#james and sirius are too reckless

[rosesndwine]

lily doesn't like to drive because it makes her anxious (all the stuff she has to control at the same time), but she will do it if sirius and james are the other driver options.

[padfootastic]

i just remembered that canonically, sirius got to godrics hollow after hagrid.

which means that after he had his godson taken away from him (bc lbr that’s exactly what hagrid and dumbledore’s orders basically did) then he went into the house and saw james and lily’s dead bodies alone. no buffer in the form of harry crying out for his parents or even the godfatherly instinct of making sure his kid is alright.

he was there, with his brother and friend’s cooking body, all alone. stewing in grief and pain and rage and guilt. ALONE.

do we even know how long he was there? for all we know, he could’ve been catatonic right there besides james all day.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

okay, because you broke my heart with everything is blue, I want a barty x potter!reader where it's the mauraders seeing how barty and the reader love/take care of each other. I need to be healed, I might die

They'll Be Alright

Barty Crouch Jr. x Potter!Fem!Reader

AN: I've taken out all the stops to mend your heart

WC: ~5k

Summary: James Potter learns to like tolerate his sisters taste in men.

Warnings: Grumpy James, Snogging, cursing, tooth rotting fluff, self indulgent, this is literally the cheesiest things I could come up with

“I can't do this much longer, I'm going mad.” James hissed as he sat on the grass, watching from across the courtyard as you stood outside the Quidditch pitch with a bit of a pacing form. You were sitting with your big brother and his friends just moments ago, but RavenClaw was out for practice and you just couldn't wait for your precious boy to leave the stands.

“I think it's cute.” Lily sang sweetly. “She's as obsessed with him as he is with her. Only a Potter could match a Crouch’s insanity.”

James groaned, dragging his hands down his face dramatically as Sirius burst out laughing, collapsing onto the grass beside him. “It’s not cute, Lily,” James hissed, throwing a wild gesture toward you. “It’s deranged. She’s my little sister, for Merlin’s sake! And she’s practically glued to the sidelines for him. Him! Of all people.”

“She’s not glued, mate. Look- she’s pacing,” Sirius pointed out helpfully, grinning as he threw a snitch up into the air and caught it lazily. “And, to be fair, Barty’s just as bad. Didn’t he travel all the way from Hogwarts to the Potter Manor once just to say, what was it? Right!” He sat up sharply and threw in some jazz hands. “Hi, to her over winter break?”

James groaned louder, flopping onto his back in the grass. “Don’t remind me. He’s the one who’s mad, and now she’s gone mad too. My family’s turning into a bloody soap opera.”

“It’s not madness,” Lily argued, her voice soft with a knowing smile as she plucked a daisy from the grass. “It’s love, James. Messy, consuming love. And if you can’t see it, then you’ve forgotten what it was like when you were chasing after me.”

“Oh, don’t start,” James grumbled, sitting up to glare at her, though his face was tinged with a hint of pink. “That’s completely different.”

“Is it?” Lily asked, raising a brow as she tucked the daisy behind her ear. “Because I distinctly remember you doing some insane things for me- like charming the entire Gryffindor common room to play my favorite song every time I walked in.”

Sirius let out a loud bark of laughter, nearly choking on his snitch when he forgot to catch it. “Oh, that was brilliant! What was it again? Some Muggle tune about sunshine?”

“‘Here Comes the Sun,’” Lily said smugly, her smile widening as James grumbled under his breath. “And I’ll remind you, Potter, that it worked.”

“That’s different!” James protested again, jabbing a finger in your direction. “I wasn’t a bloody Crouch!”

Remus, who had been quietly reading nearby, finally looked up from his book with a raised brow. “And what, exactly, is wrong with being a Crouch?” He asked calmly, though his tone carried a faint edge of amusement.

James floundered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You know what I mean! He’s- he’s- he’s bloody Barty! He’s reckless, obsessive, and- and-”

“And utterly devoted to her,” Lily interrupted firmly, her eyes softening as she looked toward you across the courtyard. “He’d send us back to the stone age if she complained it was too busy, James. And she’d do the same for him. That’s not something you get to stand in the way of.”

James sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he ran a hand through his messy hair. “I just want her to be happy.” He muttered. “And safe.”

“She is happy,” Lily said gently, resting a hand on his arm. “And as for safe- well, that’s why she’s got you, isn’t it? To make sure nothing gets in the way of her happiness. I'm also quite sure if anyone is to defend her like you have all these years.. it would be him.”

James let out a long, slow breath, watching as you finally stopped pacing, your face lighting up as Barty appeared at the top of the Quidditch stands. Even from across the courtyard, the way your shoulders relaxed and your smile softened was undeniable.

“She looks so bloody happy,” James mumbled, almost to himself.

“She is,” Lily said softly. “Just like you were when you finally got me.”

James turned to her, his face scrunching up as though he’d tasted something sour. “Don’t make me feel good about this, Evans.”

Lily just laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Sorry, love. It’s my job.”

Remus chuckled. “Just watch mate.”

~~~

“My dazzling girl!” Barty called down from the steps as he hurried down. You couldn't help but feel a humiliating bubbling of excitement in your chest. Normally, you wouldn't be so shameless and public with your affections, but since dating the brazen Bartemius, you had forgotten what it meant to hold private affections.

“My brilliant boy.” You cooed back and he hurried across the yard to meet you. “How was it?”

“Dreadful. Humiliating. Humbling.” He rambled and stepped closer to you, taking your hand and kissing it, before slowly leading the kiss up your arm to your neck. You laughed and attempted to free yourself, only for him to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you in, flush against him. “You simply must make me feel better.”

“It was only practice!” You laughed and cupped his cheeks in your hands, stilling his unconventional attack before it could reach your face. He gave you that signature woman eating smile with dimples that pressed so far into his cheeks you could about die. “It couldn't have been that bad.”

“It was, you see.” He started and gave you a playfully firm dip before he spun you around to scoop you back up to a proper stand. “There was this dazzling girl-”

“You've used dazzling for today, Barty.” You teased and he gave you a wolfish grin.

“This beautiful, magnificent, breathtaking, awe inspiring-”

“Barty!” You laughed and he leaned in with a flurry of kisses to your cheek, effectively freeing himself from your hands.

“Irresistible, bewitching, stunning-”

“Barty-”

“Absolutely exquisite witch who promised to watch my every game, and yet, not this one.” He moped and you shook your head.

“That was practice, my love.” You muttered and he gasped.

“And thus it does not deserve your full undivided attention?”

You couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped your lips, your hands playfully swatting at his chest as you shook your head. “You’re insufferable, Bartemius Crouch.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” Barty countered, his grin widening into something wickedly charming as he tugged you closer. “Which makes you either as mad as me or utterly bewitched. Shall we flip a coin to decide?”

“Bewitched, obviously,” You teased, raising an eyebrow as you leaned in closer. “But don’t let it go to your head, Mr. Crouch.”

“Too late.” He replied with a laugh, his lips brushing your temple before trailing down to your cheek. “My head’s been full of you for years, my star. You’ve left no room for anything else. I think it's only fair I consume your every thought from now on.”

“Sweet words don’t excuse your theatrics.” You teased, your hands gently slipping to his shoulders as you pretended to push him away, though neither of you truly let go. “You’re going to give James a heart attack if you keep this up.”

Barty’s grin turned mischievous, and he tilted his head to glance toward the courtyard where your brother and his friends were undoubtedly watching. “Good,” He said with mock seriousness, his tone laced with humor. “If I can survive Quidditch practice, he can survive the sight of me adoring his sister.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the smile off your face as you sighed dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re perfect,” He murmured, his hands sliding down to rest on your waist. “So I think that makes us even.”

“Even?” You repeated with a laugh, shaking your head as you leaned your forehead against his. “I think it makes you a menace.”

“I’ll take it,” Barty replied, his voice softer now, his green eyes locked onto yours with a sincerity that made your heart skip. “As long as it means I get to keep you.”

For a moment, the playful banter between you faded, replaced by the weight of his words and the warmth of his presence. You knew the world saw Barty as reckless, obsessive, even dangerous. But in moments like this, when he looked at you like you were the only thing grounding him, it was hard not to feel the same pull that had always drawn you to him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You said softly, your hands brushing down his arms before entwining your fingers with his. “Just… promise me you’ll try not to antagonize James too much. He’s already halfway to pulling his hair out.”

Barty smirked, his dimple deepening in that way that always made your heart flutter. “No promises,” He teased, though the glint in his eye told you he’d try- for you, if nothing else.

“Bartemius Crouch,” You huffed, feigning sternness as you tugged his hand. “I mean it.”

“And I mean it when I say you’re irresistible,” He countered, spinning you again for good measure before pulling you back into his arms. “Now, my alluring, charming, pretty girl- are you ready to make James’s day a little more unbearable?”

You let out a laugh, the sound bright and lighthearted, as he laced your fingers together and led you back toward the courtyard. You could already see the exasperation on James’s face from across the field, but Merlin did you hear it. Him and Lily.

“I wasn't THAT bad!”

“Oh yes you were!”

~~~

It was a quiet afternoon in the Gryffindor common room when James finally let out a dramatic groan, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t take it anymore!” He exclaimed, startling Lily, who had been peacefully reading beside him.

“What now?” She asked, though the amused quirk of her lips showed she already knew the answer.

“It’s them,” James hissed, pointing toward the window where you and Barty were clearly visible in the courtyard below. You were both sitting on the edge of the fountain, laughing at something Barty had said as he carefully wrapped a scarf around your neck, adjusting it as though it were a delicate treasure. “They’re insufferable.”

“They’re adorable,” Lily corrected, leaning over to peek out the window. She sighed softly, her expression turning fond as she watched Barty tuck your hair behind your ear and press a quick kiss to your temple. “Look at him. He absolutely dotes on her.”

“Exactly!” James groaned again. “Dotes! It’s unnatural. He’s supposed to be a Crouch-brooding and conniving, not… not whatever that is.”

“Love,” Remus supplied calmly, not even looking up from his book.

“Obsessive devotion,” Sirius added with a smirk, throwing a piece of popcorn into his mouth as he sprawled on the armchair.

“Same thing,” Lily said with a shrug. “And besides, James, weren’t you the same way with me? You practically worshipped the ground I walked on.”

“Still do,” Sirius muttered, earning a glare from James and a stifled laugh from Lily.

“That’s different,” James argued, his voice petulant. “I wasn’t… that. Look at him! He’s practically wrapped around her finger.”

“And she’s wrapped around his,” Lily pointed out, motioning toward the window again. Sure enough, Barty had pulled you to your feet and was holding your hand as he led you toward the castle steps, pausing every few moments to make you laugh with his animated gestures.

“He carries her books half the time,” Sirius added. “And she carries his cloak when he forgets it.”

“She fixes his collar when it's crooked,” Remus chimed in. “And he charms her quills when they snap.”

James groaned louder, dragging his hands down his face. “You’re not helping.”

“Prongs,” Sirius said with a chuckle, sitting up and clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve got to admit, they’re good together. Annoyingly good, yes, but still.”

“Annoying is an understatement,” James grumbled, but his protests faltered as the portrait hole swung open and you entered the room, Barty trailing behind you with an armful of books and an easy grin on his face.

You turned to him with an exasperated laugh. “You didn’t have to carry all of them, you know. I can manage.”

“Nonsense,” Barty replied smoothly, setting the books down on a nearby table before tugging at his crooked collar. “If I can’t carry a few books for my treasure, what kind of wizard am I?”

“A dramatic one,” You teased, stepping closer to him to fix his collar with practiced ease. “There. All better.”

“And this is why I adore you,” He said, grinning as he caught your hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss.

James let out a strangled noise from the couch, causing you to turn with a startled look. “Everything alright, Jamie?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Perfectly fine,” he said through gritted teeth, glaring at Barty, who had the audacity to wink at him.

Lily leaned over to whisper in James’s ear, her voice low but teasing. “Admit it, James. You’re just mad he treats her as well as you treat me.”

James’s face turned scarlet, and Sirius howled with laughter, nearly toppling out of his chair. “Got you there, mate!”

~~~

The clatter of hurried footsteps echoed down the stone corridor as you stopped in your tracks, turning just in time to see Barty sprinting toward you with an energy that bordered on reckless. His tie was slightly askew, his school robes flaring behind him as he called out, his voice full of dramatic flair, “Treasure! You simply must hear this- you’ll have no choice but to reward me with a kiss once you hear of my heroics.”

You furrowed your brow but couldn’t suppress the amused smile tugging at your lips. He always had a way of making everything sound like the most exciting tale in the world. As he skidded to a halt in front of you, panting slightly but grinning ear to ear, you took a moment to properly look at him.

For once, Barty had made an effort with his appearance. His robes, usually a little wrinkled or hanging off his shoulders in that endearingly careless way, were perfectly straightened. His tie was knotted neatly (if a little loose), and his hair was slicked back in a way that made your stomach twist, the gleaming coil of one rebellious strand falling charmingly over his forehead. He was maddening, and he knew it.

“Oh?” You replied, your voice playful as you arched a brow.

Barty straightened, smoothing the lapels of his robe with an exaggerated air of importance. “Correct me if I’m wrong- I hardly ever am- but you look like you might just kiss me unprompted.”

Your cheeks flamed at his words, the boldness of his statement making your heart skip. “Crouch!” You hissed, swatting lightly at his chest in mock indignation.

He caught your hand easily, holding it against his chest with a dramatic sigh. “See? Even your instincts betray you. Your heart is telling you to reward me already.”

“And what exactly did you do to earn this so-called reward?” You asked, your tone laced with amusement.

He tilted his head, his dimpled grin widening as he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret. “I managed to survive an entire Transfiguration class without turning our professor’s patience into dust. Surely that deserves a small token of appreciation.”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head at his antics. “That’s your big heroic tale? Restraint in a single class?”

“Not just any class,” He countered, pulling you closer with the hand still held captive against his chest. “A full fifty minutes of maintaining decorum. You, of all people, should know what a trial that is for me.”

“Decorum, huh?” You teased, your lips twitching as you fixed his slightly frazzled lapel. “Then why are you so out of breath, running down the halls like a maniac?”

“Because the faster I reached you, the sooner I’d get my reward.” He grinned, tilting his head closer to yours. “Now, treasure, let’s not delay-”

“Barty!” You cut him off with a laugh, stepping back to put some space between you. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are, utterly smitten,” He said cheekily, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your chest ache. He reached out, brushing an errant strand of hair from your face, and you felt your heart skip again.

Before you could respond, a voice broke through the moment, sharp and incredulous. “You two are going to make me lose my mind.”

You both turned to see James standing a few feet away, arms crossed and a look of pure exasperation on his face. Sirius was behind him, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and Remus stood a little further back, his book tucked under one arm, an amused glint in his eye.

“Honestly, mate,” James continued, throwing his hands up. “Must you be this dramatic? She’s my sister, not the bloody queen.”

“And yet,” Barty said smoothly, not missing a beat as he turned to James with a smirk, “she deserves nothing less than a royal treatment.”

James groaned, dragging his hands down his face as Sirius burst out laughing, clapping him on the back. “He’s got a point, Prongs.”

You shook your head, trying to suppress your own laughter, but Barty caught your chin with gentle fingers, turning your gaze back to him. “Pay no mind to the peanut gallery,” He said softly, his tone dropping to something more intimate. “I’m only interested in you, treasure.”

Your heart swelled, and for a moment, you forgot all about James’s groaning, Sirius’s laughter, and the knowing look Remus was undoubtedly giving. All you could see was Barty- your boy, maddeningly confident yet infinitely tender, his green eyes locked onto yours as if you were the only person in the world.

And as maddening as it was, he certainly did deserve that kiss.

~~~

The firelight flickered warmly in the Potter living room as the group gathered for the holidays. Snow had blanketed the grounds outside, creating a cozy atmosphere inside the bustling house. You were curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your lap, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in your hands. James sat nearby, watching with a sharp eye as Barty leaned down to adjust the blanket around your legs, making sure you were tucked in properly.

The sight grated on James- he was used to being the one to look after you, his little sister, not this Crouch boy who had somehow wormed his way into your life. But then Barty turned, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside you, and James found himself watching the interaction more closely than he’d care to admit.

“You didn’t have to go out into the cold to fetch the marshmallows, you know,” You said softly, your voice filled with affection as you sipped your drink.

“Of course I did,” Barty replied, grinning up at you. “Your hot chocolate isn’t complete without them. It’s a crime to deprive you of anything less than perfection.”

James rolled his eyes, but Lily elbowed him gently, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Watch,” She whispered.

As if on cue, you reached for the plate of marshmallows to pop one into your drink, but Barty’s hand shot out to stop you. “Ah, ah, allow me,” He said with a dramatic flair, picking out the largest marshmallow with precision. He placed it delicately into your mug before handing it back with a flourish. “Perfectly placed, as all marshmallows should be.”

You laughed, a bright sound that made James pause. He couldn’t deny that it was genuine, the kind of laugh he hadn’t heard from you in a long time. And the way Barty looked at you in response- like your happiness was the only thing that mattered- made James’s chest tighten in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

As the night went on, James watched the two of you more closely. It wasn’t just the over-the-top gestures or the playful banter; it was the way Barty noticed the smallest things about you. How he shifted your mug away when he noticed you leaning too far forward, how he reached for the book you’d left on the side table before you even asked for it, how he listened intently to every word you said, his focus unwavering.

Merlin even their parents loved him.

Later, when the others had dispersed to different parts of the house, James found himself in the kitchen with Barty. The younger boy was rinsing out a mug, his usual bravado toned down in the quiet moment.

“You really care about her, don’t you?” James asked suddenly, his voice steady but curious.

Barty looked up, surprised by the question. But then his expression softened, and he nodded. “More than anything,” He said simply, his tone devoid of his usual dramatics. “She’s everything to me, Potter.”

James leaned against the counter, his arms crossed as he studied Barty carefully. “You know, if you hurt her, I’ll-”

“Spend every waking moment trying to kill me?” Barty interrupted with a small, knowing smile. “I know. But you won’t have to. Because I’d rather tear myself apart than see her hurt.”

James blinked, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in Barty’s voice. For the first time, he saw past the theatrics and charm, and what he found there surprised him. There was a genuine devotion, a steadfastness that even James couldn’t deny.

“You’re good to her,” James said finally, his voice quieter. “Better than I thought you’d be.”

Barty smirked, but there was no arrogance in it this time- only a quiet confidence. “She deserves nothing less.”

James nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. For the first time, he found himself believing that maybe- just maybe- Barty Crouch wasn’t the worst person his sister could have chosen. In fact, as he watched Barty quietly return the mug to the cupboard, James couldn’t help but think that she might have chosen someone who truly knew how to love her the way she deserved.

~~~

The tension between you and Barty had been simmering all day, ever since that small disagreement in the courtyard earlier. It wasn’t anything monumental- just one of his reckless decisions clashing with your cautious nature- but it had left you feeling irritated and, perhaps, a little hurt.

Now, as you sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, picking at your dinner, the weight of the silence between you lingered in the back of your mind. Barty hadn’t come to sit with you, choosing instead to stay at the Ravenclaw table. Every so often, you caught him sneaking a glance your way, but neither of you made a move to close the distance.

“You’re brooding,” Lily said gently, nudging your arm with her elbow.

“I’m not brooding,” You replied, though your tone lacked conviction.

“She’s brooding,” Sirius confirmed from across the table, earning a glare from you. “You’ve got that ‘he’s an idiot, but I still love him’ look all over your face. I'm very familiar."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could retort, Remus leaned in, his voice calm and measured. “You know, he’s been sulking at the Ravenclaw table since lunch. Practically hasn’t touched his food.”

“I don’t care,” You muttered, stabbing at your mashed potatoes.

“Sure, you don’t,” James said, his tone laced with sarcasm as he leaned back in his seat. “That’s why you’ve been glancing at him every five minutes.”

“I have not,” You snapped, though your cheeks flushed in betrayal.

James smirked, folding his arms across his chest. “Look, I’ll admit it- he’s an absolute pain sometimes. But he’s your pain, and frankly, I’ve put a lot of effort into liking this one. Don’t break his heart.”

The entire table froze. Lily’s fork clattered against her plate, and Sirius let out a loud, exaggerated gasp, slapping a hand over his mouth like he’d just heard the most scandalous news of the year.

“Did… did you just admit you like him?” Remus asked, his tone full of disbelief.

James shifted uncomfortably under the weight of everyone’s stares. “I didn’t say I like him,” He grumbled, though the tips of his ears burned red. “I just said I’ve put in the time.”

“That’s the same thing, mate,” Sirius said with a grin. “And we’re never letting you live this down.”

Lily laughed, nudging James playfully. “I think it’s sweet. It only took him months of watching them make heart eyes at each other to admit it.”

“Shut it, Evans,” James muttered, though his scowl softened as his gaze flicked to you. “Seriously, though. He’s mad about you. Don’t let this stupid fight ruin something good.”

You blinked at your brother, caught somewhere between gratitude and shock. “You really think that?”

James sighed, his expression softening. “Yeah. I do. Just… go talk to him, alright? Put me out of my misery.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you as you stood, smoothing out your robes. “Fine. But if he’s still being a prat, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair,” James said, though he shot you a rare, encouraging smile.

As you crossed the Great Hall, you could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, the murmurs from the Gryffindor table blending with the soft hum of conversation around the room. When you reached the Ravenclaw table, Barty looked up, his green eyes widening in surprise as you stopped beside him.

“Treasure,” He started, his voice tentative, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“We need to talk,” You said firmly, though the corner of your lips twitched upward.

Barty stood immediately, his end of the bench scraping against the stone floor. “Anything. Anywhere.”

You nodded toward the doors, and he followed without hesitation, leaving behind his untouched dinner and a flurry of whispers in his wake.

Back at the Gryffindor table, James let out a heavy sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair. “Finally.”

“I can’t believe it,” Sirius said, shaking his head in mock astonishment. “Prongs has feelings. Actual, human feelings.”

“Don’t push it, Padfoot,” James muttered, though the faint smile on his face betrayed him.

Lily rested her chin on her hand, watching as you and Barty disappeared through the doors. “I think it’s sweet. He finally gets it.”

“Better late than never,” Remus added with a small smile. “Though I’m sure he’ll deny it by morning.”

Sirius, smirked devilishly and Lily’s smile twitched just a bit.

“It's almost like we didn't catch them snogging a few days ago.” He sang and James's face turned pale and his eyes widened.

James shot up from his seat so quickly that his table toppled backward, the loud clatter echoing through the Great Hall. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”

Sirius threw his head back in laughter, nearly choking on his pumpkin juice, while Lily covered her mouth with her hand, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“I said,” Sirius repeated slowly, his grin widening, “it’s almost like we didn’t catch them snogging a few days ago. Almost.”

“You- you WHAT?” James sputtered, looking between Sirius and Lily with a mixture of horror and betrayal. “And you didn’t tell me? Evans! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I am on your side,” Lily said, struggling to keep her composure as she shrugged innocently. “I just didn’t think it was a big deal. They’re dating, James. What did you expect?”

“What did I- what did I- NOT THAT!” James shouted, flailing his arms toward the doors where you and Barty had disappeared. “I didn’t expect him to be sticking his tongue down her throat in public!”

“It wasn’t public,” Sirius said with a mockingly thoughtful expression. “It was a little alcove near the library, actually. Quite private. You’d be proud of them, Prongs- very stealthy, very romantic. A solid 9 out of 10.”

James groaned, dragging his hands down his face dramatically as Remus finally chimed in, his tone calm but amused. “James, they’re in a relationship. This isn’t exactly shocking.”

“It is to me!” James snapped, glaring at Remus as if he’d just committed treason. “And you lot just sat on this information like it was nothing?”

“Mate, you’ve been watching them practically live in each other’s pockets for months now,” Sirius said, still grinning. “I figured you’d have put it together by now.”

Lily patted James’s arm consolingly, though her eyes still sparkled with mischief. “I think you’re just mad because you’re starting to like Barty, and this makes it harder for you to yell at him.”

James opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. He closed his mouth, glaring at the table as his face turned an impressive shade of red.

“Admit it, Prongs,” Sirius said, leaning forward with a gleeful grin. “You like him. He’s grown on you.”

“I don’t like him,” James muttered, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. “I tolerate him. For her.”

“You tolerate him enough to tell her not to break his heart,” Remus pointed out, his lips twitching.

James groaned again, collapsing back into his seat with the air of a man defeated. “Fine. I don’t hate him. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Sirius said with a wink. “Though I’d be happier if you didn’t look like you were about to throw a fit every time you saw them hold hands.”

Lily leaned in closer, her voice soft but teasing. “He loves her, James. And she loves him. That’s not something you need to fight.”

James sighed heavily, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, well… if he hurts her, it’s still open season.”

“Fair enough,” Sirius said with a laugh. “But you’ll have to get in line behind her. She’s got a mean right hook.”

The table erupted into laughter, and even James couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Somewhere beyond the Great Hall doors, you and Barty were likely making amends, and for the first time, James felt a reluctant sort of peace about it.

He still didn’t like Barty- he probably never would- but he could admit, quietly and only to himself, that the boy made you happy. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

[hirayalore]

SIRIUS BLACK is a lot of things. he’s reckless, impulsive, handsome, charming, the epitome of trouble—yet what he refuses to be is disloyal to his friends, and that remains to be one of the few things that others can at least commend him for despite his questionable reputation.

however, his moral compass wavers a bit every single time he catches a glimpse of you, a fellow gryffindor whose laughter sounds like literal music to his ears whenever you’re near in the common room and whose smile can make him feel things that he isn’t sure he’s familiar nor okay with for that matter.

it’s mushy… fluttering… too soft for a git and well-known casanova like him who moves from girl to girl like a quaffle during quidditch.

but he can’t deny that when it comes to you, there’s an undeniable pull that he can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard he tries. it’s as if even if he makes a conscious effort of not staring at you, or tuning your voice out during class recitations, or choosing to step away when the only seat left in the gryffindor long table is next to yours—you still end up lingering in his mind after school hours, making him wonder what it would be like if he just succumbs to his desires. 

which is wrong. on so many levels.

because peter pettigrew likes you, and if there’s one thing that sirius hates the most, it’s willingly betraying your friends.

so, why does it feel this bloody good to kiss you like this?

“okay, fuck—” sirius pulls away, restraining himself from deepening the kiss and pressing you harder against the wall he’s caging you in. “you—you absolute dangerous little thing—” he tries to complain, but you tug him by the collar of his shirt again, kissing him once more which sirius groans against your mouth to, his head tilting to the side to kiss you better nonetheless.

everything happened so fast.

one second the gryffindors are celebrating a quidditch win in the common room, the next he finds himself standing next to you by the fruit punch that might have been spiked by james and himself, and then by the following hour or so, he’s seeing you flirt with him and he can’t resist the urge to flirt back, not when it’s you who’s smiling at him and batting your eyelashes in a way that definitely makes him stare far too long on that pretty face of yours.

“bloody hell,” he curses, dragging his mouth away from your lips, his forehead falling on your shoulder where he takes even breaths.

he hears you breathe with him, chuckling, before the palms of your hands find his cheeks, softly cupping them and forcing him to look at you.

you both stare at each other, and sirius scans your features—your shiny eyes, the strands of hair that fan your face, the way your lips appear sinful being swollen and red like that, as if begging him to make it worse.

you smile and pull him in for one more kiss, a soft kiss that he melts into and renders him completely helpless under your touch.

when you pull away, resting your forehead against his, he whispers something that one definitely shouldn’t say after a moment like that:

“peter likes you.”

you continue to gaze at him, raising an eyebrow. “what?”

“peter likes you.”

“yeah, no—i mean,” you laugh a bit, your hands falling on his shoulders, “why are you telling this?”

“because he’s…” he swallows hard, looking pathetic or like he doesn’t want to say his next words out loud, “he’s a mate of mine. and this—this thing that just happened between us—it shouldn’t have happened.”

“oh.” 

you don’t seem like you’re hurt by his words. if anything, you’re confused, and he gets why. the infamous sirius black isn’t exactly recognized for taking the high road.

“yeah, so.” he clears his throat and steps back (grudgingly, his feet protesting while he does so), unsure of what to do other than leave. “i’m sorry. i just…”

he feels foolish as he tries walking away. but he doesn’t even get to feel foolish for that long because the moment you call his name, he doesn’t even think—he just stops and turns to you once more, curious on what you have to say.

you’re still leaning against the wall, your hands behind you, and you’re looking at him in a coy manner that his inside feels goddamn weird again.

“i don’t like peter,” you say.

sirius inhales sharply.

“i like you.”

his hands form into fists at his sides, every bit of restraint crumbling as you stare at him like that.

and then with the press of your lips, you deliver the final blow.

“don’t you like me too, sirius?” 

he sighs, the innocence and sweetness of your tone causing him to close his eyes for a moment, further sending him spiraling due to his dilemma of being a good friend or having you for himself.

but then he hears you call his name again, with that breathy voice that he knows he’ll replay in his head for nights to come, and throwing every last bit of moral he has in his system, he curses under his breath and dashes towards you, kissing you senseless with much more fervor and want. 

your lips curve upwards against his and he groans.

“have me wrapped around your finger, have you?” he says.

your victorious laugh echoes in the dark hallway.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[colouredbyd]

The Garden Gate

Mauraders Era

🌷= fluff 🌙 = angst 💌 = hurt/comfort 🌱= crack 🍄= smut ♡ = d's favs

𖤐 rom-com celebration masterlist : a rom-com coded oneshots & rewrites of your favorite films, marauders style!! soft, chaotic, sometimes bittersweet, but always full of love🎬💌��✮⋆˙

❤︎ poly!marauders:

A Moon For Moony 💌🌷(4.3k)

when remus admits he's never seen the moon, you create one just for him.

We Will Be Okay 🌙💌 (4.6k) (part 1)

after an argument with the boys you nearly lose your life, the marauders realize too late what their silence cost.

↳ ♡ We Heal, At Last 💌 (8.8k) (part 2) after your attack, you pull away, wounds aching. but love finds you again, gentle and patient, proof that even after ruin, there can still be light.

Sweet Things Melt Slowly 🌷(2.6k)

winter comes softly, and in firelight and snowlight, three boys and their girl fall a little more in love.

Finding Rest 💌 (2.1k)

you wake hurting, but they hold you through the silence—until it hurts a little less.

Secrets Have Teeth 🌙💌 (10k)

a prank Sirius sets for snape backfires, leaving ruin and silence in its wake. forgiveness flickers, but secrets still bare their teeth.

♡ Bitter Sweetness 🌙💌 (7.5k)

in which you mistake your boyfriends worry for pity, leading you to pushing them away to prove you’re not fragile — but not all softness is weakness.

♡ We Are All Gonna Die 💌 (3.4k)

after a nightmare where you lose your boyfriends, you wake breathless, only to find them pulling you close until the fear fades and the night feels safe again.

the marauders and flicker ( animagi!reader x marauders)

↳ The Secret's Out (5.2k)🌷💌 : you keep stumbling across your boyfriends in your Animagus form, a clumsy red panda. their gazes linger, sensing something familiar. But not all secrets last. ↳ The Secret Life Of Pets (7k) 🌷🌱: after a botched transformation, you’re stuck as a red panda, posing as the marauders' pet—but staying hidden proves harder than they thought ↳ Lost And Found (4k) ��: after a reckless fight, you hide as flicker, overwhelmed by fear. when they find you, their gentle words and touch ease your heart, bringing fragile peace ↳ Just A Scratch (5.3k) 💌🌙: on a full moon night, an accident injures you and tests the bond with remus, sirius, and james. sometimes, lies are the kindest way to protect those you love. ↳ Bird-napped! (2.1k) 🌷🌱: a peaceful afternoon spirals into chaos when the marauders mistake an eagle’s prey for flicker, sending them into a full-blown panic.

❤︎ Regulus Black:

Soleil 🌷(7.3k)

childhood friends to lovers: Regulus overhears a quiet confession and everything shifts.

♡ "If you look closely, you'll see them!" 🌷 (3k)

you swear regulus has dimples but no one believes you. then he walks in, finds your eyes, and for a moment, your friends see it too.

Sweater Weather 🌷(4.7k)

regulus, notoriously bad at expressing love, spends an entire fall knitting you the world’s ugliest sweater, yet you wear it anyway.

Wrapped In You 🌷🌱 (2k)

in which you can’t sleep, and regulus, impossibly patient, answers your increasingly absurd late-night questions.

Our Brothers Are Dating… Should We? 💌🌷🍄 (8.3k)

you and regulus are hopelessly in love but oblivious. your brothers, remus and sirius, watch amused and decide to take matters into their own hands, with a little help from barty.

The Nightingale Masterlist 🌙💌🌷(88k) (series) (on going)

hunger games au: you were thirteen when your name was called. He was fourteen when he took your place, becoming the youngest Victor the Capitol had ever seen before disappearing into its glittering grip. Now, your name is drawn again for the 70th Hunger Games, and Regulus is willing to do anything to make sure you make it out alive. But the Capitol is watching, and in the arena, nothing is as it appears.

Time Cast A Spell On You 🌙💌🌷

reincarnation au: across lifetimes, two souls find each other, haunted by love and lost memories. but maybe this time, in their final life, the story will end differently.

↳ Prologue (0.8k) ↳ I: Hogwarts (10k) ↳ II: The Kingdom (12k) ↳ III: The Rockstar (22k) ↳ IV: The Art Gallery ↳ V: Silver Springs

❤︎ Sirius Black:

Off-Script masterlist 🌙💌🌷(11.8k) (series) (on going)

celebrity!au: in which one audition changes everything, and you find yourself growing up in the spotlight—alongside sirius black, a boy with a voice and a name the world won’t forget. the fame is loud, the rumors louder, and somewhere between the endless cameras, the lines begin to blur: between who you are and who you’re expected to be.

and, along the way, everything goes off-script.

❤︎ Remus Lupin

♡ Caught In The Web 💌🌱🌷(10k) (part 1)

spiderman au: when your fascination with spiderman leads to danger, secrets unravel. with regulus by your side and remus hiding more than he admits, you realize heroes are closer than they seem.

↳ Web Of Secrets 💌🌱🌷 (13k) (part 2) when danger resurfaces and secrets unravel, your fascination with Spider-Man deepens—but with remus by your side, you learn that heroes aren’t always who you expect.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy! 🌷🍄 (5.8k) (part 1)

a sunshine-soft baker moves to town with ribbon-wrapped sweets and a voice like honey—and cowboy!remus’s been having thoughts far less innocent than her pies

↳ Hold On Tight, It’s a Wild Ride! 🌷🍄(8.6k) (part 2)

after getting caught in a steamy situation by biker!sirius, you slip from remus’s grasp—now two dangerous men and a brat are tangled in a game that’s riding straight to hell.

Unbearable, Desperate, and Holy 💌🌷 (3.6k)

remus has always believed he’s destined to break what he loves—until you. slowly, he learns that even the most guarded hearts can rest when they’re no longer alone.

❤︎ James Potter

She Will Be Loved 💌🌷(7k)

in which being a black means carrying a name that never lets you go, and when the weight of it nearly breaks you, james reminds you in the rain that you will be loved, always.

♡ About You 💌🌷 (6k)

in a world where soulmates see color upon meeting, james always saw hues he couldn’t explain, until the girl from his childhood returns, and he realizes it’s always been about you.

❤︎ poly!jegulus

Kiss, Marry, Avada Kedavra 💌🌱🌷(6.2k)

a late-night game of kiss, marry, kill turns tender when truths surface quietly. lines blur, and something like love begins to take root.

Sweeter Than Syrup 🌱🌷(3.6k)

a lakeside weekend of soft mornings and sweeter laughter, where something warm and wordless grows between you, james, and regulus.

❤︎ poly!wolfstar

The Boy Is Mine 💌🌷(3.4k)

In which a girl flirts with remus, and despite your quiet nature, you remind everyone who he belongs to.

♡ The Names Of Real Things 💌 (3.6k)

when reality blurs and the world slips away, sirius and remus hold you steady, naming every truth until you find your way back.

❤︎ poly!moonwater

Broken Vases 🌙💌 (4.0k)

A misstep cracks open the past, and suddenly the ghosts of your childhood are too loud to ignore. Leaving Remus and Regulus to teach you that love isn't supposed to feel like survival.

Of Rain And Gentle Hands 💌🌷(6.3k)

A rough day leaves you fraying, but with Remus and Regulus, even the heaviest days feel lighter.

❤︎ The Heirs Of The Noble House Of Black

Grimmauld: The House That Buried Its Children & The Ones Who Stay 🌙💌(13k) (older!brother!sirius x Black!sister!reader) (james potter x reader)

within the ancient and noble house of black, a quiet tragedy unfolds - three siblings bound by blood, legacy, and a name that never let them go.

♡ ‘Til All That's Left Is Glorious Bone— 🌙💌 (10k) (part one)

being a Black means braiding silence into softness — even love. so when kindness comes, you flinch, unsure how to hold what doesn’t hurt

↳ —So You'll Bury Your Own 💌🌷🌙 (10k) (part two) what breaks can root, if given time—not to forget, but to grow where it hurt, after a night that nearly tore three siblings apart ↳ She Will Be Loved 💌🌷(7k) (part three) (extra) at Potter Manor in spring, even a Black can begin again—where healing stumbles, but sweetness lingers, and love, warm as frosting and softer than rain, finds its way home

want to plant a seed? requests are: open!

[iamgonnagetyouback]

I’ve read every single one of your works, and I am absolutely obsessed! The way you write and capture emotions is beyond amazing—it’s pure magic. I really hope this isn’t too much to ask 😭, but I just adore your writing so much. If you’re not comfortable with this request, though, please don’t hesitate to ignore it. Thank you so much!

Could I request a James Potter x Reader story? The plot starts with James pursuing Lily Evans, but along the way, he realizes his feelings for her were more about the excitement of the chase. In contrast, with the reader, he feels truly at ease, able to be himself without pretending or changing for anyone. I’d love for Lily’s perspective to be included—how she starts to desire James after noticing how much he’s 'matured' in his relationship with the reader, but she can only stand by and watch as James and the reader create their beautiful love story.

'CAUSE YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ㅤ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ J. POTTER

SUMMARY ৎ୭ james potter has always been the grand gesture type, but for the first time, he isn’t chasing—he’s just asking. and when he does, you don’t roll your eyes or turn him down. no, you match his dramatics, meeting him right where he is

WARNINGS ಇ. mutual pining, james being dramatic (as always), reader matching his energy (as you should), lily’s pov & realization, slight angst (if you squint), mostly just fluff A/N ಇ. omg stopppp you’re making me blush ‹𝟹 this is the sweetest thing ever, and i’m so honored you enjoy my writing!! ♡

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,836

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

James Potter had been chasing Lily Evans for years. Everyone at Hogwarts knew it—how he’d flash his most charming smile, throw an arm around her shoulder with a wink, and dramatically proclaim his undying love. It was all in good fun, of course. At least, that’s what he always told himself.

Lily, ever stubborn, had always rebuffed him. At first, she detested his arrogance. Later, she simply rolled her eyes and dismissed his advances, treating him as little more than a particularly persistent house elf. James didn't mind. The chase was half the fun, after all.

"She'll come around, you'll see," James would say after every rejection, running a hand through his already messy hair.

"Mate, she's been saying no for three years," Sirius pointed out, sprawled lazily on the Gryffindor common room couch. "At what point do you consider the possibility that she's actually not interested?"

James gasped, placing a dramatic hand on his chest. "Not interested? Padfoot, please. That’s just what she wants me to think."

Remus sighed from behind his book. "Or perhaps she genuinely means it. You ever consider not making a public spectacle every time you ask her out?"

Peter snickered. "Yeah, Prongs, maybe if you stop serenading her in the Great Hall, she'll stop running the other way."

"That was one time!" James protested. "And I thought she’d appreciate the gesture."

You, sitting cross-legged by the fire, smirked. "James, darling, even I was embarrassed for you, and I usually live for the drama."

Sirius grinned. "See? When even our dear, theatrical doll here cringes, you know you’ve gone too far."

James huffed, crossing his arms. "You lot are supposed to support me."

Remus finally set his book down, giving him a small smile. "We do support you. We just also support your dignity."

James groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Alright, fine. Maybe I’ll try… a different approach."

The boys exchanged glances, and you patted his knee sympathetically. "That’s the spirit, Prongs. Maybe next time, just… don’t propose in front of McGonagall again."

James groaned even louder as the Marauders burst into laughter.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

But somewhere along the way, the chase had stopped being fun.

It had started with you.

You, the one he never really had to chase. You, who laughed at his antics but also scolded him when he was being too reckless. You, who had a quick wit but also a kindness about you that softened his rougher edges. You, who never needed him to be anything but himself.

It hadn’t happened all at once. There was no lightning strike, no grand revelation. Just little moments that wove themselves into something undeniable.

The way you tucked a stray curl behind your ear when you were reading, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. James had watched you do it a hundred times before realizing how endearing he found it. The way you argued with Sirius about the best way to sneak into Hogsmeade, eyes alight with mischief as you held your ground against the self-proclaimed master of rule-breaking. The way you always had a spare quill when he inevitably lost his, rolling your eyes fondly as you handed it over with a teasing, "Honestly, James, do you even own quills?"

There was the way you leaned against his shoulder after a long cold day, sighing. "James Potter, you are a human furnace. Please continue existing exactly as you are."

There was the way he found himself seeking you out first—before Remus, before Sirius, before Peter, before anyone else—whenever he had good news to share. The way his jokes felt funnier when you laughed at them. The way his name sounded different coming from your lips, softer somehow, like it belonged there.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

One night, after an exhausting Quidditch practice, you had met him outside the changing rooms with a chocolate frog in hand. "For your heroic efforts," you’d said with a mock bow, pressing it into his palm. He had laughed, shoving it into his pocket, but the warmth in his chest lingered long after.

James Potter had always thought he wanted a grand, all-consuming love. He had spent years chasing something he thought would make him whole. But standing beside you, teasing and laughing and existing so effortlessly together, he realized something else.

Maybe love wasn’t supposed to be a chase.

Maybe it was supposed to feel like home.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Lily noticed the shift before James did. It crept up on her, subtle but undeniable, like the slow changing of seasons. He still ruffled his hair like a prat, still laughed too loudly with his friends, still turned every moment into a grand performance. But there was something quieter about him now, something settled in the way he carried himself. The endless pursuit that had once defined James Potter—the grand gestures, the dramatic declarations, the unrelenting chase—had stopped. And he hadn’t even noticed.

At first, she felt relief. She had spent years pushing him away, certain that his attention was something fleeting, something she didn’t want. And now, finally, he had listened.

Then she felt something else.

She caught herself watching him more often. Noticing the little things. The way his grin softened when he looked at you. The way his hand found your wrist when he pulled you toward him in the common room, like it was second nature. The way he listened when you spoke—really listened, with an intensity that made it clear you had his full attention. She had never seen that look on his face before. Not when he looked at her.

And suddenly, she found herself wondering. Had she been wrong about James Potter?

Had she spent all these years dismissing him without ever really knowing him? Had she mistaken boyish bravado for immaturity, mistaking the show for the substance beneath it?

But it didn’t matter.

Because James wasn’t looking at her anymore.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The realization hadn’t struck James like lightning, not at first. He hadn’t woken up one day and thought, Oh, I love her. No, it was something slower, quieter—woven into the fabric of every moment he spent with you.

It was the way you sat beside him in the common room, curled up with a book, the firelight casting flickering shadows across your face. The way you absently played with the hem of his sleeve when you were lost in thought. The way you saw him—not James Potter, Quidditch Captain, mischief-maker, the boy who never stopped chasing—but James. Just James.

And for the first time, he found that was all he wanted to be.

He didn’t need to impress you. He didn’t need to chase you. He could just exist with you, and it was enough.

There was a night—one that stuck with him, long after it had passed—when he had finally put words to the feeling.

You had found him on the Astronomy Tower, shoulders hunched against the cold, lost in thoughts he hadn’t even realized were weighing him down. You didn’t ask what was wrong. You just sat beside him, close enough that your knees touched, close enough that he could feel your warmth.

“You ever think about who you are without all the noise?” he murmured after a long silence.

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

James hesitated. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve spent so much time being—being James Potter, you know? The one who’s always got a joke, the one who’s always chasing something. But with you…” He trailed off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “I don’t have to be anything but me.”

You blinked, taken aback, before a small smile curved your lips. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

James let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Yeah, it is.”

You nudged his shoulder gently. “For what it’s worth, I like just you.”

And that was it.

Not a grand confession. Not a dramatic moment. Just quiet understanding.

Just home.

Lily saw it all unfold. Saw James fall in love without the fanfare, without the spectacle. And for the first time, she saw him—not the boy who had chased her, but the boy who had finally stopped running.

And it wasn’t for her.

It was too late.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Then came the grand gesture.

James Potter did nothing in half measures, and asking you on a date was no exception. If anything, he seemed almost nostalgic about the whole ordeal—like he had spent so many years planning elaborate schemes for Lily that now, finally asking the right person, he wanted to do it justice.

So, naturally, it started with fireworks.

Not just any fireworks, but ones that spelled out your name across the sky in brilliant, shimmering letters, crackling above the Quidditch Pitch where half the school had gathered after dinner. Then came the enchanted banners floating midair, reading: 'WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME?' in flashing gold and red, trailing behind a very enthusiastic Sirius, who had volunteered to fly them around on his broom. A charmed choir of singing toads croaked a love song (Remus’ contribution, because, according to him, ‘there needed to be some class in this spectacle’), and Peter had somehow gotten his hands on a bouquet of flowers that smelled like sunshine.

James himself stood in the center of it all, hand on his heart, eyes locked on yours, waiting.

The crowd turned to you, hushed in anticipation. Lily, standing off to the side, watched with wide eyes, an unreadable expression on her face. There was a time when she would have scoffed at something like this, dismissed it with a roll of her eyes.

But you—

You were grinning.

Dramatically clutching your chest, you gasped, staggering back like a swooning damsel in distress. "Oh, James Potter! Whatever shall I say? This is all so sudden!"

James, without missing a beat, fell to one knee. "Say yes, my darling star! For I have loved you since the dawn of time—or, well, since fourth year at least, and that’s practically the same thing!"

You pretended to think, tapping your chin. "Hmm. I don’t know, Potter. It’s an awfully big commitment."

James shot to his feet, grabbing your hands, eyes wide with mock desperation. "I shall spend every day proving myself worthy of your love! I shall carry your books! Share my sweets! Defend your honor against Slytherins and bad hair days alike!"

You sighed deeply, then beamed. "Well, in that case… Yes! A thousand times yes!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, Sirius fist-pumped midair, and Remus groaned into his hands. James, triumphant, swept you up in a spin, laughing so hard his glasses nearly fell off.

Lily watched it all unfold, and for the first time, she felt the weight of what she had lost. Not because she wanted James, not really. But because once upon a time, it had been her he was chasing.

But James Potter had finally stopped chasing.

Because he had already caught what he was looking for.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x best friend!fem!reader

Summary: You and James stumble upon an ancient book of spells rumored to enhance pleasure.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm) + hurt and comfort

Warnings: sex while under an 'aphrodisiac' of some kind, unprotected sex, penetration, cock warming, quickie, public (not seen by anyone), riding, insecurities, porn with plot ✨

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

"Someone is gonna see us," you whisper, feeling James Potter's hand in yours, his thumb occasionally soothing circles over your palm as you stumble in the dark corridors under his invisibility cloak.

"That's the point of the cloak, love," James answers, holding in a laugh as he guides you towards the entrance to the library and he mutters the spell for the lock as you hold your breath. 

"Hear us then," you counter, unconsciously squeezing his hand for reassurance. 

James doesn't hesitate to return the squeeze and he smiles when the lock opens with a click. He opens the door and you both squeeze inside.

Once the door shuts behind you, James drops the cloak and you let out a shaky exhale, adjusting your hair. The room is dark and it smells like dust. You hold in a cough as James mutters, "Lumos," and then grins like he'd gone mad.

"Told ya we'd be fine," he sing-songs and kicks your shoe in a playful manner as he walks by you to look at all the restricted books. 

You groan and take out your wand, walking along the shelves as you pick up dust with your index. "Are you looking for something in particular?" you ask, your voice low as you read the names of books, realizing just how dangerous this could become.

James nods. "Yeah, I bet Sirius I could find "Moste Potente Potions" so we could make some Polyjuice potion," he says casually. 

"And you needed me, why?!" you turn to glare at your best friend. 

James looks at you with a smile. "Didn't really. I'just like your company."  

You bite the inside of your cheek and go back to looking at the books. "Polyjuice is dangerous, James. Are you sure you want to meddle with that?"

James nods again and he hums, "I'm top of the class in Potions, I'm sure I can handle some Polyjuice." He sounds smug and you roll your eyes at his behavior.

James is reckless and impulsive and honestly, you're worried about him making that potion with his friends. You don't dare bring it up, because who are you to tell James what to do? You aren't his girlfriend or anything—

"Woah," James's voice interrupts your thoughts as he walks over to you. You turn, standing in front of him as he flips the pages of some old dusty book. "These spells are ancient—and completely forbidden—" he mutters, his eyes round with excitement. 

You tilt your head and read the title; "Antiqua Cantus." Ancient Spells.

"Bloody Hell, there's a pleasure-enhancing spell–like a sexual thing—" James exclaims and holds the book open to you so you can see. You walk over and stand next to him, looking over his shoulder at the spell. James begins to recite the spell and you read along, entranced by the words on the worn-out parchment.

By moonlight's glow and stars above, 

Ignite the flames of lustful love. 

Let passion's heat our bodies bind,

In ecstasy, our souls combined.

Whisper soft this sacred plea,

Unleash our wildest fantasy.

Once he's finished, you glance around the page and frown. "Shit." You grab the book from James and then look up at him with wide eyes, "James, this is a wandless spell!" you whisper and his eyes widen like yours did as he realizes what happened. 

He grabs the book from you and reads the instructions. His shoulders relax and he points to the small print— "It says the participants must have already existing feelings for this to work," he mumbles and looks up at you, smiling reassuringly and unsure all the same. "So—"

"Yeah—" you whisper, stepping away from him.

"I feel fine," James starts.

"I do too," you say, feeling completely normal. 

James shuts the book with a slam and his smile returns. "Thing is probably too old to work, anyways," he says confidently. You nod, less confident than he is but you push those worries down. 

He doesn't like you like that—so why would it work?

Once James finally finds the book he's looking for, you both cram under the cloak and you make your way back to the dorm. You ignore the feeling, but your head feels fuzzier than it should. Every brush on James's arm against yours sends shivers up your spine. You're extra aware of how he smells and it's intoxicating. You bite your lip, hoping the pain will distract you from the pleasure building. 

The spell. 

James looks normal. He's even humming the Hogwarts song under his breath, his eyes trained forward as you make it to the Common Room. It feels so unfair—that he's fine and your stomach twists with butterflies as your nipples harden painfully against your bra. 

It isn't fair. 

As soon as you have the chance, you pull away from James and sit on the couch, pressing your thighs together. You glance up at the stairs to the girl's dorms, wondering if you should run up and take a cold shower to quench the ache.

"Hey, you okay?" James asks, folding up the cloak as he looks you over.

Bloody fuck, his voice. 

"Mhmm," you nod, focusing your attention on anything but how turned on you are or how hot James sounds and looks. How much you want his lips on yours. 

You clench your thighs again, nervously pressing your hands in between them and your breath hitches when James sits next to you, his hand flat on your thigh. You inhale. 

"Are you sure?" he asks, looking at you behind his glasses with a look that makes you want to pounce on him. This is so humiliating. You move your thigh so his hand slips onto the couch and James's frown deepens. "Hey," he whispers again, "What's happened?"

You feel like your entire body is on fire. You need to touch yourself or throw yourself out a window—you can't make up your mind.

"The stupid spell—" you say, your voice soft as you avoid his gaze and stare at your knees, feeling your hands shake. "it's working and I- I can't handle it, James," 

He doesn't answer for a moment until you hear a familiar laugh. "Oh, darling," he says, his hand finding your chin as he turns your head around, grinning. "Look at me." 

You do so but he shakes his head, his eyes shimmering. "No. Look at me," he whispers, his voice husky and deep and your eyes widen when you understand what he means. Your gaze falls from his eyes to the painful-looking bulge tenting his trousers and you inhale sharply, the sight causing your mind to haze over. How had you missed this!?

"Look at what it's done to me, love," James finishes as his thumb strokes your cheek. "We really messed up this time, didn't we?" he hums.

"You messed up," you whisper, leaning into his touch. Thank Merlin no one is in the Common Room at this hour because your desperation is embarrassing.

"I messed up," James says with a strained smirk and he twirls some of your hair in his fingers. "Can I make it up to you, darling? Can I make the ache go away?"

James knows this is wrong. You're both under some kind of sexually enhancing spell—this is so many shades of messed up. Still, his heart and dick yearn for you. Somehow, he's managed to hide it well, most likely because he'd had experience in that department—James was constantly turned on to some level when he was around you. He can't help himself. 

"H-how?" you ask, the idea of giving in to the desires not even crossing your mind. 

James smirks, looking at you as his glasses fall down his nose. He pats his thigh. You look down, your eyes widening. You shouldn't. This is wrong. Still, your body responds to him without your brain's permission as you lift yourself to straddle his lap. Your skirt bunches up your thighs as your arms wrap around James's shoulder. You gasp for air at how sensitive you are and you can't look him in the eye.

You can feel him hard and needy against you and you swallow. 

"Look at me," James whispers once more, his voice husky and deep as his hands grip your hips and he moves you up and down his trousers. You whine and bury your face in the crook of his neck, your skin clammy and flushed from need. 

Suddenly the movements stop and your grip tightens around his shoulders. 

"Look at me," he says again, lips pressed to your ear as he sounds as desperate as you are. "O-or I'll stop," he threatens, not sounding convincing considering the spell is starting to hit him hard and he's about ready to come in his trousers. 

You pull away, looking at him as your mind buzzes and you search his eyes for some hint that you both need to stop this. You see none so you say, your voice strained, "James. Fucking need you, please."

You lift your hips, finding his zipper and fumbling with his trousers as you push aside your panties. It's rushed and sweaty and not at all romantic like you'd planned—not to mention public. You pray everyone else is asleep and won't walk in on you sitting on your best friend's cock.  

With a moan, you press down and he slides in easily. "Shit, you're so wet," James mumbles as he kisses your neck, holding you close as his cock twitches inside you. You both don't even think of the fact he's not wearing a condom or anything. You're too lost in the pleasure for any rational thoughts.

"Fuck," you groan, keeping him inside you without movement for a while. You hold him as close as possible, needing him. Needing his warmth.

James groans, his eyes shut in pleasure as he holds himself back from fucking you roughly. He's going to explode at any moment if he doesn't feel you move. "Y/n," he warns, his hands tightening even more on your poor hips. 

You take that as an invitation and you move, your movements slow and languid in the beginning, feeling every pull and stretch and you can't tell if James's cock just feels so much better than any others you've been with, or if the spell is messing with you. 

Perhaps it's a little of both. 

"Bloody hell," James grunts, losing control, as he moves you with him, his hips snapping up into you. You gasp, falling onto his shoulder as you hold him even closer, the pleasure almost unbearable.

You don't know if it's been hours or mere minutes but once James spills himself into you, his hands around your back as he continues to move your body to his liking, you can't hold it in and your mouth opens, a silent moan catching you by surprise as you finish around him. You feel weak and fuzzy almost instantly as if the string master that kept you aware suddenly cut you loose. 

James's hand soothingly runs in your hair as he pants, his eyes shut. The only sound you can hear is your and James' ragged breaths and all you can smell is the burnt-out firewood and sex. You feel much calmer now as your brain tries to catch up with the events that just transpired, and when it does your blood runs cold.

You sit up, looking down at your best friend. He's looking at you, not daring to speak. You'd just fucked him with such want and need and yet all you can think about when you look at him is how you did all that without knowing the feeling of his lips on yours.

Shame burns your skin and you scramble off him, the feeling of his cock leaving from inside you makes you wince as you hold in all the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. 

"Hey," James whispers, his hand reaching for yours as he stops you from running away, standing up in the process so he's looking at you. He drops your hand and, clearly embarrassed, tucks himself back inside his trousers. You stare at him, feeling dirty from an experience you'd wished had been amazing. 

And it was more than amazing if you were honest with yourself. You'd never been more satisfied in your life, but it also wasn't what you'd really wanted. Was it too cliché to want roses and candles? A steamy kiss and some swoon-worthy romantic confession? 

Instead, you'd gotten love bites and finger dents.

"What's going on in your head?" James's voice interrupts your thoughts as he moves closer. 

"Hmm?"

"Darling, come on, please talk to me," he insists, wanting to know exactly what you're feeling so he can understand his own feelings. 

You cover your face with your hands, head dipping down as your body finally calms down from the surplus of hormones you've experienced.

"We shouldn't have done that, James—I–it was wrong," your voice fades as his hands find your wrists and he pulls them down. He looks hurt, sad, and guilty all in one emotion painted on his handsome face. 

"Do you regret it?" he asks, his voice wavering. 

You open your mouth to say yes but hold yourself back. It's more complicated than that. "I don't know– I just didn't think it would happen like this and—we didn't even kiss," you ramble, avoiding looking at him. You should have been looking because then you could have seen his next move coming.

James gently takes your cheeks in his hands, pulling you into him so he can kiss your lips. For something surprising, it isn't forceful at all. He doesn't kiss you longer than a few seconds and he doesn't use his tongue. He's delicate with you, making sure he isn't crossing any boundaries.

When he moves away, your eyes are open and you're silent for a moment. Then, you grab his collar and pull him in, crashing your lips onto his. You kiss him like he's your last meal on earth--like you've been starved of him. He feels so good pressed against you, his hands in your hair and then your cheeks again, and then your waist. You feel dizzy and you pull away. Your lips feel swollen and love-bitten and you're a flustered mess.

James continues to hold you close as he presses his forehead to yours, his thumb rubbing your waist. "You're amazing," he speaks so softly as a faint smile graces his lips. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't tell you enough, do I?" James smiles and tilts his head. He leans in and kisses your neck. "You're amazing—so wonderful," he inhales your scent but doesn't comment on it and a shiver runs up your spine. 

"I– we–" You want to bring up the fact you had sex with him but James puts his finger on your lips, his thumb rubbing under your chin and he shakes his head. 

"Stop worrying so much, lovely. It's okay. I promise it's okay. I didn't hurt you did I?"

You shake your head and James's smile turns into a grin.

"Good. So we're okay, hm?" he looks at you expectantly. "You're still my best friend."

Your heart thumps loudly in your ears. Best friends. "Y-yeah, you're still my best friend, Jamie," you say, your voice strained as you smile reluctantly. 

You want to be so much more than best friends.

James can sense your hesitation and he takes a breath. "W-would you want to try to be more than just friends, Y/n?" he pauses, and then his voice picks up, "and I'm not saying that because we just fucked. No. I'm saying this because I'm hopelessly in love with you and I think you love me too. You kissed me like you love me. I want to try to make this work."

You feel like the world is crashing around you. Your skin feels clammy and your head is dizzy. Still, an unfamiliar warmth spreads all around you. You feel blissful and you reach for James's hand, needing to hold him. He lets you hold his hand and he intertwines his fingers into yours. He looks nervous like he's expecting a rejection.  

"I do love you, James. So much. I want to try this too," you whisper, looking at him with a shy smile. 

James's grin widens and he picks you up, spinning you around as he keeps you close when your feet touch the ground again. "I'll do right by you, my love," he whispers in your ear and you hold your hands behind his neck. 

"So no more late-night trips to the restricted sections and trying old, dangerous, spells?" you tease.

James nips at your ear. "I kinda liked this one."

You laugh and swat his pec, your hand trailing down his chest as you fist his shirt and look up at him with a mockingly stern look. "Don't be a smartass, you wanker."

James returns your laugh and kisses behind your ear. "No more trips to the restricted section and trying old dangerous spells. Pink swear."

You pull away and hold out your pinky, which he takes and you grin. 

"We can still have sex though, hm. We don't need a spell to do that, right?" he teases but the question almost sounds serious. 

You roll your eyes. "James."

"I'm just making sure!" 

[bradleysass]

caught - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 846 - slightly NSFW

Dinner in the Great Hall is chaos. Loud, noisy, filled with clattering plates and shrieking laughter. James Potter, for once, couldn’t care less about any of it. He mumbled some excuse about needing to finish a Charms essay, waved Sirius off with a grin, and practically sprinted back up the Gryffindor Tower.

Because Regulus Black—Regulus bloody Black, in all his infuriatingly perfect, sharp-tongued, cold-glare glory—is sitting on the edge of James' bed, legs crossed, looking like he owns the place.

He’s in his uniform still, though the green tie is hanging loose around his neck and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. His robe is pooled beside him, abandoned in a way that looks like sin incarnate.

James shuts the dorm door carefully behind him, tosses the lock charm out of habit—

It doesn’t catch.

He frowns.

Regulus arches a brow. “Problem?”

“Nah,” James says, brushing it off. “Just stubborn.” He closes the distance between them in two steps, palms sliding over Regulus’ thighs with that cocky grin he knows drives him insane. “Unlike someone.”

“Keep talking,” Regulus drawls, cool as ever, but his fingers are already in James' hair, pulling him in.

They kiss like they’re going to starve without it—like they’ve been pretending for months not to want this. And now that the seal’s broken, there’s no stopping.

Regulus shudders when James kisses down his neck, unfastening his trousers with the kind of reckless confidence that usually gets him detention. But this? This is worth every bloody rule in the book.

The way Regulus breathes his name—James—is enough to make his knees weak.

He sinks to the floor without hesitation, tongue tracing the sharp cut of Regulus’ hipbone before dipping lower. His hands press to his thighs, firm and reverent, holding him there like he’s a gift.

Regulus lets out a shaky exhale and tips his head back, already lost to it. His knuckles go white gripping the sheets.

It’s slow at first. Teasing. James likes this part—watching Regulus fall apart bit by bit, the way his composure crumbles when James hums around him, lashes fluttering shut.

“Fuck,” Regulus groans, voice ragged. “You're going to—fuck, James—”

That’s when the door slams open behind them.

James freezes.

Regulus doesn’t register it immediately—he’s too far gone—but James feels his entire soul leave his body as a very familiar voice yells:

“Oi, Prongs, you forgot your—WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK—”

James turns his head slowly, painfully, like he’s about to witness the end of his own life.

Sirius Black is standing in the doorway, a half-spilled Butterbeer in hand, mouth hanging open, staring in horror at the sight before him: his best friend, kneeling in front of his very startled, very flushed younger brother.

Regulus makes a strangled sound and yanks the discarded robe over his lap like it’ll fix any of this.

James, still on his knees, lips swollen, hair a mess, looks up at Sirius like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hey,” James says weakly, voice an octave too high.

“Hey? HEY?!” Sirius shrieks, looking like he might spontaneously combust. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!”

Regulus, to his credit, straightens his spine, clears his throat, and says with unnerving calm, “A situation you would not be in if you knocked like a normal person.”

Sirius starts choking on his own words. “You—he—you’re—were you blowing him?!”

“I mean,” James mutters, glancing down and then back up again, “I wasn’t not—”

“OH MY GOD.”

There’s a loud thunk as Sirius’s Butterbeer hits the floor. He spins around dramatically—too dramatically—and smacks face-first into the doorframe.

Regulus winces. James yelps.

“Pads, are you—?”

Sirius bolts out the door like the tower is on fire.

A long, horrified silence descends.

Regulus exhales deeply and slumps back against the bedframe. “I am going to murder him.”

“I am going to have to explain this. He’s going to tell Remus. He’s going to tell PETER. Peter is never going to let this go—he’s going to make a bloody chart—”

Regulus rubs a hand over his face. “Why didn’t the lock work?”

James looks at the door, defeated. “It’s been dodgy since third year.”

“Now you tell me.”

“I didn’t think you would want to do this in the dorm!” James protests. “You showed up! And you looked—like that. You can’t just sit on my bed looking like a fucking fever dream and expect me to behave!”

Regulus blinks. “A fever dream?”

James shrugs, half-crazed. “You’re very compelling!”

Regulus snorts, then bites his lip trying not to laugh.

James flops onto the floor with a groan. “He’s never going to let this go.”

There’s a pause, then Regulus smirks and leans over him, fingers slipping back into his hair.

“Well,” he murmurs, dangerously amused. “We might as well make it worth the scandal.”

James blinks. “Wait, are you seriously still turned on right now?”

Regulus smirks. “Are you not?”

James groans again. “Oh, Merlin. You’re evil.”

“And you’re still on your knees.”

“…Point taken.”

[bartonomy]

A GLIMPSE BETWEEN THE VEIL

PAIRING James Potter x Whimsical!Reader

SYNOPSIS James Potter has never put much stock in divination, but when a peculiar classmate offers to read his future, he finds himself unable to resist.

CONTENT WARNING talk about the future, James freaking out, angsty but not too bad, not exactly romantic but the reader is implied to be interested

WORD COUNT 1.2k

library.

James Potter never fancied himself the superstitious sort. Sure, he had vague notions of grandeur- winning the Quidditch Cup, making his parents proud, marrying a cute girl with a laugh as sharp as her hexes- but actual predictions? No, thanks. That sort of thing was for people who saw shapes in tea leaves and claimed the wind is responsible for every little mishap.

Which was precisely why he was sitting crisscrossed apple sauce across from you, mildly bewildered, as you shuffled an old deck of tarot cards with an almost hypnotic grace.

“You’re taking an awful long time, darling,” James teased, propping his chin on his hand. “Are you searching for a particularly good future, or just one that doesn’t end with me embarrassing myself?”

You smiled, a slow, knowing thing that made his skin prickle.

“The cards take the time they need, James.” Your voice was soft, melodic, like you were speaking from somewhere just beyond reality. “patience, or you might spook them away, the nargles have been especially fussy these days”

“Wouldn’t want that, do we” he murmured, glancing down at the cards with skepticism.

It was a quiet afternoon in the Gryffindor common room, the fire casting warm shadows across the walls. Most of the house was either out on the grounds or in Hogsmeade, but James had lingered behind, half out of laziness, half because he’d overheard Sirius mention your readings and got inexplicably curious.

Sirius, for all his bravado, had walked away from his session looking rattled. Which was interesting and absolutely hilarious.

You sighed contently, spreading the deck between your hands like a fan. The firelight flickered, casting warm shadows over the cards, their edges frayed from years of use. James had seen you doing readings before- sometimes for your friends, sometimes for curious younger students, and even once for Professor Whats-Her-Name in the Courtyard.

“Please pick three,” you instructed with the same soft tone you only used in class.

"Aye, aye grand Seer", James did as he was told, amused despite himself. “So, how does this work? You going to tell me I’m going to be rich and famous or that my soulmate, the love of my life is around here??” he snorted "please let it be the latter one"

"You are already rich" you pointed out, laying the three picked card neatly in front of you and discarding the unused deck in your satchel "and whether or not you will find love...well. That remains to be discovered, hm?"

With that he rolled his eyes playfully and you hummed, drawing the first card and laying it gently in front of you. The Fool.

James blinked.

“Oi, that’s just rude.”

You laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Not at all. The Fool isn’t the fool we all know, James. He’s someone at the beginning of a great journey, standing on the edge of a cliff, about to take a leap of faith.” You tapped the card. “He’s full of potential, but also reckless. Fascinating, don’t you think?”

James grinned. “Sounds about right so far.”

You drew the next card. The Lovers.

James coughed. “Oh, well—”

You tilted your head, studying it with quiet reverence. “This isn’t always about romance, you know. It can mean a choice, a connection, a relationship that defines a person. It’s about harmony and consequence. Something you can’t escape.”

James swallowed. His mind, without permission, conjured an image of Lily Evans—her oh so fierce green eyes, the way she scrunched her nose adorably when she was annoyed, how she never hesitated to call him out.

You watched him closely, as if seeing the thought pass across his face. He didn’t like how sharp your gaze was, like you were peeling him apart with nothing but intuition.

“Shall we?” you murmured, pulling the third card.

You turned over the third and last card.

James frowned at the image—a great tower, struck by lightning, people falling from its heights. The air around you both seemed to shift, the easy playfulness from before fading into something heavier.

“The Tower,” you murmured.

James swallowed. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

You traced the image with a careful finger. “Not bad. Just… necessary.”

James gave a dry laugh. “Destruction is necessary? On my buttocks, you are just like us, little troublemaker”

“Sometimes.” Your voice remained gentle, but the certainty in it made James shiver and his uneasy smile faded. “The Tower comes when the foundation isn’t steady. It doesn’t destroy for the sake of it—it forces change. When the dust settles, the world isn’t the same, but that doesn’t mean it’s worse.”

James stared at the card, feeling an unexpected tightness in his chest. Something about it—it felt too close, like a whisper against the back of his mind.

“What kind of change?” he asked quietly.

You studied him for a long moment, then examined the fated cards in front of of you

James stared at them. The Fool. The Lovers. The Tower. A journey, a choice, a fall.

He let out a quiet breath. “You sure you didn’t stack the deck?”

You smiled, but didn’t answer. Instead, you gathered the cards and shuffled them again, your fingers delicate against the worn edges.

James watched you, the tightness in his chest still there, lingering.

“Do you ever do readings for yourself?”

The question was simple, but it was enough to stop your fingers mid-motion. You hadn’t expected him to ask that. It was an unexpected question. You weren’t sure why, but the thought of reading for yourself felt like stepping into uncharted territory, where the gods will have full access of your being, your soul, and your mind.

“I... would rather not” you answered softly, your eyes now focused on your hands,“I mean, It is possible if I do, but it’s not something I like to do often.”

“Why not?” James asked, his curiosity piqued, though his tone was lined with the previous horror of his reading. “Scared the cards might tell you something you don’t want to hear?”

You chuckled, but it came out strained. “Something like that.”

James leaned in a bit closer, tilting his head. “Come on, you’re always so ominous with the cards for everyone else. Don’t tell me you’re scared of a few little 'whackspurts' messing up your head.”

The mention of whackspurts—those silly, fuzzy little creatures from your gardens, made you stiffen slightly, but not in the way he intended. It was funny, yes, but also something you had come to associate with the fuzziness that clouded your mind whenever you thought too much about yourself. The confusion, the uncertainty, the inability to make sense of your own feelings. You’d often joked about whackspurts being responsible for any moments of mental fog, but in truth, it was far more than that. It was a kind of fear—the uneasiness of confronting the unknown parts of yourself, the parts that were tangled and elusive.

“I don’t think it’s whackspurts,” you said quietly, finally meeting his gaze. “not entirely at least, It’s more like… what if I look too closely and find things I’m not prepared to see? What if there’s something inside me that I’m not meant to understand?”

He only shrugged, " then you are forced to confront them no matter what. I mean, with the bullock of a reading you gave me, I can't entirely avoid it can I?" he gave you his signature smile, all teeth and stirring something foreign inside of you.

“You believe in fate, don't you?” you asked after a moment.

James shook his head. “I believe in making my own future.”

Your smile was soft. “Then do.”

The words settled into him, deep and warm, and he suddenly had the strangest feeling that one day—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—he would look back on this moment and realize just how much the universe had been trying to warn him.

[evermoreness]

if you wrote somethin about flirting with boyfriend remus and he slips his hands in ur back pockets…..just sayin i’d love you forever

— Anon, you gave me such good ideas! Here it is, hope you like it.

back pocket | remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn't like much public displays of affection, but he still likes to put his hand in your back pocket.

obs: feel free to send any requests!

masterlist

Hogsmeade weekends had always been something special. The crisp autumn air, the scent of butterbeer wafting from the Three Broomsticks, the distant chatter of students wandering from shop to shop—it was all perfect. But nothing made it better than having Remus by your side.

You and Remus walked side by side down the cobbled streets, the occasional brush of your shoulders sending warmth through you. He wasn’t one for grand displays of affection—no dramatic kisses in the middle of the street, no loud proclamations. But the way he loved you was in the small things.

Like now, when he casually slipped his hand into the back pocket of your jeans as you strolled past Zonko’s Joke Shop. It was such a simple gesture, but it made your heart stutter. He wasn’t even looking at you when he did it—just talking to you about some book he wanted to pick up at Tomes and Scrolls—but the touch was grounding, warm, undeniably intimate.

It was casual, effortless—just his fingertips resting in the fabric, his palm warm against you. Yet, the simplicity of it made your heart swell. Remus had never been one for grand displays of affection. He wasn’t the type to kiss you in the middle of the Great Hall or pull you onto his lap in front of the Marauders. But he had his own ways of showing love.

Like this.

Like the way he always made sure to walk on the outside of the path, keeping you away from the street, even if it meant switching sides every few minutes.

Like how he always carried your books when you were too tired, even if he already had a pile of his own.

Like how he always saved you a seat next to him, no matter where you were—class, the common room, the library.

Like the way he looked at you, like you were something rare, something he couldn’t believe was his.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the soft flush creeping up his neck. "Smooth, Lupin," you teased, grinning.

He didn’t falter, just raised an eyebrow at you. "Oh? You don’t like it?"

You hummed, pretending to think. "Didn’t say that, did I?"

His lips curled into a smirk, and he gave a gentle squeeze where his hand rested. "Good."

You nodded, leaning in slightly. "Hand in the back pocket, Lupin. That’s practically scandalous."

He chuckled, his grip tightening just the slightest bit. "Then I suppose I’m becoming reckless in my old age."

Unfortunately, moments of peace like these never lasted when the Marauders were around.

"Oi, Moony!" Sirius’ voice rang out, followed by his loud, obnoxious laughter. "Hand in the back pocket? Really? Are you two in a bloody romance novel?"

"Merlin’s beard," James groaned beside him, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "That’s even worse than when Lily and I hold hands in class."

"Nothing is worse than that, Prongs," Peter chimed in, looking between you and Remus with amusement.

Remus, however, remained completely unfazed. He barely even glanced at them as he continued walking, his hand still comfortably in your pocket. "If you lot are so interested in my love life, I could give you a very detailed report of my last few dates. Would you like that?"

Sirius gagged. "Absolutely not."

Peter chimed in. "Yes!"

James scrunched his nose. "Ew! What exactly is wrong with you, wormtail?"

"I'm just saying" Peter shrugged while the others laughed about it.

"Hey, baby" Lily appeared out of nowhere, hugging James. "Hey, everyone" She said, turning to give each one a little wave. James definitely lit up just by having her there.

"Lily, my love, finally!" James dramatized, kissing her cheek.

Sirius groaned dramatically. "Ugh, please, can you two flirt somewhere else?"

You grinned. "Oh, don’t be jealous, Black."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I would never be jealous of such a boring couple."

"Then shut up," Remus said simply, the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

"You’re both still gross," Sirius muttered.

"And you’re still single," Remus shot back, making you laugh.

James doubled over laughing, and Remus let out a quiet chuckle, his thumb grazing against your hip through the fabric of your robe. You shivered, not from the cold, but from the simple touch of it, the way he always seemed to know how to make you feel warm even in the autumn air.

"You want to go inside?" he asked softly, tilting his head toward the Three Broomsticks.

You nodded, and just like that, he guided you toward the door, his hand slipping away from your pocket only to rest at the small of your back. Another small thing. Another gesture that said more than words ever could.

The Three Broomsticks was crowded as usual, but the six of you managed to grab a corner booth. James and Lily sat pressed together on one side, while Sirius dramatically sprawled out beside Peter. You and Remus took the other side, you had to sit in his lap since there was absolutely no space left, your back comfortably against his chest as you both sipped your butterbeer.

"You do realize you’re using me as a chair, right?" Remus murmured, though his arms around you suggested he didn’t mind.

"You’re comfortable," you replied simply, tilting your head up to grin at him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you love me," you teased.

Remus smiled against the rim of his mug. "That I do."

Lily, who had been watching with an affectionate smile, turned to James. "See? Why can’t you be that sweet?"

James put a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Lily, love, I am a dream boyfriend."

"You’re an overgrown Golden Retriever," she corrected, though she was smiling.

Sirius snickered. "He really is. I bet if you threw a stick, he’d fetch it."

"You lot are just jealous of my charm," James declared.

"Of course, Prongs," Remus said, completely deadpan. "That must be it."

Lily leaned her head on James’ shoulder, laughing softly. "He’s lucky he’s cute."

"See?" James beamed. "She admits it."

The evening passed in comfortable warmth, laughter mixing with the hum of the crowded pub. You and Remus shared quiet smiles, your fingers tangled together under the table.

The walk back to Hogwarts was filled with the kind of easy, warm chatter that only close friends could have. The evening air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of butterbeer and the faint smokiness of fireplaces from the village. The sky above was deep blue, speckled with stars, and the group of you strolled along the path leading back to the castle, boots crunching against the gravel.

Lily was walking ahead with James, who was dramatically recounting a story about how he “heroically” saved a first-year from Peeves.

"So there I was," James began, gesturing wildly, "cornered in the Charms corridor, a poor, defenseless first-year behind me, and Peeves holding an entire bucket of ink over our heads."

"Defenseless?" Lily scoffed. "He was just standing there."

"Exactly! Helpless. So, naturally, I had to act."

"You threw your shoe at him," Remus said flatly, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"And it worked, didn’t it?" James argued.

"Yeah, after he dumped the ink on you first," Sirius snorted.

Peter cackled. "You spent the entire day looking like a human ink blot!"

"It was a small price to pay for the safety of my fellow student," James said with an exaggerated sigh.

Lily shook her head, though she was smiling. "You're unbelievable."

You laughed, nudging Remus. "I swear, they get worse every day."

Remus smirked but didn’t comment, just gently slipped his fingers through yours. His hand was warm, his grip firm but comfortable, like he was telling you without words that he was right there.

You glanced up at him, squeezing his hand. "You’re awfully quiet, Moony."

"Just enjoying the show," he murmured, lips twitching as he watched James and Sirius dramatically reenact the ink disaster.

Sirius was now pretending to be Peeves, floating around James with exaggerated arm movements. "Oh nooo, Mister Potter! You’re about to be—SPLAT!" He mimed dumping ink over James’ head.

James gasped, clutching his heart. "Betrayed! By my own heroism!"

"You weren’t a hero," Lily said, shaking her head.

James turned to Remus, looking for support. "Moony, tell her. That was a very noble thing I did."

Remus gave him a completely blank look. "You threw your shoe at a poltergeist, James."

"A heroic shoe," James clarified.

"You didn’t even get it back," Peter reminded him.

"That just makes it more heroic," James insisted.

Sirius clapped him on the back. "We’ll carve your name into a plaque. ‘James Potter, the boy who sacrificed his shoe for the greater good.’"

You giggled, leaning into Remus. "They’re exhausting, but I love them."

He smiled down at you, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand. "Yeah, me too."

Sirius suddenly groaned loudly. "Ugh, you two are doing that soft, romantic thing again."

You raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And it’s disgusting," Sirius declared. "All this... hand-holding and fond gazes. I can’t bear it."

Remus smirked. "I suppose we could start snogging instead, if you prefer?"

Sirius gagged. "Absolutely not."

James looked thoughtful. "You know, it’s funny. A year ago, if someone had told me Moony would be the one out of all of us in a committed, disgustingly cute relationship first, I wouldn’t have believed them."

"Oi," Remus protested.

Lily tilted her head. "Really? I would’ve guessed him first."

James looked scandalized. "You would? Why?"

Lily gave him a pointed look. "Because Remus is the only one who isn’t an insufferable flirt."

James turned to you, looking for backup. "You don’t agree with that, do you?"

You grinned. "I love you, James, but she’s got a point."

Sirius snickered. "She really does."

James huffed, but Lily took his hand, smiling at him. "Oh, don’t pout. I love you even if you are insufferable."

James immediately perked up. "Really?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Don’t let it go to your head."

Peter sighed dramatically. "I feel like I’m the only sane one here."

"You, Wormtail?" Sirius laughed. "You joined in on the ink prank!"

Peter shrugged. "It was funny."

The castle loomed ahead, the warm glow of torchlight flickering through the windows. As you all reached the entrance, James sighed dramatically. "Well, another successful Hogsmeade trip. No detentions, no injuries—"

"You spilled butterbeer in your pants," Remus pointed out.

James waved a hand dismissively. "Details."

The warmth of the castle wrapped around you as the group made their way inside, the laughter and teasing gradually fading as the others headed toward the Gryffindor common room. James and Lily were still bickering playfully, Sirius was going on about how he could single-handedly take down Peeves if given the chance, and Peter was just shaking his head at all of them.

You, however, lingered at the bottom of the staircase with Remus, the flickering torchlight casting a soft glow over both of you.

You sighed, smiling up at him. "Well, I suppose this is where we part ways."

He made a small noise, almost reluctant. "Unfortunately."

You tilted your head playfully. "Oh? You sound like you’ll just wither away without me."

Remus chuckled, his hazel eyes twinkling. "Don’t flatter yourself."

You grinned, stepping back slightly. "Alright then, I’ll be off—"

Before you could turn, his fingers caught your wrist, pulling you back gently but firmly. You let out a small gasp as you stumbled a step closer to him. He wasn’t normally one to be so bold, especially not where others might see, but the entrance hall was empty now, and there was something in his eyes—something warm, something wanting.

"You’re not in a rush, are you?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "And what if I am?"

His lips twitched. "Then I suppose I’ll have to convince you to stay."

You crossed your arms, pretending to think. "Convince me, huh? And how exactly do you plan on doing that, Lupin?"

He hummed, as if considering, then with a slow, almost lazy confidence, he slipped both hands into your back pockets, pulling you flush against him.

A surprised laugh escaped you. "Oh, so that’s your strategy?"

His smirk deepened, but there was a soft pink dusting his cheeks. "Is it working?"

Your heart fluttered as you looped your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. "Mmm, I don’t know. You might have to try a little harder."

His thumbs rubbed slow, absentminded circles through the fabric of your jeans, and his voice was quiet but playful. "Demanding, aren’t you?"

You grinned. "Only with you."

He leaned down slightly, his forehead almost touching yours. "Lucky me."

You stared at him, your smile softening. "Yeah, lucky you."

His expression shifted, something tender replacing the teasing glint in his eyes. He didn’t always say how he felt, but moments like this, where he just looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, were enough.

"You know," you murmured, "for someone who doesn’t like public displays of affection, you’re being awfully affectionate right now."

He huffed a quiet laugh, resting his forehead against yours. "No one’s here."

"Still," you teased, "what happened to ‘I show my love in subtle ways’?"

His grip on you tightened slightly. "This is subtle."

You raised an eyebrow. "Both hands in my back pockets is subtle?"

He smirked. "Completely."

You shook your head, laughing. "You’re ridiculous."

"And yet," he murmured, brushing his nose against yours, "you love me anyway."

Your teasing grin softened. "I do."

His breath hitched slightly, and before you could say anything else, he kissed you. It was soft, lingering, like he was trying to hold onto the moment for just a little longer. You melted into it, fingers curling into his hair, savoring the warmth of him, the way he held you like you were something precious.

A smile played on your lips as you pulled your lips apart, your bodies nearly flush. "You, breaking rules for me? I'm honored."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "It's hardly breaking the rules. Prefect privileges, remember?"

"Oh, of course," you teased. "How could I forget? You’re the responsible one."

"Exactly," he murmured, his arms sliding gently around your waist. "And right now, I’m responsibly using my time to be with my girlfriend a little longer."

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you swayed slightly in his embrace. The torches along the corridor flickered, casting long shadows, but all you could focus on was the way he looked at you—like you were something precious, something worth bending the rules for.

"You’re soft, Lupin," you whispered playfully, fingers absentmindedly tangling in his hair.

His lips curled into a smirk, but he didn’t argue. "Only for you."

Your stomach flipped at that, heat rising to your cheeks. "That was dangerously sweet."

"Good," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "I meant it to be."

A comfortable silence settled between you, your bodies still pressed close. It was moments like this that made your heart ache in the best way possible—just the two of you, tucked away in some quiet corner of the castle, stealing time before curfew.

"You really don’t want to let me go, do you?" you teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face.

He exhaled softly, his fingers giving the tiniest squeeze against your hips. "Not really."

You bit your lip, warmth blooming in your chest. "You’re ridiculously cute when you’re clingy."

"I’m not clingy," he argued, though his grip on you didn’t loosen in the slightest.

You grinned. "Oh no? So what do you call this?"

He sighed dramatically. "Fine. Maybe I am a little."

You tilted your head, considering. "I think I like it."

Remus laughed, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you love me," you teased.

He smiled, the kind of soft, adoring smile that always made you melt. "Yeah. I really do."

You felt your cheeks warm, but before you could respond, the distant sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor.

Remus sighed, finally, reluctantly, releasing you. "Go before Filch catches you out of bounds."

You pouted. "You’re no fun."

He smirked. "I’ll save you a seat at breakfast to make up for it."

You hummed. "With extra toast?"

"Obviously."

You smiled, stealing one last quick kiss before stepping back. "Goodnight, Remus."

"Goodnight, love," he murmured, watching you go with that same soft look in his eyes.

And as you disappeared down the corridor, you couldn’t help but think—Merlin, you were hopelessly in love with him.

[jacquitries]

To The One That Got Away | J.P.

Everyone believes James Potter’s greatest regret was Lily Evans, but the truth is, it was you all along. After years apart, he’s determined to prove he deserves a second chance.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

It was the night before Lily and Severus’s wedding.

The firelight flickered over the group of old friends, their laughter blending with the clinking of glasses and the hum of conversation. Empty Firewhisky bottles lined the tables, and half-finished goblets of Butterbeer were left forgotten in the haze.

Marlene slurred out, "Alright, new rule! No more fun memories. Only regrets!" She leaned back against the couch, tipping her goblet toward Sirius. "You go first."

Sirius rolled his eyes but smirked. "Regrets? I regret not stealing the Hogwarts kitchen's secret treacle tart recipe when I had the chance."

The room fell silent for a moment before Dorcas Meadowes reached over and squeezed his hand. "That’s a real one, Black."

One by one, each person revealed their regrets, some deep, some ridiculous, until it was James Potter’s turn. The room quieted as all eyes turned to the golden boy who had everything at his fingertips.

"Regrets, James?" Peter Pettigrew teased. "What could you possibly regret? You’re the most successful auror and the most eligible bachelor in the wizarding world."

James let out a short laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching it reflect the dim light. Then, after a long pause, he murmured, "I regret not fighting hard enough for her."

The room stilled. All around him, people exchanged knowing glances. Remus raised an eyebrow, and Marlene mouthed, "Of course."

It had to be Lily. Everyone had always assumed James had been in love with her. That he had been too late, too proud, too everything. But Lily herself stiffened beside him, because she knew better.

She let the conversation play out as James fell into silence, lost in thought. It wasn’t long before the murmurs behind his back began.

"It’s obviously Lily."

“Of course, it’s Lily.”

“She’ll say yes if he asks, right? I mean, she has to.���

But Lily simply stood, grabbing his wrist and pulling him away from the group. "James, let’s talk."

They stepped outside, the cool night air sobering them both slightly. James leaned against the railing, running a hand through his unruly hair. "So, you think I’m pathetic?"

Lily shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Not pathetic. Just a bloody idiot."

"Cheers for that," he muttered.

She hesitated before speaking, choosing her words carefully. "They think it’s me."

James let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah. They do."

"It was never me, though, was it?" Lily pressed.

James exhaled slowly. "No. It never was."

"It was her."

James felt a weight in his chest, his mind drifting back to those moments. The memories flashed through his mind, sudden and vivid, each one as clear as if it were happening all over again.

You and James had been exact opposites from the start. Where he was the easygoing, charming Gryffindor, the one who made friends in every hallway; you were the precise, no-nonsense Slytherin, always top of your class, always holding yourself to standards no one else could even imagine. You had never let anyone get too close. You were respected and feared in equal measure, your quiet, poised demeanor never betraying the intensity behind your eyes.

It wasn’t just a difference in personality. It was a battle of worlds. He was spontaneous, a little reckless, quick to charm his way out of anything. You were meticulous, controlled, someone who always followed the rules and made sure everyone else did, too. 

From the moment they were both elected Head Boy and Head Girl, the whispers had started. People had doubted the pairing. The professors themselves had seemed unsure, raising an eyebrow when the announcement was made, probably wondering if it would even work. "Are you sure this is the combination you want, Headmaster?" had been asked more than once.

And yet, surprisingly, it did.

James could still remember how strange it was at first. You both worked together, a strange partnership that no one had expected. But slowly, the walls between the Head Boy and Girl crumbled. There were nights spent together in the prefect room, going over plans and laughing over inside jokes that no one else understood. Quiet moments between classes, where you just were — no titles, no rivalry — just two people becoming something more.

There were no grand gestures, no declarations. It was subtle. Unspoken. You never voiced it. Neither of you did. You didn’t need to. You began to fall into a rhythm, your relationship developing in the quiet spaces between words. And as the weeks turned to months, he found himself thinking about you more, caring about you more than he should have. And you… you were there, always there, a constant presence. The tension that had once existed between you now simmered beneath the surface, invisible but undeniable.

Lily had noticed.

One afternoon, she’d walked into the prefect’s room, only to stop in her tracks at the sight of you and James. You two were closer than usual, an unspoken intimacy in the air. A touch of your hand on his shoulder, the way he was looking at you, his eyes soft, a look he’d never shown anyone else.

The next time she saw him alone, Lily didn’t even need to say much. Just a raised eyebrow. "Hmm. So, you and her, huh?"

James had gone red. He hadn’t known what to say; hadn’t expected to be caught like that. But Lily had just smiled, her voice gentle as she added, "Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. If it makes you feel any better… I think I’m falling for Severus too."

And so it continued, every moment with you, every conversation, every look that lingered too long, brought him closer to something he had never expected, something neither of you dared to acknowledge out loud. You talked about your pasts, your futures. He talked about becoming an Auror, about his dreams. You told him about your aspirations to become a textbook writer, your passion for education and research. He loved hearing your voice, the way you spoke with such quiet confidence.

But then, things started to change.

Little by little, you became distant. James started noticing it. How you seemed to be pulling away, just a little bit more with each passing week. It wasn’t obvious at first, but he could feel it in the air between you. The touches grew less frequent, the glances shorter, more guarded. James could feel it. But he never said a word, too scared to ruin the delicate balance you both had found.

Lily had noticed too, of course. She had been there when he started pulling back, confused, frustrated, unsure what to do. And, as always, she was there to comfort him, to remind him that everything would be fine.

But deep down, James knew something was wrong.

And then, graduation night arrived.

James sat beside you, both of you finishing up the last of the paperwork for the Head Boy and Girl duties. It was supposed to feel like a victory, like an accomplishment. Instead, it felt like the end of something precious. He kept gathering the courage to ask you, to ask if there was a way for you to stay in touch, to continue this… whatever it was. But when he finally spoke, the words were wrong. He had waited too long.

And then you said it.

"Let’s not keep in touch."

It felt final. It hurt. But he didn’t fight it. There was no point. It was over and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Snapping back to the present, silence hung between James and Lily. Then, she folded her arms. "You should go to her."

James laughed bitterly. "And say what? ‘Hi, I know I haven’t talked to you in ten years, but I never stopped thinking about you’?"

"Yes, actually," Lily said simply. "James, you should’ve told her back then. You should tell her now."

"Lily, I don’t even know where she is! And even if I did, what would she think? I let a whole decade pass without a word."

Lily sighed, shaking her head. "You’re a bloody coward, James Potter. I took the leap with Severus, and I’m happier for it. Maybe it’s time you took yours."

James hesitated. Then, as if on cue, the rest of the group stumbled outside, still caught up in their drunken chatter.

"Oi, where’s the emergency?" Sirius drawled.

Lily just smiled. "We’re going on a trip."

They arrived outside the grand estate at the edge of the countryside, the mansion standing proudly against the moonlit sky. James’s heart pounded as he took in the familiar sight, every detail steeped in memories.

"Wait, where the hell are we?" Peter whispered.

Marlene, slightly more sober now, blinked. "Oh, Merlin. I’ve seen this place in the Daily Prophet. It’s her house."

"What?" Sirius spluttered. "The mystery girl—?"

James barely heard them. His legs moved on their own, his breath shallow as he knocked on the grand wooden door.

Moments passed. Then the door creaked open.

And there you were.

The air left his lungs. Ten years. Ten years, and you were still the most breathtaking sight he had ever seen.

Your eyes widened in surprise. "James?"

He swallowed hard, his mind blank. "I—"

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossing. "Why are you here?"

James opened his mouth, but no words came out. You sighed. "If you're done wasting my time, goodnight, James."

You started to close the door, but James caught it. "Wait, wait—please."

Something in his voice must have softened your resolve because you hesitated. He had always been your weakness, after all.

You stepped aside. "Fine. Come in."

He couldn’t sit still, pacing the elegant sitting room. You remained near the door, watching him with guarded eyes.

"So, uh," James said, clearing his throat, his voice awkward. "How have you been? It’s been... a while."

You didn’t answer right away, your expression unreadable. James fumbled, shifting on his feet. "You look... good."

You raised an eyebrow. "So, now you’re here, trying to make small talk?"

James exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I... well, I didn’t know where to start."

You folded her arms, your gaze sharpening. "Right. So, are you going to keep dodging around whatever this is, or are you going to get to the point?"

James stopped, exhaling sharply. "Why did you end it?"

You blinked. "End what?"

"Us. Whatever we were. Did I ever even have a chance?"

Something flickered across your face. "James—"

"Was it ever real for you?" he pressed, his voice cracking with a mix of anger and desperation. "Because it was real for me. And I’ve spent the last ten years trying to understand why you just walked away."

You scoffed, arms crossing tighter as your expression hardened. "You were never serious about me, were you? I was just—"

"What?" he cut you off, the words strangling him. "What do you mean?"

Your voice dropped to a cold, bitter whisper. "A placeholder for Lily."

He staggered back as if your words had physically hit him. "What?" His breath catches as disbelief washed over him. "How could you think that?"

You let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "Don’t pretend you don’t know. Everyone saw it. You always after her, always putting her at the center of your world. I was just... convenient. Just there. Waiting."

His heart pounded, the pain raw and fierce. "No. No, that’s not—how could you think that?"

You shook your head, your voice soft but firm. "Because you never told me otherwise. You never made it clear."

His words slammed into him like a punch, and he realized, too late, that you were right. He never told you. Never made it real. Never fought for you when it mattered.

He inhaled shakily, taking a step closer. His voice was low but intense. "It was always you. Only you. You were never second. You were... everything."

For a moment, you didn’t speak. You just looked at him, the weight of the silence pressing down on both of you. He could see the hesitation in your eyes, the conflict there, but you didn’t pull away.

"James—" you started, but then stopped, biting back the rest of your words.

He waited, his breath caught in his chest. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears as he asked softly, "Are you seeing anyone?"

You didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain. You lowered your gaze briefly, then looked back up at him, as if weighing something inside before finally shaking your head. "No."

The word seemed to hang in the air longer than it should have, and for a split second, James wasn’t sure if he could believe it. His pulse quickened, but something inside him softened. He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "I haven’t been with anyone either, you know. Not since… since everything happened."

You blinked at him, and for the first time, there was a flicker of curiosity in your eyes. You didn’t immediately respond, but the question hovered between you.

After a beat, you finally asked, your voice quiet but sharp. "So, you’ve really never moved on? All this time?"

James looked at you, eyes wide with honesty. "Never. Not once." He didn’t have to think about it; the words came easily, painfully true. "It was always you."

There was another pause, just long enough for it to feel like he had said too much. Too soon. But he couldn’t take it back now.

You stood there, lips pressed together, your expression unreadable. The silence between you stretched longer than before, each second louder than the last. James held his breath, waiting, afraid that saying anything else would ruin it all.

Finally, he spoke, his voice softer now. "I—" He paused, hesitation thick in the air. "I know this might sound crazy, but would you come with me? Tomorrow. To Lily and Severus’s wedding. As my date."

You blinked, the weight of the request landing somewhere deep inside. There was a pause, a moment where it felt like everything hung in the balance. You studied him, not quite sure if you could trust what he was offering.

The silence stretched on, but then something in your chest softened. Slowly, you let out a breath, your eyes never leaving his. "You really want that? After everything?"

James looked at you, his eyes steady but full of something deeper, something raw. "I don’t want to keep going without you. I can’t pretend like everything’s fine when it’s not. I need you. Not just for tomorrow, but for everything after. Please... let me show you that we can make this work. 

You looked at him, the weight of his words sinking in. The air was thick with everything unspoken, and for a moment, you just stood there, letting it all settle. Slowly, you took a breath, the resolve in your expression shifting.

Finally, you nodded, your voice quieter, but sincere. "Okay. Show me you mean it."

[marauroon]

Another Remus request bc I love Remus so much.

What about Remus secretly dating Sirius’s younger sister (one year younger, also in Gryffindor) Because they both know how protective he is over her (she’s never kissed anyone or anything bc he scares everyone away) and eventually they get caught.

I S I T W O R T H I T ? — REMUS LUPIN!

you fell in love with your older brother’s best friend. oops.

remus lupin x black!reader | 1.2k | flangst? | masterlist.

a/n — live laugh love remus

You’ve never been anyone’s secret before.

It’s strange and exhilarating—this feeling of sneaking glances across the Gryffindor common room, of pretending you’re just friends when your heart races like mad every time Remus smiles at you.

It’s dangerous too, of course. Sirius Black is your older brother, and everyone at Hogwarts knows better than to provoke him, especially when it comes to you.

Over the years, Sirius has earned quite the reputation for scaring away anyone who might look at you twice. It’s not that you’re not interested—far from it. But whenever someone tried to flirt with you, Sirius’s arm would appear around your shoulders, he’d send them a glare that could freeze fire, and they’d bolt faster than a startled Hippogriff.

And then there’s Remus.

Remus Lupin, your brother’s best friend and perhaps the one person Sirius would least expect you to get close to.

But you have, oh, you have.

It started innocently enough—late-night conversations in the library, stolen moments under the beech tree by the lake, where the world seemed to slow down. Remus would smile that soft, crooked smile of his, and you’d feel your heart skip a beat.

You don’t even know how it happened.

Maybe it was when he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear for the first time, or when he called you “special” in that quiet, reverent voice. You just knew you couldn’t stay away.

That’s how it began—the sneaking around, the whispered words in empty corridors, the kisses under the invisibility cloak when no one else was watching. And while Sirius was loud and wild, the kind of brother who’d chase away boys with threats of hexes, Remus is all quiet affection and careful touches.

With him, every stolen moment feels like the most wonderful secret in the world.

Still, you know what would happen if Sirius ever found out. It’s why you’re so careful. Sirius trusts Remus like a brother, but that’s precisely what makes it so dangerous.

—

The real trouble starts about three months in, after you and Remus push your luck just a little too far.

It’s late, long past curfew, and you’ve somehow convinced Remus to sneak out again under the invisibility cloak. You’re hauled up in the astronomy tower, where the moonlight spills through the open alcoves, painting everything silver.

Remus sits comfortably on one of the banisters, his arms loose at his sides, and his brown eyes locked on you. He looks at you like you’re magic—like he can’t quite believe you’re here.

“I missed you today,” you murmur, stepping closer.

His mouth quirks up, his eyes following as they tilt up to meet yours. “I saw you at lunch.”

“That doesn’t count.”

You don’t give him a chance to reply. You close the space between you and kiss him softly, feeling the way his hands come up to hold your sides—tentative at first, as though he doesn’t want to push too far, but steady and sure as the kiss deepens.

It’s intoxicating, the thrill of it, the way your heart hammers against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. You’re not used to this kind of closeness—this kind of intimacy. Sirius made sure of that. But Remus is gentle and warm, and you’re so lost in him that you forget, for just a moment, how reckless this is.

Until you hear the voice.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?!”

You freeze. Remus pulls back instantly, his expression full of panic, and you turn to see Sirius standing a few feet away, wand in hand and eyes blazing with anger. He’s not alone, either—James is right behind him, wide-eyed and clearly caught between amusement and terror.

“Sirius, I—” you start, your voice trembling.

“Are you serious—no, don’t even answer that!”

You’d point out the pun if he wasn’t proverbially steaming from the ears.

Sirius is fuming, his face flushed and his fists clenched. His eyes dart from you to Remus and back again. “Remus? Really? Remus Lupin?”

Remus steps forward, raising his hands as though to calm Sirius down. “Sirius, I can explain.”

“Oh, I bet you can.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you blurt out, even though it’s exactly what it looks like.

Sirius gives you a look that could reduce a lesser person to ash. “No? I didn’t just catch you snogging my best friend in the astronomy tower after curfew? What did I see then?”

“Maybe you should let them talk, Pads,” James offers nervously, but Sirius isn’t listening.

“Remus,” he says, turning his gaze, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re supposed to be my best mate. How long has this been going on?”

“Not long,” Remus says quickly, though he glances at you as he says it, as if apologising. “And it’s not like that, Sirius. I care about her. A lot.”

Sirius looks at Remus like he doesn’t recognize him. “You care about her? She’s my sister, you—”

“Sirius!” you interrupt, stepping between them. “This isn’t just Remus’s fault, alright? I’m not a child. I care about him too.”

For a moment, the anger flickers in Sirius’s eyes. He looks at you—really looks at you—and you can see the hurt there. The betrayal. You’re his little sister, the one person he’s always tried to protect. You’ve never had secrets from him before.

For a long moment, no one speaks.

Then, Sirius looks at you—really looks at you—and his expression softens just a fraction. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because of this,” you admit, gesturing between the three of you. “Because we knew you’d react like this.”

“I just—” Sirius falters, his anger flickering into something more vulnerable. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Remus steps forward slightly, his voice quiet but steady. “I would never hurt her, Sirius. You know me.”

Sirius stares at him, his jaw tight, but there’s something in Remus’s tone that seems to get through to him. He huffs, running a hand through his hair. “I swear to Merlin, if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Remus practically cuts him off, his voice steady. “I promise.”

Sirius doesn’t look convinced, but at least he doesn’t punch Remus in the face like you’d feared. Instead, he looks back at you, his expression softening just slightly. “And you,” he says. “You better be sure about this.”

“I am,” you reply, because there’s no hesitation in your heart.

Sirius shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “unbelievable,” before turning on his heel and storming off. James gives you a small, awkward thumbs up before hurrying after him.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and Remus reaches for your hand, his fingers lacing with yours.

“That went better than I expected,” he says wryly.

You laugh softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “He’ll get over it.”

“Eventually.”

You glance up at him, your heart full despite the chaos. “You’re worth it.”

Remus smiles down at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “So are you.”

[trothplighted]

I was going through some of Rowling’s old interviews and came across one in 2004 where she spoke of Sirius:

“I am so proud of the fact that a character, whom I always liked very much, though he never appeared as much more than a brooding presence in the books, has gained a passionate fan-club.”

This wasn’t the only time she expressed surprise that Sirius became a fan favourite, and it’s honestly baffling to me??? He had an entire book named after and primarily revolving around him, and is canonically the closest thing to a parent that Harry, the protagonist of the series, ever had. Even if we disregard everything else we know about Sirius and his storyline, there’s no way in hell he wasn’t going to be popular. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said that a character like that was specifically designed for fan service (I mean...he's hot, has a flying motorbike, and is literally named after a star, lol). It’s bizarre that Rowling seems to have had no idea, and that she believed he was / intended him to be nothing more than a “brooding presence” in the series – which is at any rate an appalling and deeply unsympathetic way to describe his trauma and depression.

It made me think of how there's such a major disconnect between authorial intent and authorial execution when it comes to his character as well, especially in Order of the Phoenix. Characters like Molly or Hermione call him irresponsible/reckless/immature, claim he confused Harry and James, that he treated Harry like a friend rather than a godson, that he was biased against Snape, etc. Rowling’s interviews confirm that she intended to characterize Sirius in such a way and that Hermione and Molly are meant to be viewed as her mouthpieces. But Sirius’s actual behavior and relationship with Harry does not correspond with any of this and his actions + dialogue are for the most part very reasonable and sympathetic. (There’s also Kreacher’s storyline, which made me dislike Sirius a lot when I was younger, but upon my reread comes across as almost entirely nonsensical, contradictory, and seems specifically designed to paint Sirius in a bad light to the point where he’s compared to VOLDEMORT of all people by Hermione - who, in the process of criticizing Sirius, dehumanizes house elves entirely by claiming that none of them are capable of individual morality or have any ethical agency of their own. It's frustrating because she's 100% right that house elves should be freed but the way she infantalizes them is...pretty shitty and not the way to go about it. But I digress.)

Rowling seems to have done a complete 180 degree turn on how Sirius is presented by the narrative between Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix, and I can’t really understand why.

I get the sense that the creation of Sirius’s character in particular was, at the very least, partly accidental on Rowling’s part. She didn’t expect him to blow up the way he did, and I get the sense that she doesn’t seem to have been thrilled by how much the early HP fandom liked/valorized him. There was an interview where she was asked if she liked him, and she said that she did, only to immediately list down all his alleged flaws and emphasize that “I do not think he was wholly wonderful” (which character in the series is wholly wonderful, lol? Sirius came across as a great deal better than most to me). There have been so many other interviews where she’s done the same thing despite the fact that Sirius's faults or perceived faults had absolutely nothing to do with the questions at hand. It’s such a startling contrast how she talks about pretty much everyone else from his generation, all of whom she seems considerably warmer and more sympathetic towards in varying degrees.

As I haven’t been back in the fandom for very long, this is the first time I’ve come across her interviews - I’m not sure if I’m reading too much into them or not. I wondered if you agree/disagree, as you’ve been in the fandom for much longer and I love all your metas about the series. Thanks :)

You’ve hit upon my personal Rage Point for the entire series, anon.

I want to start by pointing something out about Sirius and Kreacher, which is that in GoF Sirius tells Ron and Harry (and Hermione, though he brings it up to compliment her observational skills) that Crouch Sr.’s mistreatment of Winky is an indicator of his character. (“If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.”) This is, somehow, the same man who one book later is egregiously dismissive of and abusive toward his family’s house-elf, to the point that this dismissal causes his death (oh, and Albus blames him for dying, too.) Despite Sirius expressing two wildly different viewpoints from book to book, we’re intended to take that as his true self, as the authentic expression of his beliefs and position.

I’ve spoken before more than once about other drastic character shifts that happened as a result of the Three Year Summer, both as a writing break and as a paradigm shift in the notoriety of and ubiquity of the series thanks to the movies being released starting in 2001. I was in elementary and middle school while the books were being published, and OotP was the first book I remember seeing large-scale advertisement for in my school outside of a book fair - there was a big larger-than-life poster teasing the book cover with a release date during the summer to get us all hyped up for it. I’d obviously heard of Harry Potter before that, but that was the moment when the books went from “famous book series” to “cultural phenomenon,” at least in my mind. And I think that we can trace this shift in opinion on Sirius Black back to the Three Year Summer, too.

In my opinion it’s obvious that Joanne really liked Sirius, when she first developed him. I don’t think she’s telling the truth when she says she doesn’t think he’s wholly wonderful - when she first came up with him she absolutely did. He’s got pride of place as a Cool Character in all the ways she loves to lavish attention on someone. He’s set up with a phenomenal entrance in PS chapter one and then he spends all of PoA in the spotlight. He has a dramatic reveal of his true allegiances and his innocence, and he’s Harry’s best and most supportive parental figure throughout GoF who consistently gives good advice and who risks his own life and liberty to make sure his godson is safe. He considers coming back to England and living in a cave and eating rats to be his duty as a godfather, and while Harry feels responsible for his circumstances he’s always really clear that he (1. doesn’t care about the risks to his health and safety (2. will gladly sacrifice comfort and stability if it means being able to protect this boy (3. will not let Harry feel guilty.

These aren’t the actions of a man who confuses Harry with James - throughout GoF he continues to insist that his decisions are his own, made as an adult trying to parent and support a kid who desperately needs a stable presence in his life. Harry’s used to taking the blame for the actions of adults (my heart is still rent asunder by his expectation that Lupin is going to gaslight him about denying him the chance to face the boggart in their first DADA lesson) and he’s also used to feeling like he has to manage the emotional state of a household (see: all the times he plans out what to say or not to say to the Dursleys to get them to do what he wants), and Sirius doesn’t let him sink into either of those pits. He also prevents Harry from bottling up his feelings or concealing his distress, and never lies or twists the truth. He’s being very deliberately written as someone who serves as a positive role model and positive mentor figure for Harry, and then suddenly come OotP he’s moody and immature and subject to a number of very strange smear campaigns from characters the author confirms are intended to reflect her real opinions.

So… what happened, over the course of the Three Year Summer, to make her change her mind? We can’t ever know for sure, obviously, because Joanne hasn’t ever bothered to lay out how her feelings on each member of her cast changed and evolved, and she’s unlikely to do so at any point in the future because now when people talk to her they mostly talk to her about transphobia. But I have a theory.

See, between 1998 and 2003, the HMS Wolfstar set sail. While most of the seminal meta came out after OotP (see “The Case for R/S” as probably the one I and others my age are most familiar with as an introduction to the ship) and most of the really famous fanfics started trickling out around that time (The Shoebox Project started in 2004), there were fanfics before that point, a growing fan community, and a number of pieces of fanart and fancomics (check out the list of doujinshi in the linked Fanlore article, some of those date back to 2001). Edit: here is an archived humorous/gently snarky list of Wolfstar fanfic tropes created in 2002 - while I can’t personally remember the names of fics from before 2004 or so I want to point to this as evidence that there was an established fan community, even using the “WolfStar” name, prior to the publication of OotP.

Normally, I wouldn’t think that fanfic from prior to 2010 or so had much of anything to do with the author’s opinions on their work, because norms and fan culture around fanfic were much more focused around keeping these stories private and away from the prying eyes of The Powers That Be/TPTB.

I say normally, because Joanne was aware of fanfiction, and aware of fanfiction remarkably early in her career as a public figure.

Younger fans are almost certainly not going to know this, but one of the first real fandom divides in HP had to do with fanfiction, and specifically the question of how to treat fanfiction written by and for adults that featured sex scenes or other mature content. Since the books were children’s books (though there was an adult fandom since the start, especially online - the Harry Potter For Grown-Ups/HP4GU mailing list and its descendant communities still loom large in fan history as some of the early pillars of today’s digital scene) a lot of people didn’t know what to do or how to treat fanfic. This was also compounded by fanfic being a lot more subject to legal action or takedown notices - Anne Rice, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, and Anne McCaffrey all became infamous either for pursuing individual authors and archives until they took down their stories or instituting guidelines about what kinds of transformative works were acceptable, or both in McCaffrey’s case.

Rowling, however, was different. Rowling said that noncommercial fanfic was completely fine, that she wasn’t going to pursue any kind of legal action against fanfic authors, and that as long as adult-oriented fanfic was appropriately warned for and not shown to or targeted to children, she didn’t care if it existed.

This laid the groundwork for the founding of Fanfiction.net, for fanfic communities on LiveJournal, and eventually for Archive of our Own and the Organization for Transformative Works. In an era where legal disclaimers were common on fanfics as a mostly-useless attempt to prevent being shut down by IP holders, Rowling threw the doors open and democratized her stories in a way she - I would argue - ultimately came to regret.

I can’t prove that her sudden slander of Sirius was a result of latent unexamined homophobia and a desire for revenge against the fandom for daring to claim one of her favorite characters as a gay man. I can’t prove that his backstory of being kicked out of his house (for unspoken Family Drama reasons centering around him being filthy and disgraceful) only to be shoved back into it, or Trustworthy Adults suddenly painting him as dangerous to children and inherently irresponsible and reckless, or all of his trauma being ignored and painted over, or every scrap of his heroism being erased, has to do with Joanne deciding that if we’ve made him gay he shouldn’t get to be a character anymore.

I can’t prove it.

But I do believe it. I believe it because when you ask yourself “is this queercoded character being subjected to authorial homophobia”, suddenly everything about Sirius’s arc in OotP makes complete and total sense in the worst way possible. This is also why I think Tonks and Remus were paired off, why Tonks suddenly becomes more gender-conforming, and why Bill Weasley transforms into Normal Settled-Down Hetero William. It feels like her desperate attempts to take her characters and shove them back into a box that she controls. I don’t think she was at that point consciously and virulently homophobic, but I think her clear and evident discomfort with fans interpreting these characters who she wanted to be straight comes through in her writing.

I also believe it because she does the same thing to Albus, after his death. Someone who’s been uncomplicatedly heroic and praised by all parties and even used as her mouthpiece to pass judgment on Sirius suddenly becomes morally suspect and untrustworthy and shady and secretive, with enemies lining up as soon as he’s dead to slander him - and again, just like with Sirius, we’re meant to accept this as the correct version of events. He even confirms all of this to Harry himself in the King’s Cross afterlife. The old Albus can’t come to the phone right now, he’s dead, and only his critics remain. Coincidentally, Albus is of course the only confirmed gay character in the entire story. Funny how that works out, isn’t it?

I’ve been angry at her for 20 years for killing Sirius, and angrier still at her straightwashing efforts. I wouldn’t believe her if she said she wasn’t doing that, at this point.

It’s not as if I expected her to be a perfect ally as a center-left moderate cishet white woman in the late 90s/early 2000s, and I do think that Dumbledore being gay was revolutionary in a way that most modern audiences seriously fail to appreciate, but I wish she wasn’t so damned insistent that no one else could be queer in any way at any point. She’s also really evidently uncomfortable about any displays of affection between confirmed same-sex pairings - she was absolutely neurotic about the amount of physical contact between Mads Mikkelsen and Jude Law during FB3, to the point that she fought with David Yates about it. And her behavior contributed to the intense homophobia I and others experienced in our formative early years in fandom - no-slash mailing lists and archives, the immediate classification of all queer fanfic as inherently more mature or more sexual simply by virtue of having queer people in it, Wizards For Bush, etc. As a result, boycott or no boycott, I hope that Wolfstar is canon in the new series, I hope Mundungus stays the crossdressing icon that they are, I hope Tonks is canonically nonbinary, and I hope Joanne loses sleep over it.

[starksweasley]

Hurt // Remus Lupin

Pairings: Remus Lupin x Reader, Platonic!Sirius Black x Reader, Platonic!James Potter x Reader, Platonic!Lily Evans x Reader

Summary: You have a habit of putting yourself in harm's way, and your friends are tired of it.

Word Count: 1355

Flashes of the moment assault you, vivid and unrelenting. The sharp whistle of the shrapnel slicing through the air, Lily’s piercing scream ringing in your ears, and Remus’ desperate shout of your name, raw and panicked, all play on an endless loop in your mind. The weight of the moment presses down on you, as tangible as the blood-soaked cloth pressed to your side. Pain radiates outward from the jagged wound, a piece of shrapnel—sharp, merciless, and entirely too real—having found its mark. You’re slumped in the common room now, a halo of your friends surrounding you, faces etched with a mix of worry and fury. Sirius is the one holding the cloth to your side. His hands are steady but his jaw's clenched tight, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. His free hand twitches as if he wants to punch something but he restrains himself and focuses on you instead.

“Are you out of your mind?” James’ voice cuts through the tension first, sharp and incredulous. His glasses slide down his nose as he runs a hand through his messy hair, pacing as if the movement might somehow channel his frustration into something productive. “Throwing yourself into the middle of a battle like that? What were you thinking?” He stops abruptly, leaning forward with his hands braced on the back of a chair, his knuckles turning white.

“I was thinking I…” You grit your teeth against the pain as Sirius presses a little harder, his fingers trembling despite his attempts to seem unaffected. “I was thinking I’d rather it hit me than—”

“Than who?” Lily interrupts, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and fear. She’s perched on the arm of a chair, leaning forward, her knuckles colorless where they grip the fabric. “One of us? Merlin, do you think that’s what we’d want? To watch you…” Her words falter, and her green eyes shine with unshed tears. She stands quickly, crossing her arms as if to physically hold herself together.

“I can’t just stand there and let people get hurt,” you say, your voice hoarse. “I won’t.”

“And what about us?” Sirius snaps, finally breaking his silence. He pulls the cloth away for a moment to check the wound, grimacing before placing his wand over it and murmuring a healing spell. The faint glow of magic reflects off his furrowed brow. His voice drops, low and intense. “Do you think we’re not hurt every bloody time you pull this?” His voice cracks on the last word, and his gray eyes flash with something unspoken. His hand moves, almost hesitantly as if he's afraid of hurting you, to brush a sweaty strand of hair from your face before pulling back.

“You’re reckless,” James chimes in, his pacing stopping abruptly as he spins to face you. His hands gesture wildly, his frustration tangible in every movement. “And it’s going to get you killed one day. How do you think we’re supposed to live with that?” His voice breaks slightly, and he drags his sleeve across his face as if wiping away invisible sweat.

“It’s my choice,” you snap back, frustration and pain mixing into a volatile cocktail. Your hands clutch at the edge of the couch, nails digging into the fabric. As the words leave your mouth, a sharp twinge from your injury forces a wince, your body curling slightly as you instinctively press a hand to your side. Remus’ eyes flare at the sight but he doesn’t say anything. His silence, heavy with restrained emotion, hangs in the air like a storm cloud as he watches you with an intensity that sends heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m trying to do what’s right. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?” You rasp out.

“There’s a difference between bravery and… and whatever this is,” Lily says, her voice soft but no less cutting. She crosses the room in a few quick strides to kneel in front of you. Her hands hover near yours, unsure whether to comfort or reprimand. Her lips tremble as she finally places a hand on your knee, squeezing tightly. “You’re not invincible.”

“I never said I was!” you shout, the words echoing in the room. The sudden movement pulls at the freshly mended skin, and you hiss through your teeth. Sirius’ hand darts out to steady you, but you angrily shake him off. “I don’t need your help,” you snap, though your voice wavers under the strain. Pain flashes across your face, sharp and unhidden, and you clutch your side as if to anchor yourself. “I’m fine. I can handle it.” But the way your body curls in on itself betrays the truth, and even as the words leave your lips, you can feel the weight of their disbelieving stares pressing down on you.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Remus’ voice is quiet but carries the weight of authority. He’s been silent until now, his brown eyes fixed on you like he’s seeing straight through to your very soul. He steps closer, his movements deliberate, his presence steadying. He crouches down beside you, his hand brushing lightly against your thigh before settling there. “That’s enough,” he repeats, softer this time.

“But she…” James starts, but Remus cuts him off with a sharp look that has even James faltering.

“That’s my girl,” Remus says firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Don’t speak to her like that.” His gaze moves over the others, daring anyone to argue. The protective edge in his voice sends a ripple of stunned silence through the room.

“She’s hurt,” he continues, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “And if you lot keep yelling, she’s going to hurt herself more trying to argue back.” His gaze softens as he looks at you, his expression a mix of exasperation and tenderness. “Love, you have to stop doing this.”

Your eyes droop at the word—love—spoken so earnestly, so vulnerably. It’s enough to pull the fight out of you, leaving behind only the raw edges of your exhaustion and pain. Remus reaches out, brushing his knuckles gently along your jaw before cupping your face, his thumbs tracing soothing patterns over your cheekbones.

“I can’t stand by and watch my friends get hurt,” you whisper, your voice cracking. Your hands move instinctively to grip his, seeking comfort in the warmth and solidity of his touch.

“And I can’t stand by and watch you get hurt,” Remus replies, his hands cupping your face now, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have started to fall. “We all love you. We need you. And if you keep throwing yourself in harm’s way like this, you’re going to break us.”

The room falls silent, the weight of his words settling over everyone like a blanket. Sirius exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair as he mutters something under his breath. He shifts closer, his hand finding your shoulder in a rare moment of stillness. James’ shoulders sag, the anger draining out of him as quickly as it had flared up. Even Lily’s rigid posture softens, her hands reaching out to squeeze yours gently, her touch a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. The tears come faster now, and Remus pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you tightly as if he could hold you together through sheer force of will. His chin rests lightly on the top of your head, his voice a murmur against your hair.

“You’re my whole heart,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “And I’m not going to lose you. Not any time soon.”

The others close in around you, their presence warm and reassuring. Sirius settles himself on the arm of the couch, his hand now resting against your back, rubbing comforting circles. James drops onto the floor beside Lily, his head falling into his hands as if the argument has drained him completely. Lily leans against him, her free hand still clasping yours. The argument is over, but the love they all feel for you lingers in the room, a silent promise that they’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe—even from yourself.

[colouredbyd]

Lost And Found

poly!marauders x fem!reader

synopsis: after James and Sirius’s reckless fight, you hide as flicker, overwhelmed by worry and fear. when they find you, their gentle words and soft touch ease the tension, and in their presence, you find a fragile peace.

warnings: vulnerability, emotional tension, fear for loved ones’ safety, and struggle of feeling unseen.

w/c: 4k

a/n: flicker is so back!!!

part of my mini blurb series Flicker's Adventures

masterlist

The corridors stretched before you like a river of stone, endless and unyielding, the walls blurring as you moved forward with steps sharp and measured. Your heart pounded fiercely within your chest, each beat echoing like distant thunder—an urgent rhythm born from the fire of your fury.

That fire coursed through your veins, hot and relentless, sharpening your gaze until it burned, and tightening your fists until your knuckles shone pale beneath your skin.

How could they be so careless? So recklessly indifferent to the fragile thread that held them together?

You had heard the whispers flutter through the common room like restless shadows—quiet murmurs carrying the tale of a brutal Quidditch match gone wrong, of limbs entwined and blood darkening the grass beneath the pitch.

Yet it was Sirius’s name that sliced through the air, thrown around like a bitter jest, that twisted your breath and pulled the edges of your vision into shadow.

James had been there as well, of course, his wild grin still painted across his face as though the world could never touch him. But this time, it had touched him, and deeply so. And Sirius—dear, reckless Sirius—had borne the cruelest blow. You saw it in your mind’s eye: his body collapsing to the earth like a broken star, the effortless smile wiped away and replaced with something ragged and unfamiliar. That image was a blade twisting inside you, lodged somewhere between fierce anger and a quiet, aching fear.

The shuffle of students parting silently at your approach barely registered as your steps drummed steadily against the cold stone floor.

Ahead, the infirmary doors rose tall and heavy, solemn sentinels awaiting you, and without hesitation you pushed them open. The wood groaned beneath your hand as if protesting your intrusion, but you moved through with the urgency of someone chasing a fragile hope

Sunlight poured in through the tall, arched windows, spilling in golden pools that gathered quietly at the edges of the stark white sheets. There they lay, spread out on hospital cots like a somber portrait—fragile, battered, yet stubbornly alive.

James’s arm was bound tightly in bandages, a jagged cut traced across his cheekbone, raw and angry beneath the soft light. Beside him, Sirius reclined against pillows, a smirk curling at the corners of his bruised face, his eyes sparkling with that restless light even though shadows of pain lingered beneath.

Remus stood between them, fingers weaving gently through Sirius’s tangled hair, each touch deliberate and slow, a quiet comfort in the midst of brokenness.

When your footsteps crossed the threshold, his gaze lifted, softening with understanding. But you were already moving forward, the weight of worry pressing down on your chest.

“What on earth were you thinking?” Your voice broke free, raw and ragged, trembling with all the hurt you held inside. You closed the distance between you in three long strides, eyes blazing as you met James’s steady gaze. He offered a crooked smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling as if this were some kind of grand, terrible joke.

“We won, didn’t we?” His voice was rough, hoarse with effort but bright with that infuriating confidence you knew too well.

You stared at him, disbelief tightening your throat. “You think that’s the point? That winning was all that mattered?”

Sirius chuckled, though a sharp wince followed, and he shook his head. “You should’ve seen it, love. It was bloody brilliant!”

Your gaze snapped sharply to him, and he raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “What? You’re not proud of us?”

“Proud?” Your voice rose with incredulity, disbelief threading through every word. “You look like you went twelve rounds with a dragon and lost. Both of you. Do you even understand what that means? Do you know how utterly terrified I was when I heard? I thought—” Your voice faltered, caught in the sudden swell of fear and relief. “I thought you were both dead.”

James laughed softly, nudging Sirius with his uninjured arm. “She’s just mad we didn’t invite her.”

Sirius snorted, his smirk stubborn and bright. “You would’ve loved it, darling. I swear, I was practically flying.”

Remus sighed, eyes flicking between you and the boys, as if watching a game unfold—equal parts amused and exasperated. “You two are fools,” he murmured, a tenderness threading through the words.

You threw your hands up, frustration spilling over. “Are you even listening to yourselves? You could have died. Do you understand that? Not just ‘gotten hurt’ or ‘a little roughed up’—died

James waved his hand with an easy flick, as if brushing away your fears like dust. “We didn’t do anything reckless. Just a few cuts and bruises, nothing more.”

Sirius leaned back against the pillows, wincing but still wearing that cheeky grin. “We’re still as pretty as ever, aren’t we?”

That was the breaking point. The dam holding back your worry shattered all at once. “You’re impossible,” you said, voice trembling and breaking under the weight of everything you held inside.

“You both are impossible. You never take anything seriously, not even now, not when you’re lying here half broken, half dead. And not even when I’m standing right here. I was terrified—terrified that I would walk in and find you gone. That I would walk in and see you—see you—” Your voice faltered, caught in your throat like a fragile thread stretched too tight.

They looked at each other and laughed, the sound light and careless, as if this were all just a game, something far away from any real danger.

And that laughter cut through you, raw and burning, like an open wound. It was reckless, foolish, and utterly defiant—the same reckless bravery that made your heart ache so deeply. They weren’t listening. Not now. Not when it mattered most.

Your hands shook, the tremor so slight you weren’t sure if they could see it, but it was there, trembling with a desperate kind of sorrow.

“Fine,” you said, voice sharper now, trembling like glass ready to break. “Keep laughing. Keep pretending this is nothing. But one day it won’t be a joke. One day, it won’t be me who finds you here. It will be something worse. And when that day comes, I hope you remember this moment—when you laughed, when you thought you were invincible—because that will be the moment you lost everything.”

For the briefest second, Sirius’s smile wavered, a flicker of something real breaking through the bravado. But James just gave a small, tired smile and said, “We’re fine, alright? You don’t have to worry so much.”

That was it. You felt it break inside you, that last thread of restraint snapping like brittle twine. Your eyes burned and you blinked hard, refusing to let it spill over. But the tears were there, shimmering at the edges of your lashes.

Sirius caught it first, his expression softening with a flicker of real concern. James’s smile slipped, brows knitting together as he looked at you properly, maybe for the first time since you walked in.

But you were already turning away, the room blurring at the edges, their voices dimming under the rush of blood in your ears. You didn’t want to hear it. Not their apologies, not their excuses.

You slammed the door behind you, the echo reverberating down the hall like a crack of thunder, leaving them in silence.

The world felt as if it were tilting, the stone walls stretching and folding in on themselves as you fled the infirmary. Your breath came ragged and unsteady, each step pounding out the rhythm of your heartache.

Anger still simmered beneath your skin, hot and restless, but it was dulled now, softened by something fragile and trembling beneath the surface.

Fear.

You could not shake the image of them lying there, pale and bruised, their laughter sharp and careless, as if flirting with death was just another grand adventure. As if it did not tear you apart every single time.

You did not remember deciding to change. It was instinct, a memory stitched into your bones, something older than thought. One moment you were striding down the corridor, shoulders tense and fists clenched; the next, the world was stretching and warping around you, your senses sharpening, your form unraveling and reshaping itself in the quiet grace of transformation.

Bones shifted, fur spilled like shadows across your skin, and the tension in your limbs melted away, replaced by the quiet simplicity of instinct.

You were small now, light and silent. Flicker.

The castle’s winding passages stretched endlessly from this vantage, vaster and stranger, humming with the distant murmur of footsteps and the soft swell of conversation.

Being an Animagus was forbidden—a secret buried deep beneath layers of trust and silence. Only they knew. Only they would understand.

The path to the dormitory was second nature, a map etched into muscle memory. Your tiny paws skittered over the stone without a whisper of sound. You slipped through a crack in the wall near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, ducked beneath the crooked leg of a dusty suit of armor, and squeezed through the narrow gap Remus had shown you, hidden behind stacks of enchanted crates.

Remus’s room was warm and heavy with shadows, curtains drawn tight against the late afternoon sun, the air thick with the scent of parchment and firewood. His bed rested in the far corner, perfectly made, untouched.

But it was the pile of sweaters by his wardrobe that called to you, woolen and soft, smelling faintly of cedar and smoke, familiar and unchanging. Without hesitation, you burrowed deep, curling into the warmth of the fabric, hidden away from the noise and chaos of the world. Safe.

This was your haven, the place you disappeared to when it all became too much. When their reckless grins and careless jokes cut too deep, when the weight of loving them and fearing for them pressed too heavy on your heart. Here, in the folds of Remus’s sweaters, you could breathe. You could hide.

The minutes stretched on, and you let the quiet lull you, the sound of distant chatter and crackling fire a soothing hum. You tucked your nose under your paws, sighing out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You didn’t want to think about Sirius’s bruised cheekbone, or the bandages binding James’s arm. You didn’t want to think about how easily they brushed off your fear, your tears. So you didn’t. You just curled tighter, heart thrumming softly in your chest, and hid away from the world.

The silence was thick, heavy with unspoken words and lingering fear. You closed your eyes, breathing in the scent of cedar and earth, letting it ground you, hold you in place.

You never told them how much it hurt sometimes, how deeply their recklessness sliced through you. How it felt like watching your heart get battered and bruised and still having to smile through it, still having to be strong because loving them meant knowing they would never stop. They would always throw themselves into danger headfirst, always laugh in the face of it. It was who they were.

But it didn’t make it easier. It never did.

Sometimes, you thought about staying hidden, just for a little longer. Letting the world spin on without you, just for a while. Here, buried beneath the softness of Remus’s sweaters, you didn’t have to be strong.

You didn’t have to pretend that your heart wasn’t cracking open every time they stumbled back bruised and broken. Here, you could just be small. Just be Flicker. Just be still.

Time drifted, stretched thin and silken like threads of sunlight filtering through dust. Wrapped in warmth and the faint, familiar scent of cedar and smoke, you let your breathing even out, let the tension unravel from your muscles.

The world outside faded into something distant and inconsequential, muffled by wool and shadows. It was easy to let your eyes slip shut, easy to sink deeper into that soft, formless space where thought became a whisper and worry dissolved like mist.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, only that the stillness embraced you, cradling you in its gentle hands. Hours passed unnoticed, the castle breathing quietly around you, the world shifting and turning while you stayed curled and hidden.

The first thing you felt was a light tug, gentle and persistent, peeling back the edge of the sweater you were nestled beneath.

You blinked awake, instincts flaring as you shifted deeper into the folds, paws curling tighter against the wool. But the tug came again, more insistent this time, a soft voice filtering through the haze of sleep.

“There you are.” James’s voice, low and tender, floated to your ears, threaded with something fragile and raw. You felt the sweater shift as he lifted it just enough to peer under, glasses crooked and hair sticking up in wild tufts.

His grin was soft around the edges, but there was something tight in his eyes, a flicker of relief so sharp it nearly hurt. He lingered for a moment, just looking at you, the tension in his shoulders melting as you blinked back at him.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered, the words slipping out like a prayer. “We’ve been looking for you for hours. Had us tearing apart the common room.”

His voice called out, louder this time, cracking just slightly at the edges. “Found her!”

There was a clatter of footsteps—heavy and unrestrained—and then Sirius was there, half-collapsing to his knees beside James, hair a tangled mess and cheeks flushed as if he’d been running.

He reached out instinctively, brushing the tips of his fingers along the edge of the sweater, eyes searching yours.

“Merlin, you scared the hell out of us,” he murmured, voice rough with something unspoken. “Where did you go?”

Before you could even think to answer, Remus appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, though there was nothing casual in his gaze.

His eyes swept over you, lingering on the smallness of your form curled up in the wool, his expression softening with something that looked like understanding.

“She’s safe,” he said quietly, almost to himself, the words slipping out like he needed to hear them aloud. His gaze met yours, steady and warm. “You’re safe.”

Remus sighed, the tension in the room unraveling just slightly. “We were worried about you, dove,” he murmured, his gaze softening. “That’s all.”

You blinked up at them, heart fluttering in your chest, the warmth of their concern washing over you like sunlight after a long, cold night.

“Look at you, Flicker,” Sirius murmured as he dropped to his knees, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was approaching something fragile.

His hand reached out, palm upturned and fingers splayed, but he stopped short, leaving the space between you untouched. You flinched back instinctively, nose twitching as you burrowed deeper into the cocoon of Remus’s sweaters, wool scratching softly against your fur.

His hand remained there, suspended in the quiet, hovering with a kind of gentle hesitation. “Hey… it’s alright. We just… we missed you. That’s all.”

James didn’t move either, only settling back on his heels with that familiar steadiness, his hands resting loosely on his knees. His eyes were soft behind his glasses, crinkling at the corners with something that looked like relief.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he murmured, voice gentler than you’d ever heard it, the edges smoothed out with something raw and unspoken. “Thought you might’ve gone off to the Forest or… Merlin, anywhere, really. You scared us, darling”

You let out a small huff, the sound muffled against the layers of wool as you tucked yourself further in, turning your head away. It wasn’t enough space.

Sirius glanced at James, a silent conversation flitting between them, all raised brows and softened eyes.

For once, there wasn’t a joke on his tongue, no quick-witted quip or easy grin to smooth over the silence. His hand dropped to his lap, fingers curling against his palm as if anchoring himself.

“We’re really sorry,” he said quietly, his voice threaded with something brittle and true. “We didn’t mean to… we didn’t realize how much it hurt you.”

Your ears flicked at his words, catching the way his voice wavered, just slightly, like it was something sharp he was trying to swallow.

You peeked out from behind the fold of the sweater, just a glimpse—a glimmer of eyes and the tip of your nose—and you saw it. Guilt, raw and unhidden, stretched across his features like shadows cast long by dying light. His hands were still, fingers curled tightly, shoulders set with a kind of tension you hadn’t noticed before.

James leaned forward, voice slipping out like a whisper meant only for you.

“C’mon, Flicker. We’re right sorry. We were reckless and… we didn’t think. Let us make it right, yeah?” His eyes searched yours, unguarded and open, the usual spark of mischief replaced by something gentler, something aching at the edges.

For a moment, the room held its breath, the sunlight pooling on the floorboards, dust motes floating like stars caught in the stillness. 

You shuffled back a step, paws pressing deeper into the wool, and their faces fell just a fraction. But neither moved, neither reached again. They just stayed there, waiting, eyes locked on yours like you might disappear if they blinked.

And for a while, you just stared back, heart thrumming with the weight of their worry, their patience, the ache of knowing they were trying. But you still weren’t ready. Not yet. So you stayed nestled in the warmth of Remus’s sweaters, and they stayed beside you, watching, waiting, whispering their apologies into the quiet.

Remus shifted then, his voice threading through the stillness like a whisper of wind through leaves.

“We never wanted to scare you, you know,” he murmured, his fingers trailing absently along the edge of the sweater you were nestled beneath. His touch was careful, reverent, as if the fabric itself were something sacred.

“You mean the world to us. We’re here. You don't have to worry about losing us 'kay?” His eyes were steady on you, warm and unyielding, the kind of gaze that held promises unspoken.

James leaned forward, hands clasped loosely between his knees, and his voice slipped even lower, gentle and hushed, as though afraid the weight of his words might shatter the fragile calm.

“I hate that you’re always the one worrying,” he said, eyes tracing the curve of your form tucked away in the folds of wool. “You shouldn’t have to be. You should be the one safe. Not picking up the pieces after we get ourselves hurt.” He paused, his gaze flickering with something raw and unguarded. “We never listen, do we? Always pushing too far.”

Sirius let out a breath, the sound barely more than a sigh, vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his usual bravado. His hand hovered just above the sweater pile, fingers splayed as if he wanted to reach out but held himself back.

“We’re fools, love,” he admitted, voice rough around the edges, softened with regret. “Absolute fools. But we’re fools who care about you more than anything. More than everything.” His eyes flickered with something tender, something aching and unspoken. “I’m sorry we made you feel like you had to hide from us. That you couldn’t just... be.”

There was a pause, the kind that stretched and settled, heavy with the weight of all the things they had never said before. Sunlight pooled around them, casting long shadows and catching in their eyes, softening the harsh lines of worry etched into their faces.

Remus’s hand stilled on the edge of the sweater, James’s fingers flexed slightly where they rested, and Sirius just looked at you, gaze unyielding, waiting for you to emerge from the safety of your nest.

Sirius’s hand hovered again, the tremor in his fingers just barely visible. “When you’re ready, baby,” he whispered, voice like velvet smoothed over glass.

“We’ll be here waiting. No rush. We’re not going anywhere.” His hand lowered just an inch, palm open, patient and unhurried. “We just want our lovely girl back.”

James leaned in closer, his voice dropping to something impossibly soft, eyes searching yours with a gentleness that stole the breath from your lungs.

“I don’t want you to hide away from us,” James whispered, eyes searching yours. “Come on, baby, C’mere, promise i wont be mean ‘kay? Missed you so much”

You hesitated for a heartbeat, the world holding its breath with you. The space between you and them felt endless, stretching out like a thread waiting to be pulled taut.

But then, with the smallest of breaths, you let yourself move forward. Your paws brushed against the floor, each step feather-light and uncertain, the soft pad of them whispering against the stone. You emerged from the pile of sweaters, blinking up at them, your form tiny and fragile, wrapped in the trembling hope that maybe—just maybe—they still wanted you here.

James’s eyes found yours instantly, the shock of it flaring across his features like sunlight breaking through clouds. His gaze was wide and shimmering, softening at the edges with something achingly tender.

For a moment, he simply stared, as if he’d just found the most precious thing he’d ever lost. His hand stretched out slowly, reverent and unhurried, fingers trembling with a care that made your chest tighten.

He didn’t rush you, just waited, palm open, breath suspended. And when you stepped forward, paws settling into his waiting hands, he let out a breath that sounded like something breaking free.

Without a word, he pulled you close, gentle and slow, cradling you in his lap. You curled up instinctively, your tiny body folding into the curve of his legs like you belonged there, like you had always belonged there.

His hand smoothed over your fur, touch feather-light and deliberate, as if you might dissolve beneath his fingertips. The room seemed to tilt just a little, as if their entire world was bending toward you.

“There you are, Flicker,” he whispered, voice thick and edged with emotion, barely more than a breath. His fingers traced soothing patterns along your back, each stroke a soft, unspoken promise.

“There’s my beautiful girl. You’re safe, love.” His eyes shone with something too raw to name, his thumb brushing ever so gently over your head.

Sirius leaned forward then, gaze locked on you with a kind of wonder that bordered on reverence. His eyes were bright, almost wild, the affection there startling in its intensity. His voice was hushed, a breathless marvel. “How are you even real?” he murmured, his hand hovering just above your fur, as if afraid to touch.

“How can something this perfect exist?” His grin faltered, then stretched wider, eyes crinkling at the edges with warmth. “I swear, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Remus was quieter, his gaze softer but no less sincere. He knelt down beside them, one knee pressing into the floor as he reached out with careful fingers.

His touch was tender, reverent, tracing along your back in slow, soothing strokes. His eyes glimmered with something soft, something secret and unspoken. “You’re so small, so soft…” he murmured, voice catching on the words. “It’s almost unbearable.”

James bent his head, his lips brushing a delicate kiss to the space between your twitching ears, breath warm and steady. “You don’t have to hide anymore,” he whispered, his voice cracking just the slightest bit, a tremor of emotion slipping through.

“Not ever. Okay, baby? Don't ever hide from your boys, mhm?” His hand cradled you closer, his touch a shield, a promise that wrapped around you like a whisper of warmth.

Sirius’s grin softened into something uncontainable, a wild, unrestrained affection flaring in his eyes.

“You’re completely impossible to resist like this,” he said, voice hushed with wonder. His hand finally settled on your fur, fingers curling with a gentleness that belied his usual recklessness. “I swear, I want to squish you until you giggle.”

Remus chuckled, his voice low and tender. “Go easy on her Siri, dont want my girl running off hiding again.”

His grin faltering just slightly as if the weight of the moment had settled into his bones. “Missed you, you know,” he added, softer now, almost fragile. “Didn’t like not knowing where you were.”

James nodded, his thumb stroking over your fur with slow, careful motions. “Promise we’ll listen next time,” he whispered, voice trembling just the slightest bit. “Promise we’ll do better.”

They all leaned closer, their movements slow and unhurried, as if afraid a single breath might shatter the fragile stillness that had settled between you.

James’s hands cradled you with a tenderness that made your heart stutter, his touch as gentle as if you were spun from glass. His palms were warm beneath you, steady and sure, fingers tracing idle paths along your back like he was memorizing every soft curve and ripple of fur.

Sirius’s fingertips moved in slow, deliberate circles, each touch coaxing a ripple of delight that fluffed your fur, drawing the tiniest purr from deep within your chest. He chuckled softly, eyes bright with something fierce and unyielding, his grin tempered with a softness you rarely saw.

Remus leaned in close, his cheek brushing ever so gently against your side, the familiar scent of parchment and cedar wrapping around you like a favorite blanket. His breath was even and steady, a quiet rhythm that seemed to settle something wild and restless within you. He didn’t speak, just stayed there with his eyes closed, the faintest smile lingering on his lips as if content simply to be near you.

Their voices murmured softly around you, low and reverent, a gentle hum of affection that wrapped around your heart and squeezed. They spoke to you in tones you had only ever heard in stolen moments—private and unguarded, words dripping with adoration and relief.

You breathed in the warmth of their care and let it steady your trembling soul. Here, in the softness of James’s lap and the quiet adoration of Sirius and Remus, you were not just safe. You were loved beyond words.

[zrvllya]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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do u really want to hurt me?, nessa barrett

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james potter x reader ! one shot ⏾

in my heart, the fire’s burning

ᵎ!ᵎ enemies to lovers, sexual tension, mild violence/aggression, wand threats, physical confrontation, explicit language/swearing, mild blood mention, possessive behavior, forbidden relationship, competitive rivalry

word count [ 3,100 ]

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the tip of your wand presses into the hollow of james potter's throat, hard enough to make him swallow. his adam's apple bobs against the wood, and you watch the way his pulse jumps—not with fear, no, never with fear. james potter doesn't do fear. he does arrogance, he does recklessness, he does that infuriating fucking grin that's spreading across his face right now like he's not seconds away from being hexed into next week.

"say that again," you hiss, your voice low, venomous. "i dare you."

james' grin widens, something dangerous flickering behind his glasses. "ravenclaw's seeker's got the reaction time of a concussed kneazle," he repeats, slow, deliberate, like he's savoring every syllable. his breath ghosts across your skin, warm despite the distance you're trying to maintain. "what, you gonna deny it? saw her miss that snitch by a mile last match. even hufflepuff was laughing."

you press your wand harder until a small red mark blooms on his skin. "you're such a prick."

"yeah," he agrees, shameless, voice dropping to something that sends unwelcome shivers down your spine. "but you love it."

you don't. you don't. you hate the way his stupid, messy hair catches the sunlight, hate the way his glasses are always slightly crooked, hate the way his fucking eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. hate that he's still smiling now, even with your magic crackling at his throat. hate that you can feel the heat radiating off him, that your fingers remember the exact texture of his jersey from that one time you shoved him in the corridor and your hand lingered for a heartbeat too long.

"wink at me again," you say, voice trembling with fury, "and i'll hex your eyes out."

james doesn't blink. doesn't even hesitate. "then what are you gonna look up at when you're down on your knees, darling?"

the words hit you like a bludger to the chest. but you can't look away from james, from the way his gaze drops to your mouth for half a second before flicking back up, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. your stomach twists, something molten and forbidden pooling low.

"i hate you," you spit, but the words come out breathless, betraying you.

"liar," he says, soft, the single word wrapping around your throat like a vice.

your breath catches. something in the air shifts, crackles, like the moment before lightning strikes.

and then—

sirius' hand clamps around your wrist like a vice, yanking you back so hard you stumble. the sudden movement breaks the spell—literally, your wand jerks away from james' throat, leaving behind a faint red mark. james doesn't even flinch. just watches you with those eyes that see too much, that always have.

"what the fuck do you think you're doing?!" sirius snaps, his grip tightening. his eyes are wild, flicking between you and james like he's trying to piece together a scene that makes sense. it doesn't. none of this does. none of this ever has, not since that first day on the train when james looked at you like he'd been waiting his whole life to find you.

you wrench your arm free, glaring. "hexing your new brother," you sneer, the words tasting like acid. "since you've so carelessly replaced me and regulus."

the words land like a curse. sirius' face goes rigid, his jaw tightening. for a second, you think he might actually hex you. but then james laughs—light, easy, like he's not standing in the middle of a fucking landmine.

"mate," he says, clapping sirius on the shoulder, "relax. we were just having a chat."

"a chat?" sirius repeats, voice sharp with disbelief. "her wand at your throat isn't a chat, james.”

"it is when it's her," james says, and something in the way he says it—like it's a secret, like it's a confession—makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

"he's right," you mutter, crossing your arms to hide the way your hands have started to shake. "we were just talking."

james grins. "see? she gets me."

"oh, for fuck's sake—" sirius drags a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "you two are impossible."

"takes one to know one," you shoot back.

sirius glares at you, then at james, then back at you. "i don't know what's going on here," he says slowly, "but i swear to merlin, if this is some fucked-up, tension-filled—"

"it's not," you cut in, too fast, too defensive.

james raises an eyebrow, something knowing and wicked in his expression. "if it was?"

sirius looks like he wants to strangle both of you. "right," he says flatly. "well, if you're done trying to murder my best friend—"

"attempted murder," james corrects, and you hate the way his voice curls around the words, like they're some inside joke only the two of you share.

"—then maybe we can all walk away before someone ends up in the hospital wing."

you scoff but lower your wand. james, the bastard, winks at you again. slowly. deliberately. like a promise.

sirius groans. "i hate you both."

you don't look at james as you walk away. you don't. but you can feel his smirk, like sunlight on your skin—warm, relentless, impossible to ignore. feel his gaze burning into your back, leaving invisible fingerprints you'll never be able to wash away.

the quidditch pitch, two days later.

the roar of the crowd is deafening, a tidal wave of sound crashing over the pitch as you tighten your grip on your broom. the wind whips through your hair, sharp and biting, but you barely feel it—your blood is too hot, your focus razor-edged. across the field, james potter grins, spinning his bat in one hand like he's already won.

you hate that grin. hate that it sends liquid heat sliding down your spine, hate that you can't look away.

"black!" your captain barks. "eyes on the quaffle, not potter!"

you tear your gaze away, jaw clenched so tight it aches. it doesn't matter that james' laughter carries on the wind, bright and taunting. it doesn't matter that every time your brooms pass within inches of each other, your pulse stutters, your breath catches, your body remembers something it shouldn't. none of it matters.

because quidditch isn't about him.

madam hooch's whistle shrieks, and the game explodes into motion.

james is good.

you always knew that, of course—everyone at hogwarts knows james potter is the best chaser gryffindor's had in years. but knowing it and seeing it are two different things. he moves like he was born in the air, all reckless speed and impossible precision. when he dives, the crowd gasps. when he scores, they scream.

and when he looks at you—just once, just for a heartbeat—as he soars past, you forget how to breathe.

you don't watch. you don't care.

you steal the quaffle from a distracted gryffindor chaser and tuck it under your arm, spiraling into a sharp turn. the goalposts loom ahead, and you can already see the keeper bracing, but you don't hesitate. you feint left, then twist right at the last second, hurling the quaffle with all your strength—

a blur of red and gold slams into you.

the impact knocks the breath from your lungs, your broom lurching violently sideways. you barely manage to stay on, gripping the handle until your fingers ache. when you look up, james is right there, so close you can see the flecks of gold in his stupid, infuriating eyes. so close you can count his eyelashes, can see the sheen of sweat on his upper lip, can feel the heat of him even through your quidditch robes.

"nice try," he says, breathless, grinning. "almost had me."

for a split second, you're not sure if he's talking about the quaffle or something else entirely.

you snarl, shoving past him. "fuck you, potter."

he laughs, loud and bright, and then he's gone, streaking back toward the action. but the ghost of his touch lingers, burning through layers of fabric like a brand.

the game is brutal.

gryffindor's up by thirty when you finally get your revenge. james has the quaffle, weaving through defenders like they're standing still, but you're faster. you cut him off mid-dive, shoulder-checking him hard enough to send him veering off course. the quaffle slips from his grip—

you catch it.

the crowd erupts. you don't hear them. all you hear is the rush of blood in your ears, the pounding of your heart as you race toward the hoops. james is already recovering, already chasing you, but you're not letting him win. not this time. not ever.

the keeper lunges. you fake high, throw low.

score.

the ravenclaw stands go wild, but you don't celebrate. you just turn, meeting james' gaze across the pitch. he's not smiling anymore. his eyes are dark, hungry, fixed on you like you're the only thing that matters.

good.

the game doesn't end.

not for you. not when the quaffle is a burning weight in your hands, not when the wind screams past your ears like it's begging you to go, go, go. james is on your tail, always, always there, but you don't look back. you don't have to. you know the exact shape of his frustration in the way he swears when you fake left and barrel right, when you twist midair and hurl the quaffle through the center hoop before the keeper even blinks.

score.

200 to 80.

the stands are a blur of blue and bronze, roaring your name, but you don't stop. can't stop. not when james is breathing down your neck, not when his voice cuts through the chaos—"you're not getting past me again, black."

you laugh, sharp and breathless, adrenaline making you reckless. "watch me."

the next goal is harder. gryffindor's keeper is pissed now, eyes locked onto you like you've personally insulted his entire bloodline. doesn't matter. you feint high, drop low, and when james lunges to block you, you spin, robes snapping against the wind, and pass to your teammate at the last second. they score before gryffindor even realizes what's happening.

score.

230 to 100.

james' jaw is clenched when you fly past him, his usual smirk wiped clean off his face. it's the most satisfying thing you've ever seen. almost as satisfying as the way his eyes follow you, dark and intense, like he can't look away even if he wanted to.

you lose track of time. of everything, really, except the quaffle, the hoops, the way james' shoulders tense every time you dart out of reach. you score again. and again.

280 to 120.

the crowd is losing their minds. even the gryffindors are staring at you like you've grown a second head. you don't care. you're untouchable.

then—

a flash of gold in the corner of your vision.

the gryffindor seeker plunges, hand outstretched, and the world seems to slow. you see the snitch flutter, trapped between their fingers. hear the deafening shriek of the whistle.

150 points.

the scoreboard flickers.

280 to 270.

silence. then—

"ravenclaw wins."

and the second the whistle shrieks, james potter snaps.

his gloves hit the grass before the crowd's cheers even reach their peak. his chest heaves, not from exhaustion—no, james could fly for hours without breaking a sweat—but from something darker. something raw. his fingers curl into fists at his sides, knuckles white, trembling with the force of holding himself back.

and his eyes—merlin, his eyes.

they're locked onto you like you're the only thing left in the world— this time, in the most negative way possible. like he wants to ruin you. like he wants to take you apart piece by piece and put you back together with his hands, his mouth, his teeth.

you don't flinch. you tilt your chin up, meeting his glare with a smirk still sticky with sweat and victory. but inside, your heart is pounding so hard you think it might crack your ribs.

sirius is suddenly between you both, hands up like he's trying to ward off an explosion. "james—"

but james doesn't even look at him. doesn't even blink. his voice is low, rough, a blade dragged over gravel. "you."

one word. that's all it is. but it feels like a curse. like a confession. like a prayer.

you raise an eyebrow, fighting to keep your voice steady. "me."

for anyone else, this would be the moment james loses it. for anyone else, he'd already have them pinned to the ground, wand at their throat, voice sharp with hexes. but you? you're different. you've always been different. and that's the worst part.

he could lunge at you. could scream, could shove, could make you regret every fucking point you scored today.

but he doesn't.

because james potter is a storm held back by a single, fraying thread—and that thread is you.

his jaw works, his breath coming in sharp bursts. then, without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks off the pitch, shoulders rigid with fury.

the crowd parts for him like he's something dangerous.

maybe he is.

sirius lets out a slow whistle, glancing at you. "you're gonna be the death of him."

you watch james disappear into the locker rooms, your heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with the game. your skin feels too tight, your breath too shallow, your blood singing with something you refuse to name.

"good," you mutter.

and the second the words leave your lips—"good"—something in the air shatters— james stops dead.

his back is still to you, shoulders heaving, fingers twitching at his sides like he's physically restraining himself from turning around and ruining you. the crowd's cheers fade into white noise. the wind dies. even sirius goes unnaturally still beside you, like he's holding his breath.

then—

james turns.

slow. deliberate.

his glasses are slightly crooked from the game, his hair wilder than usual, sweat glistening at his temples. his lips are parted, his breath uneven. but his eyes—fuck, his eyes. dark with something that makes your stomach twist, your thighs press together, your breath catch in your throat.

he takes a step toward you.

then another.

and another.

until he's so close you can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, can smell the leather of his gloves, the sharp tang of broom polish, the sweat and adrenaline clinging to his skin. his gaze drops to your mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back up, and you feel the look like a physical touch.

"you think this is funny?" his voice is low. rough. barely recognizable.

you swallow, fighting to keep your voice steady. "a little."

his jaw clenches. "you think i'm joking?"

"i think," you say, your voice betraying you with a slight tremor, "you're pissed because i beat you at your own game."

a muscle feathers in his cheek. "you didn't beat me."

"ravenclaw won."

"that's not what i meant."

the words hang between you, charged, dangerous. his chest brushes yours with every ragged breath he takes, but he doesn't touch you. not yet. the anticipation is a living thing, crawling beneath your skin, making every nerve ending tingle.

you can feel it, though—the tension, the want, the way his fingers twitch like he's imagining wrapping them around your throat. or your waist. or your hair. pulling until you gasp, until you arch, until you admit what you've been denying since the first time you saw him.

"what did you mean, then?" you whisper, the words barely audible over the thunder of your pulse.

his eyes burn into yours. "you know."

"i don't."

"liar."

the accusation hits like a slap. because he's right. he's always been right. from the first day on the train, when he looked at you like he'd found something precious, something his, and you looked back like you wanted to set him on fire. you've been lying to yourself, to him, to everyone.

you open your mouth to argue, but then—

his hand snaps up, fingers tangling in the front of your quidditch robes, yanking you forward until your lips are a breath from his. his other hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing into the corner of your mouth, rough, possessive, claiming.

"this," he growls. "this is what i meant."

and then—

he kisses you.

not sweet. not gentle.

hard.

hungry.

like he's been starving for it.

like he's done pretending he doesn't want you.

your fingers curl into his jersey, clinging, as his teeth graze your bottom lip, as his tongue slides against yours, as he ruins you in front of everyone. as he claims you, marks you, takes what's been his since the beginning.

when he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged, his lips swollen, his eyes wild.

"still think it's funny?" he murmurs, his voice wrecked in a way that makes heat pool in your belly.

you're too busy trying to remember how to breathe to answer. your heart is pounding, your lips tingling, your body humming with a need so intense it's almost painful.

your fingers tighten in his jersey, yanking him back before he can pull away completely. his breath hitches—just once—before you crash your lips into his again, harder this time.

you bite his lower lip, sharp enough to make him groan, and he loses it. his hands drop to your waist, hauling you flush against him, his grip bruising. you can feel the furious pound of his heartbeat where your chest presses against his, can taste the sweat and adrenaline and anger still coiled on his tongue. can feel every hard plane of his body against yours, every place where you fit together perfectly despite years of pretending you don't.

when you finally break apart, gasping, your lips brush his as you murmur—

"this was never about quidditch, was it?"

his grip tightens, fingers digging into your hips like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. "no."

"then what was it about?"

his thumb drags over your bottom lip, smearing the blood from where your teeth caught it. his voice is wrecked, raw with a vulnerability you've never heard from him before. "you know."

you do.

you always have.