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srslyblvck · 9 months ago

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a dare too far, james potter [ Part II ]

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

synopsis: james was dared to make you fall in love with him. unknown to him, he was falling for you too. But soon the truth comes out, and you are left heartbroken.

genre: angst

warnings: mentions of y/n, heartbreak

word count: 5.5k [ a/n: what can i say, i lost track lmao ]

part I

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE DAYS FOLLOWING YOUR discovery had been a blur of pain and confusion. You had avoided James like the plague, refusing to even look in his direction. Your heart still ached, but your pride and self-respect kept you from falling apart in front of everyone.

It wasn’t long before your friends—Archie, Leonard, Autumn, and Florence—noticed something was wrong. They knew you too well, and your sudden distance from James didn’t go unnoticed. You hadn’t said a word about what had happened, but one afternoon, while you sat with them at lunch, Florence finally broke the silence.

“Y/N,” she began softly, “what happened with James?”

Your fork stilled in your hand, and for a moment, you debated lying. But the weight of it all was too much to bear alone, and with a deep breath, you told them everything. From the dare to your overheard conversation in the library, every heartbreaking detail spilt out. By the time you finished, your friends were fuming.

“He did what?” Archie’s voice was low, dangerous. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

Leonard, usually calm and rational, had gone stiff, his face a mask of barely controlled anger. “He was using you… for a stupid dare? Merlin’s beard…”

Autumn reached across the table to grasp your hand, her face a mix of empathy and fury. “That—that is despicable.”

Florence was quieter, but her steely expression said it all. She had always been protective of you, and seeing you hurt had ignited something fierce within her.

Archie was the first to stand, pushing his chair back with a sharp scrape. “Where are they?” he asked, his voice like ice. “Where’s Potter and his pack of idiots?”

You shook your head, reaching out to stop him. “Archie, please—don’t do anything. It’s not worth it.”

But Archie’s mind was made up. “Not worth it? He messed with your heart, Y/N. He hurt you. That’s more than worth it.”

Leonard and Autumn exchanged a glance, and Leonard stood as well, his usually calm face clouded with anger. “He’s not getting away with this.”

“I don’t want you to fight—” you tried again, but Archie had already turned to leave, his face set in grim determination.

“You don’t have to come,” he said, his voice softer now, though still filled with anger. “But I’m not letting this slide.”

Before you could say another word, Archie and the others were already storming out of the Great Hall, leaving you behind. A heavy sense of dread settled over you as you watched them go.

Archie didn’t need long to find them. James and his friends were walking through the hallway just outside the Great Hall, laughing about something Sirius had said, completely unaware of the storm heading their way.

Without warning, Archie charged forward, grabbing James by the front of his robes and slamming him into the stone wall with a loud thud. The sound echoed through the hallway, silencing the students nearby who had been watching.

James let out a grunt of surprise, but before he could say anything, Archie’s fist connected with his jaw in a solid punch. James staggered against the wall, his hand flying to his face as he winced in pain.

“You think you can just mess with her like that?” Archie growled, pinning James to the wall again, his face inches from his. “You think you can just play with her feelings and walk away without a scratch?”

James blinked, still reeling from the punch, but when he met Archie’s eyes, there was no deflection or defense in his gaze. There was only guilt. “Archie, wait—”

“No, you don’t get to explain!” Archie spat, shoving him harder against the wall. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to her? You broke her!”

Sirius stepped forward, his eyes flashing angrily. “Oi, get your hands off him—”

But Leonard blocked Sirius’s path, his expression dark and uncharacteristically cold. “Back off, Black. He had this coming.”

“Look, mate, we didn’t mean for it to go this far,” Sirius said, trying to reason with Leonard, though his voice lacked sincerity. “It was just a stupid joke.”

Autumn, standing beside Florence, scoffed. “A joke? You think it’s a joke to toy with someone’s feelings? You think it’s funny to break someone’s heart?”

Remus, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice soft but firm. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, Archie. James didn’t mean—”

But Archie wasn’t listening. “I don’t care what he meant! He knew what he was doing. You all did. You think you can just play with people’s lives because you’re the Marauders, huh? Because you’re so damn popular?”

James, his cheek red from the punch, swallowed hard. “Archie… I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” Archie snapped, pushing James harder against the wall. “You knew what you were doing. You used her for a dare—you made her believe she could trust you. That she could actually care about you. And you did it for what? A joke? To get Evans jealous?”

James opened his mouth, but no words came out. Guilt twisted in his gut, more painful than any punch could have been. He had no defense. No excuse.

“I didn’t mean to—” James started, but Archie cut him off, his voice growing colder.

“You did mean to. You knew exactly what you were doing. You toyed with her feelings and now you’re going to pay for it.”

James felt the weight of Archie’s words settle over him like a lead blanket. He hadn’t wanted it to go this far. He hadn’t wanted to hurt you—but that didn’t change the fact that he had.

Before the situation could escalate any further, the sharp, familiar voice of Professor McGonagall sliced through the crowd.

“Mr. Hatcher! Mr. Potter!”

Professor McGonagall strode into the hallway, her eyes blazing with fury as she took in the scene before her. James was pinned against the wall, blood trickling from the corner of his lip, Archie’s fist still clenched tightly in his robes.

“Step away from him, Mr. Hatcher,” she ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Archie hesitated for only a moment before letting go of James with a sharp shove, stepping back but not taking his eyes off him.

McGonagall’s stern gaze moved between the two boys. “Would someone care to explain what, exactly, is going on here?”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Archie’s jaw was still clenched, his fists balled at his sides, and James simply wiped the blood from his mouth, his eyes cast downward. He didn’t even try to defend himself.

Seeing that no one was going to speak, McGonagall sighed, her lips thinning into a tight line. “Very well,” she said, her voice icy. “Since neither of you seem inclined to explain, you will both serve detention. One week. Starting tomorrow.”

James nodded, knowing he deserved far worse. Archie, however, still seemed on edge, his glare burning into James even as he stepped back.

McGonagall’s expression softened, if only slightly. “Now, all of you—back to class. This nonsense is over.”

The gathered students began to disperse, and McGonagall gave one last stern look at both boys before turning and walking away, her robes billowing behind her.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Archie took a step closer to James, his voice low but dripping with contempt. “Stay away from her, Potter. If you ever come near her again, I’ll make sure that punch is the least of your worries.”

Without another word, Archie, Leonard, Autumn, and Florence walked away, leaving James standing in the hallway, bruised and guilty.

Sirius, Remus, and Peter stood in stunned silence, unsure of what to say. But James just stood there, his back still against the wall, staring after Archie as the weight of his actions pressed down on him.

He had ruined everything.

The following days were unbearable. Everywhere James went, he could feel the tension. Students whispered about him as he passed, and the disapproving stares of his classmates burned into his back. But none of that hurt more than seeing you.

You had become a ghost in his world. You still smiled softly at your friends, still went to class like normal, but you never once looked his way. It was as if he no longer existed to you. And James hated himself for it.

It took him a while, but eventually, he gathered the courage to try and make things right. He knew it wouldn’t be easy. He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness. But he had to try.

One afternoon, James found you in the library, sitting alone at one of the tables near the back. He approached slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. You were reading, your eyes scanning the page with an intensity that told him you were trying to ignore him even before he said anything.

“Y/N,” James said quietly, standing a few feet away from you.

You didn’t look up. “What do you want, James?”

He swallowed hard. “I just… I need to talk to you.”

You sighed, closing your book but still refusing to meet his eyes. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

James flinched at the coldness in your voice, but he forced himself to continue. “I know I’ve hurt you. I know I’ve messed up in a way that I’ll never be able to fix, but… I want to apologize.”

You remained silent, but your fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the book in your lap.

“I never meant for it to go this far,” he continued, his voice sincere. “It started as something stupid—something I regret more than you’ll ever know. I’ve thought about it every day since then. And I hate myself for it.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression filled with sadness and anger. “You didn’t think about how much it would hurt me, did you? You didn’t care that I might actually fall for you. That I might trust you.”

James shook his head. “I did care. I didn’t realize how much until it was too late. I’m sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to break your heart.”

James swallowed, the guilt weighing heavily on him. “I know. I’ll never be able to take back what I did, but… I want to make it right. Somehow.”

You shook your head slightly, your voice soft. “I don’t know if you can.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. James stood there, hoping for a sign, a flicker of something that would let him know he wasn’t too late. But you simply looked back down at your book, your walls firmly back in place.

James left the library that day feeling more hopeless than ever. But he wasn’t ready to give up. Over the next few days, he tried—small acts of kindness that he hoped would show you he was serious about making amends. He held doors open for you, left small notes of apology on your desk, and even helped you with your Potions homework from afar, making sure you had all the right ingredients laid out. He didn’t push. He didn’t ask for anything. He just wanted you to know he cared.

When you walked into class, your desk would be cleared of stray ink stains. A forgotten book would find its way back into your bag, or a note of apology would be slipped into your books. At first, you tried to ignore it all, but eventually, it became impossible to pretend you didn’t notice his efforts.

Despite everything, there was a part of you that still cared for James, a part of you that hated how much you missed the way things had been before the truth came out. It was that small part of you that made it harder to ignore him.

But you tried. You tried not to care. You tried to remind yourself of the hurt, the betrayal. You didn’t want to forgive him… but some days, you found yourself softening, despite everything.

James made sure to keep his distance, always careful to avoid Archie and the rest of your friends. If Archie found out that James was still trying to win back your trust, he’d make sure James regretted it. But James wasn’t doing this for anyone else anymore—not for Sirius, not for Lily. He was doing it for you, hoping that, one day, you might believe in him again.

It was a long process, and you weren’t ready to forgive him completely. But little by little, you began to see glimpses of the James Potter who wasn’t just a reckless boy trying to win a dare. He was something more than that—someone who was genuinely sorry for what he had done.

You still weren’t sure if you could ever fully trust him again. But maybe, just maybe, you could start to forgive him. One small step at a time.

It was a cool, crisp afternoon at Hogwarts, the autumn air biting softly at your skin as you climbed up the empty Quidditch stands. The Gryffindor team had finished their practice a while ago, leaving the pitch quiet, save for the rustling of leaves carried on the wind. You liked coming here after everyone had gone—there was a peace to the open sky and the vastness of the field that made everything else feel distant.

You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and settled into one of the seats, letting your eyes wander over the golden leaves scattered across the pitch. For a while, you just sat there, lost in thought, until the sound of someone clearing their throat snapped you out of your reverie.

“Mind if I sit?” James stood at the edge of the row, his broomstick in hand, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. His messy hair was windswept from practice, and there was a tentative smile on his face, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be near you.

Your heart gave a small jolt. You weren’t used to him being this hesitant around you. “Sure,” you replied softly, gesturing to the spot beside you.

He sat down carefully, leaving a bit of space between you, though the air around him still felt warm and familiar. For a few moments, the two of you sat in silence, both staring out at the empty field. The awkwardness between you was palpable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it was more like the calm after a storm, when everything is still fragile, but quiet.

“You used to come to all our games,” James said after a while, his voice low, as though he was afraid of breaking the peace.

“I still do,” you replied, not looking at him. “I just... sit further back now.”

James winced, but nodded. “Yeah, I noticed. Haven’t seen you up close in a while.”

You glanced at him then, catching the way his eyes softened as he looked out at the field. The cocky confidence he’d worn like armor for so long was missing. In its place was something quieter, more genuine.

“I don’t blame you for keeping your distance,” he continued. “I deserve it.”

You hugged your knees closer to your chest, not responding at first. There was still an ache in your heart whenever you thought about what had happened, but the anger was flickering.

“Why do you care so much now?” you asked quietly, your voice almost lost in the wind. “Why are you trying so hard?”

James turned to you, his hazel eyes full of sincerity. “Because I care about you. Really care about you. And I don’t want to be the reason you’re hurt. Not anymore.”

The openness in his voice took you by surprise. You had seen James like this before, but only in fleeting moments. Now, it felt like the bravado had peeled away, leaving someone real beneath the surface.

“You weren’t like this before,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

“I know.” James leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I thought I had to be... I don’t know, bigger than life all the time. Like I had to prove something to everyone, especially myself. I’m not proud of that. But you’ve always been real with me, and I wasn’t real with you.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the weight of betrayal as strongly. You felt a little lighter, like maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

“I’m not expecting you to forgive me all at once,” James added, his voice softer now. “But I want to show you that I can be better, for you."

You looked down at your hands, picking at the edge of your sleeve. “It’s just... hard. Trust doesn’t come back that easily, James.”

“I know,” he said, his voice a little rough. “But I’m willing to do whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and you could see how much he meant it. There was no smirk, no playful grin—just James, raw and honest. The boy who had been careless with your heart was trying to make amends, and for the first time, you felt like he truly understood the weight of what he’d done.

The wind ruffled his hair, and for a moment, you found yourself smiling softly at the familiar sight. “You’ve got ink on your face,” you said, pointing to a smudge near his temple.

James blinked, touching his face with a confused frown. “What—oh.” He chuckled lightly, his expression sheepish. “I guess I got a bit too into planning out that Transfiguration essay.”

You shook your head with a small laugh, the sound surprising both of you. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a tiny crack in the walls you’d built up.

James seemed to catch the change in your mood and his smile widened, though he didn’t press you further. He leaned back in the seat, his gaze shifting back to the field. “You ever flown before?”

“Once,” you said, shrugging. “I’m not really a fan of heights.”

James grinned, the old spark of mischief flickering in his eyes. “Well, if you ever feel like giving it another go, I’m pretty good at keeping people safe on a broom.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Silence settled between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, like an old friendship slowly knitting itself back together. You weren’t sure where things would go from here, but for now, sitting here with James felt... nice.

And maybe that was enough for today.

It had taken weeks to come to a decision. Every day, you had wrestled with the memory of what James had done, how he had played with your heart like it was a game. But, as time went on, you couldn't ignore the fact that James had been trying, truly trying, to make things right. You could see it in the way he no longer sought attention, the way he was quietly helping without expecting anything in return.

Forgiveness was hard, but holding onto anger was harder. And you were tired—tired of the pain, tired of feeling like you were carrying a weight that wouldn’t let go. So, with shaky hands and a racing heart, you left a note on James’s desk:

Meet me by the Black Lake at sunset.

You didn’t write more, unsure how you would feel when the moment came. All you knew was that you had to give him—and yourself—a chance.

When James found the note, his heart nearly stopped. He read it over and over, as if afraid it might disappear before his eyes. You wanted to meet him. His mind raced, a thousand possibilities flickering through his head—was this the moment he had been waiting for? Or was it a final goodbye?

His hands trembled as he pocketed the note, trying to calm himself. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but for the first time in weeks, a spark of hope flickered in his chest.

As sunset approached, James made his way to the Black Lake, his nerves twisting with every step. And there you were, standing by the water’s edge, your arms wrapped around yourself, lost in thought as you watched the gentle ripples on the surface.

James’s heart skipped a beat. You were beautiful in the fading light, and for a moment, he simply stood there, watching you, gathering the courage to approach.

Finally, he took a breath and stepped forward. “Y/N.”

You turned, your eyes meeting his, he could see the conflict in your gaze—the hurt that still lingered, but also the kindness that had always been part of you.

You took a deep breath, glancing out at the lake before speaking again. “I’ve been thinking a lot, James. About everything. About how much I was hurt… but also about how you’ve changed.”

James stayed silent, afraid to interrupt, afraid to break the fragile moment you were sharing.

“I’m might be angry,” you admitted, your voice steady. “But I don’t want to hold onto that forever. I don’t want to carry this weight anymore.”

James looked down, his heart heavy with the guilt of everything he had put you through. “I know I hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice thick with regret. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but… I swear, Y/N, I would do anything to fix this.”

You turned to face him fully, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know if things will ever be the same, James. But I want to try. I want to give you a chance… to prove that this isn’t just another game.”

James’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean… you’re giving me another chance?”

You nodded slowly. “Yes. But it’s not going to be easy, James. Trust takes time to rebuild.”

For a moment, James stood frozen, processing your words. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward, gently cupping your face in his hands. His touch was warm, and careful, like he was afraid you might pull away. He gazed into your eyes, his own filled with an intensity that made your heart skip.

“I swear to you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I will never, ever hurt you like that again. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I’m worth trusting. I promise.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the warmth of his hands on your cheeks grounding you as your heart fluttered in your chest. You could feel the truth in his words, the genuine regret and longing behind them. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him.

Slowly, almost instinctively, you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as the tension between you melted away. When you opened your eyes again, James was still watching you, his gaze filled with hope and affection.

For a moment, everything felt right. You were standing by the lake, the world around you peaceful and quiet, and for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to feel that flicker of warmth you had tried so hard to ignore.

But just as you thought things might finally fall into place, a voice cut through the serene air like a blade.

“What the hell is this?”

Your heart dropped as you turned to see Archie storming toward you, his face twisted in anger. He had seen you together. James dropped his hands from your face, stepping back, but Archie was already closing the distance between you.

“Y/N, get out of the way,” Archie growled, his eyes locked on James. ��I’m not letting him get away with this again.”

“You’ve got some nerve, Potter,” Archie growled, his fists clenched as he glared at James. “What did I tell you? You think you can just worm your way back into her life after what you did?”

James didn’t fight back, his hands raised in defense. “Archie, I swear, it’s not like that. I’m not trying to hurt her.”

“Not trying to hurt her?” Archie spat, his voice rising. “You’ve already done enough damage!”

“Archie, stop!” you shouted, stepping between them before Archie could throw a punch. You placed a hand on his chest, trying to push him back. “Please, just listen to me.”

Archie looked down at you, his face still twisted with anger. “Y/N, why are you defending him? After everything he did?”

“I know what he did,” you said firmly, your voice steady. “But he’s changed, Archie. He’s been trying—really trying—to make things right.”

Archie shook his head, his fists still balled. “And you believe him? After all that?”

You took a deep breath, your eyes locked on Archie’s. “Yes. I believe him. I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”

Archie’s jaw clenched, his fists still balled at his sides. “And what if you’re wrong? What if he breaks your heart all over again?”

You shook your head, your voice steady. “He won’t. I know he won’t.”

For a long moment, Archie said nothing, his chest rising and falling with deep, angry breaths. He looked between you and James, his jaw tight, clearly torn between wanting to protect you and the growing frustration of watching you forgive James.

Finally, Archie exhaled sharply, stepping back and dropping his fists. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “But if he so much as looks at you the wrong way—”

“I know,” you interrupted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’ll beat him to a pulp.”

Archie gave James one last threatening glare before turning back to you. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I will be,” you said, looking back at James, who stood there, relief flooding his features. “I will be.”

Archie sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to walk away, muttering something under his breath about "keeping an eye on Potter." As he disappeared into the distance, you turned back to James, who was still watching you with a mixture of gratitude and awe.

“Thank you,” James said softly, stepping closer to you once more. “I don’t deserve it, but thank you.”

You smiled up at him, the warmth of his presence calming the nervous flutter in your chest. “Just don’t make me regret it, Potter.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice filled with sincerity. And this time, you believed him.

It had been a few days since the Black Lake, since that quiet moment where you'd taken the first step toward forgiving James. You hadn’t fully worked through everything yet, but the weight on your chest had lightened, if only slightly. James, true to his word, had been patient. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding more than you were ready to give.

One evening, after dinner, you found yourself sitting by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, enjoying the warmth while trying to focus on your Herbology notes. You had just managed to start working through a particularly tricky chapter when a shadow fell over your table.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said softly.

You looked up and saw James standing there, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression almost shy. It was a look you were still getting used to—the quiet James, the one without the cocky grin and the easy swagger. The one who didn’t assume you’d always want to talk to him.

“Hi,” you replied, offering a small smile.

He rocked slightly on his heels, glancing around the common room before returning his gaze to you. “I was wondering if… maybe you’d like to go for a walk?”

A walk? It seemed harmless enough. And you had to admit, the idea of stepping out into the cool night air sounded appealing after being cooped up with your books for hours.

You nodded, closing your notes. “Sure.”

James blinked in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected you to say yes. But he quickly recovered, grinning in that soft, hopeful way he had started to smile recently. “Great. Let’s go.”

You followed him out of the common room, the portrait of the Fat Lady swinging closed behind you as the castle corridors opened up before you. The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, your footsteps echoing off the stone floors.

The evening was quiet, with most students settling in for the night. When you reached the castle doors, James paused, opening one of them and holding it for you. The cold air rushed in, crisp and clean, carrying the scent of grass and earth. You stepped outside, feeling the refreshing chill against your skin, and James fell into step beside you as you wandered down the path that led toward the Black Lake.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silver glow over the water. The stars twinkled like distant diamonds, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze made the night feel alive with gentle magic. It was peaceful here, under the sky, with the world around you so calm.

James cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “You know… I’ve missed this,” he said quietly, glancing over at you. “Being able to just… be with you.”

You looked at him, noticing how the moonlight softened his features. His eyes, normally so full of mischief, were now earnest, searching yours for some kind of reassurance.

“I’ve missed it too,” you admitted, surprising even yourself. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed these moments, before everything had fallen apart—when James was just a boy who made you laugh, who listened to you, who made you feel seen.

James smiled, but it wasn’t his usual grin—it was softer, more thoughtful. “I know things aren’t the same,” he said, kicking a pebble with the tip of his shoe as you both walked. “And I know I’ve got a long way to go before… before you can really trust me again. But I’m going to keep trying. Every day, I’m going to keep trying.”

There was something about the way he said it that made your heart swell—this wasn’t the cocky, arrogant James who once thought he could charm his way through life. This was the James who was willing to work for it, who understood that he had to earn your trust back, one small step at a time.

“I appreciate that,” you said softly, your gaze drifting over the calm surface of the lake. “I really do.”

For a while, you both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. It was nice—just walking together, the cool night air wrapping around you both. You weren’t sure what it was, but something about this moment felt right. Maybe you weren’t fully healed yet, but you were beginning to believe that healing was possible.

After a few more minutes of walking, James stopped, turning to face you with a look of hesitant curiosity. “Can I ask you something?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Depends what it is.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “It’s not bad, I promise. I just… I was wondering if—if maybe you’d like to come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. He had asked it so simply, without any of his usual flair. It wasn’t a demand or an assumption. It was just a question—a genuine one, filled with hope but no expectation.

“You don’t have to say yes,” James added quickly, seeing the hesitation in your eyes. “I know things are still… complicated. But I’d love to spend some time with you outside of… all this.”

You thought about it for a moment. You weren’t sure if you were ready for anything that felt like a date—not yet. But Hogsmeade was harmless, wasn’t it? A day out, something simple, something that could help rebuild the trust you were slowly finding again.

After a moment, you nodded. “Sure,”

James’ face lit up, his eyes widening in surprise. “Really?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Really.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nodded, feeling a strange flutter in your stomach. You weren’t sure what was going to happen, or where this new path with James would lead. But for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—it was worth finding out.

As you continued walking beside him, the moonlight casting gentle shadows across the path, you realized that this moment, right here, was a beginning. Not a fresh start, but a continuation—something that had been broken but was slowly, carefully, being put back together.

And maybe, just maybe, you could learn to trust James again.

One small step at a time.

#marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfic #marauders fanfiction #james potter #james fleamont potter #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #james potter x reader #james potter angst #james potter x y/n #angst #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew

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honeyslibrary · 6 months ago

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MVP | Ryan Leonard

Pairing; Ryan Leonard x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Smut, oral (M receiving), cursing, established relationship, praise kink (kinda??), not sure what else only edited once.

Summary; Post WJC smut (:

Word Count; 4.2k

Author’s note; I saw the most toe curling, deliciously hot edit of him on TikTok and long story short, yes, I do get it now. Anyways, I’m not great at writing smut (at least I don’t think) but I hope you like it nonetheless 😊 (add Ryan to the list of players I am accepting requests for!!) Love you guys. Go Canucks! -Honey

The moment he pushes open the door to your hotel room, you’re already in motion, throwing yourself off the bed, and into his arms like gravity doesn’t exist. A surprised laugh rumbles out of him, light and free, as his hands instinctively slide to grip your thighs, hoisting you up with ease. Your arms loop tightly around his neck, clinging to him like you’re afraid to let go.

“Congrats on the win, Captain,” you murmur into the curve of his neck, your lips brushing against the sweat-slick skin there. His scent is intoxicating—a mix of lingering beer, perspiration, and something distinctly him. You tilt your head back slightly to drink him in, unable to stop the smile that tugs at your lips. Even flushed from the game, his cheeks still reddened and his damp hair curling at the edges, he looks maddeningly handsome. The small bandage across his nose is starting to peel at the corners, adding a rugged charm that only makes him more irresistible.

His teeth graze at his bottom lip before his face breaks into that grin—the one that sends your heart stumbling over itself every time. “Thank you, baby,” he says, his voice rough and gravelly from hours of shouting on the ice and, you imagine, roaring victory chants with his team in the locker room after.

Before you can respond, his grin softens, and his hands tighten their grip on your legs, anchoring you to him. You lean in, your lips finding his in a kiss that’s as electric as the roaring crowd from earlier. His mouth is warm and eager, and when he nips at your lower lip, it draws a surprised gasp from you.

He takes full advantage of the opening, his tongue sliding against yours in a kiss that’s as much a celebration as it is a promise. Your heart races, but not from the thrill of watching the game—it’s the way he holds you like you're the reward, like you’re his trophy he’s fought to win. You thread your fingers into the damp strands of his hair, tugging gently, and he groans softly against your mouth, a sound that makes your stomach flutter and your knees weak—if only they weren’t already wrapped around him.

Ryan walks the two of you backward toward the bed, his lips never straying from yours. When the backs of your knees brush the edge of the mattress, he breaks the kiss, his breath coming fast and warm against your lips. His hands rest on your waist, steadying you for a moment before he guides you down. Your back meets the plush white comforter, cool and soft against your skin, and he pauses just long enough to take in the sight of you sprawled beneath him before climbing on top.

His hands are already moving, impatient and certain, as he hooks his fingers under the hem of your jersey. The fabric whispers against your skin as he lifts it over your head, leaving you in just your red lace bra and matching panties. The moment he sees you like this, his sharp inhale cuts through the silence of the room. His gaze lowers, and a mumbled curse slips from his lips. The hunger in his eyes sends a flush of heat surging through you, and you feel a surge of confidence bloom in your chest.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, like he can barely get the words out. His hands twitch like he can’t decide whether to touch or simply admire, and that hesitation makes you grin. You lean up, pressing your palms against his chest and giving him a playful shove that takes him by surprise. He falls onto his back beside you with a soft thud against the mattress, and you take your opportunity.

Sliding over, you swing your leg over his hips and settle yourself astride him, your knees bracketing his sides. His hands instinctively land on your thighs, his grip tightening slightly as he tilts his head back to look at you, a crooked smile playing on his lips. The shift in power is exhilarating, and you can feel the tension humming between the two of you, thick and electric.

“You’re too slow,” you tease, leaning down so your hair brushes against his face, your voice a soft challenge in his ear. His responding laugh is low and gravelly, but there’s a sharp edge of need in it, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “And besides, I'm perfect? MVP of the World Junior Championship? You're fucking incredible.”

His grin widens at your words, pride blooming across his face like a slow, warm sunrise. With a soft chuckle, he reaches out, gently cupping your chin, guiding you back to his lips. This kiss is different from the last—no longer rushed or urgent, but slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment, like every brush of his lips is a silent declaration of gratitude, love, and desire. His fingers thread into your hair, and you melt into the kiss, feeling the intensity simmer beneath the softness.

When you finally pull apart, your foreheads rest against one another, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. You can feel his heart pounding against yours, and it makes your own pulse quicken.

“I want your clothes off,” you whisper, the words laced with hunger.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. A flash of mischief crosses his eyes as he sits up, already tugging his shirt over his head with swift, practiced movements. The fabric barely hits the floor before his hands are on the waistband of his sweatpants, and you lift your hips slightly, just enough to help him ease them down. His sweatpants fall away, and he kicks them off with a careless flick of his foot, his gaze never leaving yours.

You lean down again, your breath hot against his skin as you press your lips to the curve of his neck. The warmth of his pulse thrums beneath your mouth, steady and strong, as you begin to trail soft kisses along the line of his jaw. Then, with a hint of provoking, you suck gently at the skin, earning a low, contented hum from Ryan. His body shifts instinctively, his head tilting to the side to give you better access, the subtle submission sending a thrill down your spine.

“No marks,” he mutters, voice low and gruff. His hand moves to your hair, fingers threading through the strands before he gives a sharp tug, pulling you off his neck. The sensation of pain and pleasure mixes together, sending a delicious shockwave through your body. Your lips part as a quiet groan escapes you, and your pulse quickens in response.

"Shut up," you grumble, the words coming out more playful than annoyed. You push your head back down, refusing to let him get the last word. Your lips graze his adams apple, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth as you feel it bob beneath your kiss. You begin a trail of open-mouthed kisses, each one wet and lingering, as you make your way lower—over the sharp line of his collarbone, down his chest, and further still. Your breath hitches as you reach the soft trail of hair below his navel, the sensation of his skin beneath your lips and the scent of him intoxicating.

Casually, your tongue slips out, tracing along the faint line of hair leading down his stomach. Each inch you cover sends a tremor through him, his body responding to even the lightest touch. You take your time, savoring the way his muscles twitch beneath your tongue as you finally reach the waistband of his boxers. Pausing for a brief second, you glance up at Ryan. His right arm is draped over his eyes, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, while his teeth sink into his bottom lip in a futile attempt to suppress the sound building in his throat.

The sight of him like this—vulnerable, barely holding on—always makes something inside you flare with satisfaction. You tear your gaze away, your fingers slipping under the elastic of his boxers, feeling the soft fabric between your fingertips. Slowly, you begin to tug them down his hips. The air is thick with tension as you pull the boxers off his legs, letting them drop unceremoniously to the floor.

His cock springs free, hard and heavy against his stomach, the tip flushed red and glistening with the slick sheen of pre-cum. The sight alone makes your mouth water. Without a second thought, you wrap your hand around him, your fingers curling firmly but gently around his shaft. His body jerks at the sudden contact, and Ryan hisses, his breath catching in his throat as his arm falls away from his eyes, revealing a look of barely-contained desire etched across his face.

You can feel him throb in your hand, his warmth and the slickness beneath your palm igniting a fire low in your belly. After smearing the pre-cum with your thumb, spreading it across his sensitive tip, your hand starts to stroke him—teasing, just enough to drive him crazy. Ryan lets out a quiet, breathless curse under his breath, his chest heaving slightly as he tries to keep control. You feel his cock twitch in your hand, the way his hips subtly shift, his body silently begging for more.

Shifting your position, you settle in comfortably, then you lean down and give the head of his cock a few kitten licks—barely there, each one light and playful. The taste of him hits your tongue, salty and raw, and you hum softly in approval, the sound vibrating in the back of your throat.

Ryan’s reaction is immediate, his breath hitching, his hand reaching down instinctively to rest in your hair, fingers curling as if he can barely contain himself. You pause, looking up at him through your lashes, and you see the strain on his face—the tension in his jaw, the way his lips part as if he's about to say something but stops himself, lost in the sensation.

“I’m so proud of you,” you tell him, your voice filled with sincerity, every word laced with an intensity that seems to hang in the air between you.

You catch his gaze, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The raw emotion in your words cuts through the haze of lust, anchoring the moment in something deeper. His eyes soften as he looks down at you, his body still humming with desire but now layered with something warmer, more intimate.

"Yeah?" he asks, his voice cracking, the words escaping in a strangled moan. You feel the hand resting on the back of your head tighten just slightly, his fingers threading deeper into your hair, pulling you closer in a gentle but urgent plea. There’s a desperation in his tone, one that sends another shiver down your spine.

You nod, meeting his gaze. "Let me show you how much."

Before he can say anything else, you lower your head, your lips parting as you take him into your mouth. The moment his cock slides past your lips, feeling the warmth and wetness of your tongue, Ryan lets out a deep, guttural groan that seems to tear from his chest. His hips jerk involuntarily, and his breath catches in his throat as his eyes squeeze shut, brows knitting together.

The weight of him fills your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses as you slowly take him deeper, your tongue teasing along the underside of his shaft. You pull off him with a wet pop, the sudden release of pressure causing his body to jolt. You take a moment to have a deep breath, your lips tingling as you inhale deeply. The moment is brief, though, and soon you're lowering your head again, taking his cock back into your mouth with purpose. Your lips stretch around him, sliding down his shaft, your hand working the base in rhythm with the bobbing of your head.

Ryan’s response is immediate. “Fuck...” The word is barely more than a groan, raw and breathless, escaping from deep in his throat. His reaction spurs something in you, a surge of heat, and a moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. The sound vibrates around his cock, and the sensation makes him shudder, his hips twitching in response.

His hand in your hair tightens reflexively, pushing you further down onto him, urging you to take more. The sudden pressure forces you down until you can feel him hitting the back of your throat, a gag escaping your lips at the contact. But you don’t pull away. You brace yourself, your throat tightening around him as you take him as deep as you can manage, pushing through the discomfort and finding a rhythm.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and the sight of him sends another wave of desire coursing through you. His head is thrown back, buried into the pillow, his lips parted in a silent gasp, eyes squeezed shut as if he's completely lost in the pleasure. Every muscle in his body is tense, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as he tries to hold on. The sight of him unraveled like this—his control slipping—you'll never get enough of it.

Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, your lashes wet and glistening, but you don’t stop. The intensity of it, the feeling of him filling your mouth, the way his body trembles beneath you—it all drives you to keep going.

Your other hand drifts down between his legs, gently cupping and fondling his balls as your head continues to bob up and down, taking him as deeply as you can manage. His grip tightens in your hair, guiding you, and you let him take control, surrendering to the rhythm he sets. His hips start to move in sync with your mouth, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge.

But that control only lasts a few minutes before you feel his body tense even more, and suddenly, he’s pulling you off him with a frantic urgency, his cock slipping from your lips as you gasp for air. The suddenness of it leaves you blinking up at him, your brow furrowed in confusion.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice a little breathless. You swipe your tongue across your lips, tasting the salty mixture of his pre-cum and your own saliva, the taste lingering on your tongue as you watch him, still panting.

Without waiting for a response, you start to crawl toward him, but Ryan’s hands are already at your waist, gripping you tightly. With surprising strength, he pushes you back, rolling you onto your back as your body sinks into the sheets.

“Wanna cum inside you,” he growls, the words rough and simple but dripping with need. There’s no hesitation in his actions, his fingers finding the waistband of your panties. He gives one sharp tug, the fabric tearing with a satisfying rip, leaving you bare and exposed beneath him.

A small gasp escapes your lips at the suddenness of it. “I liked that pair,” you murmur, not entirely serious, half breathless, the remnants of arousal and anticipation curling through your words.

“I’ll buy you more,” he replies, his voice low and hoarse, his breath fanning over your skin. There’s a hunger in his movements as he pushes your thighs apart, settling between your legs.

Ryan doesn’t waste any more time. With one hand gripping the base of his cock, he lines himself up with your entrance, the head of his length teasing against your slick folds for a brief moment. Then, slowly, he pushes into you, the stretch of him making you gasp as he fills you inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming, your body adjusting to the fullness of him, and you let out a soft moan as your back arches instinctively.

His eyes never leave yours as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Once he's fully inside you, Ryan stills for a moment, savoring the sensation of being enveloped by you. His eyes flutter closed as he feels you clench around him, the warmth and tightness making him let out a small groan.

His hands shift from the mattress, where they had been supporting his weight, to grasp the headboard behind you. His fingers tighten around the wood, knuckles white with the force of his grip. He pulls his hips back slowly, dragging himself out of you inch by inch, only to thrust back in with deliberate force. The motion pulls a gasp from your lips, your back arching as he fills you once again.

He starts slow, his movements steady and controlled, establishing a rhythm that has you both teetering on the edge of anticipation. Each thrust sends a ripple of pleasure through you, building steadily with each stroke. Your bodies move in sync, the heat between you rising as the room fills with the sound of your shared breaths and the soft creaking of the bed. Bit by bit, his pace begins to increase, the rhythm deepening, faster, harder. The bed shakes beneath you, clinking against the wall with each snap of his hips, but you can barely focus on anything else except the way he feels inside you, the way he drives you higher and higher with each thrust.

The noise from the headboard pounding against the wall would normally make you worry about disturbing the neighboring hotel room, but right now, all you can think about is the overwhelming pleasure that’s overtaking every part of your body. Each thrust drives you closer to the edge, and a wave of heat pools low in your belly.

One of Ryan’s hands moves from the headboard to your abdomen. He applies the slightest pressure, his palm pressing down with enough force to make you feel him even deeper, and it pulls a long, strangled moan from your lips. The sensation of him inside you, coupled with the weight of his hand pressing on your stomach, makes your head spin. The pleasure borders on overwhelming, your body trembling beneath him as you gasp for breath.

Ryan’s lips curl into a grin at your reaction, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He doesn’t let up, his thrusts remaining relentless, the headboard rattling with every movement. “Mhm,” he hums, the sound deep and low in his throat. He presses his hand a little harder against your abdomen, watching you carefully as he drives himself into you again. “Feels good, huh baby?”

You can barely think, let alone form coherent words. Your body reacts on instinct, nodding frantically as your hands clutch at the sheets beneath you, your breath coming in ragged bursts. “Feels—fuck, feels so good, Ryan,” you gasp, your voice breaking on the words as the pleasure courses through you, hot and intense.

Your legs wrap around his waist, locking him in place as he thrusts into you, his body falling into yours. The heat of his bare chest against yours sends a fresh wave of pleasure rippling through you, and you feel him shift, adjusting his angle just slightly. The new position hits a deeper spot, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Ryan moans, the sound vibrating against your neck as he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

“No one else can make you feel this good. Tell me,” he gasps, his lips grazing your neck as he speaks, each word filled with raw intensity. His hips snap forward again, making your breath hitch in your throat.

You want to respond, but the words dissolve into a moan, your body too overwhelmed to form any sentence. Your nails dig into his back, clinging to him as he continues to drive into you with steady, purposeful thrusts.

Ryan groans in frustration, his breath ragged as his lips press harder against your neck. “Tell me, baby, please,” he begs, his voice thick with need, every word dripping with desperation. You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tremble as he pushes himself to give you everything.

“N-no one, Ryan,” you manage to choke out between gasps as you feel another wave of pleasure threaten to crash over you.

A grin tugs at the corners of his lips, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “That’s right,” he murmurs against your skin. “No one else can even come close.” He thrusts harder, his pace increasing, and you can feel his body vibrating with pride, with the need to prove it to you again and again.

“H-How could they?” you manage to whisper, the words tumbling out between moans. “Captain of Team USA. MVP of the World Juniors…” Your voice shakes with a mixture of awe and desire, the weight of his accomplishments sinking into the space between you.

Ryan groans at your words, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as his pace quickens. His fingers tighten on your hips, grinding deeper into you as if he’s feeding off your praise. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough and needy.

You bite your lip, barely able to form words through the haze of pleasure. “You’re the best, Ryan. No one else—no one else even comes close.” Your back arches as he hits a new angle, sending a jolt of pleasure through you that makes you gasp. “...Fuck, no one could ever make me feel like this,” you moan, your voice trembling with honesty.

His thrusts become almost frantic now, every word you say driving him harder. His mouth crashes down onto yours, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you, his body slick with sweat as he pushes you closer to the edge. Every thrust feels like a declaration, a reminder of who he is—not just the best on the ice, but the best at making you fall apart beneath him.

“I love you so much,” you murmur against his lips, your voice trembling, barely able to hold steady in the moment.

Your confession seems to break something inside him. Ryan’s breath hitches sharply, his body tensing as he teeters on the edge of release. His eyes squeeze shut, and a small, broken whimper escapes his lips as he finally loses control, his release hitting him hard. With a deep, guttural groan, he pushes into you one last time, his body shaking as he spills inside you. The sensation of him coming undone makes your own body quiver in response, your fingers digging into his back as he rides out the waves of his climax.

But he doesn’t stop there. His hips keep moving, thrusting faster, harder, as he tries to prolong the feeling, fucking through the overwhelming pleasure of his orgasm. The intensity of it all—his release, the way his body grinds into yours—sends you spiraling toward the edge. Your breathing quickens, every nerve in your body alight with sensation as he pushes you closer, each thrust driving you higher.

Your vision blurs, the pleasure becoming almost too much to bear, and then suddenly, it crashes over you. Your back arches off the bed, and a strangled moan of his name rips from your throat, your entire body shaking as you fall apart beneath him. The way his name slips from your lips feels like a prayer, desperate and raw, as you reach your high, the intensity of your orgasm sweeping through you like a tidal wave.

Ryan’s grip on you tightens, his forehead pressed against yours as he watches you come undone beneath him. His breaths are ragged, mingling with your own, both of you lost in the shared ecstasy.

Slowly, his movements begin to still, his body heavy with exhaustion as he collapses against you, both of you spent and breathless. Your heart pounds in your chest, matching the rhythm of his as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a soft, lingering kiss.

"Shit, that was so good," he rasps, his voice low and breathless, still coming down from the intensity of it all. His chest rises and falls heavily against yours, both of you wrapped in the haze of post-orgasm bliss.

A dazed chuckle escapes your lips as you catch your breath. "Who do you think was the MVP of what just happened?" You tease.

Ryan lets out a soft laugh, his chest vibrating against yours with the sound. He leans up on his forearms, lifting his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes twinkling with amusement and lingering affection. His grin broadens as he looks down at you, his expression softening as he takes you in.

"Oh. You," he says with a chuckle, his voice laced with certainty as he leans down to capture your lips again. "No question."

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