a writing slump...

Anyhoo. Here it is, I hope you enjoy!

totally didn't feed my overdramatic personality into this...

No warnings I can think of? Overthinking? Getting lost in your thoughts? Tears?

Poly!Jegulus x ravenclaw!reader

You were absolutely elated when you found out you had been assigned the captain position.

Sure, you were on a team that normally didn't win, but you were fine with that. You enjoyed the sport, the crowd, the family your team became, the community and environment.

It was the last game of the season and your team had finally won against Slytherin. Earlier in the season you had led your team to victory against Gryffindor. So, with one boyfriend left to beat, you had finally done it today, but apparently it had come with a price to pay.

As you were being crowded and tackled by your team you peeked over your best friend's shoulder, seeing Regulus storming off. And with that, your mood instantly dropped. 

You slipped an easy smile back onto your face as you hugged the rest of your team before slipping off into the changing tent and then back to your common room. 

You understand that Reg wanted to win his last game of the season, you did. But, it was your last game too, and only the second game you had been able to win that season. Shouldn't he be proud of you too?

When you finally made it back to your dorm, you quickly slipped into one of James's shirts (which were huge on you), and a pair of sleep shorts, before curling on in an armchair, pulling your knees to your chest and a blue fuzzy blanket up to your chin.

You didn't know how long you sat there. You also didn't know when James had slipped into the room, not even realizing he was there until he gently wiped tears away from under your eyes with the pads of his thumbs.

You startled, eyes lifting to meet his, to see sorrow swimming in his gaze. “You just gotta give him time, darling. You know how he gets about these things, he’ll come around.” James swiftly picks you up and takes your place in the armchair before resting you back into his lap.

You sighed, curling into his side, resting your forehead in the crook of his neck. “I know, it’s just hard sometimes.” You sniffle into his shirt, and he tugs you tighter against him.

“He will come around darling, I promise.” He says, leaving a gentle kiss to the top of your hair.

You lose track of time as you get comfortable, cuddling into James (stealing all of his warmth), yet he doesn’t complain. You smile into his shoulder as he starts running his fingers through your hair. You playfully bite his shoulder; he tugs on a strand of your hair in reprimand.

You had started to doze off when the door creaked open and James spotted Regulus’s head peek in. He gently tapped your shoulder and when he had gotten your attention, pointed to Regulus.

Your gaze met the stormy gray of Regulus’s before you looked away, finding a loose thread of your blanket far more interesting.

“Mon Amour, I’m so so sorry.” Regulus rushes over to you, crouching down in front of you. “My mind blanked, and I didn’t think before I walked away, and I’m so sorry.” He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it before running his thumb along the back of it.

You frown, your eyebrows scrunching and slide out of James’s lap and onto the floor next to Reg. “It’s okay, my love. I understand what it’s like to have loads of pressure on your shoulders, I do too. It can overwhelm you at any moment; sometimes it can even come when we don’t want it too and take control of our actions.” You say wisely. “You had a moment, it happens to the best of us. You may be a wizard, but you are still a human. Bound to make mistakes for the rest of your life,” You remind dramatically, talking with your hands. Regulus laughs, his eyes lighting up again and grabs your hands, holding them stationary.

“I’m glad that you forgive me, mon amour, but you are over dramatic.” Your boyfriend dressed in green states.

You scoff as James slides down from the chair to sit with the two of you on the floor. “I love this make-up session you two are having, but you both are full of crap.” He tugs you both into his sides, one arm wrapped around each of you.

Regulus turns his head, biting James’s hand as you dramatically raise your hand before swatting him on the back of his head.

James quickly pulls his hand away from Regulus, retracting his hold from the two of you and holds the back of his head. “Hey!” You both turn your head and blink at him feigning innocence. “This is not attack James day.” 

He smiles, teeth flashing. You dramatically cover your eyes, faking passing out; falling back from your sitting position and onto your back. “Ah, too bright. Can’t see. James you’re blinding me, can’t you see? Because I sure can’t.”

“Regulus was right. You are so over dramatic.” James rolls his eyes before leaning towards you and pulling your hands away from your eyes and pulling you into him.

“I. Am. Not.” You pout, crossing your arms and leaning out of James’s embrace.

Regulus leans towards you smiling and kisses your forehead. “Yes you are.” He whispers, tackling you to the ground, tickling your sides. “You are dramatic, and I love you for it.” You grin and Regulus gives you a skeptical glance as you turn and smile at James.

Before Reg could blink he was pinned down to the ground; roles reversed. James had his arms pinned to the ground as you straddled his hip, returning the attack of tickles that he had been serving you.

“You lose, Reggie.” You state in a sing-song voice, giggling.

[lupinsversion]

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐉𝐫

• summary: when reader announces her pregnancy, the couple gets into some casual banter.

• contains: james potter x fem reader, fluff, pregnancy, a bit of dirty talk

• word count: 746

masterlist || requests

“We’re having a baby.” She whispered softly, and a bit bashfully with a stupid grin on her face as she held up the small white stick which held a clear and obvious pink plus sign.

James stared at her with widened eyes, practically jumping up and down in joy. “You’re pregnant? How? Don’t answer that…”

He took a moment to study the test, ensuring that it wasn’t a dud, a prank, a figment of his imagination. No, it was real. The pink plus was undeniable, the proof that they were indeed having a baby. His heart swelled with pride, love, and a touch of nerves.

“We’re having a baby.” He echoed softly, testing the reality of the words. The phrase felt strange and exhilarating as it left his lips. He couldn’t contain his joy and laughter. His grin was so wide that it could rival any cheesy children’s drawling.

He pulled her in for a gentle but bone crushing hug, resting his head in the crook of her neck. His hand traced down to her stomach, the home of their growing baby. “Merlin, I can’t believe it. You’re growing a mini human inside of you. My mini human. Our mini human.”

“Mini human is such a strange way of putting it.” She teased softly, the grin still on her face.

He chuckled in response. “Well, what else am I supposed to call it? Our fetus? Sounds too science-y, and not as magical. Plus, mini human sounds adorable.”

“Oh, you’re so not naming our child.” She spoke sincerely, determined.

He feigned hurt, clutching his chest dramatically. “Why not!? It would be a genius name! Imagine introducing them to the world. ‘Say hello to baby mini human’, or better yet, mini for short. Perfect name, really.”

She patted the side of his head affectionately. “I don’t know how you made it to twenty-two, my sweets.”

He playfully huffed, feigning being offended. He leaned into her touch, a soft laugh escaping him. He gently poked her between the ribs. “Hey! I’ve got great survival skills. I mean, look at where I am at now, married to the most amazing witch, expecting a baby.”

“Survival skills? Oh Merlin, I hope our baby gets my brain.” She continued their banter.

He acted appalled, gasping dramatically and clutching his chest again. “What? I have plenty of brain. I graduated Hogwarts, didn’t I? And I was a damn good chaser and captain of the quidditch team. That requires brainpower. Plus, you know, the whole mischief-making thing. That took plenty of skill and planning. Brain power, I swear it.” He defended, trying to hide his laughter with a straight face.

She couldn’t help but be amused, a smile full of tenderness and happiness boasted on her face, her heart swelling in joy.

He let out a content sigh, admiring the joyous smile that adorned her face. He gently reached out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His eyes sparkled with warmth and love. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above her skin, and whispered playfully. “I really will have to put on my thinking cap on when naming our mini human, won’t I? Perhaps something that shows off my genius and mischief skills. Prankster Potter. Chaos Junior. No? How about my favorite, Prongs Jr?”

“I’ll be lucky if I survive this.” She teased. “All because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

He snorted a laugh, shaking his head at the tease. He gave her a sly grin. He stepped closer, closing the gap between them. He ran his hands down her sides, gently squeezing her hips. “It’s not my fault that my wife is so irresistible.” He teased back. “In all fairness, you didn’t exactly turn me down either…”

“Should’ve.” She muttered under her breath, trying to act annoyed though the twinkle in her eye failed her.

James barked a laugh at her playful attempt. “You know very well you don’t mean that. Besides, I heard you moaning…” He stopped himself, realizing he had gone a step too far. A guilty expression formed on his face as he realized he had poked the bear.

A small, playful push was sent to the side of his head, faster than he could blink.

He stumbled slightly, a dramatic wince on his face as he pretended to be seriously injured. “Hey! You got me right in the brain.” His expression changed to teasing amusement, his eyes twinkling with joyful admiration.

© lupinsversion 2024

[ddaisychaser]

hockey player james headcannons for those who love this au as much as i do muah!

• so so sweaty when he gets home from practice. as much as you love that james is like a personal heater for you when it comes to those cold rainy night cuddles or womanhood surprisingly greets you one morning, he also is a sauna coming off the ice. yet, he’s so excited to see you, that when he burst’s through your apartment door and jumps on the bed to give you kisses, they aren’t very enjoyable when your comforter and clothes get soaked by his presence.

• of course, he somehow then manages you to take a shower with him every time.

• wearing his jersey might be one of the reasons james will ever burst out into tears of pure happiness. the first time you both started dating and you came to one of his games with ‘potter’ displayed across your back, wearing his number, poor thing almost got knocked out by a flying puck because he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

• speaking of flying pucks, james definitely has lost a tooth or two from his reckless behavior and cocky attitude, that perhaps sometimes the other team don’t seem to understand. as much as we all adore james’s kindness and big heart, that boy is a loose canon on the ice. usually finding home in the penalty box more that either one of you would like.

• if you don’t know how to skate, it’s your lucky day! because you best believe your first date consist’s of james taking you out into the empty arena, and spending all day holding your hand as you get used to the ice. don’t worry about falling though, because james would be damned if you ever hit the ice without him catching you. those big muscles aren’t just for hockey wink wink.

• definitely is the cutest little grump if his team is to ever lose a game. james loves winning (not as much as he loves you) but considering being captain, all he wants is for his team to cherish the sight of holding the number one title and a great big trophy to display in the locker rooms. speaking of, when he does walk out after losing a game, his face immediately falls into the comfortable crook of your neck and leans all his body weight into you. just mumbling, “i tried baby, i really did.” before kissing that sweet spot behind your ear.

• dating james also includes your position as the team’s ‘mom’ james will make sure every one of his teammates adore you just as much as he does, and to give their full respect if you are to make your presence know. yet, if james isn’t around, all those boys are doting on you and asking for favors. ‘hey y/n! can you help me find my jersey?’ or, ‘y/n, i can’t figure out this recipe. can you look it over?’

• as james watches his teammates over time grow fond of you, of course he get’s sweetly jealous. mumbling, ‘sweetheart, why do you have to help sirius with his homework? you are suppose to be hanging out with me.’ although james can’t even lie, watching you bond with the team is such a hilarious, yet special, moment to witness.

[descendantsramblings]

You are seriously such a talented writer! I was just wondering if I could request a hook x reader where he accidentally eats a love potion and falls in love with reader but like after the spell breaks it turns out he’s actually fallen for her?

Thank you so much sweetness ❤️ and absolutely it’s almost like an accidental Bal I love that

Side Effects

James Hook x Reader

Pronouns Used: she/her/hers

Summary: Someone should’ve warned him that one of the cups Uliana had given him held a little bit more than sprite and Malibu. Now it looks like he’s fallen victim to sugary side effects of a love potion.

Warnings: underage drinking, love potions are always a warning around here but especially right now because someone's drink is spiked with one, Hook is absolutely needy while under that spell and a little ooc but i promise it's due to the potion, flirty and sexual jokes but nothing that is truly nsfw (unless you count hook sleeping in his boxers ig), also a kiss scene that I didn't mean to make like that. so maybe a little spicier than I intended when I started on this idk

Word Count: 4.3K (idk how I did that either, inspired ig)

    Villain parties were so much louder and longer than hero parties were. There was alcohol mixed with  the faint smell of smoke and the type of music she would never hear back in her friend group’s parties. If she was honest with you, (Y/n) was enjoying it, absolutely drinking up the atmosphere around her, despite the fact that she’d normally be asleep by now. Not that she even felt tired, the room was too lively to let her give way to the normal exhaustion that would plague her by this time. She realized suddenly that she was actually kind of thankful Maleficent had invited her, swearing it had been a joke until she got there and the villains looked nearly excited to see her. This was actually fun, she felt relaxed in a way she probably shouldn’t be, two drinks in and singing along to songs she didn’t even realize she knew. Maybe she doesn’t know the words, but she’s saying something. God only knows how she was hoping she could get an invitation next time they decide to do something wild like this. (Y/n) wanted to drink up this feeling every time the cup would be offered to her. 

    Speaking of cups being offered to her, her “party buddy” as he’d deemed himself was heading back to her, sliding a blue plastic cup into her waiting fingers. “Now if you ask me,” his voice is raised over the music, “Malibu is a cheap excuse for rum, but it seemed like it would be more your style than that last drink was.” She nods, taking a sip from the cup which was the third one he’d given her all night. In a normal world, she wouldn’t trust a drink handed to her by just anyone, but something about Hook made her feel like she could. Maybe it was just because she felt like she knew him, the boy had been her partner in Alchemy for the past two years running, sharing little jokes and passing notes. “Yeah?” She hums, tilting her head to the side slightly as if to nod as she reaches out to grab the second cup from the crook of his elbow, holding it steady so he could properly grab it. “Better than the last one?” She nods, taking another sip as she looks at him, “Sweeter. This one doesn’t burn.” “Good, seems like I found your drink of choice, yeah?” The girl nods letting her words come out on a giggle, “Don’t give me that first drink ever again, Hook. I’m serious.” He hums, raising his own cup to his lips to cover his playful smirk, “I’ll get you warmed up to a gentlemen’s rum eventually, Lass.” “Gentleman is a strong word for you, isn’t it Captain? And you’d get me running around with your crew on the daily before you’d have me drinking that for fun.” Despite the callous words there’s a genuine smile hanging on her lips as she watches the boy. She hadn’t realized spending time with him could be so fun, perhaps that was wrong of her. 

    When the pirate looked up from his drink he could tell something felt new. His eyes dancing across her face as if eating up the memory of her like that, so carefree at one of his parties. Tasting the wilder side of life. The blue and green lights making her skin glow, hair slightly mused from where she had been dancing with a rosy tint to her cheeks from the alcohol and teasing little smirk on her face as she stared at him. The smirk coupled with the gentlest look in her eyes. She’d always been stunning to him but right now she looked nearly mythical. The gods should be jealous of her beauty, he was absolutely positive of that. “Have I ever told you that I think you’re breathtaking, Lass?” She looks down, tongue poking out between her teeth as she smiles, “I don’t think you have, Hook, no.” He tucks the dull edge of his hook under her chin, tilting her head up, “Hey, let me see you. Don’t shy away from me.” He leans forward, placing a soft kiss to her right cheek before he whispers in her ear, “And I beg of you, call me James.” 

     The pirate before her was a flirt, (Y/n) was more than aware of that, and it made her hate the way butterflies erupted in her stomach at his touch. The feeling of his lips setting her on fire. “I bet that’s what you tell all your girls,” she teases, trying to sound confident as she shoves his shoulder gently. His hook wraps around her bicep, pulling her against him and her hand finds its way forward to absorb some of the shock of the collison. “What other girls love? As far as I’m concerned you’re the only one here.” She reaches up, smoothing a stray strand of his hair back into place as he takes another sip of his drink. “Is that so?” He nods, staring down at her glossed lips, “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to see you outside of that old man’s watchful eye. I’m so glad you came tonight.” Her hand busies itself behind his back, toying with the boy’s collar as they stand there face to face, “I think you’ve had enough to drink, James. I never picked you to be a lightweight.” He hums, pressing another kiss to her shoulder, “The only thing I’m drunk on is you, love.”  

     Right hand reaching out to his, taking his cup and  she’s laughing, sliding it onto the table behind him, “Whatever you say, Captain. How about you let me take you home?” His ever present smirk turns into more of a genuine smile as he nods, letting the girl untangle herself from him. Normally he’d stay at a party until they had to shut it down, he’d never left this early. But he did feel off, maybe he was drunk? Had he made his drinks too strong to compensate for how light he was pouring hers without noticing? It didn’t matter, not when he was taking hold of her hand and she was letting him. Her thumb rubbing light circles on the back of his hand as she led him through the crowd. The cool air outside felt heavenly on his skin as the girl led him across the rocks of the black lagoon. Wind kissing his face that he didn’t even realize had started to sweat. “Hey, love?” She hums, pulling him slightly closer to her side as they make it to dry, stable land. “You know I meant it when I said you were breathtaking, don’t ya?” She shakes her head, “How long have you been holding onto that one, huh?” “Since last year, the second class project I think. God I should’ve told you how lovely you are sooner, I didn’t realize you’d let me hold your hand if I did.” It earns him a laugh, her hip knocking into his playfully, “Don’t make me take my hand back from you, Hook.” His grip tightens, a whine slipping out of his normally cocky lips, “You wouldn’t dare.” 

    “Wouldn’t I?” She hums, still drawing those light circles on his hand though. “I’ve gotta say, I’m kinda glad you’re a lightweight, James. You make a cute drunk.” He laughs, leaning his weight against her ever so slightly as they wander through the woods, “That sounds like you’re planning to take advantage of me. Not that I’d mind.” “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” she stutters over the words, free hand flying up to cover her mouth.”I just meant like, you’re being so sweet right now you know? I’m glad I get to take care of you for a little bit, I feel like every time I see you, you’re watching over me you know? I’m glad I get to return the favor for once.” “You are?” “I am.”

   The rest of their walk to his dorm is filled with light and playful conversation. She hated to admit it, she knew her friends would hate to hear her say it, but Hook was a genuinely nice guy to be around. And his calloused hand felt so nice in her softer one. She was nearly disappointed when they got back to the boy’s shared dorm, not wanting to let him go. “Give me your key, Hook.” He shakes his head, dark feathered hair moving around his pretty features in a way that made him almost look like he was moving in slow motion. “Hook come on, give me your keys. It’s time to go to bed.” He points the golden piece of metal at the end of his arm towards her, “That is not my name, not to you.” She laughs softly, taking his hook into her other hand so she can pull him closer, “James,” the name is drawn out and cooed, their faces meer inches apart, “Would you please give me your key so I can get you into bed?” He pouts, shaking his head again, “Can’t.” 

     “And why can’t you?” She never dreamed him to be this needy and stubborn, part of her almost found it precious. “If I give you my key then I have to let go of your hand and you’re going to leave me.” Her hand lets go of his hook, dipping into the pocket on his jacket instead, “I promise you, James, I’ll stay until you fall asleep. Now can I please,” her fingers wrap around his keys, pulling them out of his pocket. “Thief,” he mumbles, watching her turn away from him to unlock the door. “You’ll thank me in the morning when you wake up in your own bed and not the floor somewhere.” He leans against her, shaking his head, “I always find my way home when I’m drinking, Princess.”: “Not a princess, James,” she sighs, throwing the door open. “You’re my princess.” 

     She ignores the remark, instead letting her eyes travel around the room. (Y/n) is pretty sure that she’s never seen a dorm room look like it belonged to the people residing in it as much as this one did. Maroon and forest green covering the beds, black decor and golden tapestries hanging to the walls. An old torn flag that she was sure once took its home on the Jolly Roger was hanging over Hook’s bed, taking up nearly his whole wall. There wasn’t a gap of space in that room that didn’t scream the two boys’ names. Something about it was oddly comforting. “Nice room, Captain.” He smiles, watching her take it in. She looked nearly awestruck, the boy couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in it. “Thank you, princess.” She rolls her eyes, headed over to the dresser on his side of the room, “Which drawer do you keep your pajamas in?” “Pajamas?” She turns to him, a single brow raised, “Yeah James, your pajamas. PJs? Sleep clothes?” He shakes his head, waving her off as he removes his coat, “Oh no, none of that. Just boxers and an undershirt. If I feel like leaving on the undershirt.” (Y/n) can feel the heat rising to her face as the pirate takes his boots off. Of course he didn’t wear pajamas.     “Okay, well then you get uh,” she swallows, turning around to face the wall again, “Comfortable. And I will face this way until you get in your bed.” James laughs, shaking his head as he shrugs off his silky button up, “I didn’t expect you to be so easily flustered.” “Yeah well, you just told me you basically sleep naked, so.” “It’s just a little bare chest and thigh, not like you’d get to see anything too frisky without wanting to.” “Just get in bed before I change my mind and leave you here alone, Hook.” He shuts his mouth, letting his belt and jeans fall to the ground before striding over to his bed. She can hear his blankets russel as he adjusts, sliding into the stiffly made double bed. “You can turn around now, love. Worst you’re going to see is my shoulders.” She rotates on her heel, slowly opening her eyes to look at him. 

    As promised, Hook is tucked into his bed, shoulders and head barely visible above the maroon comforter and white sheets. He watches her with a soft smile, waiting for her to move. “You said you’d stay with me. Do you need a shirt?” She shakes her head, making her way over to the side of his bed, toeing her shoes off as she goes. “I said I’d stay with you until you fell asleep. Not that I’d stay with you James, you need some rest.” She slides onto the bed beside him, legs stretched out along his side as her back leans against his headboard. James turns onto his side, an arm coming to stretch out over her thighs as he looks up at her, “Well, if you won’t stay the night with me, will you at least let me take you out tomorrow?” She holds her breath waiting for him to laugh at her or something. For him to give her any sort of sign that he’s teasing, or just trying to hurt her. But he doesn’t looking up to her with love struck and hopeful eyes that have her feeling a touch weak. “If you can remember asking me that in the morning, come find me to ask me again. Then I’ll say yes.” He nods, leaning his forehead against her leg as he gets comfortable, “I’ll remember.” She hums, letting her hand fall into the boy’s hair, “I’ll see you tomorrow then, James. Goodnight.” 

     (Y/n) isn’t sure how long she’s been by his side before the boy is softly snoring beside her, she does know the party has ended by the time he is though. Morgie le Fay slipping in visibly exhausted and ready to fall into his bed. The sight of the girl making him jump. “Hello, what are you doing here?” She slides out from under Hook’s arm, grabbing a spare pillow from behind him to take her place. “He was wasted, couldn’t let him just wander around like that,” She stretches the stiffness out of her muscles as she speaks, eyes glancing around to retrace her steps to her shoes. “Hook didn’t strike me as a needy drunk though, it’s kinda cute. He’s probably going to be hungover tomorrow, if y’all have tylenol or anything I recommend leaving some out before you go to sleep.” She slips her shoes on walking to the door, “Goodnight Morgie.” He nods to her, mumbling what he thinks is an audible goodnight as he turns to look at his friend. Needy drunk? Hook’s always been one to fight when he was drunk. The sorcerer couldn’t prove it but something was off about the interaction he just had. It would have to be something he’d figure out in the morning though, the boy too tired to worry now. As long as his friend was fine, which it seemed he was, that issue could wait. 

                           ˚⋆°˖ ～ 🍂࿔ ฅ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍂 ⋅

     Much to (Y/n)’s surprise, Hook did remember asking her out the night of the party. It was actually a sweet little date, just the two of them curled up in the corner of a cafe getting to know each other outside of what Alchemy and the party had allowed them. She didn’t think she’d find herself so excited to be on a date with James, he had a reputation of course, she didn’t want to get her hopes up. But then one date turned to two, and two turned to three. By the fifth date the pirate had asked her to be his girlfriend, something that she hadn’t expected but she accepted, albeit a touch too eagerly if you were to ask her. Not that he’d agree, if it wasn’t for Morgie’s voice in his ear he probably would have asked her on the first date. 

    Now it had been four months of whatever her and James got started on the night of that party and the whole school was hyper aware of the attachment the two had developed to each other. Not that Hook would let other people forget. He was seemingly always touching her, holding her hand or his hook looping through her belt loops with his arm around her side. Pressing needy little kisses on top of her head or softly on her cheek. She adored the attention but if she was honest something about it always felt wrong to her. Not that she didn’t deserve his affection, or didn’t want it. Goodness knew she craved him when he was away. More so like something about it was just, for lack of better words on her end, off. It was as if James never sobered up from that night’s party and she knew she wasn’t the only one who could see it. The boy's friends always felt like they were watching them, it nearly made her skin crawl. And the feeling was getting to be too much for her now, the girl squirming under their gaze from where she sat curled against Hook’s side. She should slip out now, it would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it? 

     Her eyes flickered between the watchful eyes of Maleficent and Uliana before they flickered back up to her boyfriend. Softly tapping his cheek with her index finger so he’d look down at her. “Yes, love?” She smiles slightly, eyes staring at his ever adoring ones. Had they ever looked at her any other way? It was like she couldn’t remember. “I need to head out, I have a project for magical creatures that I need to go finish.” A frown pulls on his lips but he nods, pressing a soft kiss into her hairline before letting her get out of his grip. Eyes following the girl all the way to the door, drinking her in as if he’d never see her again, face settled into the palm of his hand. 

    “God, why are you still acting like that?” Uliana scoffs, glaring at the boy -who used to be her right hand man- in annoyance. “Acting like what, Uli?” He doesn’t peel his eyes from the door, as if she’d stumble back through it if he waited long enough, hoped hard enough. “Like you’re spelled,” she pauses, locking eyes with Maleficent as if they had both realized something dreadful had happened. “Oh my god,” Maleficent’s hand covers her mouth as she turns to look at her friend in shock. Had they done this? The girl was supposed to be the lovestruck zombie here, not Hook. “Oh you are spelled,” the pixie’s voice is littered with a hopeless regret, staring at her beloved friend in disappointment.     “I’m not spelled, Mali, I’m just in love. You of all people should get that, with the way you fall over Hades and all,” his tone is far too dreamy to fit him, the boy finally turning away from the door and back to his friends. “No, Hook, you’re spelled. Uli and I spelled you,” she sighs, shaking her head as she stares at the boy. His face seems to contort into an expression somewhere between confusion and anger, “What do you mean you spelled me?” “Well it wasn’t meant for you,” Uliana sighs, throwing her hands up, “It was meant for the girl. You handed her the wrong cup.” Morgie turns to the girls in shock, the night of the party finally adding up in his mind. Hook was an angry drunk, he knew his friend well enough to know that. The boy hadn’t been drunk at all, that’s why he wasn’t hung over. “You tried to spell (Y/n)? Why?” “We were trying to help him,” Uliana throws a hand out at Hook as she snaps, “He was too scared to ever admit he liked her to her and we were sick of hearing about it. She was supposed to fall in love with him so she would ask him out and he’d shut up.” 

     Hook rises off of his bed, glaring at Uliana with an emotion she couldn’t quite place dancing in his eyes. “So you decided to spell her?” He shoves the sea witch back, not rough enough to hurt her but it gets his point across. “You could have hurt her! What if there were side effects?” “But she would have loved you, is that not what you’d been whining about for a year?” “She wouldn’t have loved me! The magic in her would’ve tied her to me, she wouldn’t have loved me.” “Well she loves you now doesn’t she? So what does it matter?”

    He lets out an exaggerated sigh, turning on his heel to storm out of his dorm. Hook’s friends were calling for him from his room but he didn’t have in him to care. He had to find (Y/n), if their love was real -able to exist past the spell-she should be able to break it, shouldn’t she? They hadn’t kissed yet, the girl always shying away from his lips. Maybe some part of her could tell? Had Uliana told her? Surely not. If it didn’t work, if he felt the exact same after kissing her, he’d go take a dip in the enchanted fountain. That water could undo anything, then he would just have to potentially break the loveliest girl he’d ever met’s heart. Hook couldn’t help but hope she could end the whole thing, or maybe living his life spelled wouldn’t be that bad. Not if it meant he had her. 

    The pounding on (Y/n)’s door made her jump out of her skin. Who in their right mind would be banging on her door like that? Uliana maybe? Had she forgot something and James sent the sea witch to bring it to her? That didn’t seem right, he would always bring her things himself. So who in their right mind was on the other side of her door acting like a mad man?  She didn’t expect to see those familiar dark doe eyes and rich feathered locks behind her door. Her boyfriend looking panicked and a little angry as his eyes take her in. 

   “Don’t shy away,” he mumbles, grabbing the back of her head and threading his fingers through her hair. (Y/n) doesn’t get a second to question him before his lips are slamming into hers, kissing her hungrily like he needed her for survival. A movement so primal it was shocking. Yet she melts into him, hands sliding up his torso, one resting on his chest while the other needily cups his jaw, pulling him as close as she could. His lips were slightly chapped, feeling raw against her own soft ones but she couldn’t find it in her to care, fingers sliding further back on his head so she could softly pull at his hair. Hook groans against her lips slightly at the contact, biting her bottom one and tugging it back slightly as he pulls away. 

    He felt like something had been lifted off of him as he looked at her. She was still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, Hook was entirely sure of that, but it was like the fog around her had finally lifted. By god she’d done it. James didn’t even know it was possible to fall in love with someone while you were under a love spell. She pants slightly, looking up at him in shock, “What was that for?” “Oh, Love,” he breathes, moving his hand from the back of her head so he could stroke her cheek, “You just saved me from myself.” Her brows furrow, pursuing her lips as she waits on him to elaborate, no further words seem to come though. “James,” she laughs, though the sound comes out more nervous than she intended, “What are you talking about?” 

    “Uliana, she,” he shakes his head, nudging the girl back into her dorm so he can follow her in, letting the door slam behind him. “I guess it was the night of the party, she handed me one of those malibu sprites we had remember them?” She nods, waving with a hand for him to continue, it was odd, like he had finally sobered up. (Y/n) felt like she could breath around him again, hands lingering on him without feeling like they were doing something wrong. “Well apparently she put a love potion in one of them, she intended it for you but.” “But you drank it, that’s why you seemed like such a lightweight. That's why Maleficent invited me, isn’t it? They were trying to prank me.” The girl shakes her head, dusting off his shoulder. “So what now, do you want to like,” she sighs, looking down, “Do you want to like, break up now that you realized you were just spelled or?” He grabs her chin with his good hand, tilting her head up to look at him, “Do I need to kiss you again or are you going to use your brain?” She looks at him as if he’s grown two heads and he sighs. “Darling, what are the two ways to break a love potion’s hold? I know you pay attention in alchemy, you should know this.” She bites her lip, searching his deep dark eyes like they’re going to answer the question for her. 

     “What breaks a love spell, Love?” She knew this, “Water from the enchanted lake,” there's a pause. She knows the second one, she knows she does. “I haven’t been to the enchanted lake or the fountain. I came straight here from my dorm so what broke my spell?” Her lip finds its way between her teeth, chewing on it as she stares at the boy she’d grown to love oh so dearly. Love. “I did,” she breathes it, pulling the boy closer and connecting their lips again. It’s gentler this time, not as aggressive and needy as the kiss before, this one is full of nothing but love. His hands moving to cup his lover's face, pulling her as close as he could manage. That was his smart girl, she saved him.

[accio-sriracha]

No because what even are the Marauders? Like the dynamics are just so absolutely wild with these four characters.

Okay so we have Remus: Literally a werewolf, stone cold sarcasm, could kill a man with one look, sharp mind and sharper tounge, like 6'4 and could 100% tower over you, in general just does not give a shit.

But we also have Remus: Soft Boi, tall and lanky, incredibly socially awkward, just wants naps and chocolate all the time, blushes furiously, way too stressed out about absolutely everything, can't go twenty minutes without complaining that he's cold.

We have Sirius: Punk Rock Badass tm, drives an illegal flying motorcycle, has the coolest animagus form to date, scary dog best friend privileges, the most Noble and Ancient House of Black reject, could kill you without hesitation if you look at his friends wrong, could tower over you even though he's shorter??, his voice is somehow even more threatening when it's quiet.

But then we have Sirius: Perpetual gay panic, will willingly fling himself off a bridge if any of the marauders told him to, terrified of Lily Evans (who's the shortest of all of them), sings along to Dancing Queen every time it plays, needs affection or he'll die, will break down crying because he cant get his eyeliner right, absolute hot mess.

We have James: Over protective, strong enough to manhandle someone easily, also incredibly tall, doesn't care what anyone thinks of him, popular jock, secret charms genius and could come up with a spell to haunt you forever, known for being a Prank God, is best friends with the House of Black reject and a literal werewolf, the untouchable quidditch captain, could probably down eight firewhiskeys and still shoot a quaffle perfectly through a hoop, his angry glare could melt fucking steel.

Then we have James: chased after the same person for seven years, crooked glasses and always messy hair, big doe eyes, literally and figuratively deer in headlights, won't stop whining about everything, takes an hour long shower because he needs to find the right playlist, refuses to eat sandwiches with the crusts on, wears mismatched socks, such a mama's boy, wears croptops for fun, likes being choked.

Well... and then there's just Peter: Not a mean bone in this kid's body, he will bring the snacks to the study group and there is nothing you can do about it, likes cheese, always down for a road trip, desperately needs validation, pins photos of all his best friends to his wall, likes cheese, can make you cry just by pouting at you, literally just a big tedy bear, needs at least three hugs a day, LIKES CHEESE.

[theboarsbride]

The Ballad of Sir John and the Dragon - A Dark Fantasy Terror AU🐉🏰⚔🩸

Knights Sir John, Sir James, and Sir Francis are tasked to explore - and bring the holy light of their god - to the dark, mysterious Northwest Wood, a realm of crooked trees, unending snow, and beasts with blood-stained teeth.

My silly, self indulgent medieval dark fantasy AU for The Terror where the captains are knights heehee!

Can be read on ao3, and is inspired by both my love for 80s fantasy movies and Misanthrop by Blod Besvimelse (and uhhhhhh Ciarán Hinds simping but what else is new tbh?).

Also doodle concepts for this AU!👇

[the-kr8tor]

Another potion request I think you may enjoy brewing up (Using my second and last slot).

A few stalks of baby's breath, mixed with epsom salt poured into a ❣️. Billie and Ramona could be from an orphanage that hitched a ride on the boat, the same fate as you...apart from the fact they just wanted some fun and weren't running away, and have adopted both BDAS!Hobie and you as parents. Signed by yours truly -🐦‍⬛

QISJJWIWJS BDAS + TWINS REQUEST?!!!! At your service 🫡

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.6 k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, Billie and Ramona AU, dad! Hobie, mom! Reader, Pirate AU, BDAS AU, CW food mentions, FLUFF!

A/N: hmmm I think every BDAS enjoyer should read this

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

The twins jump around in glee, running off to the side of the ship to watch the anchor fall down with a loud splash. They've been your pride and joy the moment they fell into your lap, literally, they fell off the sail and into your arms one sunny morning and you've since become their adopted mother from then on. Hell, you've got the bump on your head to prove it from how you tumbled just to catch Billie in your arms while Ramona who's nestled in the crook of your arm watches you with wide, curious eyes. Hobie saved the day though, if not for him you'd have more than a bump on your head. It's safe to say that the girls fell into your arms and Hobie's.

It's been two years since then, they've grown from little five year olds who refuses to leave yours and the captain's side; to a couple of seven year olds who cannot stand still for even a moment while they run around the ship looking to annoy someone. Usually it's Ned or James, but today, the little ones prefer to watch as the beloved ship anchors down near a lonesome island.

You pop in next to them, arm snaking around their shoulders, chin placed on top of Billie's curls that you've personally braided for today. You're still in awe at how much they look like Hobie now, so much so that you've questioned Hobie where he was seven years ago and if he had relations during that time. To which he always (lovingly) jabs you with his chin above your shoulder, whispering in your ear, saying that there was nobody else. And he definitely has never been in the town where Billie and Mona’s orphanage once resided. You believe him of course, but you never miss a chance to tease him about it.

Maybe they're starting to look like him because his love for the twins are so strong that it's starting to show on them. You like that idea better.

The entire crew loves them too, Finn always makes whatever they want to eat even if he just cleaned up for the night. Because of the girls, there's always an abundance of chocolate and sweets on board, to which you couldn't complain about. Yuri teaches them how to climb up the crow’s nest, which was a scare to you at first. You or Hobie always wait down at the deck with arms out just in case. Because of Ned, they're an expert at sewing, you once joked to Ned that they'll replace him one day. He sulked the entire day, you had to give him a peace offering of Finn's finest wine after that. And if suddenly the girls have gone missing, they're almost always by Miles, Pavitr, and Gwen, who are all happy to babysit them. To which Hobie always takes the opportunity to yank you into the captain's quarters to hoard you all to himself.

“Are you excited?” You mumble into Billie’s hair, hand rubbing softly at Mona's shoulder where Billie accidentally hit her with a toy wooden sword just yesterday.

“Mm-hmm!” Billie nods enthusiastically, while her sister stares at the lush island a few miles away.

“It's so pretty.” Mona whispers in awe. She turns her head towards you with a smile. “Do you really think the treasure's there?”

“Of course—”

“The map never lies, cheese.” Hobie pops up from nowhere, sliding up next to Mona's side, winking briefly at you, you chuckle softly, hand already reaching for him. Mona looks up at him with admiration, giving him a wide toothy smile while her sister does the same. “It's just like what Miles said, he pinpointed exactly where it is.”

“Uncle Miles is a genius!” Billie screeches, Hobie meets your hand halfway, immediately cupping your hand behind the girls' back.

“He’s brilliant!” Mona happily jumps in place when Finn starts to uncover the dinghy boat from the side of the ship.

Hobie mocks offense, “what ‘bout me and Y/N then? We're the one who got the map for you two.” He's right, sort of.

You and Hobie made the map yourselves for the anniversary of the day they fell into your arms. You both worked day and night to perfect it, making elaborate riddles that made the red sail pirates bend over backwards to sail all over the south end of the country to where you and your captain laid ‘traps’ and more riddles that would lead to the ‘treasure map’ of their dreams. The crew was on board the entire time, but you've never anticipated how fast the girls figured all the riddles out. It took them less than a week to find the map when you and Hobie thought it would take at least three weeks. Now the so-called treasure hunt is finished early, a few weeks off the anniversary.

“Oh, you and mum helped too, dad.” Mona grins at you and then to Hobie. You can never get used to the titles, your heart always sings whenever they call you ‘mum’ or more sweetly, ‘mummy’. Hobie shares the same testament, he feels like dancing whenever they call him ‘dad’ or ‘captain dad’.

Billie stares at Hobie, you can tell that she's up to something. “Nah, you were little help, dad. Mum at least got us satchels for the treasure.” You hide your laughter over Billie's head.

Hobie gasps, chuckles poking through the act. “‘Little help?’” the girls giggle at his reaction. “‘Little help?!’” The laughter gets louder as Hobie wildly throws his long arms about. “Whose bloody ship brought you to all the places, huh?” With a heave, he scoops them in his arms, lifting them and carrying them over his shoulders. You wish you could capture the moment as your little found family plays around your home.

“Mummy's!” They both exclaim, shrieking happily. Hobie fakes another offended gasp, blowing raspberries on each of their sides while he slyly moves over to the raised dinghy.

“That is a crime against your captain!” He yells, raising them up above his head effortlessly while you watch on with the biggest grin. “What is the verdict, my dear medic?”

You tamp down a laugh, matching his acting. “Sounds like the punishment is thrown overboard, my cap'n.”

Hobie winks at you, the girls scream as their dad ‘throws them overboard’. Their eyes widen at the treachery, but Finn, who has been waiting in the dinghy with arms open, catches them without a hitch. You exhale properly once they're safe and sound in his big burly arms. You trust Hobie and his aim, but you don't trust the wind and gravity.

The girls kick about, while Finn is unbothered, watching the bundles in his arms. “Thank you for catching them, Finn.” You say, climbing down on the dinghy with Hobie's hand helping you down. He grunts in reply, releasing the twins back into your arms.

The girls clamber their way into your lap, sending death glares at Hobie who sits down across from you. Finn gets out of the boat, slowly letting the small boat down into the tides.

“What?” Hobie asks, acting innocent. Billie and Mona huff at him, tiny fists wrapped around your (Hobie's) leather vest. “I was just followin’ orders! Your mum delivered the verdict!” They turn to you simultaneously, you stumble on your words.

“Mum!” Their furrowed brows would be adorable but they have the same fire in their eyes that you sport when need be.

“Sorry?”

It was an awkward rowing for only a moment until you placate them with chocolates that you've hidden under the seat just for the occasion. They've forgotten about you and Hobie's transgressions the moment they bit into the sugary treat.

Billie's the first person to rush into the sandy beach when the boat reached the island. She grabs Mona by the hand, giddily bouncing up and down in excitement. Hobie pulls the boat inwards while you watch the girls count their steps according to the map in their hands.

You follow behind, hearing their little arguments as they get turned around in confusion. Hobie's arm snakes around your waist, face tucked into your neck, sighing as his shoulders relax.

“Hi,” you smile, craning your neck to peck at his temple. “What are you doing?”

“Sniffin’”

“Ah, continue on, captain.”

After a beat, with you and Hobie spectating the twins, Hobie mumbles into your neck. “Do you remember the first time we were on this island?”

You smile fondly, still following the girls as they walk inside the lush greenery. The familiar canopy shields you from the sun, Hobie straightens up, hand sliding down to hold your hand. “I do, some of it was bad, but it was mostly good I think.”

He squeezes your hand, “yeah? It was all worth it wasn't it?”

The girls finally stop in front of a pomegranate tree that has fully blossomed. They pause in awe before noticing the red ‘x’ beneath their feet. They take the little shovels that Hobie made, excitedly pulling it out of their satchels, digging immediately with a grin.

You sniff, meeting his grey eyes. “It was. It was all worth it.”

Hobie smiles, arms finding penchant on your hips, pulling you close until you're chest to chest with him. You cup his jaw, his stubble making you chuckle as you rub gently along his jawline. He moves his head down to press a kiss against your palm, eyes never leaving your own.

You lean closer, heart thrumming, lips brushing along his own—

“We found it!” Billie exclaims, while Mona dances around the wooden chest that you and everyone who loves and cares for the girls have prepared for them. You two move away from each other quickly.

“What are you waitin' for?” Hobie matches his girls' energy. “Open it then!” The second they're occupied, he pulls you back into his arms, giving you a chaste yet saccharin kiss that leaves you breathless, that reminds you of the first time he kissed you under the moonlight.

[petals2fish]

All The Kings Men

After Prince James is cursed by the evil Lord Voldemort, Lily searches for ways to save him. A Sleeping Beauty Jily Role Reversal Re-telling. Day #20 of the jilytober song shuffle prompts with: "All The Kings Men" by The Rigs READ ON A03

In a kingdom veiled in sunlight, there was a girl as wild as the fire she carried within—Lily Evans. The daughter of the Captain of the Guard, she was as untamed as the horses she often stole from the royal stables and as free as the wind that swept across the cliffs beyond the castle. Wherever she went, Prince James Potter followed, his laughter always trailing just behind hers. A prince, but more than that, a boy whose heart had long belonged to the reckless girl who ruled his world with chaos and fire.

Lily was trouble—not the gentle, mischievous kind, but a force of nature that left disorder in her wake. She and James didn’t just defy the palace’s rules; they shattered them. From midnight raids on the kitchens to scaling the highest towers and hanging banners adorned with crude stick-figure drawings, they were rebels in a court that demanded less. Together, they created more, a secret kingdom of love and laughter, far from the watchful eyes of courtiers and kings.

But on this autumn afternoon, as the world turned gold beneath the kiss of the dying sun, something was different. The crispness in the air whispered of change, of a future neither of them wanted to face. They sat perched in the royal orchards, high among the branches—James lounging on a thick limb, an apple forgotten in his hand, while Lily hung from the branch above him, her fiery hair brushing his cheeks. Her laughter, sharp and free, echoed through the trees, a song even the birds stopped to listen too.

"I can't imagine calling you 'King' James," she hummed, "can you imagine me saying it?"

"I don’t want it," James muttered, his voice low, the apple slipping from his grasp. His hazel eyes, so often full of mischief, were distant, tracing the jagged line of mountains far beyond the castle walls. "I don’t want to be king, Lily. Not if it means losing this—losing us. I’d rather ride into the wilds with you, sleep beneath the stars, where no one expects anything from me."

Lily swung herself upright, her emerald gaze sharp as it locked onto his, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. "A reluctant king who’d rather be a rogue? That’s rich, James." She nudged him with her boot, but her voice softened, betraying something deeper beneath her jest. "But I understand. You’re not the only one shackled, some of us have to be ladies."

She didn’t need to say more—he saw it in the way her eyes flickered toward the castle far below, where the court awaited her with its gowns and ballrooms, finishing schools and chains of propriety. They wanted to shape her into something delicate, something that would never fit the wild soul who raced horses and climbed trees. Each time she donned those silken gowns, a piece of her freedom crumbled, as if the wild, fierce girl James knew was slipping further away.

And he saw it—saw her. The girl who ruled the stables and the orchards with a wicked grin, who faced down the palace guards with nothing but fire in her veins—that Lily was fading. And it scared him more than any crown, any throne.

At first, she didn’t notice how his gaze lingered too long when she wore those gowns, or how his easy laughter softened into something quieter, something almost vulnerable. But when she caught him staring across the banquet hall, his hazel eyes darkened with emotions he never spoke aloud, her heart clenched. This wasn’t the teasing look of a boy toward his best friend—it was something far more dangerous.

It was love, and they were both cursed to someone else. 

Now, in the soft light of the setting sun, James looked at her with that same quiet intensity, the silence between them stretching like a thread about to snap. The world was shifting outside their orchard, and they both knew they couldn’t outrun it forever.

“Lily,” James whispered, his voice barely a breath, trembling with uncertainty. “What if we didn’t do it? What if we ran? Right now. No throne, no court, no ballrooms. Just us. We could be free.”

Her breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing against her heart, against the fragile future they had both been avoiding. The thought of leaving it all behind—the duty, the expectations—was intoxicating. But the world beyond their wild kingdom wasn’t so kind, and they both knew it.

“You know we can’t.” Was her well-thought response. 

Still, for a brief, heart-stopping moment, she let herself imagine it. A life where they weren’t bound by the chains of duty. A world where they were simply Lily and James, free to race the wind beneath an endless sky. Free to be together. 

But the court had other plans, ones that made her blood burn with anger. James’s seventeenth birthday loomed, and with it, the court’s expectations. He was to leave, journey to a neighboring kingdom, and meet the princess they had chosen for him—his future bride. A girl handpicked for political alliances, with royal blood and the cold calculation of a council that cared nothing for the boy who would one day wear the crown.

The thought of him with someone else—someone polished and perfect, chosen by strangers—made her want to scream.

She had spent too many sleepless nights staring at her ceiling, the ache in her chest growing sharper as the day James would leave her loomed closer. But it wasn’t just the fear of losing him to another that gnawed at her. It was the fear of losing him entirely—the boy who laughed too loud, who pulled her into mischief, who belonged in the world with her, not trapped in the gilded throne room.

They didn’t speak of it, but the weight of their impending separation hung between them, heavy as smoke, choking the air.

And then everything changed.

It happened during one of the royal feasts—extravagant, tedious affairs that Lily despised, though she had no choice but to attend. This particular banquet was worse than usual. A delegation from a neighboring kingdom had arrived, bringing with them a wizard of notorious arrogance, a man whose pride filled the hall like a suffocating fog. Lord Voldemort, as he called himself, was infamous for holding grudges and commanding fear wherever he went, and from the moment he entered the feast, his presence cast a pall over the room.

Lily had been doing her best to avoid the pomp and pretense, standing by the punch bowl, her laughter bright and genuine as she chatted with James. He had been making a sarcastic comment about how the stuffed pigeons decorating the banquet table looked as if they were on the verge of exploding. She couldn’t help but laugh at his dry wit, the sound of her amusement carrying through the hall. It was one of those moments that made the dreary event almost bearable.

But then, in the middle of their banter, Lily accidentally stepped back—right onto Lord Voldemort’s foot.

“I’m so sorry,” she said immediately, her laughter fading as she turned to face the man. His presence was oppressive, his face pale and snake-like, with a nose so flat it was almost non-existent. She tried to explain, “I didn’t see you there, I was—”

“Watch where you’re going, you bumbling peasant,” the wizard snapped.

Lily froze, her apology caught in her throat. The insult stung, but before she could say another word, James was already stepping forward, his expression hardening in a way Lily hadn’t seen in a long time. His eyes, usually filled with warmth and mischief, were sharp now, blazing with something far more dangerous.

“Mind your tone,” James said, his voice steady but laced with a warning. He placed himself slightly in front of Lily, his posture defensive, protective. “She apologized. You could try some manners for a change.”

Voldemort sneered, his dark eyes narrowing. “Manners? From the likes of her? She should be more careful in the presence of her betters.”

Lily flinched at the cruel words, but before she could react, James was already moving. His usual reckless energy shifted into something far more intense, more deliberate. He stepped closer to Voldemort, his voice low and biting. “There’s no one in this hall who's better, least of all you. I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself.”

The tension between them crackled. James, ever the reckless prince, didn’t back down, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, his hazel eyes flashing with defiance. It was one thing to insult him—James could brush off nearly any slight with a grin and a clever retort. 

But to insult Lily? 

That was unforgivable.

Lily placed a hand on James’ arm, trying to defuse the situation before it escalated further. “James, it’s fine, really,” she whispered, though her heart swelled at his unwavering defense of her.

But James wasn’t finished. He’d already taken an instant dislike to the wizard, and now that dislike was searing into something more. The man’s arrogance, the way his presence commanded the room with fear, grated against James’ very nature. And the way he had spoken to Lily—it lit a fire in James that couldn’t be easily extinguished.

The moment Voldemort’s sweeping robes brushed against the table, knocking over a bowl of pea soup that splattered onto his stately robes, the prince’s lips curled into a grin, one that was far from friendly. The room had already fallen into an uneasy silence, the courtiers sensing the brewing conflict. James’s shoes were partially covered, but Lily watched as he kicked the bowl so it splattered along the backside of Lord Vodemort’s robes purposely. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” James said, his voice dripping with exaggerated politeness, the mockery in his tone impossible to miss. “I like hot soup.” 

“You foolish boy!” Voldemort’s pale face darkened, his long fingers twitching toward his wand as he looked down at the mess. “It’s ruined my robes!” he said dramatically, his voice oozing with disdain.

James raised an eyebrow, the dangerous glint in his hazel eyes sharpening. “Let me help you with that, Lord Moldy-mort,” he said, the nickname slipping from his lips with a grin that could only be described as audacious.

The hall went deathly still. Courtiers exchanged wide-eyed glances, some stifling nervous laughter, others holding their breath. Everyone knew the wizard was dangerous, his temper legendary. But James Potter had never been one to hold his tongue, and certainly not when someone insulted the people he cared about.

Voldemort’s face turned a livid shade of purple, his pride wounded beyond repair. His hand gripped his wand tightly, and for a moment, it looked as if he might lash out in front of the entire court. But James didn’t flinch. He stood his ground, his smile never faltering, his body a shield between Voldemort’s venomous gaze and Lily.

“Careful, little Prince,” Voldemort hissed, his voice low and menacing. “You don’t know who you’re toying with.”

James tilted his head, his grin never wavering. “Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Lily’s heart raced as she watched the exchange, fear creeping up her spine, though she’d never say it out loud. But beneath the fear was something else—something fiercer. The way James stood there, unyielding, ready to defend her without a second thought, made her chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. He wasn’t just standing up to Voldemort for the sake of a joke or some reckless impulse. 

He was standing up for her.

And in that moment, she knew.

Voldemort’s eyes flicked from James to Lily, his sneer deepening. “You’ll regret this, boy,” he spat, before sweeping away from the table in a whirl of dark robes, leaving the hall in tense, uneasy silence.

As soon as the wizard was gone, the tension broke like a dam, the courtiers whispering amongst themselves, some in disbelief, others in admiration of James’ boldness. But Lily could only focus on the boy in front of her, her heart still pounding.

“James…” she began, her voice soft, unsure of what to say.

He turned to her, his expression softening as his hand found hers, his thumb brushing against her knuckles in a silent gesture of comfort. “You alright?”

She nodded. “You didn’t have to do that.”

James shrugged. “Course I did. No one talks to you like that.”

Lily felt a warmth spread through her, her heart full. James had always been her partner in chaos, her partner in everything. But in moments like this, when he stood between her and the world, she realized just how much more he was. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice catching.

James squeezed her hand gently, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief. “Anytime, Lily. Now, let’s get out of here before Princess Mary tries to hunt me down.”

But the lingering unease in the pit of her stomach refused to fade.

Days later, while sparring in the training yard, James pricked his finger on a blade that should have been ordinary. The moment the metal touched his skin, he collapsed, his body crumpling to the ground. Panic swept through the castle, Sirius Black shouting for help as physicians and wizards were summoned, their magic and remedies useless. No one could wake the prince.

James had fallen into an unnatural sleep, cursed—everyone knew—by the wizard whose pride he had wounded.

Lily’s world shattered in that moment. She had always known there would be a day when James would be pulled away from her, bound by duty to a crown she despised. 

But not like this. 

Not so suddenly. 

Not with so much left unsaid between them.

She had rushed to his chambers, heart pounding, disbelief clawing at her throat as she stood over his still body. She had shaken him, called his name over and over until her voice cracked, tears spilling down her cheeks as she begged him to wake. But James lay silent, his face serene, as though simply asleep. The lively spark of his hazel eyes was gone, and with it, her world.

All the king’s men, and all their horses, couldn’t find a way to save him.

Weeks bled into months, and hope drained from the kingdom. The people whispered of James as though he were already lost. Lily could hear the courtiers murmur about the next heir, the rumors of who might take the throne if James never woke. It was as though the world had already moved on without him, as though he was a ghost in his own palace.

And in that time, the pressure mounted on Lily. Her father, the Captain of the Guard, had sat her down one evening, his eyes heavy with both sorrow and duty. “You have to think about your place, Lily,” he’d said, his voice quiet yet firm. “The world keeps turning, even when we lose the ones we love. You’re getting older, it’s time to marry, and the Prince is not yours to marry–not anyone’s at this moment.”

But how could she think of courtly duties, of finding her place, when the boy who was her entire world lay trapped in an enchanted sleep? How could she care about dancing lessons and courtship when James was locked in this cursed slumber, unreachable behind a veil of dark magic?

So she stayed by his bedside, day after day, her heart splitting in two. Sometimes she whispered to him, her voice barely a breath, telling him stories of their adventures, of the times they’d ruled the palace together as kids. Other times, she simply sat in silence, willing him to wake, to bring back the boy who had always been there, with his laughter, his teasing smile.

But no magic, no remedy, nothing could reach him.

That was when she threw herself into the search, hunting through the castle’s dusty archives, seeking out every healer and sorcerer she could find. She combed through ancient texts and forgotten spells with a desperation that burned in her chest. The months turned into years, but failure only sharpened her determination. She refused to believe that this was how it would end.

And then, finally, she found it. Hidden away in the forgotten corners of the castle’s vast library, a crumbling book told an old folktale—of a prince cursed into eternal sleep, who could only be awakened by a kiss of true love.

Lily scoffed at first. 

A kiss? 

It sounded absurd, like something from one of the fairytales she and James had mocked in their younger years. But after every spell had failed, after years of searching, she began to wonder. Could there be some truth to the legend? Was it possible that, in all her searching, the simplest answer had been there all along?

With nothing left to lose, she climbed the spiral stairs to the tower where James slept, her heart thundering in her chest. True love’s kiss. It sounded ridiculous. And yet… she couldn’t deny the weight of what lay between them, the unspoken bond that had always been more than friendship, more than mischief. 

Could it really be so simple?

She stopped at his bedside, her heart a storm of emotions. Staring down at James, at the boy who had been her partner in every adventure, she rolled her eyes. “Alright, Prince,” she muttered, her voice catching in her throat. “Enough of this. Time to wake up.”

With a deep breath, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his—softly, as if it was the smallest test. But the moment their lips touched, something surged through her. Magic sparked between them, and for a single heartbeat, the world seemed to pause.

Then, slowly, James stirred.

His eyes fluttered open, hazel and familiar, blinking in confusion. He looked up at her, dazed. “…Lily?” His voice was rough, but the sound of it nearly broke her.

Lily’s breath hitched, disbelief flooding her. “James… you’re awake!”

He sat up slowly, blinking as though waking from a dream. “What happened?” he rasped, his voice laced with confusion.

Lily laughed, her breath coming in short, shaky bursts as she tried to steady herself. “Turns out I’m your true love. Who would’ve guessed?”

James’ dazed confusion melted into a familiar, teasing grin, though there was a vulnerability in his gaze that hadn’t been there before. “True love, huh?” he mused, his voice raspy but playful. “I always knew you couldn’t resist me.”

She smacked his arm lightly, though her heart pounded in her chest, the joy bubbling up, overwhelming. He was back. He was really back. And with him, that wildfire between them, the connection that had never dimmed, even in all the years of silence. It was as though the world had shifted back into place, the axis she hadn’t realized had been off-kilter correcting itself.

James sat up slowly, his body stiff from years of unnatural stillness, but his hand moved with familiar ease as it cupped her cheek. Lily felt the warmth of his palm, the roughness of his fingers as if it were the first time. She settled beside him on the mattress, leaning into his touch as his eyes roamed her face, taking in the changes. The way her cheekbones had sharpened, how there were faint lines around her eyes from years of worry, yet they still crinkled the same when she smiled.

“How old are we?” he asked suddenly, his voice laced with disbelief.

Lily hesitated, biting her lip. “I turned twenty a few moons ago.”

His breath hitched. “You mean I’ve been asleep for five years?” His voice cracked, and the weight of it hit him all at once—five years, gone in the blink of an eye for him, while the world outside had kept spinning.

“Five years too long,” she whispered, her throat tightening as she met his gaze. “I tried everything, James. Spells, potions, every piece of magic I could find. I turned the whole kingdom upside down—except for this.” She gave a soft, incredulous laugh, her fingers brushing against his. “I didn’t even know true love’s kiss was real.”

James’ eyes softened, his hand still resting gently on her cheek. “Can I have another?” he asked, his voice low and warm. “I dreamed of you kissing me for five years.”

Lily’s breath caught, her eyes widening. “You dreamed of me?” she whispered, barely able to comprehend it.

He nodded, pressing his forehead to hers, the intimacy of the gesture sending shivers down her spine. “Every moment. Every second. I would’ve dreamed about you for eternity if that’s what it took to be with you again.”

Her heart swelled, the sheer depth of his words unraveling the knot of pain she’d carried for so long. Without another thought, she kissed him, her fingers threading through his messy black hair as she pulled him closer. And this time, it wasn’t just an experiment, or a test of some ancient magic. It was a kiss full of years of longing, of love unspoken but always there, burning beneath the surface.

James responded with a fervor that made her knees weak, his hands sliding up her back as if he needed to feel every inch of her, to remind himself that this wasn’t a dream. The kiss was slow and deep, a promise of everything they had lost and everything they still had left to gain.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Lily couldn’t help but smile—a smile so wide and bright it made her cheeks ache. She rested her forehead against his again, her voice a whisper, but steady. “I love you,” she confessed, the words finally spilling free after years of being buried beneath fear and uncertainty. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

James’ eyes shone with something deeper than his usual teasing mischief. His grin softened, and he reached for her hand, twining their fingers together. “Well,” he said, his voice full of warmth and that familiar spark of adventure, “I guess we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Lily laughed, the sound light and free in a way it hadn’t been in years. “Oh, you have no idea,” she teased, but her heart felt whole again for the first time in so long.

They sat there, in the stillness of the tower room. Time, for once, seemed to slow down, allowing them this moment, this reunion. No curse, no villain, would ever keep them apart again. She'd found the way to save them. 

[alwaysyouuuuuu]

Wolfstar Marvel AU

Folks.

Consider, consider, consider.

1940s.

Sirius as Steve Rogers and Remus as Bucky Barnes. And I mean it in a very, very vague sense.

So starting off like the comics-ish. So, Sirius is drafted a year before Remus is. (he wasn't allowed to, at first, because his family is practically HYDRA royalty, bffs with Voldemort (=Schmidt) and they kept tabs on him. But then Dumbledore (= scientist Erskine) lets him in after hearing his convictions etc.) And he is good at the stuff, a good soldier, good morals.

Remus joins up the next year, and he is in intel (like the Space AU haha) or in the Defense force. They barely get to see each other sometimes but they love each other and persevere (Wondering about period typical attitudes)

Situations get tougher and it is decided (by Erskine=Dumbledore?) that Sirius gets to take the Serum because it enhances the qualities of a person, right? So it has to be a person with strong ethics, i.e., Sirius.

There they meet James (=Howard Stark) and Agent Evans (Peggy Carter) and they get on like a house of fire.

(I am still figuring out where Peter fits in. It's been a while since I watched the movies.)

Sirius becomes the public face of the war, and now they are being sent on longer Missions. They need someone who knows every crook of the enemy bases, so Remus is there too (besides he is ruthless in a fight, did I mention that? when he does, he fights to kill.)

They are a formidable team when they work in together, and at a point HYDRA notices how protective they are of each other. Captain America is ruining a lot of their plans plus together they are a nightmare to HYDRA. Voldemort (= Schmidt = Red Skull) is not going to come out in the open for a common leech and they do not have another super soldier to subdue Sirius (can you imagine voldemort giving the horcrux idea to his death eaters?). But they can break him, right?

So they capture Remus (why is that a common theme in anything i think of) (We could have the whole him being kidnapped and rescued and then he falls off a train thing here. But I would be here typing the whole day, so.)

Anyways. After intense searches involving James (= howard stark) and Lily (= agent carter), Remus is assumed dead. Sirius is catatonic. He becomes single minded. He doesn't know what is to happen of the War, what he does know, is that Voldemort needs to lose the Tesseract. They confront each other, Voldemort manhandles the tesseract, gets pulled into space and the plane is damaged. The plane can't be saved, and Sirius wouldn't have even if he could.

*falls into the Arctic* and James finds his body and the tesseract in the permafrost.

And NOW we have the best part.

When he wakes up after 70 (?) years, Moody (=Fury) offers him the SHIELD initiative. And he accepts, of course, because what else does he have? He is dedicated, devotes himself to missions tirelessly, doesn't dwell on how the world has changed, doesn't dwell on the past if he can help it.

And then Loki brings trouble, and Moody gets him to the *Potter Industries*. The first time Sirius sees Harry, he almost has a heart attack (they might have a bit of an issue working together, because c'mon the past is hitting Sirius on the head.)

Another person he meets is a 20 something year old Agent Elena Chernova. Brown hair, grey eyes. Calls herself the Black Widow, fights every fight like it is her last, and is incredibly private. Well, Sirius can respect that. He doesn't give it much thought and they get on very well. And it turns out they fight well together, too. So well, that he gets whiplash sometimes from back the way he and Remus worked. Nope, he doesn't dwell on it.

Later, they hang out together. Sometimes, they play soccer. Sometimes, they rant about SHIELD policies to each other. Sirius joins *that* group therapy club and she does too. Fast friends, and they grow to rely on each other.

A few years later, Elena collects data from a ship's computer, Moody discovers SHIELD has been compromised, and is shot by

... the Winter Soldier.

and they discover SHIELD has been compromised. They start to gather data with help from Neville (=Sam?) and during a car chase, the Winter Soldier's mask slips.

And surprise, surprise. It's Remus.

Sirius' world is shook to the core and he probably would be rooted to the spot except. Elena sees him too. Now Sirius understands why he is standing there letting himself get beaten bloody by the love of his life who he himself saw fall to death and then mourned 70 years ago. He has seen a ghost.

What he doesn't understand is why Elena is standing there frozen and looking like she has seen a ghost.

[fandomwriterstuff]

The Alchemy

James Potter x Fem!Reader

Words: ~3.1k

Heavily inspired by The Alchemy by Taylor Swift

AN: I made up a bunch of stuff about Ilvermony because I don't know anything about it. I also wanted this to be longer but was struggling.

You were a transfer student, an American who was studying magic at Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You were the pride of Thunderbird house, the well-loved heart and soul of your Quidditch team with a curious and adventurous heart. 

When your mother and father told you they’d been called from their jobs at the Magical Congress to liaise with the Ministry of Magic for an indefinite stretch of time, forcing you to live in Europe, you were disheartened. You worked so hard to achieve your status as captain of the Thunderbird team, and last year you’d finally beaten Wampus after a looong winning streak. 

Of course, it wasn’t always easy. No-Maj’s and wizards alike were being recruited into the military, inflation was at an all-time high, and there was somehow only one wizarding school in America, which meant the admissions process was rigorous. You were one of the lucky ones with good grades and magical talent strong enough to get you an invitation. 

Your one saving grace was that you were entering sixth year at Hogwarts at the beginning of the year, and not the middle. So at least you weren’t the only one being sorted into a house. Unluckily for you, the only other students being sorted were first years.

Therefore, you stood in a crowd of sweaty eleven-year-olds two heads shorter than you, sticking out like a sore thumb. Nonetheless, you stood tall and waited for your name to be called. Their sorting process was different from yours, but no less magical. When you were called up to sit on a stool in front of the entire school, and the sorting hat was placed on your head, you were surprised to hear him speak inside your head. 

“Oh, an American. How exotic. A clever one, and proud. But so full of heart. You’ll be a challenge to sort, so very well-rounded.”

And then out loud, he spoke in that creaky old voice: “More than anything else, you’re a team player. Better be… GRYFFINDOR!” You glided over to the long table all robed in red and gold. Chin up, your eyes roved over the table looking for an empty space to sit. You were lucky to see a redhead smile at you and nod her head to the empty seat between her and a girl with curly dark hair. 

You gave a relieved smile and made your way to the group near the center of the table. 

“Hello,” the redhead gave you a crooked smile. “Must be awful being new to school and stuck with all the first years. I’m Lily. These are Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas, my best mates,” she gestured to the three girls seated nearest to her. “Come on, sit and I’ll introduce you to the rest.”

“You’re a shy thing, aren’t you,” Mary smiled from right beside you and you let out a laugh and gave them your name before responding. 

“Shy? Not a chance. Wary of being the only brand new sixth year at this school? Definitely.”

There was a moment of silence as the girls (and the four boys sitting across from you all) took in your accented English. 

“No need to be wary, you’re in good hands,” you turned from Mary’s lighthearted gaze to lock eyes with the handsome boy in front of you. He had dark curly hair and a pair of glasses set slightly askew on a strong nose. 

“I don’t know, pretty boy,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “You look like mischief.” There was a blonde, shorter than the other boys, watching the two of you like a tennis match. 

“You look like you’d enjoy a bit of mischief,” the curly-haired boy spoke again, and you gave him a smile. 

“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”

“Alright, ladies and gents, that’s enough of that,” the long-haired boy next to him was fanning himself with his hand. “Now, James, if you’d introduce us to our new friend, that would be lovely.”

“Right. On the end is Remus, he’s very handsome and tall but don’t let that fool you. He’s very smart and he’s mean to me.”

Remus pinched his nose in his long fingers and shook his head. 

“I am not mean to you. I’m just the only one with a sense of responsibility around here-”

James pointed to the long-haired boy next. “This is Sirius, he’s the man with a plan. It’s why his hair’s so long and luscious, it’s full of ideas.”

Sirius choked a laugh out of his nose as he took a sip of his water.

“This is Peter, unassuming but mighty.”

“Hey-” Peter looked amused but put off by the group’s bursts of giggles at his description. 

“And I’m James,” he was smiling directly at you then, and you couldn’t help the warmth in your cheeks. 

“And who are you, James?” You asked, the silence around you alerting you that the group was hanging on your every word.

“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”

This happens once every few lifetimes

These chemicals hit me like white wine

“Do they play Quidditch at Ilvermony?” Lily asked you one Sunday night as you sat in the Gryffindor common room. You were studying with her and Remus. Somehow after the first week of school you were already bogged down with work.

“Do they- of course! It’s only my favorite thing other than pizza.” You gushed, assignment forgotten. 

“So you play?” Remus had a look in his eyes, something you were beginning to recognize as gears turning and a new idea forming.

“I do. I was the Thunderbird captain, a seeker, and helped bring our team to win in the finals against Wampus who held the title for sixty years.”

“Were you looking to play here?” Remus wondered aloud, and Lily was staying mysteriously quiet during your interaction. 

“I… Well I want to. But it’s all an adjustment. New school, new friends, getting lined up with classes and transferring my old work. It would be hard.”

“Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. If it makes you happy, you could always talk to James, he’s Gryffindor’s captain. And,” Remus was smiling mischievously and you just knew he was plotting. “We’re in need of a seeker.”

“James has been holding tryouts every day since the school year started and hasn’t found anyone up to his caliber yet,” Lily added. “Plus, you know you want to get to know him better.” 

You inhaled deeply, going over your options. On the one hand, you were already bogged down with work and didn’t need an additional commitment. On the other hand, you loved quidditch and it brought you so much joy. On another third hand, Lily was right. You wanted to see more of James. Aside from classes he was elusive, and you’d finally found out why. So maybe if you made the team you’d be able to get to know him better. 

That’s how you ended up out in the rain the next day after class in what was somehow both an unfamiliar uniform… but also a uniform that made you feel like you were at home again. 

The team was running drills while James tested out the seekers, of which you were in a group of six. Sirius explained it all to you. James would test all the prospective members on speed in a group setting; speed was the most basic of a seeker’s skills. Next, he would whittle it down to a smaller group (you and three others at that point) to test hand-eye coordination and agility. Could you catch a snitch? Could you dodge a bludger? 

Then there were two of you. You and a boy whose name you didn’t care about. You were in your element and there was no way you were letting this opportunity go. 

“Now, I want to see the two of you at your best. You’re going to have one last challenge today, I’ll discuss with the team, and we’ll let you know tomorrow whether either of you make it.”

“Whether or not we make the team?” The boy next to you balked. “You’re in desperate need of a seeker. The season is starting soon. You’ve got to pick one of us… right?”

James raised an eyebrow at him, and stared him down. It was pretty hot, if you were being honest with yourself. 

“If you’ve got what it takes, we’ll keep you on. But this team is a family built on mutual trust and understanding. If you haven’t got the right attitude, you won’t last a day here.” He looked at you, his seriousness not fading. “That goes for both of you.”

You nodded, taking his words to heart. You wanted that feeling of a family again, you were never close with your parents. They were always working, and their work was more important than you in a lot of ways. Quidditch was everything to you because it introduced you to many of your close friends. You felt loved and important. You weren’t about to give that up. 

“Now, for your challenge.” He grinned, that lovable goofy look lighting up his face. “Sirius is going to release the snitch on my signal. All you have to do is catch it.”

The boy next to you frowned. 

“We already practiced catching the snitch, why are we doing it again?”

James, in response, put two fingers to his lips and let out a long whistle, you followed his gaze to the skies where high above you could see a long flowing red and gold cape topped with a head of shiny black hair. Sirius. 

As you watched, he pulled a shiny golden ball out of his cloak and released it. 

“Go.”

You went off like a bullet. Your broom was an extension of your body and as you sped high into the sky, eyes searching for that golden glint, you could barely hear the squawking of the boy behind you as he failed to catch up. 

“Beaters, at the ready!” James shouted, and you suddenly realized this was going to be a little more difficult than just beating your competitor. The team that was once running drills was now lined up with bats in hand, and one of them was on the ground with a box with what you assumed to be a bludger. 

“Release!” 

“Fuck,” you muttered as not one but two bludgers were released. 

You wove and dove out of the way of the bludgers, eyes searching until you saw it. A tiny golden flicker off to your left. But once you spotted it and zoomed off, your competitor noticed and followed you. 

It must have been a charmed snitch, because it was only a few minutes of flitting about before it took a dive directly towards the ground.

So, what did you do? You dove. 

You shot towards the ground faster than you would have had you been falling, your tight grip on your broom the only thing keeping you from flattening against the ground as you pulled up at the last minute and grasped the snitch in your gloved hand. However, the sudden slowdown and one-handed grip didn’t help you when Mister Second Best and his broom collided with you, sending you tumbling a couple feet to the ground. 

You skidded across the dirt before rolling to a stop, your iron grip on the snitch not loosening. 

“Dude! Pay more attention!” Were the first words out of your mouth once you had it in you to stand up. You were lucky that quidditch uniforms included some padding. “You could have killed me if you’d knocked into me any higher!” 

“So sorry, princess. Maybe you should have had two hands on the broom!” He shot back at you, and you didn’t notice James coming up behind you as your anger flared. 

“I only had one hand on the broom because I caught the snitch you absolute oaf!” You thrust out your muddy arm, two fingers pinching the winged ball between them. That shut him up, his lips snapping together with a wet sound. 

“Wonderful job, both of you,” You nearly jumped out of your skin at James’ voice, but calmed yourself as you turned to him. He had a good poker face but if you were correct he looked a little impressed. “Go get cleaned up, I’ll get back to you tomorrow.” 

You nodded with a smile and grabbed your broom, swung a very sore leg over it, and flew back towards the changing rooms. 

“So, how did it go?” Lily and Mary were waiting for you in the Gryffindor common room, and you lit up with a smile. 

“I think it went really, really well.” You sat down on a couch and winced, your bruised back protesting at the movement. “There was a collision at the end and I got knocked off my broom but I think other than that it went really well.”

“That’s an understatement,” you turned your head to see Sirius walking in, hair freshly washed and tied into a low knot. “She wiped the floor with McLaggen, it was a sight!” You pursed your lips, trying not to show how pleased you were with his assessment. You were hoping James felt the same. 

You didn’t see the curly-headed boy until he was seated in front of you at breakfast the next day, Sirius and Remus to his right and Peter to his left. You weren’t sure what to make of him, the obvious chemistry between you was alluring but he also held your fate in his hands in regards to the quidditch team. 

“So,” he started after taking a bite of toast. “The team has decided to take you on as our Seeker with McLaggen as a back up.”

You froze, and the girls were silent beside you as you processed for a split second before bursting into a joyous grin.

“That’s awesome!” You exclaimed and suddenly the group was alight with whooping and congratulations. “I can’t wait.” You said, quieter, and tucked into your breakfast. 

So when I touch down

Call the amateurs and

Cut 'em from the team

Ditch the clowns, get the crown

Baby I'm the one to beat

Cause the sign on your heart

Said it's still reserved for me

Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

It was a few days later, days of rigorous practice behind you as you approached the weekend. You were somehow navigating quidditch and schoolwork, but you needed a break. 

“Hey,” you heard your name called and turned in the busy hallway to see a flushed James walking towards you. 

“What can I do for you, pretty boy?” You loved to see that bashful look on his face. God, he was precious. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to take a break with me?” He started, a crooked smile on his face. “It’s not a Hogsmeade weekend, but we could go for a walk by the Black Lake.”

“That sounds really nice,” you smiled. “When?”

“Well, if you wanted to sneak into the kitchens with me and grab a few pastries… We could go right now?”

“That sounds like mischief to me, I’m in,” you let out a giggle as he took your hand and pulled you through the hallways towards what you assumed was a secret entrance to the kitchens. You both plucked a few fresh pastries from the counters, wrapped them in cloths, and ran out of there. 

The walk to the lake was nice, the two of you talking about your families and friends, what you liked about your classes so far, and more. 

You found that as you sat there with him, you had more in common than you thought. It felt like there was an electric current running between the two of you, your energy fed off of each other. You must have sat there for over an hour because the sun was high in the sky, definitely later than the mid morning when you’d left.

“You know,” James said after a comfortable silence. You turned to look at him but he was gazing over the lake. “We’ve only known each other less than a month but I can’t imagine my days without seeing you around in the halls or at quidditch. You’re unforgettable.” You inhaled deeply, the scent of blooming trees heavy in your nose as you thought about what he said.

“I never felt such an instant connection with anyone like I did with you,” you admitted, a bit shyly despite your original introduction all those weeks ago. “I like being around you.”

“I like being around you, too,” he parroted with that beaming smile. 

You spent most Saturdays after that taking walks with James, and the Black Lake became a special place where the two of you could spend time together away from your group of friends. 

It was there, sitting with your backs against a wide tree, that you found yourself a few weeks later on a cool Saturday in late October. You’d been planning quidditch plays for hours with James in the early morning, getting ready for a match against Slytherin. Your former position as captain of Thunderbird’s team gave you a plethora of knowledge and skill related to planning and strategizing, making you James’ favorite person to bounce ideas off of. 

However, you needed a break from the intense planning and suggested a walk in the cool air to clear your heads. James was never one to say no to you. 

So you sat, breathed in the crisp air, and turned your head to gaze over at the object of your affections. 

“James?”

“At your service,” he replied formally, eliciting a soft laugh from your lips. 

“I’m serious, I have a question,” you replied, waiting for him to turn his head. 

“If this is about quidditch, I thought we were taking a break from that,” he was smirking as he turned his head, and suddenly you were both so close.

“I was wondering if you wanted to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you.”

He was silent for a moment, eyes wide behind his spectacles. 

“Well yeah, I thought that was obvious. I’m absolutely smitten,” he was grinning from ear to ear, and reached out to tangle his fingers with yours in what could only be called a hand-hold. 

“Absolutely smitten, you say?” You pondered, tapping a finger against your chin.

“Devastatingly.” He nodded at you.

“Better kiss me now then, before you lose your chance.”

He laughed, a joyous noise, before cupping your chin in his hand and kissing you. 

It felt like you’d shaken up a vial full of chemicals and you were slowly burning on the inside, an explosion of wonder and light. 

When you broke apart, you could only stare at him with glazed over eyes. 

“We should do that again, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

Masterlist

[angstea]

i need to run, but i can't get out of bed for anyone

Fandom: BBC Ghosts

Ship: Caphavers

Series: Auctober 2024

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Summary: Havers has a lot of bad days

AN: The Captain and Havers are both autistic

Title is from Juliet by Cavetown

Written for Auctober Day 28: Safe Foods

Read on AO3

As soon as Anthony cracked his eyes open in the morning, he could tell it was going to be a rough day. The empty darkness covered him like a heavy blanket, pinning him in place. His mind felt foggy, unable to pinpoint anything other than the overwhelming urge to go back to sleep. He tried to rub the sleep from his eyes but still couldn't force his limbs to move.

He knew he should get up, it wouldn't do any good to lie here feeling sorry for himself. He took a deep breath and tried once more to move, at least a little.

His arm shifted and the movement sent a stabbing pain through his shoulder and a sharp ache skittered down his spine. He sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth. His back had been giving him grief since the war and some days were better than others. Honestly, it wasn't just his back. His entire skeletal structure seemed to be in a bid to make his life miserable

His inability to get out of bed was an entirely different issue from the pain he was in though. He'd had days like this since he was a boy, where the weighty shadows in his head became too much to bear and he remained wrapped up in his bed. He often claimed it was illness, leading those around him to simply believe he was prone to sickness. These days were far from the worst to deal with.

The worst days were always the ones where he had enough energy that he couldn't justify staying in bed but none of the willpower to do anything more than the bare minimum. He'd drift through his day, doing everything he needed but hardly speaking, hardly smiling. He'd sit by himself and barely eat, knowing that everyone could tell something wasn't right. He couldn't decide if the sneering whispers or genuine concern were more painful.

At least this wasn't one of those days. He could tell James he was ill and leave it at that. Lying here letting the darkness smother him wasn't exactly a desirable option but it was all he could do.

"Anthony?" And now James was stood in his doorway looking so worried. It made Anthony's chest ache with the guilt of making him feel this way.

James approached, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. His expression was hard to look at and Anthony cast his eyes to the floor.

"One of those days, is it?" he asked softly, placing a gentle hand on Anthony's shoulder.

He wanted to recoil from the affection and care, tell James he was fine. His body stubbornly refused to move. He spoke before he could even think.

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, none of that. The enemy got you while you're weak but there's still time to turn this day around." James was almost beginning to sound like the Captain again but his voice stayed soft, loving. Anthony felt his lips quirk into a very small smile for a brief second.

And now James was pulling away the covers, much to Anthony's dismay. James just smiled fondly as he tugged lightly at Anthony's shoulder, encouraging but not forceful.

"Come on, up."

Anthony unwillingly did as he was told and dragged himself to sit upright, needing an extra supporting hand when his back pain tried to put the whole thing to a stop. He leaned against James' side, head resting on his shoulder.

"Right, first order of business would be breakfast, wouldn't it?" James' tone was light, as if the thought didn't make Anthony feel sick to his stomach.

"No." was his almost petulant reply, hiding his face in the crook of James' neck. "Not today, I just...I can't."

"Please? Anthony, you-"

"James." he pleaded, not having the energy to fight but still too stubborn to let go of his stance. He knew James found it troubling but this was yet another thing he had always struggled with.

Food was not just food, it carried expectations, judgement and anxiety. Expectations to react correctly, judgement at his failure to do so and the anxiety of getting it wrong again. An adverse response to an unexpected texture lead to social rejection, reprimand from authority and overall nothing good.

And that wasn't even mentioning the food itself. Sudden crunches in soft foods jolted through his teeth and sent his flesh crawling with fire. Tastes often could be more overpowering than anticipated and the only way to cease the screaming under his skin was to rock himself back and forth or shake his hands violently or just simply cry. None of these were acceptable behaviour so he either spent mealtimes with a rigid posture and nails digging into his palm to keep his feelings at bay or avoided them all together.

"Fine. Just...at least sit in the kitchen with me then?"

He let out a sigh, he wasn't going to win this battle, and nodded.

James smiled and his heart felt warm, even as the other stood from the bed, depriving Anthony of the physical contact. Before he could even protest, James' hands were in his.

"Come on, on your feet soldier."

His blood ran cold.

The whole battlefield seemed to grind to a halt, everything happening in slow motion. A grenade whistled through the air, soon to make it's deadly impact. A young soldier (and god, Havers didn't even remember his name), barely even 20, if Havers didn't do something he was going to die, he had to-

He made up his mind in a millisecond and he ran to the soldier in question. He shoved the young man as hard as he could to propel him away just as the grenade went off. The explosion roared in his ears as Havers was thrown off his feet. Pain seared through the left side of his face and everything suddenly snapped back into place and resumed its normal pace.

The landing was painful. He hit the ground with his right shoulder first and the impact sent shockwaves through his whole body. He managed to crack his eyes open but found he could only see out of one, warm blood running down his face and getting in his eye.

"Major!" A hand grabbed his shoulder and roughly dragged him to his feet, pulling a cry of pain from him. "Come on, on your feet soldier!"

"Anthony."

Havers gasped and opened his eyes. He was rocking back and forth and squeezing the Captain's hands tightly. Why was he holding the Captain's hands?

"Anthony, look at me."

He managed to drag his gaze from the floor up to the Captain's face. His stomach twisted oddly and he stared off to the side to make it stop. Faces were hard to look at right now.

"Are you back with me?"

Havers managed a halting nod. "Yes, sir."

The Captain frowned. Why was he upset?

Oh.

"James." he corrected quickly. "Yeah, I'm here James."

His lips turned into a smile and Anthony couldn't help but reciprocate.

James gently took him by the arm and pulled him to his feet, guiding him to the bedroom door. He wasn't sure why James felt the need to support him, he was perfectly able to walk, thank you. Although, he couldn't bring himself to oppose. The contact offered him a little comfort.

Even after so many of these days, he wasn't sure why James' kindness still shocked him. He couldn't quite squash the voice in the back of his mind that screamed that James would abandon him in a heartbeat and he was ashamed that part of him thought so low of the man.

They walked the familiar route down to their kitchen. Usually, James would start on the tea and Anthony would find something for their breakfasts. Instead, Anthony was situated at the table while James took on both tasks. Something in his stomach swirled uneasily at the disruption.

James reached to open the kitchen curtains and his heart rate suddenly spiked.

"Wait!" he couldn't stifle the shout before it fell from his mouth. James withdrew his hand liked he'd been burned and turned to look at his...friend. "Don't open the curtains...please."

And James just nodded in understanding. Sometimes it was easier to stay hidden.

-

James knew exactly what he was doing. Anthony was sure of it

A plate in the middle of the table. Four pieces of toast, all untouched. Two with butter, two with jam. Two for James, two for Anthony.

James wasn't eating his breakfast, merely sending a pointed look across the table and sipping his tea. He wasn't going to give in until Anthony did.

And maybe it took a five minute stand off for him to finally, begrudgingly, take a small bite from the corner of a piece of toast.

And maybe he felt better. But he would never admit that outloud.

[jreads]

A Total Coincidence (Part 01)

Rating: totally family friendly 👍🏼

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Foul language, Mentions of blood, It's pretty angsty

A/N: OHHHHH we're so back. If you're new here, welcome. If not, welcome back! I am extremely excited for this. Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated. You can comment on this post or the masterlist to be added to the taglist!

You work a tiring and thankless corporate job. It pays well but it’s draining. You put a façade on in the office, one of polite, unruffled professionalism, but it slips quite quickly as soon as you push your way through the polished revolving glass doors of the modern high-rise.

He knows all of this because he watches you.

It’s not creepy, he attempts to convince himself, because he goes to that coffee shop too. The cozy, dim-lit one that overlooks your place of work. Granted, he used to only go once every blue moon. He’s there far more often now, in a darkened back booth, at the same time in the day. 

A total coincidence.

Simon Riley never used to spend a lot of time in London. He has a permanent address there, under a fake name, just to smooth over certain legalities. He never bothered too much with the details. In between assignments he comes back to ensure everything is as it should be, and to water the small cactus on the windowsill, a joking gift from MacTavish following their op in Las Almas. It’s one of those low-maintenance ones; you should soak the soil once every two months just to ensure it doesn’t turn a duller shade of green. Simon is half certain he could feed the thing gasoline and it would still flourish. But he liked his routine. It was touch and go, busy, never too much time in one place. The injury threw a damn wrench in it all.

The team had been deployed somewhere in the South American jungle, attempting to uncover part of an elusive arms trafficking operation. While the job had been successful, Ghost had been rewarded with one in the gut. Hemorrhage, internal bleeding, the works. They had patched him up real well, but the Captain had insisted he take some time, at least until after Christmas. He hadn’t wanted to. There’s nothing to do. It gets all too quiet when he is left to his own devices. He gets restless. But in this café, under warm string lights and surrounded by chatter, it isn’t as lonely. Especially for the ten minutes just after 17:00 hours when you come in to place your order.

He isn’t entirely sure what had drawn him to you in the first place. I could have been any number of things. The light gait of your walk, the way you struggle with the heavy door, your sweet voice, or the way you treat the serving staff. They all like you. Especially the ginger kid with the glasses… he likes you a bit too much. It could have been the way you shrug off your blazer in the late summer heat, folding it into the crook of your elbow and rolling your neck. It could have been the way you usually fumble to hold everything in one hand, always one cup, one paper bag, along with your purse, jacket, blue light glasses. Peppermint tea, he had found out when he had walked too closely past you one day. You were delicately trying to pry the lid from your cup to let the drink cool and—even through the mask—he had smelled the fresh aroma of it. He lists all the possible causes of his interest as if there is some hidden, puzzling meaning behind them. Realistically, it’s probably just because he finds you real fucking pretty.

Whatever the reason, he has formed some strange one-sided connection with you. You haven’t noticed him, maybe you never will, because he sits in the darkest corner of the shop, hood pulled over his head and medical mask in place whenever he isn’t eating or drinking. He’s been reading a lot recently, James Patterson, John le Carré, but George R. R. Martin is his current. It’s a welcome change of pace. And a good excuse to spend the bulk of the afternoon here, nursing a black coffee and croissant BLT. 

It's still summer and in central London, it’s sweltering. The café has their AC blasting, but as the sun dips low between the buildings it reflects off city glass and into the tiny shop, heating it like a microwave. The warmth feels oppressive today, even with his change to an iced coffee. The hoodie doesn’t help. That’s one of the only downsides of being here; he can’t shuck the damn hoodie. The tattoos would draw enough eyes, but the scars would make people stare. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s people not minding their bloody business.

The ginger kid, Harvey, as his name tag says, sets an oscillating fan atop the espresso machine. Fat lot of good it’ll do on a day like this. As if in spite of his inner dialogue, its artificial breeze flutters Simon’s bookmark right off the table and to the wood-panelled floor. Reflexes faster than his memory, he bends down to grab it and bites his tongue to fight back what would have been a rather nasty string of curses. 

“You’ll have to watch it for a bit. No folding forward or back, or to the sides.”

“So I can’t even fucking move now, hey?”

“Just be careful. The stiches should hold, but I don’t want you testing it, alright?”

Well now he had just gone and bloody tested it. Fucking hell. He had copious bandages overtop, but he needed to make sure nothing had pulled. If it had, he’d be sitting in a pool of his own blood by dinnertime. Masking another grunt of pain and fighting off his dizziness, he heads for the bathroom. No one will bother the shit on his table, the employees are usually pretty good about that. 

The fluorescents flicker on automatically as the door shuts. He lifts his hoodie up and inspects the damage. Nothing is showing through, thank fuck. But he bets when he changes the wrappings later tonight, the gauze underneath will probably hold evidence of his stupid mistake. 

He hates it, the wound. And hates himself for it. It’s a reminder that he’s not invincible… that he’s anything but. That despite the skull mask and the layers of armour and the assault rifle slung over his shoulder, he’s only human. Weak. He’s had injuries before, stabs and slashes and broken bones. But none quite so severe as one well-placed gunshot wound. Usually he bounces back pretty fast, but this time…

Simon hates the paleness of the face in the mirror. He thinks, just for a moment, of throwing his fist into the glass, just to rid himself of the reflection. Opting instead for a frustrated sigh, he rearranges the sweatshirt once more before throwing the door open and rounding the corner, stopping just inches from where you lean against the wall, waiting on the barista.

Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed the time. Your back is to him and you’re on your phone, texting away. He snoops, just a little. He’ll reprimand himself for it later. It’s your mother. She’s asking if you’ve eaten and sending pictures of a mischievous looking grey cat. He watches your shoulders shake in a light laugh. There’s a lock of hair obscuring the pulse in your neck and he wants to brush it away.

Enough, you bloody creep.

“Pardon,” he mumbles, pushing past you.

“Sorry.” You press yourself close to the wall as he moves, barely looking up from the screen. He can smell your fragrance. You’re so small compared to him; he can’t stop himself from picturing what his hand would look like splayed possessively over the small of your back.

Fucking hell, he needs to stop.

You’re oblivious to his thought process, engrossed still in the conversation with your mum. Only when the employee says your name do you look up, smiling even wider and profusely thanking as you reach for your cup. He likes your name, he thinks. It suits you. What would it sound like on his tongue if he said it aloud?

He’s going bloody soft. Simon theorizes that Johnny is largely to blame. He had been introverted before that op, preferring to work alone, avoiding interaction with others unless completely necessary. Since then, he found himself missing the raucous laughter of the task force, the cracking of army humor jokes. He couldn’t find it in himself to care much, though. After all, it’s not like it was making him any worse at his job.

His reputation had preceded him in the jungle. Once the cartel had caught wind of 141 touching down, they were talking about him, fear lacing their voices. El Crânio, they called him. The Skull. The kill count had been fucking brutal.

It feels strange to be thinking about that in a place like this. It’s like two different lives that don’t ever intersect. Three even, if he counts his real identity. Ghost, Simon, and William. Will is the name he gives to the barista here, the one on the bills that come to the flat, the one attached to the SIM in his phone, the one on the fake driver’s licence and motorbike certificate in his wallet. He hates it, but he wasn’t the one who got to choose it.

He watches the way you play a coin from your change between your fingers, spinning it over the back of your thumb before catching it. You tend to fiddle with things while you wait: debit card, pens, hair pins, like your hands are aching for something to do. He can empathize. He’s started biting his nails again.

The employees have worked fast today, and you have your tea and biscuit in hand in record time. It almost seems unfair. Five minutes he gets with you, watching at a distance. At least he knows he’ll see you again tomorrow.

And he does. Again and again and again. Over a few weeks, the hole in his gut starts to heal, but it’s replaced with a new one. Something more insistent and far less easy to treat.

One day, you’re late. He starts to ruminate without meaning to but naturally, his mind goes down darker routes. He shakes the unwanted thoughts off, trying not to dwell on just how much they unnerve him. But you show up eventually, smile still plastered on. He wonders if it’s real. 

“They’re extending my day,” you’re telling the server. “Not by much, just one or two hours.” Something about an expedited move from digital to hardcopy files. “At least it’s overtime pay.” 

He doesn’t like it. The days are getting shorter; it’s getting darker earlier. He doesn’t like the idea of you walking home alone in the shadows of the London streets. Crime is on the rise; there’s all sorts lingering around the city at night. But then again, it shouldn’t bother him. It’s not his commute; you’re not his.

He sticks around most days though, just to make sure you get out alright. 

Today is different. It’s different because it’s 19:00 hours and you have dark circles under your eyes and you’re staring at nothing in particular and when the barista hands you your drink you say thank you, but you don’t smile. You always smile. And he’s trying to tell himself that it’s none of his business, that it’s not his problem but it is. Suddenly, it’s his biggest problem.

He holds the door open for you as you leave because it’s all he can do. You thank him, quietly, but don’t even look up from the floor. He won’t follow you; that’s crossing a line, a breach of privacy. So, he turns towards his own flat, looking back only once to see you disappear behind a street corner.

He sees your haggard face in his dream that night.

The next few days are more of the same. Even the coffee shop employees are starting to talk about it. How you look tired, shaky. Harvey talks about asking for your number as a way to cheer you up. The baristas all shut him down pretty quickly.

Weeks pass. He’s almost done the Game of Thrones series. But you’re only getting worse.

It’s October now, and the autumn chill is starting to set in. You wear a black trench over your office clothes, tugging it closed to fight the cold of the wind. Your eyes look bloodshot, hollow, like it’s been weeks since you’ve slept. He knows the look intimately; he sees it enough in the mirror. Ginge has asked for your number anyway, and you’ve politely declined. Ever the diplomat. He feels bad for smiling at the dismayed look on the boy’s face. Luckily, it hides behind his mask.

It rains the next day. Torrentially. It’s the kind that can dampen a thick cotton sweater within seconds, so he begrudgingly takes an umbrella with him. The shop is warm and ambient, a world within a world. The coffee tastes better on a day like today, warm, bitter, and reviving. He loses himself in his book, looking up only to realize that it’s passed your time. He thinks for a moment that he might have missed you, but that’s impossible. He could have blindfolds on and still feel your presence. 

You haven’t shown up. There’s a twist of something akin to anguish in his chest and he tells himself to calm down. Maybe they kept you late; you’ll show up eventually.

Except you don’t. 

Soon, the workers are wiping down tables and raising chairs. He has no choice but to abandon his station and venture back out into the cold. Something is off. It might seem silly, but he’s learned never to discount his hunches. So, he sets up camp in the courtyard, umbrella obscuring what little is visible of his face, and he waits. And waits. And waits. 

It’s nearing 22:00 hours when you finally exit the elevators and break for the revolving doors. He knows something is wrong immediately, your feet are moving too fast and you’re casting glances over your shoulder as if you’re being followed. As soon as you exit the building you’re running, as fast as your heeled pumps can allow.

“Fucking hell.” He’s up within seconds, umbrella closed and leaving him open to the onslaught of rain. He jogs to try and keep up, a safe distance behind but you’re too fast. By the time he rounds the corner, he’s lost you.

He’s checking each cross street, turning back on himself. The patter of raindrops is almost deafening, the cabs sending sprays of sludge up from the gutters as they race down the laneway. But through it all—as he’s been trained to—he hears sounds of a struggle. A scream, half muffled. It’s yours. He knows it immediately. Simon follows it as if he’s tracking you. One block north, one west. A half. Retracing his steps. There’s no sounds past the slick splash of car tires on wet asphalt. An alley lies to his left, no streetlights. He’s about to venture down it when you come hurtling around the corner, straight into his chest. Your coat is ripped, hair soaking, and he swears there’s blood on your clothes. Your tired eyes are panicked and laced with fear, looking at him with desperation. He doesn’t have time to be shocked. Because from behind you comes a hooded man, tall build, muscular, though not nearly as big as him. Taking hold of your forearm, he draws you behind him. The man pauses.

“Can I help you?” Simon asks. His voice is anything but friendly. The man seems to size him up and decide the fight is unwise, turning on his heel and walking briskly back the way he came. Good. He’d go after the guy, but he sure as shit isn’t leaving you alone in the middle of the street.

You ‘re clinging to the sleeve of his hoodie and shaking like a leaf. He has slid into that lethal calm familiar to field work, assessing the location, noting information, protecting. Once the man is out of sight, he’s got your face in his hands and your skin is so soft but so cold.

“You alright?” he asks, already fully aware of the answer. You can’t even speak, barely looking at him, just back down the alley as if your pursuer might remerge. Shock, he thinks. What was he supposed to do with a civvy in shock? Get them to a safe place, speak calmly and stably, check for injury. 

“Right, come on.” He pulls you lightly by the arm and you follow without much resistance, probably too weak to refuse. Like hell he’s letting you go anywhere by yourself right now. It’s almost unsettling how small your wrist feels in his hand, fragile, too easily breakable. 

His flat is warm, but you’re still shivering. Simon had deposited you on the couch after helping you shrug out of your destroyed jacket. A blanket sits around your shoulders now, and the kettle is boiling. He’s retrieved his somewhat depleted med kit from the bathroom, kneeling on the floor in front of you. Distantly, he curses himself for not replenishing bandages from the drugstore. There’s a nasty cut on your upper arm, open and bleeding, a knife slash. Anger isn’t something he can afford to feel right now.

“Let’s have a look,” he says, more to himself then anything. You haven’t said a word to him. But when he dabs at the wound with clean gauze, you grasp at his forearm, inhaling sharply. 

“I know. I gotta clean and stitch it though, alright?” He’s never been great at patch ups, but he has been trained. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but you can’t keep bleeding either. Fucking hell, he wishes he had gentler hands. Or something stronger than ibuprofen. 

“You drink?” he offers. You nod. Good enough. He brings you back a glass of whiskey. You down it, wincing at the strength, offering the empty glass back to him. He takes it, placing it on the low table before assessing you again. 

Clean. Disinfect. Needle, thread, vertical mattress stich. Under up, under down and tie off. This would be a breeze for the field medic. But his fingers are thick and much less nimble. You keep clutching at his arm through the sleeve, squeezing to stave off some of the pain. His eyes flicker up occasionally to check your face, but your own are tightly shut. He can tell you’re gritting your teeth, but you barely make a sound. Impressive, though it’s probably partially due to adrenaline. He ties off the final stitch. “Done.”

When you open your eyes there’s relief in them. And a loosening of tense muscles that is worrisome because it’s happening too fast. Your upper body is swaying, and your features are going unfocused, and he knows what happens next. 

He manages to cradle your head just before it hits the arm of the sofa.

Bloody fucking hell.

You wake up in a bed that isn’t yours. 

It’s plain. In fact, the whole room is. Grey-brown drywall and exposed brick. White sheets, white bedspread. The only real piece of décor is a bookshelf, spanning a considerable length of the wall, practically exploding with titles. What the hell? 

You rise onto your elbows only to gasp in pain. 

It’s a nasty looking cut, red and swollen around the edges but tied together with neat stitches. The sight of it opens a floodgate of memories, one after the other, ending with the man who saved you, shrouded in darkness.

Shit. This wasn’t good. None of this was good. You need your phone, but all of your belongings had been in your handbag, lost in that alley. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, onto cool tile. Tiptoe out the doorway, taking in pieces of the quiet apartment as you go. Industrial design, morning light, a view of the city, a tiny cactus on the sill.

“You’re awake.” The Manchester accent is heavy and laced with concern. You spin on the source only to stop dead. 

His brown hair is so light it might as well be blonde, eyes dark with the shadow of lowered brows, skin peppered with pale pink scars. Prominent ones over his left eyebrow and bottom lip. The hint of a tattoo peeking out the collar of his t-shirt. Though eerily beautiful, his face is one that might send people running. But you find you aren’t afraid of him, not in the slightest.

“You wanna tell me what happened back there?”

If you liked it, please let me know! 🩶

[aconflagrationofmyown]

You’ve definitely become one of my favorite Elvis writers on here, Marina.

And I wanted to ask you, are you planning to do more Elvis series? Like a series of Hollywood!Elvis, where he fights to be a serious actor and falls in love with one his co-stars. Or more Elvis AU, since we already have Pirate!Elvis. For example Cowboy!Elvis. Spy!Elvis like a James Bond or Agent Elvis. Mafia!Elvis. Even a Superhero!Elvis.

I think you’d do such a good job bringing all those concepts to life 🤭

My sweet anon, thank you so much, what a kind thing to say, I’m so glad my writing has brought you joy. 💋🌸💋 As for AU’s I did start a series about Hollywood E, yet never finished it. And for now I’ve got riverboat Captain E and father figure E to chew and that’s a lot on its own…but never say never. I think this would be something I’d have to have pitched to me and see if it resonates? So far I’ve not fully cooked up anything else original that hasn’t been done better by others. I’m always happy to dish out recs, fyi.

BUT THAT SAID…I’m messing around with little snippets, a filthy fairytale in collaboration with @elvisabutler and this demented Regency Elvis headcanon below that “my sexy secretary” @ab4eva took down from a chat. Enjoy…

I Bet on Losing Dogs -🥀 A Regency Elvis Blurb

18+ blurb, warning sexual content ahead, arranged marriage, romance novella style stuff

Imagine this: Regency Elvis whose wife has recently left him for a foreigner, taking with her his only child -a daughter who cannot inherit. He needs an heir.

Zero promises of love or fidelity or even bare respect for his new wife but…there’ll be position and status and jewels so long as you perform your wifely duties without complaint.

Jaded and lonely, I need freshly betrayed Elvis buying off a nobleman for his daughter, a Baron who’s mortgaged his estate for debts, Mr. Presley gets the association with your family’s nobility and you get the much needed wealth that new money brings.

And so your new husband comes in nightly in an embroidered robe and a solitary lit candle to consummate your union. He’s got all that chest hair displayed and a lil ponch of a belly showing out his robe as he slowly undoes the tie every night, never rushed, and you can feel the jitters down to your toes every time as you hug the sheet to your chin.

*Let go, Darlin,* he’s always murmuring as he pulls the sheet from your grip, *must do what needs done*

He fucks you hard and fast for such a delicate woman and then tosses you spending money to make up for it.

Reminds you after each visit to yoru chambers that you have a job to do. One single job.

*Gimme that son and maybe you’ll get that sea bathin’ ya been hankerin’ for*

(Elvis is from Yorkshire if he was ever transported to an English Setting AU, ok? No question, unless the question is Irish versus Yorkish)

Each time, when he finishes and pants into the humid crook of your neck, his hand blindly strokes away your tears and he whispers in gravelly apology, *I’ll leave ya alone, moment ya start to swell, I swear it, I’ll leave ya alone lil girl*

But that’s not why you’re crying, you wish he’d stay, he doesn’t know how cold you get when he leaves you and his sweat and spend cools on your skin and leaves you shivering.

You could curse the woman who laid here before you, who broke his heart and still haunts this place, like the wall opposite the bed with its outline of a portrait missing on the sun-bleached wall.

You wonder what she looked like, this missing wife.

You wonder if she secretly craved the burning stretch of him like you do, possibly not if she left for someone more…continental. Was he too voracious for her? Or was it the loneliness that finally ate her through like the moths who try the same with the bed canopy.

One night, Mr. Presley’s hand slips from your shoulder down to your breast, very rarely does he maul you there except in his direst paroxysms of pleasure, but tonight he slips and grabs and it’s so sore you nearly cry aloud from the ache.

*I swear I’ll leave ya be* he had said and you bite your lip savagely, cinch your corsets cruelly and wonder how to make him love you, tolerate you even. Anything so that you’re not left alone like he promises.

Are your breasts sore from being with child? You worry so.

So the next night you scheme, and when he shakes atop you and catches his breath and makes to roll away, you grab hold of him and keep him close.

*Six months* you murmur, and he seems confused by your meaning, *six month’s you’ve visited me nightly save for menses and Lent, and no child to show for it. Won’t you stay? Nurse says if the man remains…after…the chances are greater.*

Ensuing cockwarming between two people who’ve barely spoken outside of bed…little chats…because neither can sleep and in fact, he doesn’t really sleep that much at all, he admits.

*what do you do then? At nights?* you ask.

He reads a lot, he tells you and he’s got a telescope, and you tentatively ask if he’ll read to you.

He agrees with a shy *i-if ya want that, I will*

About the books. You asks if he will tonight instead of leaving and he says yes.

Then he hesitates and asks lowly, *can we…once more?…before?*

He asks if he can do it again, before he grabs the books, because he firmed up again while acting as a stopper in your warm cunt.

You’re already a wet mess down there and perhaps he moves you around, spoons you.

Puts himself back in and you’re so wet from what he gave you before and your excitement at the intimacy you feel in this movement.

And due to the difference in angle, for the first time, you actually come from the feeling of your husband inside you. His flaming hot body behind you, his thick arms wrapped around your body, the delicious rub of him in your womb.

And you’re quite sure you’ve already made a child but he doesn’t need to know. Not yet.

Anything to keep him coming back.

[x-bluefire-heart-x]

Slowly

@asterofthevoid requested a Sliver/Flint request with the prompt "It didn't happen all at once, it happened slowly, step by step, glance by glance, and trap by trap." I hope this is what you were looking for. Sorry it is so short.

Warnings: Implied sexual content. Swearing (It's Black Sails, what do you expect)

Prompt List

Master List

Silver was unsure how they got here, well, how he specifically got here. He spent his entire life keeping distant, only getting close enough to people to use them for his own gain and then he would leave, vanish without a trace. And the here in question? In the Captain’s cabin. Specifically laying in his bed, sans most of his clothing and just watching the Captain himself sit at his desk, plotting their course with the sun filtering through the window behind him. Bathing him in precious gold, and making it easier for Silver’s keen eyes to trace the marks left from last night, and the freckles that he had traced with his tongue and fingers, mapping constellations in them. The Captain was only clothed in his pants, which was a little unfair Silver allowed himself to think privately.

Captain James Flint, previously James McGraw. And wasn’t that just a little surprising, Flint feeling that he could confide in Silver about his past about the reason that he yearns to destroy England. To carve out a space for those deemed monsters by England. Deemed unseemly for whom they loved. Silver wanted to deny the flare of hope that had ignited in his chest when Flint told him of his love for a Lord Thomas Hamilton but apparently, he didn’t succeed in that, as here he was. In the Captain’s bed. For all his intelligence Silver was having trouble working out how their relationship went from Flint having a sword pressed against Silver’s throat on more than one occasion and wanting to kill him at any given time to the Captain pressing so gently into him, caressing Silver with a near reverent look in his eyes. Though in Silver’s defence the Captain made for a very alluring distraction.

Silver never tried to deny the fact that he was attracted the Flint, anyone who was interested in men would be lying to themselves if they said Flint wasn’t attractive. He just never planned to act on it, never planned to be around long enough for the chance. Especially after betraying him on more than one occasion. But after last night. Well, it turned out there was a thing or two Silver hadn’t planned on or accounted for in his scheming. And that was Flint being attracted to him. Especially, after the loss of his leg and then Silver telling Flint about the gold.

“I can feel your mind working,” Flint’s voice cut through Silver’s focus. “And from how furrowed your brows are, I would say you were working rather hard. Care to share?”

Silver allowed his eyes to travel back up to Flint’s face, almost wishing he hadn’t when he got caught in the piercing green depths of the Captain’s eyes. Silver felt his body warm at the look in those eyes. Flint was once again looking at him in reverence, it was like after last night he no longer felt the need to be Captain James Flint around Silver, that he felt safe enough to just be James. ‘Call me James’. He had whispered oh, so softly in Silver’s ear.

“How did we get here?” Silver heard himself ask, but he had made no conscious choice to ask such a question. He almost regretted it when Flint’s face broke into that crooked grin of amusement, his eyes clearing laughing at Silver.

“I do believe, Silver, that you accompanied me to my cabin last night after I asked and one would think it was rather obvious what followed next,” Flint shrugged.

“Yes, obviously I didn’t mean this specific act,” Silver waved his hand between the two of them before huffing in annoyance as he flopped onto his back scrubbing his face in frustration. He wasn’t use to not being able to work out the exact formula and step by step procedure for how something happened. For how the thing changed between himself and another, especially Flint of all people.

“John,” Flint’s voice was closer, Silver removed his hand from his face, nearly jumping when he saw Flint beside the bed. He appeared almost hesitant to sit but Silver moved closer to the wall, again, not really planning too, his body just did it. And that was, again, not something Silver was used to. His own body doing things without the foreplaning that everything he did had. And that included the annoying little flutter his heart did at hearing his name spoken, so adoringly by someone who, as far as he knew wanted to kill him not that long ago. “Then what were you referring to?”

“You wanted me dead,” Silver started. “And I am pretty fucking sure that wasn’t too long ago. So, how did we get here? Where you look at me with those eyes? Where you whisper my fucking name that way?”

The amusement in Flint’s eyes softened, but Silver could still see it there. He could see it in the curl of Flint’s lips, he tensed as Flint reached for him but relaxed when he saw Flint’s eyes slowly begin to harden. Flint’s hand slowly, and so softly caressed his face, trailing his fingers down and along his jaw before cupping his cheek as he lent down and pressed his lips against Silver’s forehead. Silver felt himself melt at the actions, the actions that were those of a lover. His traitorous heart sped up, pounding in his chest as his eyes refused to look anywhere but in Flint’s.

"It didn't happen all at once, it happened slowly, step by step, glance by glance, and trap by trap," Flint whispered. “You little shit.”

[resident-gay-bitch]

🫶 Multiship Mondays 🫶

James x Barty (Darksun)suggestive themes

I think, whilst to their cannon characters it would never fucking happen, the dynamic of Barty and James is cool as shit to explore. (warning, this gets a little horny at one point)

Like, they’re both so loud and proud and in everyone's faces but in such different ways.

James is cocky, confident, arrogant. He’s Mr Popular, king of the Gryffindor tower, quidditch captain and head boy. Everyone loves him, he’s funny, charismatic, smart, handsome. Everything and everyone either wants to be, or wants to fuck him.

Barty is loud, aggressive, weird, in your fucking face, sarcastic and rude. He’s a total dick and knows it, he will insert himself into conversations and make all parties feel awful by the end of it and fucking laugh. He loves a good fight, always riling people up, people twice his fucking size, but he doesn’t learn and doesn’t care. He’s violent, not scared to throw a punch and will if you cross him in any fucking way.

They will both defend those they love with their fucking life.

They’d start as rivals, getting into punch ups, because Barty knows exactly which buttons to press to make James snap. He’s so proud, just a few lousy words about how he’s not even that good at quidditch, not even that smart, not even that attractive, and oh the moment he speaks bad about Sirius he’s got a fist to his face. James is Barty’s favourite target, because he’s a good, easy fight. He’s big, tough, broad, strong, but he’s never actually had to fight anyone before, so his punches fall a little short and his methods are a little off.

It’s a fair fight, since Barty knows how to fight, but he’s scrawny and has half the body mass, broadness, and height of Potter.

But the thing is, James is that attractive, and Barty “the slag” Jr should have known better than to get physical with buff as fuck quidditch captain James Potter. When he’s snarling and grabbing Barty by the collar, spitting in his face, Barty’s trying not to pop a boner. He’s so fucking hot it’s painful, and it doesn’t help that Barty likes it a little rough.

James finds himself in a similar situation, because why is he suddenly finding Crouch attractive? Him and his stupid quips, and stupid attitude, and his stupid crooked teeth and crooked nose, and scrawny build, and awkward face- he’s actually ridiculously hot and James is in hot water. And it doesn’t help that his anger at himself for feeling this way just makes him easier to rile up.

It’s not until one punch up, when it’s just them out by the old greenhouse in the early evening, whilst everyones at dinner, that they’re scrambling on the ground, and James thigh ends up shoved against his crotch, and he stops, looks down, and fucking laughs at Barty because he may be quite hard. Next thing he knows, James has his hand around them both whilst spitting stupid insults at Barty and Barty almost passess out from how good it is.

Their punch ups turn to hook ups, and then suddenly Barty’s spending a lot of time in the prefect's bathrooms (which is actually really lovely), and their insults at each other are getting more and more personal (aka sexual) and less and less rude.

And then one night after he snuck into James’ dormitory, they accidentally fell asleep before he could sneak home because Sirius woke up and they could hear him humming, lying in the middle of the room like he apparently does sometimes. They wake up in the morning cuddling, legs intertwined, arms wrapped around each other, Barty’s face pressed to James’ lovely chest and drooling on him, Jame’s face pressed into his hair, both still very naked. And they both wake up, but it’s actually so nice, so they both pretend that they haven’t woken up yet. It’s only when Sirius almost yanks back James’ curtain to wake them do they kick into morning action. But they were like that for a while.

The next time they hook up, it’s a little awkward, but James’ is a little bit softer, which is weird and unusual and sends Barty into a spiral.

He avoids James at all costs, until the bastard hunts him down somehow knowing exactly where he is at all fucking times, only once could Barty not escape, when he’s up in the astronomy tower in the middle of the night, having a smoke because he can’t sleep, plagued with mushy thoughts about bloody Potter.

James apologises for being weird last time, makes up some excuse, and they hookup again, and it’s like normal again… at first. But suddenly, as it’s finishing up, James is kissing him slowly, and pressing their foreheads together, and lays down beside him and they cuddle.

This is the second time Barty’s ever cuddled anyone, the first time also being with James in his lovely warm bed, where he wishes they were now, because the pillows smell like James and- fucking hell, hes fucked.

They start talking, as they’re putting their clothes back on, sharing a smoke for a while, and they talk about normal people things, about themselves a bit, their interests, quidditch. They have a quidditch match tomorrow, versus each other, so they should get some sleep. They go their separate ways, and whilst Barty’s warm and tired now, he still doesn’t fucking sleep, because he wants to be near James again.

They play the next day, and it’s kinda flirty. James keeps winking at him, flying past each other and bumping with any chance they get, teasing a bit with each point scored. Gryffindors win, because they’re brilliant but also because Barty was a little distracted today, completely off his game, eyes fixed on James’ stupid muscles, and messy hair, and the way his thighs wrapped-

He ends up at the Gryffindor party, since his best friend Pandora is dating Lily Evans, and she can’t be the only Ravenclaw there.

Naturally, he and James end up in James’ bed again about one hour into the party. Thankfully, no one comes looking, since James has already done his bit as the star of the show and now everyones distracted by Sirius and Remus snogging on the sofa, seemingly forgetting that other people are in the room.

After they’re done, they cuddle again, in Jame’s lovely bed. And James is all sleepy, and he’s sweet when he’s sleepy, quite cute, irritatingly handsome, voice all thick with sleep and… other things. They talk, a little bit, until James stops answering Barty’s questions because he’s fallen asleep and tucked himself into Barty’s neck. It’s the best sleep he gets in a while.

From then on, they can’t keep away from each other. Sneaking around whenever they can, talking constantly, cuddling.

And they kiss.

Like, they just kiss.

James will say, “Hey, Barty” and kiss him, and he’ll say “Bye, Barty” and kiss him, and he’ll say “I like that shirt on you” and kiss him, and he’ll say “Sorry, you can keep talking, I just need to…” and kiss him.

Barty really likes kissing James.

Of course it’s James who asks him out first. A date to Hogsmede. They sit in the back of the three broomsticks one night, having snuck out through secret corridors that James walks through with second nature, that Barty didn’t even know existed. They sip on butterbeer until their cheeks are warm and they’re giggling with each other, and then they’re snogging in their booth so aggressively that they get kicked out. They get frisky in the alleyway behind the pub, in the cold winter air, James gives Barty his coat and scarf whilst he does his thing, and Barty just blurts it out, “I’m obsessed with you.”

He’s mortified, but James is thrilled. They’re smitten with each other. They’re boyfriends now.

It’s insane what James does to him. He makes Barty gentle. Since he started picking fights with James, he realised he hasn’t picked fights with anyone else. He doesn’t feel the need to fight, so long as James looks at him, gives Barty all his attention. And he does, he gives Barty so much attention. He makes Barty feel loved which is something he never thought he’d feel before. And oh god, he’s such a sap, all the pet names he calls Barty, all the honey sweet things, the way he kisses him, and touches him, it’s insanity.

It’s everything.

But there's changes in James too, changes that make Barty’s head spin. He’s tougher, more aggressive. Still so kind, but he isn’t scared to throw a punch. In fact, he throws many at anyone who says anything bad about Barty. He gets himself into so much trouble, for Barty’s honour, and he promises he’ll never stop because it fills him with pride to make someone hurt so Barty doesn’t have too.

And he’s rough with Barty still, in all the right ways, leaves marks all over his body that make him so giddy when he looks in the mirror. James is possessive, and gets jealous and protective of him so easily, and Barty is a whore who flirts with everyone, and James is still so easy to rile. Barty knows exactly what buttons to push to make James snap, to get exactly what he wants, to get another three hickies and a bite mark bruising his skin.

They’re so chaotic, and probably a little toxic, but they are insane about each other, and Barty would kill everything if he ever loses James.

(And maybe if he dies at age 20 in the war still, Barty does fucking kill everything, until he gets himself killed, and he smiles as he dies because he’ll be reunited with James again)

I'm mildly (very) obsessed with Barty being insane about the people he accidently finds himself in love with.

[unethicallypleistocene]

7 or 14, character(s) of your choice, for the Comfort Side of Hurt/Comfort prompts please?

Thank you!!

7. Pets/animals cuddling up close because they can sense their person isn't feeling well

James felt it coming back, the sweat collecting in his palms, the dull throb at the front of his skull. There were days the sea seemed a different creature entirely to him, a coil ready to spring and drag him down into the inky black. The sky was too wide, tonight. He paced the deck, feeling a familiar urge to launch himself over the bow and let the tendrils of the water wrap around him. Surely it would be a relief, if only he could stop the fear. Too afraid to jump, too afraid to live- this was James's curse, one that liked to mask itself until the most isolating watches of the night. And no whales in sight: he shouldn't be here, anyway. This was a greenhand's job. He heard the scrape of a creaky door and the clink of a lantern behind him.

"James? Anderson'll cover your watch tonight." "I'm all right, Alden."

Alden drew closer, and hovered over James's shoulder. James stared determinedly at the sea.

"You've got the look about you. Don't tell me it's nothing." "You can't do anything to help." Alden let out a wry laugh next to James's ear. It was dry and cutting, but to James, it was almost musical. "It's a captain's order, you idiot. To your quarters. Now." "Right."

James shook his head exasperatedly, and showed no sign of resistance when Alden tugged him by the hand into the belly of the ship. They mysteriously arrived in Alden's quarters, and James was unceremoniously shoved onto the bed.

"I'll have none of that on my ship," whispered Alden, kissing James on the forehead, "you tell me when it happens again." "I'm sorry, I keep- I can't ever tell before it-" "Don't apologize. 'S not your fault," said Alden firmly, running his thumb over James's knuckles. James was about to reply when they were both stopped by an insistent yowl at the door.

"Hello, damned animal," greeted Alden bitterly as he rose from the bed to let Grampus, the ship's cat, into his quarters. Grampus trotted in, looking very pleased with himself. He leapt into James's lap and began nuzzling into the crook of his arm.

"I don't know why he likes you more," said Alden, sitting back down and reaching his arm over to pull James closer. "I'm nicer," replied James simply, scratching behind Grampus's ears. Grampus purred in delight, and seemed to resolve to attach himself to James until the sun rose. Alden was not well pleased about it.