A/N: This is just going to be a collection of non-chronological one-shots, some vaguely sequel-y in nature, deleted scenes or ideas that didn't fit into the main story (Catch the Wind) properly, with maybe even an AU chapter here and there (because I love the idea of a chapter revolving around how they might meet had James been born in the modern world, and I definitely want to do that at some point). Some chapters might be short little snippets, others might be a wee mini arc a few chapters long. Kicking things off with flufftober prompt fills.

For those of you who read my Draco Malfoy stuff, this is basically just Live Forever but in this fandom, for this story. Similarly to that, because the nature of this structure gives me a lot more freedom, I'm open to requests for anything you guys might want to see more of here, so long as you keep it fairly vague so it gives me room to work and make it fit the story :) (e.g. "how they'd deal with one of them getting sick", so on.) - feel free to send me ideas of what you want to see on here, or on Tumblr (esta-elavaris) if you want to do so anonymously!

This one is set during their brief Tortuga era.


Flufftober '22 - Day 1 - Wearing each other's clothes.


James was facing a dilemma. That being said, given the problems he was accustomed to facing, he wasn't sure it could quite be classed as thus. And it was not an unpleasant dilemma. Not unpleasant at all, really.

The matter was, Theodora had a penchant for wearing his clothing. Well, he wasn't sure it could be classed as his clothing anymore - she'd taken it when she'd fled Port Royal with Sparrow, and now wore it on regular rotation with the set she'd bought upon arriving here, wearing one while she washed and dried the other, and so forth. What James had not anticipated was enjoying the sight so much that even when she offered to return them to him and buy another set for herself, he went out of his way to refuse.

He'd seen her in less before, but in such cases she tended to be either bloodied, in mortal peril, or both. It was a habit of Theodora's, and he was not such a lech that he would stop to gawk at her form in such cases. He'd even seen her dressed like this before - after he'd rescued her, Sparrow, and Miss Swann from the island they'd been marooned on, and…it had been somewhat more difficult to keep his gaze gentlemanly then. Especially upon realising what a mistake he'd made in tying himself to Elizabeth, and then after the battle - once his blood was up, when he was certain she felt the same way for him, and there was not enough denial in the world for him to go on pretending that what lay between them was strictly platonic.

It was an image that remained stubbornly in his mind ever since - her standing dishevelled in the middle of his quarters, in his clothing, her face flushed and her eyes wild. Given that they were now reunited and with no impediments between them, or at least fewer impediments, the memory of what followed immediately after was no longer bittersweet, nor ridden with guilt. Now he was free to look. And now, maybe best of all, he often caught her looking back.

If the sight of her wearing his clothes caught his attention, the ill fit of them captured it entirely. The breeches she'd taken from him were too tight - meant for a man's narrow hips and a lack of shapely curves - which meant they clung to her legs like a second skin to such an extent that it was a wonder she didn't have to sew herself into them each day just to risk driving him mad. Contrarily, the shirt was too big, with Theodora lacking the broad shoulders needed to fill it out properly. The result of which being that, when the heat had her choosing to forgo a coat, the neckline of the shirt was more or less constantly slipping down one shoulder or the other, revealing the smooth slope of her shoulder and the delicate dip of her collarbones. It was ridiculous how the sight enticed him so - it showed no more than her dresses in Port Royal had, and it had been far easier to keep his eyes to himself then. Even if they'd wandered from time to time, quite despite his efforts.

But they hadn't been his best efforts. And now? Now they weren't even his worst efforts. Not when he had the same gaze reflected back at him on more than one occasion - as he washed shirtless over the basin in their shared accomodation, when he reclined lazily with his legs sprawled before him the collar of his shirt open wide, as it usually was nowadays. Wearing a cravat in Tortuga was just as good as begging to be strangled with it.

Her eyes would trail downwards towards his chest, and then she'd flush and look away in a manner that was much more shy than he'd ever seen from her. Until he'd made the mistake of teasing her over it, smirking in response. Then, the next time he'd caught her staring, watching him as he hung up his newly cleaned shirt to dry overnight, she'd watched him boldly as if to prove a point. And then she'd winked.

James had chuckled at that - he hadn't been able to control it, grinning his mirth and shaking his head "It should be dry by morning, in this heat."

"I really can buy another for myself in the market, you know. That way you can have this one back, and you won't be forced to compromise your honour every time your shirt needs a wash."

"Don't you dare," he murmured - and he meant it.

And then the blush returned.


A/N: "I am looking…respectfully," - James.