#regulus thinks james is replacing him

[stonnedparrott]

Yk the song from Mufasa that's like "I always wanted a broTHHa, what did you say about my broTHHa"

Ya I'm gonna need about a million edits to that about Sirius to Regulus/James

[lilywalkers]

every time someone makes sirius accuse james of being a “brotherfucker” an angel dies

[milunalupin]

— little things

james potter x animagus!reader ★ 1k words

It started with an accident.

James Potter was never one to shy away from chaos, but this time, it wasn’t his fault—well, not entirely. He had been talking with Sirius about sneaking into the library undetected when out of nowhere, a small, furry creature darted across the corridor.

“Did you see that?” James whispered, his attention caught immediately.

Sirius squinted. “A rat, maybe?”

“No, it’s too… fluffy,” James muttered, leaning down to get a better look. Sure enough, it wasn’t just any animal—it was a rabbit, hopping quickly along the stone floor as if it had a destination. Sure, curiosity killed the cat, but James and Sirius were far from felines, so they followed it without thinking.

The rabbit led them into an empty classroom, and for a moment, they lost track of it. That is, until it suddenly stopped and turned around, staring at him with wide, bright eyes.

And then, with a soft pop, the rabbit transformed.

"Why are you following me?" came the voice, sharp and tinged with a hint of annoyance.

James stood frozen, jaw slightly agape, utterly certain that he was hallucinating. But there you were, standing in front of him, disheveled, a little out of breath, and looking entirely unamused.

You were a Slytherin—one the boys knew vaguely, a classmate who didn’t exactly run in their crowd. You were known to hang around Regulus Black and Narcissa Malfoy. Though not particularly close, James was well aware of you—always quiet and mysterious.

You ran a hand through your hair, clearly trying to look unbothered. “That was… not supposed to happen.”

"My own cousin, a fluffy little bunny?" Sirius snorted, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Just because Druella took me in, does not make me your cousin." you scoffed, stepping closer. “Look, I’m not exactly ready to broadcast it, alright? No need to make a big deal of it.”

Sirius grinned, suddenly leaning in with that mischievous glint in his eyes. “But I love making a big deal of things.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “So I've heard.”

You took a deep breath, trying to center yourself as you stared at the two Marauders, both of them still grinning in a way that made it hard to take them seriously.

James just stood there, still blinking as if he was trying to fully process what had just happened. “I mean, honestly… a rabbit?”

You shot him a glance, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I had a choice in the matter.”

James opened his mouth, but you raised a hand to stop him. “I’m serious. I didn’t mean for you two to find out. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Sirius chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as he looked at you with that same mischievous grin. “And what exactly were you planning, then? A big reveal? Dramatic entrance? ‘Hey, look at me, I can turn into a rabbit!'"

“It’s not a party trick, Sirius.” You huffed, crossing your arms as you leaned against the wall.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, his earlier teasing tone now replaced by a more genuine curiosity. “So, you’re really just doing this for yourself? You’re not planning some grand scheme to rule Hogwarts with your rabbit powers? Actually, that explains why I saw a rabbit around the dungeons the other night. Thought I was going mad.”

You gave him a dry look. “You probably were.”

James scratched his chin thoughtfully, clearly trying to digest everything. “So, this whole time, you’ve been hopping around Hogwarts as a rabbit?”

A heavy silence settled in the room, the kind that seemed to stretch on forever as James and Sirius exchanged glances. It wasn’t that they were angry, but there was that unmistakable air of mischief in the air, the kind that made you feel like you’d just inadvertently opened a door to a whole new world.

Finally, Sirius broke the quiet with a wide grin. “You know, this is brilliant.”

You blinked, clearly not expecting that response. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, think about it. You’ve got a secret power no one knows about. You could really have some fun with this.” Sirius' grin only widened, as though he could already see a thousand new pranks unfolding in his mind.

You crossed your arms again, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “This isn’t about pranks. The fewer people know, the better.”

James tilted his head, still absorbing the situation. "But come on, imagine the possibilities. You're basically a ghost, but in a rabbit form. You could slip into places, overhear things, see things no one else could. You could have fun with this."

You shot him a look, your expression hardening. "I don't need your encouragement to act like a clown, Potter."

Sirius leaned in closer, clearly undeterred. “But that’s the thing—you don’t have to act like a clown. We could be—”

“Stop,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You two seriously have no sense of boundaries, do you?”

Sirius threw his hands up dramatically. “Nope. Boundaries are for people who don’t know how to have fun.”

You stared at them for a moment, wondering how you always ended up in these situations. Part of you regretted your lack of a solid exit strategy—though, to be fair, this was the first time you’d ever found yourself transforming in front of anyone.

James let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “You know,” he mused, slipping his hands into his pockets, “I always knew Slytherins had their secrets, but I never expected one quite this... adorable.”

You groaned. “Don’t start.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, but James only grinned wider. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said innocently. Then, as you turned to leave, he added, “But something tells me this won’t be the last time we catch you hopping into trouble.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. “Try it again, Potter, and you might find yourself hexed.”

James simply smirked. “Worth the risk.”

[my-castles-crumbling]

use - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 315

"Hey, James?" Sirius asked lightly, stretching out on the couch he was lying on and resting his legs on Remus's lap. "Can I borrow the Invisibility Cloak tonight? Moony and I are going to go on an adventure, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing Remus to roll his eyes. Regulus, who was sitting on an armchair nearby, snorted.

James, however, didn't laugh as he usually would have. "Erm...I was actually going to use it tonight," he murmured from the floor, looking quite embarrassed.

Startled, Sirius sat up, swinging his legs off of Remus and glaring in alarm. "Why?" he asked suspiciously. "Are you finally going to get back at me for that prank with the screaming toilets? Or-" he gasped, bringing his hand to his heart and looking heartbroken, "-have you found a new pranking partner? Prongs, why? What did I ever do to you? Am I not good enough? Have you replaced me?"

James looked at Sirius with a completely conflicted expression on his red face. "No, Sirius, I-"

"Years, Prongs! We've been pranking together for years!" Sirius said loudly, on a roll, now. Lily and Peter glared at him from across the room as they played a game of chess. Marlene and Alice looked up from their homework to listen in. "How can you throw this all away?"

"Sirius, I-"

"Who is he, then? Who do you think is better than me?" Sirius demanded, glaring down at James, who began to stutter. "Who?"

Regulus decided to put James out of his misery. "He's using the Cloak to sneak to my dorm and have a proper snog, since you always manage to interrupt us when I come here. Alright?"

Sirius froze, mouth popping open, before his face twisted in disgust. "I did not need to know that."

Remus and Regulus both just chuckled, while James sighed with relief.

[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.

[maraudering-times]

25 days of Jegumas - Day 13: Party - 584 words - @noblehouseofgay

James frantically knocks on the door in front of him. He knows for a fact that Sirius is home at the moment, but after five minutes of insistent knocking, he still hasn’t answered. James groans and digs around in his pocket to pull out his key ring. Sorting through them, he finds the one that belongs to Sirius and Remus’s apartment. 

He unlocks the door and pushes in, not even stopping to toe off his shoes. He waves distractedly at Regulus who’s sitting in the living room curled up in the window seat with headphones on and a book in his lap. James is a man on a mission heading towards the older Black brother’s bedroom. With a perfunctory knock, James enters the bedroom and promptly backs out, slamming the door behind him with a rushed squeak, “Fuck, sorry,” followed by Remus’s groan and Sirius’s yelling, “Seriously, James?!”

James backpedals to the living room and collapses onto the bench seat next to Regulus, his face scarlet red. 

“You didn’t knock, did you?” Regulus asks, pushing aside one of the earphone muffs. 

“I did.” 

“Did you wait?”

“...”

Regulus snorts. “Thought so. You’d think you would’ve learned by now, Potter.”

James ignores him. At that moment, Sirius comes storming into the room tying his robe, Remus not far behind in only a pair of sweatpants. “What the hell, James.”

“Sorry,” he says meekly. 

Remus sighs and sits on the couch perpendicular to him. “What’s up, man?”

James clears his throat and finally looks at his best friend. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, alright.”

“Okay, so. Dad is making me go to the company Christmas party this year and I need a date.”

“And you want to take me?” Sirius asks. Next to James Regulus replaces his headphones and returns to his book when he nods.

“Yeah.”

“Mate,” Sirius sighs. He sits next to Remus. “When is it?”

James bites his lip and hesitantly says, “Tonight.”

Both Remus and Sirius facepalm and shake their heads. “You’re only coming to me about this now?” Sirius asks.

“I forgot!” James stands and starts to pace. “He told me about it three weeks ago and I got so busy that I forgot.”

“Can’t you just go stag?” Remus suggests.

“I told my parents I’d take someone,” James whines.

“And I’m your last resort?”

James stops in front of Sirius. “No, yes, I don’t know. Just, will you go with me?”

“I would, you know I would, but Remus and I–”

“You have plans,” James concludes.

They nod in unison. James groans and turns his head up to the ceiling. “Fuck.” He runs a hand down his face and sighs. “Okay. That’s fine. I’ll just tell them my date changed their mind.”

“That’s lame,” Regulus says while still reading his book.

James turns to him. “Well what do you suggest I do?”

Regulus places his bookmark between the pages and fully removes his headphones. “What time is it?”

James blinks at him confused and says, “Eight.”

The younger Black nods and stands, “Come back here at seven.” He makes his way to the hallway and his bedroom but pauses when James calls out to him.

“Wait. You’ll go with me?”

Without turning around, Regulus simply says, “See you at seven,” and disappears around the corner. James blinks at the space he occupied and turns to look at his two friends. They both shrug at him and stand, returning to their room.

[lovecoatedwords]

Team owned

before I say anything else, this post is strictly 18+

a/n: okay yall. This is my first time posting smut…I hope you enjoy this. And please please tell me if you have any suggestions on how to improve! P.s I used Grammarly to check my spellings!

T.W: smut18+, clothes sex, jersey sex, praise, degradation, possessive, and finally aftercare.

: Regulus Black x James Potter x Reader!!!

You really shouldn’t have shown them the jersey. You thought it was cute. Thought it would make them smirk. Instead, it made them feral.

Half Gryffindor red, half Slytherin green. “Potter” stitched across one shoulder. “Black” across the other. Their old Quidditch numbers stitched onto your back in messy, overlapping gold and silver.

You wore nothing under it. Just panties, which were already damp when James’s eyes locked on you from across the room.

“What the fuck is that?” His voice was too calm.

Regulus was quieter. But his gaze cut. “You stitched our names on yourself like a good little badge bunny?”

You opened your mouth to speak—nervous, maybe—but then James was already crossing the room.

“You’re wearing this like you belong to us.” His hand slid under the jersey, palm warm against your bare stomach. “That what you meant, sweetheart?”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively. “I—I just thought it’d be—”

“Cute?” Regulus interrupted. He was right behind you now. You could feel the cool brush of his rings grazing the back of your thigh. “You wanted attention.”

You nodded, breath catching. James’s grip tightened on your hips. “You’ve got it.”

They didn’t even bother undressing you. Didn’t let you take it off. Didn’t want to. You were their toy in that jersey. Their little thing who sewed herself into ownership like a walking confession. And they were going to fuck you in it until your legs gave out.

James bent you over the bed first, face pressed into the mattress. Regulus gripped your arms behind your back while James pulled your panties down.

“So wet just from that?” James laughed, fingers slicking through your folds. “Just from putting on our names?”

You whimpered when he slid two fingers inside you without warning. Your cunt clenched around them, body already on edge.

“You know what this means, yeah?” Regulus murmured at your ear. “You’re claiming us. So now we get to claim you.”

You were nodding again, barely holding yourself up as James fingered you open and Regulus leaned over your back, dragging his teeth along your spine through the thin fabric of the jersey.

Then James was pushing in.

Big, thick, and fas , One hand fisting the hem of the jersey, the other anchoring your hip as he rammed into you like he had something to prove. Like he had to fuck his name deeper inside you than any needle ever could.

“You look so fucking good in this,” he growled, thrusts pounding the air from your lungs. “Like you’re built to be split open by us.”

Regulus was palming himself through his trousers, eyes locked on where James was buried inside you, jersey riding up just enough to expose the way your ass rippled with every thrust.

“She’s drooling,” Regulus noted, voice flat but hungry. “Fuck her mouth, Potter.”

James growled and pulled out abruptly, flipping you over. Your legs spread automatically, and the jersey slipped off one shoulder, exposing more skin, more surrender.

Regulus replaced him between your legs before you could beg for it—because you would’ve. He didn’t even say a word as he pushed in, just hissed through his teeth at the tight heat of your cunt.

James shoved his cock between your lips at the same time. “C’mon, sweetheart. Be a good little mascot.”

Your moan was muffled by his cock but they heard it. They always did.

Regulus was slow at first—cruelly so. Deep, grinding thrusts while James used your throat with reckless rhythm. Your tears were mixing with spit, soaking your chin, but you took it.

“You think this jersey’s cute?” Regulus panted, now gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise. “Wait till we stain it with cum. Then it’ll really mean something.”

James groaned above you. “She’ll wear it tomorrow too. Walk around the house still dripping from us.”

You moaned desperately around his cock, body shaking.

Regulus grunted as he slammed into you harder. “That what you want, doll? Want us to ruin this little thing you stitched together like a good, obsessed girl?”

You nodded.

James came first. Down your throat. With a loud groan and hand tangled in your hair. You swallowed because you knew better, and Regulus rewarded you for it by shifting his angle and fucking up into you harder, one hand gripping your throat.

“You earned this, sweetheart. Squeeze me like that again,” he growled, fucking you into the mattress.

Your orgasm tore through you like lightning. Loud. Wet. Shamefully quick.

He didn’t slow. Didn’t let you ride it out. Just chased his own high while your overstimulated body writhed beneath him.

When he came, he stayed buried deep, one hand pressed flat to your stomach, as if to keep it inside.

You lay there gasping, the jersey half stuck to your sweaty skin, their cum inside you, on your tongue, soaking your thighs.

James was the first to speak again.

“Better not wash it.”

Regulus chuckled darkly. “She won’t. Not after what we’ve done to it.”

The room was quiet now. The kind of quiet that only came after your body had been wrung out, used completely, every nerve buzzing like it had been rewired to respond only to them.

You were somewhere between sleep and haze—jersey bunched up under your ribs, your thighs damp and trembling, breath still catching every few seconds like your lungs were trying to remember how to work.

James was the first to move.

He was always the first when it came to softness.

He kissed your forehead before slipping out of bed, muttering something about warm water and cloths. The bed shifted as he left, but the second it did, Regulus wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his chest.

His body was solid. Cold hands warm now where they rested low on your spine.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice so much softer than it had been minutes ago. He tucked your hair behind your ear with careful fingers. “Too much?”

You blinked slowly. “Was perfect.”

Regulus pressed a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw. “You’re perfect,” he corrected, and it didn’t sound like a throwaway compliment. It sounded like truth.

When James returned, he knelt beside the bed and started cleaning between your thighs with the gentlest touch—slow swipes of a warm cloth, whispered praises with every shiver and twitch your body gave.

“Still so sensitive, sweetheart.” His eyes met yours and softened. “You took us so well.”

You couldn’t help the small smile on your lips—weak, but real.

James climbed back into bed once you were clean, slipping under the sheets beside you and pulling your body fully onto his chest. Regulus stayed at your back, warm and quiet, his arm draped over both of you like he had no plans to let go.

“You were so pretty in that jersey,” James whispered into your hair. “So good for us. Letting us use you like that.”

Regulus’s hand found yours under the covers. “Next time, I want to watch you stitch our names on something else. Maybe your collar.”

You huffed out a soft laugh, exhausted but glowing.

They held you like they hadn’t just ruined you—like you were delicate and precious and theirs.

And when you finally fell asleep, it was to the sound of James’s heartbeat under your ear, Regulus’s steady breathing against your neck, and the weight of their arms around you like an unspoken promise:

You’re safe. You’re loved. You’re ours.

A/n: hello again! I really hope you liked that! Please send in any about requests (or others) I wanna write so bad!!

[imagineiwrotesomethingwell]

Cold

Jegulus drabble. wc: 1389

It’s cold here. James is warm, but the room is cold, so Regulus doesn’t want to move. He just tucks his head under James’ chin, breathing in their scent with a dreamy sigh. It smells like it rained last night, too, which explains the cold, because Merlin knows neither him nor James remembered to close the window. 

“Papa,” a little voice says, and Reg sighs, lifting his head from his husband’s shoulder.

“Harry, come here,” he says quietly, lifting the blanket for the little boy to climb into. He giggles as he does, little hands clenching in the sheets as he pulls himself up under the comforter. He snuggles right up between his two dads, his head replacing Reg’s spot under James’ jaw. Regulus doesn’t mind, though, because now he can bury his face in Harry’s curls.

Harry smells like sunshine and milk and honey, which Regulus always thought was strange. He’s a kid; shouldn’t he smell like glue and mud and diapers? He’s meant to be sticky and smelly and weird. But no. The little one always smells like sweet things, safety and comfort, just like his dad. James always smells like wood and cinnamon and vanilla, and there’s nothing Reggie loves more than holding his son and his husband at once, breathing them in and feeling them. Here and real and loved and safe and warm. 

Harry’s already asleep again, his chubby brown hands fisted in Regulus’ shirt. His lips are parted in a soft ‘o’ as he snores, the perfect picture of beautiful innocence. James is drooling into their own curls as they snore, their glasses discarded beside their pillow, because god forbid they take their glasses off before they fall asleep. 

So Regulus just watches.

He props his head on his hand and his elbow on his pillow, staring down at the two people he loves most in the world. The sun is painting their skin gold and their curls seem to glow against their pillows, and Reg knows that when one of them opens their eyes, those’ll glow, too, turning that honeyed shade that takes his breath away every time he sees it. And as he watches them sleep, occasionally brushing his fingers through Harry or James’ curls, he thinks.

He thinks about Hogwarts, when he’d accidentally ran into James as he rushed off the train because he was chasing Barty. He thinks about James’ outstretched hand, their dazzling smile as they asked if he was okay as they pulled him off the damp cobblestone. He thinks about Barty and Evan teasing him mercilessly in the dorm because someone had said the words “James Potter” at dinner and Reg had blushed.

He thinks about the first time they ever kissed, when Reg was in 4th year and James was in 5th, when Reg had caught a snitch and utterly destroyed Gryffindor, but James had gay panicked too much to care and had grabbed Regulus by the waist the second they’d hit the ground. He thinks about how their lips tasted, about the way he’d melted so perfectly against them, how he’d never kissed anyone before that and he didn’t know what he was doing, but James didn’t seem to care. He thinks about their goofy grin when they pulled away, how they’d pecked his nose before running off to join the rest of the Gryffindor and get cleaned up. He thinks about how he’d found them again after dinner and crashed his lips to theirs, just kissing them as he kept his back against a wall so his knees wouldn’t give out, about how they never really stopped kissing after that.

He thinks about when James proposed, the day Regulus had graduated Hogwarts. In front of Sirius and his parents and everyone they’d ever known, James had gotten down on one knee and asked Regulus to marry them, to make them the happiest man alive. He thinks about how he’d cried and held James tighter than he thought he ever could, just whispering, “yes, I love you, I love you, yes,” over and over again for Merlin knows how long. He thinks about the wedding, small and kind and gentle, filled with the people who loved them and 80s punk rock, courtesy of Sirius and Remus deejaying. 

He thinks about the times when he and James had danced in the rain, stopped on drives to collect flowers from the side of the road, about the countless times they’d woken up tangled together. He thinks about the way James had sobbed when Lily had shown up with a sign that said, “your baby on board!” after their first try with implanted embryos. Regulus had cried, too, of course, but he liked to remember the look on James’ face when they realized they were about to be a father.

He thinks about the nights spent pouring over baby books when Lily was pregnant with Harry. He thinks about his brother crying when he and Remus had met Harry for the first time, holding and rocking him and telling him stories he’d repeat a thousand more times before Harry remembered any of them. He thinks about Remus sitting on the bed by Lily for hours as she recovered, how they’d all camped in her room for as long as the hospital would let them to talk and be there for her and Harry as she recovered from labor and he recovered from being born (such a horrific practice, from what Reg saw). 

He thinks about the childhood he never had, about how grateful he is to give Harry this comfort, this safety he never had. About how Harry’s never acted afraid of him, or of James, how he’s always said he loved them before bed and how he’s always been comfortable with hugs and cuddles. He thinks about how incredible it is to be a father, to be in charge of a whole human, to just exist in the same time as this exquisite creature who called him Papa.

He thinks a lot. Too much, probably. Because he almost doesn’t notice when James’ eyes flutter open, eyes gold in the morning sun. They smile gently, their eyes locking onto Regulus’.

“You’re so beautiful,” Regulus whispers, leaning forward to kiss his husband, careful not to jostle the child against his chest. It’s a sweet, gentle kiss, one that has Reggie’s eyes fluttering shut and his heart welling in his chest. But he pulls away and smiles down at James, brushing a curl off of his forehead.

“Reg,” James whispers, nuzzling into their love’s hand. “Wake up, Reg.”

Regulus’ smile falters. “What was that, cheri?” he asks softly, leaning closer to James, trying to hear. Man, it’s really cold in here. He needs to pull his blanket back up, it must have slipped down when Harry-

“Wake up,” James says again, their voice forceful and firm. “Wake up now.”

Regulus flinches at the cold tone, one he’s never heard before, not from James. His eyes close briefly, but once they open again, James is gone. Harry is gone. Everything’s cold, and everything burns, and he can’t breathe.

As Regulus feels the Inferi gripping his legs, clawing at him, dragging him down under the water, he stops thinking; he remembers. He remembers everything.

He remembers fighting with James his last year at Hogwarts, when he should have been studying and being a child for a little while longer, but his parents had different plans. He remembers James leaving him, saying they couldn’t be with someone who would take the dark mark, telling him they’d thought he was different. He remembers seeing them with their head in Evans’ lap not three weeks later, how that had hurt more than any ‘Crucio’ his mother had ever used on him. He remembers finding out about the Horcruxes. He remembers hunting down the locket. He remembers finding the cave and drinking the poison.

And as he stops thrashing, stops fighting, lets the water and the monsters take him, he remembers the way James had looked when they backed away from him in the astronomy tower that night, heartbreak and tears in their eyes. The way their voice had cracked when they whispered, “I can’t love a monster, Regulus.”

That’s okay, Regulus thinks as he lets the air escape his lungs. I’ll love you anyway.

thank you @calamitoustide for the idea with this post. i hate you /affectionate

[klarolinexluv]

After my little rant earlier, I was thinking about it about more and I’ve just had the thought that some people like to erase the fact that Regulus CANONICALLY changed his mind.

In canon, we know so little about Regulus. We know he is Sirius’ younger brother, Walburga and Orions son, Bellatrix, Narcissa and Andromedas younger cousin. We know that he became a death eater at the age of 16. We know that he was quite close with Kreacher, or had some sort of special bond with him. We know that at 17 or 18 in 1979 he made the decision to GO AGAINST VOLDEMORT. We know that he CANONICALLY chose to go to the cave, with the knowledge of what Voldemort had done, we know that he knew about the horcrux, he CANONICALLY, again, CANONICALLY, sacrificed his life to try and stop Voldemort.

“Oh but he only did it because Voldemort hurt his house elf.” Shut the fuck up, yes that may have been a contending reason but we don’t actually know his reasonings for anything. He could have been having doubts since the very beginning, he could have been disgusted with what happened with Kreacher, he could have done nothing after that, but no he went on to research, he discovered Voldemort had made a horcrux, he could have DONE NOTHING BUT HE DIDNT.

We know so LITTLE about Regulus Black but the biggest thing we know about him, the most important thing we know about him is that at the end of his life he changed his mind, KREACHER EVEN SAYS ITS “Master Regulus changed his mind, but he doesn’t seem to have explained that to Kreacher, does he?” LIKE OMG HE CHANGED HIS MIND. He didn’t want to be a death eater anymore. HE CHANGED HIS MIND AND THEN DID SOMETHING ABOUT WHAT HE DISCOVERED. He went to that fucking cave, drank the drink of despair, stole the horcrux, replaced it with a fake and then ordered Kreacher to destroy it, to leave without him.

Yes, this was a suicide mission, we all know that but at the end of the day, Regulus sacrificed his life in an attempt to to destroy a horcrux, to stop Voldemort. People are always forgetting that, and I’m so over it.

If you want to call me pro-fascist for supporting Regulus when canonically he betrayed Voldemort than for fuck sake do it, it doesn’t change the fact that I am not, that Regulus actively worked against the dark lord JUST LIKE JAMES OR SIRIUS OR REMUS, etc. I will always love Regulus no matter what and I don’t give a shit what names you call me because I know the truth, I know who I am, I know that you are just trying to put me down in an attempt to make yourself seem better.

PEOPLE ALSO SEEM TO FORGET THAT REGULUS AND SIRIUS GREW UP IN THE SAME HOUSE. Sirius had a support system, CANONICALLY, Regulus did not.

Anyway… I rest my case.

[onehundredflamingos]

28/29 / wrinkle/happiness / 237 words

@taylorswiftmicrofic

“This shouldn’t be here,” Regulus said, reaching out and trying to rub away the wrinkle on James’ forehead, the little furrow there between his brows.

“I’m confused,” James said, as if it were an adequate explanation for freezing when Regulus ran up to him. They had been meeting for months now.

“About what?” Regulus asked, using both hands to pull James’ eyebrows apart now. It made something tighten in Regulus’ chest, seeing James look so out of sorts.

So un-James-like.

“You’re being nice,” James said softly, curiosity lacing the words. “You didn’t wait for me to find you today. You’re touching me in a crowded hallway. You’re not acting like you hate me.”

Oh.

Regulus dropped his hand from James’ face. He had forgotten the game they had been playing. The one where Regulus pretended to hate James, the one where he made James chase him around just to exchange clipped words and feigned snarls.

He had been excited to see James today, had wanted to rush up to him just to say ‘hello,’ so that was what he had done. Regulus didn’t even think about the fact that James wouldn’t be expecting it.

Regulus shrugged and lifted his hand back up to James’ face, this time to cup his jaw instead. “Turns out I might like you, after all.”

Instantly, the furrow eased from James’ brow, replaced by absolute happiness that just radiated James.

Much better.

[ultravioletbrit]

“trust” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 312 words

James Potter is an idiot. He’s an over-energized goofball with a heart of gold that he wears on his sleeve. He’s sweet and kind and caring. There are no surprises with James, what you see is what you get.

And right now, what Regulus is getting is a headache. He just wanted to study alone, but of course James found him and is talking non-stop about the most ridiculous nonsense in that bright, happy voice of his.

“Will you leave me alone, Potter?” Regulus interrupts him with a scowl.

“Maybe.” James shrugs casually, ignoring Regulus’ glare.

“Maybe?” Regulus is getting more and more frustrated. “What do you mean ‘maybe’? Just go–”

“Say please.” James cuts him off with a cheeky smile.

“Never.” Regulus dismisses and turns back to his books.

“Oh, c’mon Reggie. I want to hear you beg a little.” James jokes.

“Believe me Potter, you couldn’t handle it.” Regulus says without looking up.

Before Regulus knows what’s happening, James turns Regulus’ chair to face him. He has one hand on the back of the chair and the other on the table and he’s leaning over Regulus caging him in. James’ ever-present bright smile is replaced with a dark smirk when he leans down to whisper in Regulus’ ear.

“Oh, trust me Black, I think I could.” His lips brush the shell of Regulus’ ear and he speaks in a low, husky voice Regulus has never heard from James before.

James pulls back, exhaling a warm breath that ghosts over Regulus’ cheek sending a shiver down his spine. James’ gaze is dark and hungry when he meets Regulus’ eyes and they hold heated eye contact for a moment before James stands up.

James continues to smirk as he says “Bye, Reggie!” and winks at Regulus before walking away leaving Regulus feeling hot and flustered.

Maybe there are a few surprising things about James after all.

[daysofnights]

as a fandom we focus more on regulus thinking he was replaced by james and ignore the very real possibility that sirius actually was replacing him with james

[oh-phoenixx]

"Grimmauld Place" - Black Brothers/Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 539 words

@abductedhiko

-

This was Sirius’s worst nightmare. He had hoped that, after running away, he would never have to come back to this place. For the first three months that the Order used 12 Grimmauld Place as Headquarters, Sirius did not go into his brother’s old room. Sometimes, though, he would spend hours just sitting outside of it.

At first, all he felt was angry. Angry at Dumbledore for caging him in the exact place he’d struggled for so long to escape from, angry at his brother for becoming what they’d both promised not to become, angry at his parents for keeping him trapped here.

Then, he reached for the doorknob. And it was as though just opening the door pulled all of the anger out of him and replaced it with this smothering, heavy sadness, that was probably long overdue. He’d never really allowed himself to mourn Regulus. He had been a Death Eater, Sirius had been fighting against people like him in the war; he couldn’t mourn a person like that. But sixteen years had passed, and Regulus was still Sirius’s little brother. Eternally so.

Stepping into his younger brother’s bedroom, he felt a wave of nausea overcome him immediately. He pushed through it, approaching the loose floorboard where he knew Regulus had hidden things when they were children. He pulled it out and found a small box.

Inside of the box were photos from Regulus’s days at Hogwarts of him and his friends; his friends who Sirius knew had stuck by his side until the day he died. He did not let himself mourn them as well. He didn’t think there was enough of him to grieve anyone else, not with everything he had lost.

At the very bottom of the box, buried underneath photographs, poems, notes passed in class, and relics of Sirius himself, was one more photo. Sirius felt the air leave his lungs. 

Written on the polaroid in Regulus’s neat handwriting was, ‘The love of my life, taken 3 March 1977. 

The two in the photo were not moving, as the photo having been taken with the muggle camera that James got for Christmas in Seventh Year, Sirius was sure. He hated James for it, just for a moment, for insisting on using that godforsaken camera instead of a magic one. They weren’t moving. Why weren’t they moving? 

Sirius had not seen his brother looking so happy since years before the photo was taken. But he was beaming at the camera, James kissing his cheek with an arm wrapped around his shoulder. All of Sirius’s emotions were warring inside of him; confusion, curiosity, sadness, disappointment, bitterness. What was one to feel when finding out that their dead brother and dead best friend had been in a relationship? 

Sirius supposed the sadness was the first to envelop him. His tears stained the photograph. 

“Sirius?” A voice called from behind him.

He turned to see Remus standing awkwardly in the doorway. Unsure of what else to do, he held up the photograph. Understanding dawned on Remus’s face, and Sirius wondered if he’d already known. It didn’t matter to him anymore. 

“Why didn’t they tell me?” Sirius asked quietly. Remus said nothing. There was not much that could be said.

[remuslupinslastbreathofair]

April 14 - Poly Juice Potion

Prompt: 14 @wolfstarmicrofic words: 542

Sirius knew it was a dumb idea. He knew it was crossing boundaries and he knew it was wrong but still he brought the potion up to his lips and skulled it. His face scrunched up at the bitter taste and he stared at himself in the mirror.

Slowly his hair began to grow shorter, his eyes a duller grey and his jaw sharper. The face of his brother stared back at him in the mirror, still though the transformation was not complete.

Quickly Sirius changed into a pair of Slytherin robes that he had nabbed from the quidditch locker rooms. Green looked much better on Regulus than it did himself.

Now that step one of the plan had been completed, Sirius strode through the halls of Hogwarts, trying to change is mannerisms to match Regulus. He made sure to keep his lips in an even line, and to harden his stare. He only realised he might be over doing it when he sent a first year scuttling away by only casting them a glance.

Sirius didn’t have to worry about running into Regulus while he was his doppelgänger, as James had rather enthusiastically ordered to keep him busy. Sirius tried hard not to think about the implications of James’ offer, as he had much bigger fish to fry.

Finally, he made it to the library and found Remus in his and Regulus’ usual meeting spot. Remus looked up at waved. “Regulus.”

Sirius almost didn’t respond, before reminding himself that he was the shorter black today.

“Remus,” Sirius replied trying to remain stoic like he thought Regulus would.

Sirius didn’t need to try too hard though as Remus was gazing off dreamily into the difference.

“You’ll never guess what he did today, Regulus,” Remus said looking out the window.

“What did he do?” Sirius asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.

“Today, you should haveve seen he had the most beautiful smile today, all mischievous and bright,” Remus gushed.

Sirius began to feel a pang of jealousy for whoever this guy was who has stolen Moony’s heart.

Remus kept gushing for a couple minutes, telling Sirius of this mystery guy and how much he liked him. With every word Sirius felt jealousy bloom in his gut and wrap around his organs. By the time Remus had finished talking his hands were fists at his side.

“I’m surprised you’re letting me talk about this,” Remus said.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sirius replied tentatively.

“Well, he is your brother after all.”

The words hit Sirius like a freight train. Remus. His best friend, Remus. His best friend who he also happened to have a massive crush on, Remus. Had been telling love sick stories to his brother of all people. Sirius stood up abruptly. “Yeah, youe right that is so gross. Like, ew, that’s my brother.” Sirius said rigidly, his acting skills flying out the window with this new piece of information.

Remus’ easy going smile was replaced by a look of confusion. “What? I thought you didn’t mind.”

Sirius left Remus with no answer as he sprinted out of the library and up to his dorm. He was going to need at least until dinner time to process this new information, he’d explain to Moony later.

[florence-not-italy]

21 by gracie abrams but marauders

I missed your 21st birthday

but it's regulus watching james from the afterlife

I've been up at home

but it's sirius waiting for remus to return after each mission

Almost tried to call you, don't know if I should

but it's remus thinking of grant in 1994

Hate to picture you half-drunk, happy

but it's regulus watching sirius replace him with james

Hate to think you went out without me

but it's sirius excluded from remus' birthday after the prank

I'm sorry if you blame me, if I were you I would

but its remus frantically apologising for hurting his friends and scarring them during a bad moon

Thought you'd see it coming, but you never could

but it's regulus showing james his mark

I still haven't heard from your family

but it's james opening sirius' howlers for him after every incident

But you said your mom always loved me

but it's sirius finding comfort in effie even when james wouldn't talk to him

[ethereacals]

SO AMERICAN <3

CHAPTER 7: BAD IDEA, RIGHT?

synopsis: Remus grows attached to an american exchange student from Ilvermorny

pairings: remus lupin x american!reader

cw;, foul language

series masterlist

a/n: do you guys like the new banner???

"EMILIA DRUGGED REMUS WITH AMORTENTIA." James concluded, his hands landed firmly on your shoulders as you processed the information.

"W-What?"

"It's clear! He's been all over her instead of you!"

"Doesn't mean he's drugged." You sniffed.

"You don't have to believe me, but you will soon." James announced, leaping out of the broom closet and marching his way over to where ever he was going.

"James- James!" You chased after him, frantically clearing your tears.

"James, what if it’s too late? What if he actually—"

"No. No way. This isn’t Remus. This is some twisted potion-induced fantasy that Emilia cooked up. He would never—"

"But he thinks it’s real. That’s the problem." "Then we make him see reality." James insisted, as you ran down the hallways.

"We have to do something, but we can’t just barge in and scream ‘you’ve been drugged’ at him." You reasoned, already out of breath.

"Why not? Sounds efficient to me." James turned his gaze towards you. "Because that’s how people get hexed, James." You deadpanned. "Fine, fine. Who do we tell? Sirius?" "He’ll want to murder someone." "Yeah, I’m counting on it."

"James! You cannot murder someone! Last time I checked it was illegal." You scolded, and right before James was about to respond, you heard the most sickeningly familiar laugh.

Gilderoy Lockhart.

Exactly who you needed.

"There's our guy."

"James? James!" You were getting increasingly more confused.

"Oi! Lockhart." James yelled, catching the boys attention before slamming him up against the wall.

His posse scattered in a fearful blitz.

"What the-"

"What's your damage, Lockhart?" You spat, replacing James as you pinned him to the wall.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about-" Gilderoy writhed under you.

"You had sixth year potions last year, didn't you? You know how to brew Amortentia, don't you?" You accused, unbeknownst to you- James was incredibly impressed.

"I- Maybe-"

"A fucking maybe doesn't cut it! Yes or no?"

"Y-Yes! Yes I- I did! I do! W-What's this about?"

"Don't play dumb, dipshit. You helped Emilia Sallow drug Remus!" You nudged him farther into the wall, pressing your wand against his throat as he quivered.

"M-Yes! Yes- I did! S-She said that-that she would make one for me to-to drug y-you when sh-e finished this course!" He admitted.

"I knew it!" James cheered, and you released Gilderoy.

"Fuck off, Lockhart, and if you're smart- you'll never speak to me again." You threatened, as he scrambled to his feet and dashed away.

James clapped, as your adrenaline skyrocketed.

"That felt good."

"Good? That was bloody brilliant!" James smiled widely, grabbing your hand and tugging you away from the scene.

A plan was underway, a big one.

"WE NEED TO GET HIM ALONE, BUT Emilia is glued to his side." You eyed Remus and Emilia, as you and James sat together in the Great Hall. "He's even sitting with her." Sirius mentioned.

"I couldn't tell." You deadpanned, fists clenched.

"What's the plan?" Peter asked meekly.

"Just- waiting until Emilia cracks, we need to find an antidote though." James answered, though he sounded a bit uncertain of himself.

"You could ask someone who's knows a great deal about potions?" Lily suggested, and Sirius had an idea.

"You could talk to Reggie! He knows tons." Sirius urged, and James' head went into auto-pilot.

"R-Regulus? I'll go talk to him!" James got up- quicker than he should have according to the confused looks on his friends faces.

"I-I mean... I guess I'll go talk to him.." James sank back down in his seats.

"I'll go talk to Slughorn, but don't worry, I'm great at being discreet."

"PROFESSOR, DO YOU KNOW OF ANY antidotes for someone who is-hypothetically-under the influence of a love potion?" Slughorn turned to you, his brow furrowed.

"Hypothetically? What is this for, Ms. L/N?" He questioned.

"Well- We have that whole project on the subject. I felt it would be a good addition to my presentation." You smiled, and he nodded.

"Ah, of course. I do enjoy seeing my students so passionate about something I teach." He prided himself, as he led you to his desk.

"You would need Wiggentree bark, crushed bezoar and essence of dittany. Cures it like a charm, every time it's been tested." He smiled, turning back to you as you mentally noted what ingredients you were to be using.

"Perfect, thank you very much, Professor." You turned to leave, the second stage of your plan complete.

"REMUS... CAN WE talk?" You stuttered, you hadn't spoken to him since potions.

"You don’t have to check in on me, I’m fine. You should be worrying about James, not me."

Oh, for god's sake—enough with this ‘I’m fine’ shit! You’re about as fine as Peter is at lying!"

"I don’t have time for this."

"You always used to have time for me."

"Things change." Remus spat.

"No, they don’t. You change under a full moon. This? This isn’t you. And you know it." You urged him.

"I… I love Emilia."

"I never said anything about Emilia."

"I love her." He pushed.

"Do you? Or do you just think you do?"

"I—I don’t know! It’s like—I think about her, and it feels right, but then—then I see you and it—" He stopped himself abruptly.

"Then what?"

"Then it feels wrong."

"Then fight it! Before it’s too late."

Remus looked at you, his eyes full of something deep and pained—something real. But just as quickly as it appears, he shoved it down, his body tense.

"I need to go." His voice barely above a whisper.

Without another word, he turns and walks away, his posture rigid, leaving you standing there, fists clenched at your sides.

"We don’t have much time." You thought.

GRYFFINDOR WAS hosting a large party after their quidditch win against Hufflepuff, and most students 5th year and above were in attendance.

"Do you think their gonna show up?" James leaned over towards you, Sirius mirroring him on your other side.

"We can only hope?"

"Oh, speak of the devil." Lily muttered, as Emilia came strutting in with Remus as if he was on a leash.

The snake sauntered over to Gilderoy as they held a pleasant conversation, before James sauntered over to a large table in the center of the common room.

Sirius also took action, pulling Remus aside and into their dorm room as "shit was about to hit the fan" according to Marlene.

"Attention everyone!" James shouted, actively gaining attention from his peers.

"I just wanted to congratulate my mind-blowing team, on another win!" The Gryffindors erupted into applause and cheers, just as James shushed them once more.

"I just have one question-" He added, his loyal crowd waiting in suspence.

"Emilia, you look great tonight." He started, and her face lit with shock.

"O-oh? Really?" She batted her eyelashes.

"How long have you been drugging Remus Lupin?"

tune in next time on; so american

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