#so rip james and sirius

[sxlver-raven]

Nono, you see, it's logical to say character A is in love with character B, even when the setting doesn't allow them to be. And it's also logical for them to only have a close friendship. Both interpretations work, but why does romantic always seem to be the preferred choice?

It has nothing to do with the 'I love you' s vs the 'I'm in love with you' s, it's not even about whether or not there's kissing. With real people, even when you're incredibly close with someone, you can still tell the difference between a platonic and romantic relationship, although that line can often get blurry and hard to see. And yet, how could someone who'd go to hell and back for their friend still see that line so clearly and decide they're not in love with anyone?

It's because they know they aren't attracted to that person in that way. You want to kiss them, you want to tell them you're in love with them, or you don't.

Characters don't have that consciousness. The only thing that guides them is our consciousness and ideas.

Characters are fluid in that way.

But, no, sit down, I'm not done--two things: characters exist within a limited time frame and, oftentimes, romantic relationships are seen as superior to platonic relationships. Bc you only get one soulmate, right? While friendships happen all the time.

Now, I'm not gonna get into whether that should be the status quo, but nonetheless, it's that way for many people, myself included.

And when you see a character being so close with another one--whether it's because they're willing to die for each other, because they trust each other so much more than anyone else, or because they went through traumatizing events together, etc.--then obviously, your mind will guide them to a scenario where they're in love, where they're soulmates, regardless of what the author wanted. You see that special connection and want to differentiate it from all the friendships. "It's more than that. More than friends." And you can't really agree with the story writer bc that character only gets so many chances at having a soulmate. You won't see who character A will meet in 20 years. You won't see it if they miraculously meet their soulmate the day right after the epilogue.

So, you want them to be in that special relationship that's much more than the friendships with the other characters, you can give those characters that because it's not like they'll tell you, "hmm, I don't actually think about kissing B all the time,", and your characters exist within one story, within one limited time frame. Character B might as well be their soulmate, bc as far as anyone knows, there is no one else they could be closer with.

[macaulaytwins]

a loose part 2 to the “Sirius Black killed James Potter” nonsense of 1981

[artachokie]

so much missed potential when remus is an english major in college AUs. his ass is absolutely an education major, SORRY!!!! his ass is showing up to his student teaching placement hungover as fuck! his ass is ABSOLUTELY falling victim to the "ring by spring" curse (thanks to sirius of course)! his ass is going to go crazy if he has to write one more mock lesson plan!

[shanneyney]

Sirius be the kind to fake being a nonchalant baddie when in truth he's the most chalant person to ever chalant

[notcryingtoday]

The Marauders wished they were Blue and her raven boys

[enbysiriusblack]

marauders' first kiss:

james- sirius

sirius- james

remus- james

peter- remus

marlene- james

mary- edgar

lily- amos

emmeline- mary

dorcas- pandora

[seriousbrat]

if james, lily, and sirius are all queer women who do you think would end up together? i also think james would be super into sirius if sirius was a girl so it's super easy to see them together. idk if james would pay lily as much attention. i do think sirius and lily share some character traits that could lead them to being frenemies if they were both girls, so maybe lilypad idk.

yet i prefer jily

Yes, this is the thing that I kind of realised when writing Lippy Kids-- I just really think that if Sirius was a girl James (any gender) would be extremely into her lol. And it would be somewhat difficult for James to fail to see how perfect girl Sirius is and how perfect they'd be together lol. So I think sapphic jily in this scenario requires getting Sirius out of the way somehow; personally I think the easiest way is for Sirius to remain a boy haha. But if she was a girl and queer, maybe you could pair her with Remus or something. That's difficult for me to imagine though like why tf would she go for Remus sorry.

Like in all-girls universe I truly think prongsfoot is inevitable rip. That's my honest answer.

I guess jily could work in this universe if you characterised girl Sirius differently than how I did for Lippy Kids. I guess I could see Sirius as femme4femme so maybe James is not her type-- and they have different pools in terms of the women they're interested in. Or maybe even a similar pool lol and they're kind of rivals about it. Tbh that could work! I could see them as similar dynamic to the main characters in Bottoms (2023) which is such a good film btw

About lilypad-- tbh I also think girl Lily and Sirius ARE similar, this is why James would be into them both. But also why I can't personally see that working lol. Although if Sirius was femme4femme.... maybe? Idk if Lily would be interested though. I can see het lilypad but for some reason I can't totally see this rip, the vibes are not quite there for me. But I'm sure there's a way to make it work.

The other thing I'd like to say is that in all-girls universe I think Sev/Peter would work lol.....

[rumrumgoose]

Real question. Y’all think they ever made fun of Peter for being the only one who’s name doesn’t end in an S? I just feel like they would have been drunk like year 4 and Remus would have pointed it out and James and Sirius would have ate that knowledge up. Like called the three of them the S crew or something. Then like half way through year 6 they would all be drunk again and Peter would just yell SEVERUS. And that’s how S crew would disband, RIP S crew.

[shootingthe-stars]

they’re butch to me and i’m not gonna explain it

[fatherfigureneeded]

i am 110% sure that Lily Evans would love Norman fucking Rockwell by Lana Del Rey. like, screaming the lyrics until her throat is raw type of love. like, top 0.08% of spotify listeners type of love. she wouldn't even listen to that much lana del rey outside of that song, but she has stared at the wall while that song plays.

[calamitoustide]

once again thinking about a ouat au

[bookburners]

I found this post on Pinterest and scrolled forever to find this man’s post only for the fic to not be linked.

Pls someone help me

while the marauders were making their silly map the girls were doing ancient blood magic in their dorm

[my-castles-crumbling]

guilt - jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 297

“Potter, what the fuck is this?” 

James returned to his dorm room from the bathroom to see Regulus standing with his arms crossed, brandishing a notebook cleverly labelled with the words Regulus Stuff. “Erm…” he mumbled guiltily, “I don’t…”

“Don’t lie,” Regulus snarled. “I found it in your bag.”

He blinked. “You went through my bag?” He knew he should be upset about it, but for some reason, he found it endearing.

“I was bored,” Regulus shrugged, completely unabashed. “Why do you have a notebook with my name on it?”

“I…” The truth was, his intentions with the notebook weren’t bad at all. He just wasn’t sure how Regulus would react. But he wasn’t sure what lying would do now, so he just sighed. “Open it,” he mumbled.

Regulus eyed him for a moment, then did as he was told. “Regulus Black,” he read, pursing his lips. “Favorite color: maroon. But he says it’s green. Favorite season: Fall, but he likes the nighttime in any season. Don’t wake him up early, but if you have to, wake him up with a warm drink. Favorite food:... Potter, is this a list of all of my favorites?” he demanded, looking cautiously pleased.

“Erm, yeah. And other things about you. I don’t always have the best memory, see,” James explained eagerly, glad Regulus wasn’t automatically ripping his head off, “so I decided, since you’re so important, I’d write everything down. Sirius helped, too, with some things.”

“You asked Sirius about…wow,” Regulus murmured, flipping through the pages.

“Wow?” he repeated, a relieved grin slowly spreading on his face.

Regulus gave a little chuckle and tilted his head. “Wow,” he said again with a smirk, before walking forward and pressing a palm to James’s chest, slowly guiding him backwards to his bed.

[laufeysvalentine]

i want you. pt 2, remus lupin

intertwined, sewn together

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist, pt 1

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- the aftermath of you accidentally confessing your love for remus and running away, hurt/comfort, fluff

word count ༄ 4.1k

nora’s notes ༄ so sorry for the delay on this, thank you so so so much for all the love on the first part and for 200 followers??? that's gen insane i love all of you 💘 i haven't proofread so pls excuse grammar

you’ve barely gotten a wink of sleep next morning, and it shows. you finally crash in the morning to sleep through breakfast and lunch. 

at two, you’re up, but barely. you feel like absolute shit. the feeling only worsens when lily comes in, pity in her face. she knows what happened, and the pity only means one thing–there’s a reason he hasn’t come by, and it’s not because he’s in love with you. 

burying your head in your pillow, you let out a loud groan. 

“y/n?” she pulls back your covers and offers a plate up to you. “remus brought this for you, cause you weren’t at breakfast or lunch.” 

“don’t say his name in my presence,” you beg her, only half-joking. the plate she brought has all your favorite foods from the great hall, and you hate that remus knows you so well, well enough to pick them out. 

“he wants to talk to you,” she says once she’s sat on her own bed a few feet from you. “he just didn’t want to cross your boundaries. i’ll tell him off if you’d like, just let me know.” 

“i love you, lily, but it’s not necessary. it’s not his fault half of hogwarts loves him and the prettiest girl out there fell to his feet,” you huff, a sadness leaking out of you. you want to blame him. but really, you can’t. “he didn’t do anything wrong. i guess.” 

lily’s eyebrow raises as she waits for you to elaborate. “he did make you fall to his feet, didn’t he.” 

“you know who i’m talking about.” as if you could compare to celeste… although you’re pleased with the compliment. “and i’m still mad.” 

“you have every right to be,” she concedes, mouth open to say something when the door bursts open, carrying in a flustered marlene. 

“please, y/n, i’m begging you. do something about him. he’s run off and sirius can’t find him, so he’s bugged james about it who’s bugging me, and i can’t take it anymore.” her cheeks are flushed, begging, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to her. “i’d never do this to you, but i’ll truly rip my ears off for another moment of this.” 

“marlene.” lily’s glaring at the blonde, grabbing her by the elbow. “don’t listen to her, y/n. do whatever you want.” 

as much as you feel bad, you’re not ready. you don’t want to face him, like, ever. 

and that’s what you resolve to do for the whole next week. knowing remus, he would never make you uncomfortable, not on purpose, at least, but he knows you too well to make you uncomfortable by accident. so, three days later, when you stumble into breakfast with approximately thirty minutes of sleep and bags suitcases under your eyes to match it and choose the seat farthest away from him, he doesn’t move closer to you. 

still, you feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you just stare down at your plate, making pictures with the eggs and ketchup. while half-listening to marlene’s blabbering, you craft a smiley face, then a frowny face to match your mood, a mickey mouse, and then this girl that you hate for no reason because she’s really not hateable at all you just hate her because she kissed this guy who’s your best friend but technically you’re not even dating you’re just in love with him. fuck. you push away the eggs and glance around the table. the first thing you notice is him noticing you–it’s the first day you’ve not felt too lovesick and heartbroken to ditch class and meals, for risk of seeing him, so your presence speaks for itself. even then, every morning you wake up to an artfully arranged plate outside your door, laden with your favorite foods. the same comes for lunch and dinner, and you’re not stupid. you know he sends them. 

but you can’t talk to him. not now that you know he’s not in love with you like you are with him, at least not as much. he might even like celeste by now. not “might,” he probably does. you wouldn’t hold it against him. they would be beautiful together. a fresh round of nausea sloshes into the walls of your gut. 

when you deem it socially appropriate to leave, you take the chance, getting up with the masses heading to class, trying to slip through the crowd to avoid him. 

“y/n,” sirius croons from your right, so close you can feel his hot breath on your ears, and your heart sinks. where sirius is, the marauders are soon to follow. “oh, how i missed you this past eternity.” 

you grimace at him, pushing his cheek away from your face. “hi, padfoot. it’s been three days.” 

“and what days they’ve been!” he proclaims dramatically, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pretending to faint. 

“siri. i’m not in the mood.” you mutter, slipping out from under his arm, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the blond you would recognize anywhere is not here. you’re in the clear for now, you’ve no clue where he, peter, and james have gone or why they’re so far from sirius. 

he senses your mood shift and transforms into serious sirius. “you need to get back with moony.” 

when you blow out a heavy breath, your hair flies forwards and hangs limply on your face. “a, as i said, it’s been like three days. b, we were never together so i can’t ‘get back’ with him. c, and listen carefully when i say this, i don’t want to.” he doesn’t want me are the words you leave sour and dormant on your tongue. 

“but, y/n,” he pouts. “he really misses you, even if it’s only been a little while. he’s a wreck, knowing he made you cry.” 

you’ve heard enough. of course. this is why the marauders aren’t near him. it’s a ploy, an intervention if you may. 

“no, don’t even.” you pull away from him and push through the throngs of students to get away from him. you toss out a parting over your shoulder before slipping away, “i’ll see you in class.” 

just kidding. you sneak back into your dorm and let the blankets swallow you, watching the ceiling to pass the time. remus is not in love with you. he never will be. 

as you count the amount of nicks in the ceiling paint for the forty-hundredth time, you think about him again. as you have for the past eight years. 

even if he’s not in love with you–you can’t imagine a life without him. you can’t sacrifice your friendship, all those friendly touches, the feeling of his warm hand splayed against your back, the sight of him curled in his bed with his newest book. how could you never discuss your favorite books with him again? how could you sacrifice that golden look that makes you melt over as you speak? those perfectly brewed cups of tea, vanilla-scented sweaters, knitted thickly with love? 

he’s your best friend. the answer is, you could never live without him. even if you’re in love with him and he’s not, in fact, in love with you back. you’ll just have to get over it. 

whoever painted this ceiling left fourteen cracks. 

–

you’re going to get over him, you swear it. this is what you repeat as you walk into the great hall, your eyes trained on the ground, slipping into the seat next to lily. you refuse to look at him or any of his friends. you won’t. you can’t. 

it’s the first time you’re here. sure, you came by the table this morning, but drawing pictures with ketchup until the whole plate looks like you murdered the bottle isn’t exactly engaging. now, you and marlene are conversing about stupid things: the shoes you need in your wardrobe, your favorite song to listen to while crying in the shower vs. in your bed. and important questions, like what’s better, milk or dark chocolate (dark chocolate, obviously, and don’t even think about saying white chocolate. that is not real chocolate)? 

you can feel his eyes on you, drilling almond brown holes into your skull. the urge to look up chokes you. you want to see the curve of his smile, how lopsided it leans on him, the scars that dance around his lips. but you steel yourself. you can’t. you won’t. 

–

you’re ignoring him. the problem is, it’s not really working. 

no matter where you are, you can feel his eyes on you; even if you’re across the classroom, you swear you can smell the earthiness of his cologne, his sweaters. 

fuck. 

you are not getting over him anytime soon. 

the two of you manage to avoid any contact for what feels like months–days, maybe. in the hallways, you brush past each other, sometimes mumbling an apology or two as you pass. nothing sincere. nothing short of incredibly, incredibly awkward. 

you tuck yourself into hidden corners of the library, the astronomy tower, the room of requirement, anywhere where you can get away. from him, from the scary softness of sirius’ eyes when he looks at you, the even more terrifying relative quiet from marlene, who was seemingly instructed to give you space by lily. everything is awkward. and it’s all your fault. 

when the glances stares fade, you know why, and you hate yourself for knowing. the full moon’s nearing. remus’ shoulders are sagging, his looks come from lower down. his body is aching more and more, he twists around nearly every class you have together, something you know he’s always done to try and alleviate some pain. his undereyes are bruised and swollen, and you see the brass of his cane around the common room, and you hate that you aren’t there for him. he hates that thing, he always tries to avoid using it. 

it must be especially bad this time around. 

and when lily comes into your dorm the day before the full moon, skin sunken with exhaustion, you figure something’s up. 

“lily?” you ask, jolting up from your book. the mug of tea that he drank the night you stopped talking is still by your bedside. you can’t bring yourself to move it. what if that’s your last memory with him? 

“hm?” she murmurs, flopping onto her bed. 

“what’s wrong?” you ask as you turn your body towards hers. 

she waves her head, face in the pillow. 

“you can talk to me about him,” you frown. “it’s related to him, isn’t it? the full moon?” 

the redhead sits up, looks at you. she’s not one to lie, never has been. “...yeah. james is just stressed, because he thinks this transformation has already been really painful for him, and it’s only going to get worse tomorrow.” 

your head is bobbing. you swallow your feelings–what is that, guilt? shame? you don’t know what. maybe celeste broke up with him. not everything is related to you. 

“mhm,” you say in response. absorbing. 

she hesitates, mouth opening, before shutting it again. “it’s–well, i don’t…” 

you shrug. “you don’t have to say anything, lily.” 

so she doesn’t. 

—

lily’s right. in the eight years you’ve known him, he has never looked so rough pre-transition. you steal peeks at him all day, like he’s a tv show you weren’t supposed to watch as a kid. it looks like the life is steaming out of him. his hair–artfully messy, as always—is mussed and unwashed. when he walks out of the classroom, it’s a limp, with a slow clunk to it that makes your chest hurt. you want nothing more than to rush over and help him, but no. if he wanted you, well, if he didn’t want celeste, he would have come after you. 

he doesn’t want you. you repeat that to yourself when you see him almost pass out onto his plate during lunch, making a worried sirius (yes, sirius of all people, who usually tries to stay calm in situations like these) rush him to his dorm. 

but he reappears only an hour later for potions, when his back is tensed, tight, and his shoulders are hunched over. slughorn tries to call on him twice, but he pretends he isn’t there. 

your chest aches when he doesn’t show up to dinner, and halfway through, the rest of the marauders disappear, muttering to themselves as they go. you rub your collarbone and watch, your anxiety heightened. 

once the great halls door slam, the first place your eyes dart to is the hufflepuff table. you don’t even need to look around to see her. everyone within a ten-person vicinity is ever so slightly turned towards her, like her charisma is impossible to ignore. they want to be her, be with her, know her. 

she’s speaking animatedly, tossing out an airy laugh now and then. maybe remus hasn’t told her yet. 

some evil, petty part of you relishes in that fact. 

the girls are watching you, eyes wide and lips pursed. they’re trying to read you, determine how you’re feeling. dorcas, of all people, has been checking in on you everyday since you and remus fell out, and marlene too, in her own sarcastic way. but seeing them together made you ache for a cavity that could never be filled. a gryffindor love, a spectacular love. one that existed in your if onlys. 

you head straight to your room after dinner to try and throw yourself into your homework, but the distraction doesn’t work. you can’t stop thinking about remus. is he okay? you wish you could be with him. why did you start ignoring him in the first place? 

as the stars fade into the sky, lily bursts through the door, mary an hour later. marlene sneaks in, then out, then in again, with dorcas by her hand. but as time ticks, ticks, ticks, you can’t stop from looking at it. you’re the only one awake now, but the marauders probably aren’t back yet. 

you try your hardest to battle the reluctance that accompanies you to your bed, but you can’t. you just lie there, body tensed as images of remus run through your mind. the two of you visiting his hometown, or him on your lap, your favorite place for him to be. you’ll never forget the feeling of his coarse hair against the lilting touch of your fingers, or how he would turn onto his side, nose bumping against your stomach as he nuzzled into you. 

after waiting what feels like hours, you check the clock. yes. he’s back now. you rise as quietly as you can, slipping out of the dorms and darting towards the hospital room. is he okay? 

madam pomfrey is nowhere to be seen, and as you pass blue curtain to blue curtain, all you can hear is your shuffling. no one’s here–save for one figure on the end, flat on their back, moonlight filtering through the window above them. 

it hugs him in a most flattering light, his eyes closed and relaxed. fuck, he’s already sleeping. you don’t know if you should be happy he won’t see you or not. on your tiptoes, you creep towards his bed, where there’s a chair on his right. when you touch it, it’s still warm. the marauders must have just left. 

here he is. remus lupin. 

your eyes scan his face and arms, any body part that’s left out from the blankets. he has a fresh cut running from his elbow upwards, through where his t-shirt curls around his bicep. for someone with such fresh scars, he looks so, so beautiful. 

the second you sit down on the chair, his eyes fly open. 

oh. 

he wasn’t sleeping after all. 

perhaps the most awkward minute of your life passes, the two of you just staring at each other. your lips are parted, limbs frozen, anticipating. 

“rem?” you squeak out, reaching out to touch him as you usually would. you want to trace the scar that runs down his cheek, but he pulls away, muttering. 

without even acknowledging you, he turns on his side, burying his head into the pillow. 

“oh,” you breathe. he doesn’t want you there. you’re so stupid. why the hell would you come here? you know he likes celeste. you saw them kissing for merlin’s sake. 

you’re trying your best to stifle a gasp as your eyes become sticky with tears. what the fuck were you thinking? 

“stop it. just stop it,” he groans. “why are you bothering me again?” 

your limbs are stuck in place. for some reason, you can’t think, move. your thoughts are spinning in circles, racing around your mind. nothing’s coherent right now. 

you look at him again, his muscles shifting against the cotton of his t-shirt, and swallow. this is goodbye, isn’t it? your lips twist. 

“i-i’m sorry. i know you probably want to get your rest, i’ll just–” you have to force yourself to stand up, but when you do, your hand accidentally brushes his back on the small bed, and he jerks back, electrocuted. “oh, i–sorry.” 

he jolts upright, hands on the bed to support him. “dove?” 

you pause your movements, unsure what to do. he knew who you were before, didn’t he? what happened? 

maybe he’s just delirious from lack of sleep. you begin to walk away when a warm hand wraps around your wrist, drawing you backwards. 

“y/n. i–” he stops when you face him, and you can see the exact moment he sees the tears in your eyes, as he pulls you onto the bed, thumb sweeping the wetness under your eye like it’s second nature. his palm, rough with calluses and scars, supports the softness of your cheek, and you melt. “you’re here. you’re really here?” 

his eyes, that soft amber, spilling over with uncertainty and… regret? the same way he would look after one of the marauders’ particularly nasty pranks, or snapping at one of his friends close to the full moon. 

you nod, shoulders tense. “i just wanted to come stop by. i didn’t mean to–”

“no, no,” he interrupts, his other hand coming up to rub your arm. “i’m sorry. i didn’t… i’ve just been having, er, i’ve been having dreams of you all week. i thought you weren’t real.” 

his face is sparkling with earnestness, a kind of hope you hadn’t seen on him in a while. when you don’t say anything, he takes it as a cue to continue. “i’m also sorry for everything. i thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore. or… i don’t know.” 

“it’s okay, rem,” you promise, trying to build up the cracks threatening to crumble your voice and your resolve. you try to pull away from his touch, but his fingers just find your knee instead, massaging the flesh there. “i didn’t want to get between you and celeste or anything. it seemed like the right thing to do.” the last part of your voice comes out in a throaty whisper. 

“no.” he says firmly. 

“no?” you ask, shoulders crawling towards your shoulders. 

“no. i want you in my life, dove, always. i–celeste and i aren’t anything. i don’t like her. i never did.” his voice peters out, but his gaze on you stays strong. “there’s another girl.” 

does he hate you? want to kill you? because that’s sure what he’s doing right now, and he knows you too well to not know the effect he’s having on you. like he took the sword of gryffindor and peeked it into your chest–not enough to kill you by brunt force, but enough to maim, to let you bleed out onto the bed as you stare at him, betrayal tearing open your veins. 

“that’s nice, remus.” you don’t even know how words are coming out of your mouth at this point. maybe someone’s taken over your body? 

“i’m sorry for not coming up to you, too. i thought it was the right thing to do,” he says quietly, one of his hands dropping from your face. goosebumps follow where his skin met yours. you think the next sound you hear is the crack crack cracking of your heart. “i thought you wanted space from me. and you deserve that. i only let her kiss me cause… well, cause i thought i had to get over you.” 

what?

he’s gauging your expression, you can feel it, but again, everything’s spinning. you might pass out. what’s happening? who is this other girl he loves? 

“i’ve loved you for so long, but i thought there was never a chance that you could love me back. and then, there was that day. but, you’re you, the most gorgeous girl in all of gryffindor, and then there was me. you deserve so much better than me and how fucked up i am. so i left you alone. i thought it was right.” he glances to the side, bringing his hands to his lap. this is not real. you’re not real. he was right. this was a dream, and any minute this floaty feeling will stop and you won’t feel like you can’t feel your body and you’ll wake up hear your alarm and class will start it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real. 

but your hand reaches out to his, shaking. and the next words that tumble out of your lips are: “y-you love me?” 

“how could i not?” a laugh slips from his mouth and those eyes–those beautiful, beautiful eyes–are back on you and you can’t swallow breathe think nothing but those eyes, those sweet eyes. 

your mouth hangs open. “but…” 

“i’m sorry, y/n. and i don’t know if it’s too late, if you’ve found someone better, but i couldn’t ever leave you thinking that i don’t love you back. anyone who didn’t is a fool. an utter fool.” remus scratches at his jaw, lips pursed. “sorry. i just had to say it.” 

“you love me,” you repeat, looking at him. “you love me?” 

“i always have and i always will. loving you is a part of me, dove, the best part of me there’s ever been.” he sucks in a breath, brings your hand to his lips. when he speaks, you can feel the vibrations of his voice on your skin. “i love you so much.” 

you don’t even realize you’re crying until a tear splashes onto his cheek. you move to touch it, leaning closer to his face as your finger smooths the tear out onto his pretty skin. and then–then, oh, god, you’re so close to him. his breath is so warm. he smells so, so good. 

“can i kiss you, dove?” he asks so softly that you almost don’t hear him–you’re not even sure you do, it might just be instinct that pushes your lips together. something written into your body from birth. you were meant to be his, he yours. 

and merlin, he tastes better than you ever could have imagined. 

remus. your remus. 

a smile spreads across your lips after your next kiss, slow and so, overwhelmingly perfect. he pecks your teeth, your nose. 

“remus,” you say, but a small giggle escapes you before you can finish your sentence. this is surreal. what’s happening right now? are we sure this isn’t a dream? “what are we doing?” 

“kissing, dovey,” he answers with another kiss. “and, maybe, if you wanted, i could be yours?” 

“you’ve always been mine, rem,” you respond solemnly, and he tugs you down next to him, pulling your body under the covers so you’re flush next to him. “only now i can kiss you.” 

his palms come up to your cheeks, one to your hair, and again, the two of you connect–by your lips, sure, but also by you. you’ve connected, there’s no breaking it now. 

“and all of that you were saying?” you pull back every so slightly to look at him, to know him. “you are the most perfect soul i could ever ask for. i want you to tell me every time you feel like you don’t deserve me, because that’s just untrue. you deserve everything and more, and you are so perfect for me, i can’t even fathom how you exist.” 

at that, he pulls you back into him, plants and plants and plants his lips on your face. “there’s no part of me that doesn’t love you, dove. my heart, my mouth, my soul. all of me.” 

and when you’re too tired to kiss any longer, if that concept even exists, you fall asleep leg between his, nose pressed into crease between his neck and jaw, arms around each other, intertwined with him for the night–though, in a way, you always have been. and you always will be. 

masterlist

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[colouredbyd]

"Tell Me I didn’t Lose You"

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: After your vision reveals the traitor, you’re caught between clinging to what once was and the heartbreak that follows. The people you love are trying to hold you together—but healing only comes when you let yourself feel the pain first.

wc: 3.3k

warnings: themes of prophetic trauma, visions, emotional distress, and betrayal by a close friend. canon-typical violence, grief, and angsty angst but with fluffy fluff. hurt/comfort, mild language, happy ending

authors note: AHHH finally part part 2. i wasnt planning on writing it but many insisted in my dms. so sorry if its messy, tw: not proofread

part 1 masterlist

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as your body jolted upright, lungs burning as if you’d surfaced from drowning. Cold stone pressed into your spine, grounding you in a reality that felt almost as violent as the vision you had just escaped.

Around you, a circle of faces swam into focus—James, pale and wide-eyed, mouth parted in quiet panic; Remus, kneeling beside you with hands trembling just inches from your skin; and Sirius—his grip on your wrist iron-tight, like if he let go, you’d vanish into the void that had just swallowed you whole.

Your heart was racing, throat raw, ears ringing with echoes that hadn’t even happened yet.

Blood. Screams. Smoke.

James falling, crying your name with his last breath.

Remus, voice breaking through sobs as he fought to hold the line.

Sirius, shaking, begging, clinging to your body like he could stop it from going cold.

You’d seen it all.

Death.

Betrayal.

And now you knew.

Your breath hitched as you forced yourself upright, ignoring the dizziness that tilted the room. Your fingers dug into the stone floor to keep you steady.

“She saw something,” James said hoarsely, his voice cracking around the words.

Remus nodded grimly, his gaze locked on yours like he was trying to pull the vision from your eyes. “What did you see?”

You didn’t answer.

Your eyes drifted over each of them—your boys, your lovers. James, still gripping the map like it might fix this. Remus, steady despite the panic hiding just beneath his skin. Sirius, closer than all of them, his hand warm on your wrist, his voice shaking with restrained desperation.

And then… him.

Your best friend. Peter.

Hovering near the back, half-obscured by shadow, hands tucked deep into his robes, fingers twitching. His eyes darted away when yours met his. Not with concern. Not with fear. But with something else.

Guilt.

Shame.

Recognition.

He wasn’t shocked by your collapse. He wasn’t surprised by your silence. He was waiting. Hoping you wouldn’t say it. Your heart thudded in your chest. A sickening weight settled in your stomach.

“Say something, love,” Sirius whispered beside you. “You’re scaring us.”

You swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “I saw it,” you whispered, voice paper-thin. “I saw what’s coming. What we’re walking straight into.” The room went still. The kind of stillness that comes before a storm.

James shifted uneasily. “What did you see?”

You looked right at him. “I saw it happen, Jamie,” you breathed, your voice cracking. “You die. Remus gets left behind. Sirius…” Your voice broke again. “I’m taken. And I know—I know—who leads them to us. Who betrays us.”

The silence that followed was worse than any scream.It clawed at the walls, thick and heavy and suffocating. Your eyes burned as they locked onto Peter again. And then, the words ripped from you like a wound bursting open:

“It’s Peter.”

The room freezes.

There’s no sound now. No breath. The world stops.

James’s face pales. Sirius stiffens, his hand twitching by his side, but he doesn’t move. Remus’s expression flickers between confusion and something darker—suspicion? Denial?

Peter, behind Sirius, looks… nervous. But that’s it. Just the faintest shift in his posture, like a man who’s just been caught in a lie.

“No,” Peter says, and the word is thin, a tremor of uncertainty beneath it. He looks to Sirius, to Remus, pleading silently with his eyes. “That’s—no, it can’t be. You’re wrong.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as if it’s trying to beat itself out of your body. You can feel the air crackling with tension, every breath more difficult than the last. You stand shakily, your legs weak beneath you, but the truth won’t leave you. It claws at you, dragging you up with it.

“I saw it,” you repeat, your voice sharper now, filled with something darker. “He’s the one who tells Voldemort about James. He’s the one who lets them in. He’s the reason James dies, why you run, Sirius, why I’m left behind.”

Peter’s face twists then, a faint flicker of panic crossing his features. He laughs, but it’s a strained, hollow sound. “That’s insane. This—this is just a dream. A bad one. You’ve been working yourself too hard, Y/N. Your powers are messing with your head.”

But you can’t let him dismiss you. Not this time. You step forward, pushing through the pounding in your skull, the weight of the truth grinding against your ribs.

“Don’t patronize me.”

Your voice is cold, cold enough to freeze the very air between you. You can feel your blood rushing in your ears, your hands trembling with fury.

“I felt it. I lived it. It was real. Everything I saw—it happened.”

James’s gaze shifts, his eyes glancing between you and Peter, then back to you. He’s searching. Looking for something that could make this make sense. “How do you know it’s him? How do you know it wasn’t just—just symbolic?”

The question hits you like a slap. The doubt in his voice, the way it hangs in the air, makes your throat close up. You want to scream, to tear this all apart and make him see. But you can’t. You can only show him the truth. Let him feel it.

But you can’t. Not with his eyes locked onto you like that. Not with Peter’s guilt weighing down on you like a shadow that’s been cast too long.

“Because I saw it,” you shout, the words burning in your throat, searing everything around them. “Because I saw you scream my name while they dragged me away. I saw Remus fighting. I saw you, Siri, running from me. You—” You stop, gasping, your voice shaking like a blade that’s lost its edge. “You left me.”

Sirius flinches as if you’ve struck him. His face crumbles in agony, and for a moment, you see the heart of him—the pieces of him that are still soft and vulnerable.

“I would never leave you princess.” he says, his voice cracking, desperate, like he’s trying to put the shattered pieces of his soul back together with words. “Don’t say that. Please, don’t make me believe I could.”

“You did,” you say, and the word feels like it’s made of shards of glass. It’s so final. So heavy. You wish you could take it back, but you know you can’t. It’s the truth, and it’s already carved into the air between you.

Peter’s breath hitches, his face contorting with panic, but you don’t look away from him. You won’t.

“I never—” Peter starts to say, but the words fall apart before they reach the air. His chest heaves with an almost sickening desperation. “I never meant to—Moony, please! You know me! I’d never—”

But Remus doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch. He just stands there, his gaze colder than you’ve ever seen it. He doesn’t even look at Peter.

Sirius, though—Sirius can’t hold it in anymore. He steps forward, his voice low, shaking, filled with a rage that’s been building for far too long. “If I find out that even one part of her vision is true,” he growls, his eyes hardening like ice, “I swear to fucking Merlin, Peter—you will wish Voldemort had gotten to you first because i will burn you to death.”

Peter crumples. He falls to his knees, his body shaking uncontrollably now, but there’s no more argument, no more defense. He can’t even speak through the sobs.

James is silent. His eyes dart between you and Peter, like he’s drowning. He doesn’t know who to believe. His face is twisted in agony, torn between trust and fear.

And then, finally, the dam breaks.

You scream, your voice tearing through the air, your lungs raw with it: “Do you think I’m lying about watching you all die?”

Sirius punches the wall. The crack of bone against stone is the only thing that cuts through the chaos. His knuckles break on impact, but he doesn’t stop. Blood drips, forgotten. He’s a storm, and nothing can hold him back anymore.

James collapses into a chair, burying his face in his hands. He doesn’t know what to do anymore. Everything is wrong, and there’s nothing left to save.

“You were never meant to know,” you sob, your voice breaking. “You were never supposed to believe me. That’s why I saw it. So I could change it. So you didn’t have to die.”

Peter doesn’t move. He sits there, trembling, on the edge of something irreparable.

And that’s when Remus snaps.

He grabs Peter by the throat, slamming him against the wall with a growl you’ve never heard before. The world explodes in chaos as Remus’s wand presses into Peter’s skin, the force of it enough to choke the air from his lungs.

“Let me go!” Peter gasps, his hands scrabbling at the wall, desperate for freedom, but it’s too late. Remus doesn’t hear him.

The room spins into madness, voices shouting, accusations flying, betrayal hanging thick in the air. The Marauders—broken, shattered—surround Peter, and he crumbles further under the weight of everything he’s done.

Sirius pulls Remus back, but even as they separate, it’s clear nothing can fix this.

And in the center of the destruction stands Peter Pettigrew. A man who was once a brother. A best friend. A marauder.

Now, he’s just a traitor.

A ghost in the ruins of your world.

The Marauders were once legends.

Now, they are just ghosts waiting to happen.

It’s been 62 days and two full moons since the incident.

Since the night truth shattered like glass and cut everyone it touched. Since the vision turned into revelation, and revelation turned into war. Since Peter ran away and fled to merlin knows where. Since Peter's trembling confession cracked the world open—left it bleeding, howling, wrong.

Since everything changed.

James hasn’t smiled the same since. He still jokes, still acts like the golden boy with the unshakable heart—but it’s thinner now. His laugh always comes a second too late, his eyes always look like they’re scanning for something just out of reach. Sometimes you catch him staring into the fire, as if he’s waiting to see his future burn before it happens.

He hasn’t touched his broom since too. It leans in the corner of the dormitory, gathering more dust than any magical object should. He still walks the corridors with that same messy hair and tired smirk, but there’s a hollowness behind his eyes, like the vision you showed him is still playing behind them. He pretends for everyone else, but not for you.

Not when you find him sitting alone at the top of the Astronomy Tower at dawn, robes tugged tight around his chest like armor, hands buried in his hair.

“I wasn’t supposed to survive that, was I baby?” he murmurs without looking up.

You sit beside him in silence for a moment. Then laugh softly: “You still might not. The future changes prongs, who knows you might die at my hands”

James lets out a hollow laugh. “That’s comforting.”

You nudge his shoulder gently. “You’re still here.”

He looks at you then, eyes glassy but oh so full of love, in a way only James Potter could have  “Only because you saw it first.” 

he kisses you, full of love and adoration. For the first time in 62 days , but oh who's counting anyways?

And then there’s Sirius.

Sirius, who hasn’t stopped moving in 63 days. He throws himself into anything. He paces the dormitory late at night, spells muttered under his breath, wand clenched so tight his knuckles are white. He’s put a crack in the boys’ dormitory mirror from throwing a textbook at it. Professor McGonagall hasn’t said a word about the new dents in the walls near the staircases—maybe she knows. Maybe she heard him whispering your name like an apology outside the Fat Lady’s portrait. Like a vow. If he stops moving, he starts thinking. And if he starts thinking, he remembers. Remembers that he left. That he was taken. That in your vision, James died, and you screamed his name, and he couldn't come back for you.

Sometimes, when he thinks no one’s watching, he kneels by your bedroom door with his head bowed like he’s praying. Or confessing. Or both.

“Say it again, please.” he begged you once, fists clenched. “Say you’re here. Tell me I didn’t lose you.”

“You didn’t,” you promised, pulling his hands to your chest. “You didn’t lose me, Siri.”

He kissed your forehead that night like it was sacred. “ I love you.”

he whispered it for the first time in 63 days, but oh who's counting anyways?

Still, you hear him sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep—soft and broken: “I left her. I left her.”

Remus… Remus is the one who’s changed the least—at least on the outside. He still sits with you in the library, quietly sliding a new stack of books toward you with a soft smile and tired eyes. Still takes his tea with a drop of honey. Still folds his robes neatly and corrects James’s essays when he’s too exhausted to think. He is quieter than usual, but steady—always steady. He doesn’t speak of the night it happened, but you know he hasn’t let it go. You see it in the tightness of his jaw when James mentions plans, in the way his gaze lingers on Sirius when they think you’re asleep. He’s the glue holding the pieces of this fractured relationship together. And he’s tired.

But there’s a weight in his eyes now. Like every syllable of your visions lives behind them.

“I should’ve believed you, dove” he says quietly one afternoon, fingers ghosting over the spine of a Defense textbook.

“You did,” you say.

“No, not soon enough.”

But something’s colder now. Like he’s holding himself in check. Like there’s a wolf beneath his skin, pacing, waiting. You think he hasn’t forgiven himself—for not seeing it sooner. For not trusting your visions. For needing the truth to bleed out before he believed it. For doubt–

–“Remmy, as long as we all are okay then that's enough, believe me moony” you held his face and whispered. And for the first time in 65 days Remus Lupin believed it, but oh who's counting anyways?

You all are.

The Gryffindor Tower feels different now.

The fire still burns, the armchairs still sink under your weight, the portraits still gossip among themselves—but the warmth is thinner. The laughter is quieter. Sometimes, late at night, you catch first-years watching the four of you from across the room, whispering to each other.

As if they know something’s been broken. Something sacred.

Peter’s his name isn’t spoken anymore.

Not out of forgiveness. Not out of fear. Just… because no one can bear to taste the bitterness of it again. It sticks in the throat. It reopens wounds. His absence is a presence all its own—hanging in the corners of the house like cobwebs no one wants to clean, lest they find something worse underneath.

Sometimes, when you’re walking past the black lake, you swear you see his reflection in the water. Like a ghost. Like a warning.

And yet… amid the wreckage, something gentle still lingers.

Hope.

You’ve counted each of those — now 67 days — in silence. And with every one, the scar in your heart aches a little less—but it never really stops.

Because you remember.

You remember Sirius holding your wrist like it was the only thread connecting him to reality. James breaking down in your arms. Remus’s hollow voice when he said, “We should have believed you.”

And you remember what it cost for the truth to come out. What it nearly cost all of you.

But even now, beneath all the sorrow, there’s still something that lives in the quiet.

It’s fragile. Flickering. But it’s there.

It’s in the way James slips an extra chocolate frog into your bag without a word.

“Don’t say I never spoil you,” he smirks, and when you raise a brow, he adds, “Oh baby, don’t read into it too much.”

You already have.

In the way Sirius grips your hand a little too tight as you walk through the corridors.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he mutters. “Don’t. I’m not losing you again.”

In the way Remus hovers in the doorway of the common room each night, just long enough to make sure you’re safe.

“Sleep well, my girl” he whispers every night, even when you’ve already shut your eyes.

And then—two weeks ago, a rare Hogsmeade afternoon.

Just the four of you. No purpose. No heavy silences. Just wool scarves, cold noses, stolen sweets. Sirius dared James to try firewhisky-taffy. James choked. Sirius laughed so hard he fell into a snowbank. Remus shook his head, but he smiled—truly smiled—for the first time in weeks.

You were sitting on the hill behind the Shrieking Shack, James beside you, Sirius tossing Exploding Snap cards into the wind, Remus pouring spiced cocoa into conjured mugs.

And then—

The world shifted.

The vision came like a soft breeze. No pain. No scream. Just warmth.

-

-

A house. Sunlight through old windows. James lifting a small boy into the air, laughter echoing off wood beams. Sirius in the kitchen with flour all over his apron and cheeks, a toddler tangled in his arms. Remus reading aloud with a girl curled up at his side. You stood in the hallway, watching them all, hand on your heart. Safe. Loved.

Home.

-

-

When you came back to yourself, they were already watching.

“Y/N?” James asked. “You alright baby?”

You nodded slowly, eyes full. “I saw something.”

Sirius tensed immediately. “Bad?”

You shook your head. “No. Good. For once… it was good.”

Remus exhaled, something quiet and reverent. James’s fingers found yours.

“Tell us,” Sirius said, his voice barely a whisper.

You looked at each of them. “We were older. Happy. Together. There was sunlight. And kids. And no war.”

Silence.

Then, James chuckled softly. “About bloody time you saw something good.”

Sirius laughed, too—wet around the edges. “Did I look hot as fuck?”

“You were covered in flour and biscuit crumbs,” you teased.

“Sounds right,” Remus murmured. “We’ll get there.”

And maybe—for a moment—you all believed it.

Because even now, after the betrayal and the bleeding truth, you still come back to each other.

Because love came before the fall.

And somehow, against all odds, it’s still there.

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[ultravioletbrit]

“lipstick” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 280 words

 

“You lying, cheating bastard!” Regulus yells from down the hall.

“What did you do?” Remus asks.

“Probably nothing.” James shrugs as Regulus storms into the kitchen.

“Probably nothing!?” Regulus yells. “Care to explain what this is?” He throws a shirt at James.

“The shirt I wore last night.” James says casually.  

“Right. And why are there lipstick marks and mascara streaks on the collar?” Still yelling as he rips the shirt back out of James’ hands.

James points behind Regulus to a hungover Sirius who’s passed out at the kitchen table with smeared lipstick and mascara on his face.

“Right. That makes sense. Thank you.” He says sternly and stomps back out of the kitchen muttering something about ‘oil based’ and ‘a bitch to clean.’

“What was that?” Remus asks with wide eyes.

“Healthy communication.” James says with another shrug.

“That was healthy?”

“Oh yeah, normally he shuts down, won’t talk to me for days and often locks me out of the bedroom without telling me what’s wrong.” James starts telling him as Regulus walks back into the kitchen looking for something under the sink. “Plus, he knows I’d never actually cheat, probably just needed a bit of reassurance and this way he can ask without feeling too vulnerable.” He finishes as Regulus stands up.

“And you like it when I’m a little mean to you.” He tells James and kisses him on the cheek.

“And that.” James says as Regulus gives Remus a pointed ‘so there’ look and saunters out of the kitchen again.

“God, he’s dramatic.” Remus mumbles.

“Mooooonnnnyyyy!! My head huuuurrrts!!!” Sirius whines from the table and James raises an eyebrow at Remus.  

“What? I didn’t say mine wasn’t dramatic.”