dearmy-diary

[dearmy-diary]

Royal Flush

Authors Note: This is a continuation of an ask I did last month where reader is at a ball and catches the eyes of the boys. I loved the idea and many of you wanted a part two of the Royal AU so I hope this doesn’t disappoint 💖

part 1 | part 2

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader WC: 3.1k

The morning’s soft light filtered through the curtains, casting soft patterns across the stone floor. It was the day after the grand ball, and the palace was quieter now. Most of the attendees had already returned to their estates within Griffyn’s capital, while foreign guests remained as the royal family’s honored visitors.

Your morning had started in an unfamiliar way. Molly, one of the palace maids, had woken you—a cheerful woman with bright ginger hair and a warm, motherly tone. She knocked once before entering, her smile as much of a greeting as her words.

“Good morning, my lady,” she said, glancing around the room before turning her attention to you. “Did you sleep well?”

She offered to assist with anything— breakfast, dressing, even drawing a bath. It felt strange, having someone so eager to help. Back home, you’d always managed on your own. Though your family held the title of Baroness, your estate wasn’t large enough to support a full staff, especially for travel.

You hesitated before asking Molly for breakfast, not wanting to seem ungrateful. She brightened at the request, practically skipping out of the room with a promise to return quickly.

As you waited, you couldn’t help but compare her energy to Mary’s. Mary, Lily’s other Lady’s Maid, was usually always composed and efficient, keeping everything about the crown princess’s day running smoothly. With Mary around, there was rarely anything left for you to handle.

_____

When Molly returned, balancing a tray of breakfast that smelled more enticing than anything you’d eaten in weeks, Mary arrived not long after. She was dressed in a light pink day gown trimmed with elegant cream lace, the kind of attire that reminded you how deeply ingrained courtly refinement was in her every movement.

“Lily is in one of the meeting rooms with foreign dignitaries,” Mary informed you with a soft smile. “She’s likely to be occupied for most of the day.”

You nodded, though a pang of sympathy flickered within you. Lily had never been one for the formalities of court, least of all the endless debates that often unfolded in such meetings.

“Well, I suppose that leaves us fairly free for today,” you said, more to yourself than to Mary.

Mary’s expression softened briefly, though she didn’t linger. “I’d better fetch Marlene some snacks before she causes a scene,” she said, her tone laced with amused exasperation.

As she left, you considered how to spend the day. The palace grounds were sprawling, with gardens, libraries, and countless other places to explore. A rare opportunity to simply wander presented itself— a stark contrast to the tightly scheduled days you were used to at home and here at court.

For now, though, you stayed by the window, looking out over the grounds. Somewhere, Lily was enduring another meeting, and you silently hoped the dignitaries of Griffyn were at least more pleasant than most.

_____

By the time the afternoon sun reached its peak, you could no longer bear the confines of your chambers. The room felt stifling, though you knew it was more a result of your restlessness than anything else. Normally, you’d be trailing after the princess, your day filled with purpose. Without that familiar routine, the stillness left you feeling oddly untethered.

Seeking relief, you asked Molly if it would be acceptable to go for a walk. She assured you it was not only fine but encouraged, her cheerful enthusiasm evident as she bustled about to help you prepare.

“Day dresses are far too light for strolling outdoors,” she explained, pulling out a pale green walking dress with practical yet elegant lines. The hem barely skimmed your low heels, and Molly wrapped a white shawl around your shoulders for good measure.

“This should keep the sun and breeze from bothering you too much,” she said with a pleased nod, tying the shawl neatly. “I wish we had more parasols, but our queen isn’t fond of them—not for herself or her servants.”

“It’s all right,” you replied with a soft smile. “I don’t plan to be out long, just enough to stretch my legs.”

Molly guided you through the winding halls and out toward the gardens. The walk was quiet, save for the occasional exchange of smiles and greetings with passing servants. Their cheerful responses lifted your mood, though the uneventfulness of the palace only highlighted the stark contrast to the bustling atmosphere of the night before.

As you stepped into the sunlight, a voice called out, startling you. It was low, familiar, and unmistakably directed at you.

“My lady?”

Turning, you saw him— the tall, scarred man who had stood at the prince’s side during the ball. His presence had been commanding even in the grandeur of the event, and now, in the simpler setting of the palace grounds, he seemed no less imposing.

“Sir Remus,” you greeted softly, adjusting your stance to face him fully.

He inclined his head slightly, his expression far more relaxed than it had been the night before. You couldn’t fault him for that; a grand ball would leave anyone with a touch of nerves, no matter how practiced they were.

“Remus is fine, my lady,” he said with a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. “I’ve no title to speak of, so the formalities aren’t necessary.”

You tilted your head slightly, taking in his appearance. He was tall, his frame sturdy but not imposing, his posture carrying a quiet confidence that spoke of gentle discipline rather than arrogance. Even the scars that marked his face and hands which caught the light as he shifted, did nothing to dull the warmth in his gaze.

“I see,” you said, a touch of curiosity slipping into your voice. “But standing at the prince’s side during a ball like that—surely that carries some weight, title or not.”

Remus chuckled softly, a sound that felt entirely at odds with the stoic impression you had formed of him the night before. “It’s not nearly as glamorous as it looks, I promise. Most of the time, I’m a glorified shadow, trying not to trip over my own feet.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his candor. There was something disarming about the way he spoke, as though he had no interest in the airs and graces so many at court clung to.

“Then you must have done an excellent job,” you replied lightly. “I didn’t see you trip once.”

A spark of amusement flickered in his eyes. “High praise, my lady. Perhaps I’ll add it to my list of achievements.”

You both fell into an easy silence, the kind that felt less like an awkward pause and more like a shared moment of understanding. The gentle breeze carried the scent of flowers, and the distant sound of a fountain added a soothing rhythm to the scene.

“I imagine you’re more accustomed to this place than I am,” you said eventually, glancing around at the sprawling gardens. “Molly suggested this garden, but I’ve no idea where to start.”

Remus nodded, following your gaze. “The gardens are beautiful, but they can be overwhelming for someone unfamiliar. If you’d like, I can show you a quieter corner— somewhere to gather your thoughts without interruption.”

You hesitated, caught between the politeness expected of you and a genuine curiosity about what he might show you. “If it’s no trouble, I’d appreciate that,” you said at last.

“It’s no trouble at all,” he assured you, gesturing toward a nearby path lined with blooming hedges. “This way.”

As you walked together, the conversation turned to lighter topics—the unseasonably chilly weather, the finer details of the ball, and a few amusing anecdotes from Remus’s time in the palace. He spoke with an ease that belied the seriousness of his appearance, his dry wit catching you off guard more than once.

The path opened into a small clearing, where a stone bench sat beneath the shade of a grand tree. The air here felt cooler, the sunlight softened by the canopy above. At the center of the space, a fountain bubbled gently, its water catching the light in a way that seemed almost magical.

“This was always my favorite spot,” Remus said, his voice quieter now as though the space demanded a certain reverence. “Few people come here. It’s peaceful.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said, taking a seat on the bench. For a moment, you simply let the stillness wash over you, the weight of the day slipping away.

Remus remained standing, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he gazed at the fountain. There was something contemplative about his expression, as though he were lost in a memory.

“Do you come here often?” you asked, your voice soft enough not to break the calm.

“Whenever I can,” he admitted. “Though that’s not as often as I’d like.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the way his shoulders seemed less tense here, his guard lowered in a way that felt rare. “Thank you for showing me this,” you said sincerely.

He turned to you, his smile faint but genuine. “It’s my pleasure, my lady. Everyone deserves a place like this.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, the silence comfortable and unforced. It was a rare moment of tranquility, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for it— and for the unlikely company that had led you here.

_____

The calm was shattered when a rustle of leaves preceded the sudden, chaotic entrance of a disheveled Prince and his knight, Sirius. They stumbled into the clearing, unmistakably attached at the lips. The sight was so unexpected that a startled squeak escaped you as you whipped around, your hands flying up to cover your eyes and the warmth now flooding your cheeks.

Behind you, Remus let out a long groan. “You two— what did I say about being careful?” he muttered, already moving to untangle the pair.

With an exaggerated huff, Remus grabbed Sirius by the collar and pulled him away from the prince, leaving James standing awkwardly in place. Sirius, his dark hair even messier than usual, blinked at Remus before his expression morphed into something between mischief and mortification.

“It’s just us,” Sirius started before catching sight of you. His voice pitched up a notch. “Oh. OH.”

You kept your hands firmly over your eyes, facing resolutely away. “I didn’t see anything!” you insisted, your voice high with embarrassment.

James, ever the composed royal, immediately tried to salvage the situation. Straightening his disheveled attire, he cleared his throat. “My lady, I assure you— this is not what it seems.”

“It’s exactly what it seems,” Sirius interjected with a half hearted grin, earning a sharp look from both James and Remus.

“Not helping,” Remus hissed under his breath, shoving Sirius lightly in the shoulder.

You cautiously lowered one hand, keeping your gaze averted as you lifted the other in a placating gesture. “Your Highness, please. There’s no need to explain. It’s… not my place to comment on such matters.”

The words tumbled out in a rush, and you hoped they conveyed your sincerity. As a mere lady’s maid, it felt absurd that the crown prince was scrambling to justify himself to you.

James stepped forward, his expression softening, though his cheeks still bore a faint flush. “I appreciate your discretion, my lady. Truly. But I must insist, you didn’t walk into anything inappropriate. Sirius and I—”

“Are in love,” Sirius finished bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone was unapologetic, and though you couldn’t see it, you were certain he wore a challenging expression.

The tension in the air thickened, but you found yourself smiling faintly at Sirius’s bluntness. Slowly, you turned back toward them, keeping your gaze carefully trained on a neutral patch of garden behind James. “If I may speak freely, Your Highness?”

James gave a hesitant nod. “Of course.”

“I’m glad,” you said, your voice soft but earnest. “You deserve to be happy, both of you. And I promise— this stays between us.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Sirius broke it with a low whistle. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises, my lady.”

Remus sighed heavily, though there was a hint of amusement in his expression. “Could you at least try to take this seriously, Sirius?”

“What? She’s clearly not scandalized,” Sirius replied with a shrug gesturing to your calm figure.

James ran a hand through his already-mussed hair, looking more relieved than anything else. “Thank you,” he said simply, meeting your eyes briefly before glancing away. “That means more than you know.”

You inclined your head, still feeling the weight of the moment despite your efforts to ease it. “It’s no trouble, Your Highness. If anything, I feel bad for stumbling into your… private moment.”

“Maybe next time, you two could avoid ‘private moments’ in public gardens,” Remus interjected dryly, giving Sirius another shove for good measure.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Sirius quipped, earning a groan from both Remus and James.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension easing into something a bit more comfortable. Yet it drew their attention back to you, a subtle reminder that you were an outsider in this exchange.

_____

With the weight of their attention settling heavily on your shoulders, you cleared your throat and rose from the stone bench. Your fingers instinctively adjusted the shawl around your shoulders as if the gesture might somehow steady you. “I should excuse myself,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve already intruded far more than I intended.”

Before you could retreat further, James moved toward you, his amber eyes wide and earnest. “There’s no need to leave so hastily,” he said, his voice gentle but insistent. “If you’d allow it, I’d be honored to escort you back.”

The offer took you by surprise, and for a fleeting moment, you faltered. He was the prince, after all, and you, a simple lady’s maid. Yet his tone carried no weight of obligation— only a quiet sincerity that made it impossible to refuse.

“If it’s no trouble, Your Highness,” you replied, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of your shawl.

“It’s no trouble at all,” he assured, his voice warm as he extended his arm toward you.

With a glance at Sirius and Remus— both of whom seemed far too amused by the situation— you gingerly accepted James’s arm. You began walking beside him, though it quickly became clear that the prince had no intention of taking the most direct route back to the palace.

But you said nothing. The moment was too peaceful, too quiet to break.

As you walked through the winding garden paths, the vibrant flowers that lined the stone walkways caught your eye. James, his tone light yet tinged with reverence, gestured to them. “Most of these flowers were planted by my mother,” he said, a softness to his voice.

“Really?” you asked, your curiosity piqued as you followed his gaze to the vibrant blooms.

He nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips. “She always said the gardens were the heart of the palace. Even now, when she has the time, she tends to them herself. These lavender bushes here,”—he gestured to a cluster of pale purple flowers—“were the first ones she planted.”

You paused to take in the sight and fragrance of the flowers, your steps slowing as their sweet scent filled the air. James, noticing your pause, stopped as well. “She planted them with her own hands, when she was still just a princess.”

You nodded, the sight of the delicate flowers filling you with a quiet appreciation. “They’re beautiful. She must be proud of how they’ve flourished.”

“She is,” James replied, his smile deepening. “Though I think she’s most proud of her roses in her private garden. Those are her true pride.” His voice held a lightness, a warmth that seemed to stem from genuine affection.

There was something disarming about his words— something that softened the weight of his title, making him seem less a prince and more a proud son.

In the soft glow of the garden, with the scent of flowers thick in the air, James felt more human than royal. It was a side of him that you hadn’t expected, but it made him all the more endearing.

As you continued to walk, he turned to you with a thoughtful expression. “You’re from the neighboring kingdom, aren’t you?”

You nodded, a bit startled at the shift in conversation. “Yes, Your Highness. I’m from Eylillium. I serve Princess Lily as a lady’s maid.”

James smiled, his gaze steady and kind. “I do hope you’re enjoying your time here. It’s been a pleasure getting to speak with you these past two days.”

His words, though spoken casually, stirred something in your chest. The prince, in all his sincerity, had a way of making even simple conversation feel profound. Your heart quickened, and for a moment, you found yourself at a loss for words. You glanced away, unsure how to respond.

Before you could collect your thoughts, James slowed, stopping before one of the covered hallways that led back into the heart of the palace. Off to the side, Molly stood with a soft smile, offering a respectful bow to the prince.

“Thank you for letting me escort you back,” James said, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity as he turned to face you fully. You let your hand fall gently from his arm, the distance between you suddenly feeling more pronounced.

“Thank you for showing me the way,” you replied, your tone light, though tinged with the truth. “I likely would’ve gotten lost otherwise.” A quiet chuckle escaped you, recalling how disoriented you'd been when Remus first guided you through the sprawling garden. Its winding paths were a labyrinth to anyone unfamiliar.

“It’s my pleasure, truly,” James reassured, his grin wide and effortless, leaving little room for protest.

You sighed softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the odd flutter in your chest. You nodded politely, dipping your head slightly in a gesture of respect. “I hope you have a pleasant afternoon, Your Highness.”

James’ chuckle was warm, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer before he leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I hope to talk to you again soon, my lady.”

James bowed slightly before turning, making his way back toward the gardens with his usual confident stride. His presence lingered in the air, and for a moment, you found yourself watching him leave, an odd mix of thoughts and emotions swirling within you.

As he disappeared from view, you blinked, shaking yourself from the reverie. With a quiet breath, you turned to follow Molly, who had already begun walking back towards your room. Your pace was slow, your mind replaying the conversation, as the heat in your cheeks returned with a rush. The weight of everything that had transpired that afternoon began to settle heavily within you.

You couldn’t help but think you might be damned. Not just by the information you had stumbled upon today, the unspoken tension hanging between you all, but by the mere presence of those three.

You were definitely damned.

[dearmy-diary]

“Two of a Kind”

Chapter I

Summary: You and James Potter were once intertwined, hearts beating for each other, but due to unforeseen circumstances, you decided to break up, taking Harold with you and Harry with him.

Pairings: James Potter x fem!reader

"Do you have everything?" you softly asked your nine-year-old son, who looked so much like his father-minus the missing glasses.

"Yup, including this!" he joyfully replied, showing you the back of his ID, which had the ripped, almost greying picture of James.

You mirrored your son's smile, though it was a bit strained. There was a tug at your heartstrings, one you had become accustomed to whenever Harold brought up James in conversation. The feeling, though familiar, was never welcomed.

Heaving a deep breath, you squeezed Harold's shoulder.

"I'm going to miss you, bubs," you said in a melancholy voice, the slight waver in your words not lost on your nine-year-old boy.

Harold grabbed your face in both of his small hands, pulling it closer to meet his puppy eyes.

"It'll be just a few weeks, Mum," he said with a boyish smile, which made you roll your eyes. You were expecting an "I'll miss you too, Mum," but given that he was James Potter's son, you shouldn't have expected anything less cheeky from him.

The thought made your heart ache again.

"Have fun without me, yeah?" The sound of the train's whistle made him grin before he nodded his head in excitement, dragging you along toward the scarlet engine.

"I'll miss you too, Mum," he murmured as you both stopped in front of the train. You bent down to his height, peppering his face with wet kisses, which made the young boy giggle.

Your soft moment was cut short as the train whistled again, making you pull away with a sad smile, unshed tears glittering in the dancing rays of sunlight.

"Go," you softly murmured, ushering him inside the train.

Harold went inside, pausing at the entrance to wave a kiss goodbye. Then, he ran off, excitement radiating with each step he took.

Harold ran without looking back, a giddy smile plastered on his face. But it was soon wiped off as he collided with someone, letting out a small whimper as his bum hit the ground with a loud thud.

"I'm sorry," a young voice said from above, its owner stretching out a hand.

"Let me help you."

Harold took the offered hand and pulled himself up.

"Sorry about that. I wasn't looking where I was going," he said, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

"I'm Harold, by the way. Harold L/N." He offered his hand to the boy, whose face was adorned with round glasses.

The boy beamed at the introduction before taking Harold's small hand in his, squeezing it gently with a gently with a thrilled smile.

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

…

The two boys found themselves in a heap of candies, their mouths full of sugary delicacies that would surely make your face pinch in worry.

“So, what do you plan on doing during our camp, Haz?” Harold inquired casually as he took a bite of a licorice wand. “Can I call you Haz?” he added with a friendly smile.

Harry pulled his gaze away from the scene outside the moving train, having been fascinated by the picturesque countryside. “Probably try and learn some flying tricks,” he said proudly, a smirk—oddly identical to Harold’s—plastered on his face. “Actually, Haz is what my uncles and dad call me,” Harry added, his expression softening.

“How about you?” It was Harry’s turn to ask, his head tilting slightly in interest.

“Pranks,” Harold immediately answered, smiling playfully at Harry, whose eyes widened slightly.

“No way,” Harry murmured in disbelief. “My uncle Padfoot, Moony, and dad used to do that back when they were at Hogwarts,” he recalled.

“I bet they’re cool,” Harold whispered excitedly, his interest piqued at the mention of Harry’s dad and uncles.

“Super cool,” Harry affirmed with a nod.

For a moment, silence enveloped the children as they munched on their sweets. It wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt natural, as if they had known each other far longer than this train ride.

“You know, we can prank the kids in the camp. I brought dungbombs with me,” Harold said, breaking the silence. Almost immediately, Harry’s face lit up.

“My aunt Marlene sends me packages of dungbombs. It drives my mum nuts because she doesn’t really like them,” Harold added, rummaging through his backpack.

“You have an aunt called Marlene too?” Harry’s eyes went wide as saucers, his face etched with utter surprise.

“I do, but I’ve never met her. I only know about her because of my mum,” Harold said with a shrug, nonchalant about their shared, unknown connection, as he continued digging through his bag.

“My dad’s close friend is also called Marlene. They were friends back at Hogwarts!” Harry exclaimed.

“Speaking of Hogwarts, which house do you think you’ll be sorted into?” Harold asked as he finally pulled out a pack of dungbombs.

“Gryffindor of course,” Harry said casually, as if he already knew where he would be sorted.

“Just like your dad?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. What about you?”

“Probably wherever my mum was sorted,” Harold said with a small smile.

…

The whole train ride was spent getting to know a bit about each other, discussing plans for the camp, and sharing their mutual interest in Quidditch. Harry seemed more inclined to play the sport, while Harold was perfectly content watching rather than being a player himself.

Before they knew it, the train screeched to a halt as they arrived at the camp just before the sun began its descent.

The two boys started gathering the trash, stuffing it into a plastic bag to throw away later. Once they were done, they grabbed their bags, slung them across their shoulders, and left their compartment with beaming smiles plastered on their faces.

“Everyone! Please fall in line for the headcount!”
A familiar voice called out, making Harry whip his head toward the source.

There stood a lanky man with scars etched across his face—some old, some freshly acquired. He looked friendly despite his scars, a gentle smile adorning his face as he encouraged the kids to fall in line.

“Moony!” Harry called, running toward the tall man, with Harold following close behind. Harold’s brows pinched together in confusion as he tried to recall where he had seen this man before. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Haz!” the man—whom Harry had called Moony—greeted enthusiastically, his gaze shifting to meet Harold’s eyes with a smile.

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Harry said, grinning.

Remus nearly jumped out of his skin as he looked from Harry to Harold, then back to Harry again.

“I—Merlin’s beard,” he stammered, his face paling as if he had just witnessed a tragic death unfold before his eyes.

First chapter is out! Yay! Let me know what you think about it! I am open for constructive criticisms and as always, I apologize for any mistake that I have made.

[dearmy-diary]

Amortentia (Jegulus)

Regulus didn’t smell. It drove James insane sometimes. 

He didn’t smell after quidditch practice, or even after just waking up. It was another one of those things about him that made him seem “perfect”. James hated it. 

Regulus was so much more than the image he presented himself to be, but he’d gotten too lost in playing the part, maybe that’s all he’d become. 

Every single “imperfection” had been driven away by his mother. Not just for Regulus, but for Sirius as well. The Black family had an image to maintain, high society they had to live in. They couldn’t accept body odor, crooked teeth, or any blemishes on their skin. 

James didn’t know how they did it. But none of the Blacks had any negative body odor. No matter how much they sweat. 

It’s not to say they don’t have a particular smell. According to Slughorn, everyone had a distinct smell, something unique about them. 

Sirius smelled like wet dog fur, James knew this because he slept in the bed next to him and every night Sirius turned to padfoot in his sleep. 

Narcissa smelled like spring, like her namesake— narcissus. Strangely intense, yet cool and floral. James had only placed the smell last year when they had grown the flower in herbology. 

Walburga black smelled like roses, James imagined that’s what the queen of hearts from Alice in Wonderland smelled like. It was suffocating if you had the displeasure to be near her, like a thousand thorny plants squeezing your windpipe. 

James wasn’t padfoot, he didn’t memorize smells. But it’s hard not to notice how his closest friends smell. It made him feel warm, to be surrounded by so many people he loves, all with a distinct smell. 

Remus smelled like chocolate, like wet fur, wooly sweaters, a warm fire and old books. James could tell that’s what Sirius was smelling in his cauldron right then. That’s the reason he was thinking so much about smells in the first place. 

Sixth year brought with it responsibilities, but also more advanced potion making. James always wondered why he didn’t drop potions when he had the chance. 

Sirius was blushing so hard, his skin tone matched the pink potion. James had to stifle his own laughter as Remus tried to go over the recipe once again to make sure they had made it correct. They were all paired up for this particular class. Sirius and Remus at one cauldron and James and Peter next to them. It used to be Sirius and James together, but after one too many pranks in the classroom, Professor Slughorn had separated them. 

“Clockwise!” Remus corrected Sirius just before he could have ruined their potion. They were the second ones to finish their potion so Slughorn was already making his way towards the boys. “Bloody hell, Sirius. Stop overmixing it”

James exchanged a look with Peter. Why had he let Sirius pick Remus while pairing up again? Oh that’s right— Wingman duties

James was nowhere near as great as Lily or Remus or even Snivellus in potion making, but he managed. Mostly he used Remus’ notes and applied common sense. It drove Remus insane sometimes, how much work he’d have to put in to memorize something, only for James to make an educated guess about it. James couldn’t really explain how he knew stuff, he just did. Call it pattern awareness, or whatever. 

“So from the way Moony was yelling at Padfoot, I’m guessing we have to stir it clockwise?” James raised an eyebrow.

Peter only snickered as he watched their other two friends bickering like an old married couple. “What’d you think Moony smells, James?”

“Wet dog” James replied easily, “And that awful old leather jacket Padfoot refuses to throw away,”

“I bet Sirius smells chocolate and wool” 

James had known Peter for years, they'd had baths together when they were babies, learned how to ride a bicycle from James’ father, spent ten christmases trying to make gingerbread houses and so many more memories. 

That’s all to say, James knew what Peter smelled like. He had a distinct cologne he swore worked wonders on the ladies, and as stereotypical as it was for the rat to love cheese, he really did. 

So if James was in love with his best mate, that’s what he would have smelled. 

But instead when he dared to take a whiff of the potion (after coughing violently because it was pretty strong), all he smelled was broom wax, old books and paint. 

“Mmmhmm” Peter grinned, “Camembert, and candy. Smells so great I’m hungry now. And you?”

“Old books” He frowned, “And paint”

“Careful, Pads might think you’re in love with Moony too”

James wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He was glad he didn’t smell lilies, relating to his old embarrassing crush. It had been months since he had obsessed over Lily Evans and even thinking about that time made him cringe. 

James had quickly realized he had no idea what love was supposed to be. He grew up watching his parents so immensely in love he’d been in love with the idea of love and the idea of Lily Evans. And ideas are dangerous things to be in love with. 

For his sake and Lily’s, he was glad he stopped liking her. 

But after Lily… well, there had been someone James had grown a liking too. And he couldn’t help the disappointment when he didn’t smell Regulus in the potion. He took a few more whiffs, just to be sure. But to no avail. The potion still smelled the same. 

James wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much. Maybe he was just incapable of loving. Because he couldn’t smell Regulus, that had to mean he wasn’t in love with the boy as he had previously thought. This was clearly a Lily situation again. And that bothered James. Mainly because he wanted to be in love. Not just because of his fantasy of being so in love with someone, but also because Regulus was so lovely. 

He was witty and sharp, beautiful and sarcastic, knowledgeable and petty, headstrong and stubborn but also sweet and funny. He seemed to positively glow under James’ praise. James loved it when he flushed pink, James loved it when he shot back a retort, when he smiled a secret smile for only James, when he dragged his long fingers over James’ skin— touch for the sake of touch. James loved every single thing about Regulus, the way his eyes crinkled when he tried to stop himself from laughing at one of James’ bad jokes, the way he sneezed, the way his lips parted, the way he tasted so sweet when they kissed, but most of all, James thought he was in love with Regulus.

He wasn’t sure what smell he was searching for. He knew Regulus didn’t smell. He didn’t have a signature smell like Peter’s cologne. But James was still disappointed. 

He wanted to make Regulus feel loved, he wanted to be in love. He had said it once and Regulus had said it before. 

Three simple words. 

And what if they were a lie?

A knock on the door made Slughorn change directions. He had been heading toward James and Peter’s potion to check it, but he walked toward the open door. 

James would have recognised those curls anywhere. 

Even before Regulus was fully visible, stepping into the doorway, eyes searching the class, James was grinning. Who cared what the stupid potion said? The potion could be wrong. Maybe James and Peter brewed it wrong. 

All that mattered was that Regulus lit up James’ world, it genuinely felt that way. Just passing him in the hallways, getting to stare at him as he stared at the stars, just listening to him talk about astronomy or his favorite paintings felt like a reward to James.

So yeah, fuck the potion. 

James Potter was in love with Regulus Black.

That’s when he spotted the paint splattered on the edges of his otherwise neat robe. He was handing a book he must have borrowed back to Slughorn. His eyes landed on James and though he tried to keep his composure in thanking the professor, James grew ecstatic at the acknowledgement.

The effect Regulus had on him really had to be studied. 

Just before he left, he sniffed the room, his eyebrows furrowing in that Regulus Black way as he mock glared at James. He had the face of an aristocrat but the mind of an artist. Maybe he was both.

James was thankful his table was the closest to the door and the others were too busy either bickering, fawning over their potion or still completing it. 

“You smell, Potter” Regulus scrunched his nose in disgust, turning to walk away, “Didn’t you shower after quidditch? It’s disgusting, it’s a wonder the whole room isn’t gagging with how strong it is, even your sandalwood perfume can’t mask it.”

James could barely say anything before Regulus had walked away. 

Paint splatter, the old books in the room of requirement and Regulus’ personal collection, the broom wax from when James had watched him polish his broom before a match against Hufflepuff. 

Slowly the pieces floated together and James thought he had started floating too. He felt light, like a floating lantern, a ball of warmth in his chest. 

And what had Regulus been talking about? James twisted his ankle his last game. Madam Pomfrey hadn’t cleared him to fly the whole week, he had been moping about not being able to play. 

When he looked at Peter, his friend was looking back with an amused look. 

“Fucking hell, Prongs”

“Don’t tell Padfoot”

[dearmy-diary]

❀Fan Fics❀

The Marauders Era:

James Potter

❀ Beautiful Boy (@reysdriver) - James struggles to keep his cool when you go into labour.

❀ Lucky Charm (@reysdriver) - James tries to stall because you're running late to his Quidditch game.

❀ Don't Buy Me Flowers (@shadowbriar) - James Potter sees reader who is tutoring a small group of second-year students in herbology (she's good at it) James finds it adorable and the way she helps them make him think that she will be an excellent mother.

❀ Domestic fluff with James (@luveline) - James believes he knows how to clean an oven.

❀ Cheesy pickup line (@luveline) - something like ‘oh wow do I know you??’ ‘No, I don’t think so’ ‘ohhh, I know what it is. You look just like my next lover’

❀ Why do you touch me? (@luvelineline) - You've never had a boyfriend likes James.

❀ James loves to talk (@luveline) - James loves to talk. When the teacher moves him to a different seat, he starts up conversations with his new partner no matter who they are. One day I’m transfiguration he gets put next to the reader and tries to start up a conversation.

❀ Domestic bliss with James (@luveline) - Just heart-aching lovely intimacy.

❀ You're too drunk. (@luveline) - Drunk James and he's like "I don't wanna be your friend"

❀ The aftermath of watching a scary movie at 3am (@reysdriver)

❀ Bodyguard James (@luveline) - bodyguard!James and something angsty like last time except she does listen to him and there are more bad guys than he anticipated and they actually do hurt her/take her but ofc James gets her back eventually and even though she is hurting she is okay because he didn’t get hurt for her this time so she doesn’t feel guilty.

❀ Your Hand Forever (@luveline) - You ask James to pretend to be your boyfriend. He always says yes.

❀ You don't really like me, you just think you do. (@perpetuallydaydreaming) - when James’s feelings do a 180, you find it hard to take him seriously.

❀ You have to kiss under the mistletoe, it’s the rules. (@perpetuallydaydreaming) -Who knew a small bundle of leaves could change everything?

❀ Stop flirting with the nurse, it’s embarrassing. (@perpetuallydaydreaming) - It’s hard to act cool if James’ beautiful, hot nurse can hear his heart rate.

❀You Still Got It (@inkdrinkerworld) - dilf James and milf reader going on a fancy work trip together and leaving Harry home alone so they let him have his friends over and so Harrys trying to get them to leave faster before his friends come because every time they see his mom they just DROOL over her EVERY TIME. but they don't go out in time so his friends are just STARING at her and Harry's just like "Ugh this again 🙄"

❀ Damn Those Onions (@luveline) - James comes home from work and hears reader sniffing and he’s like MY BABY?!?!?!?! proper panicking thinking reader is crying and rly upset but she’s actually been chopping onions.

❀ Umbrellas (@luveline) - Where your daughter's heart gets stolen right under your nose.

❀ Bodyguard James (@luveline) - some mutual pining with bodyguard!james x fem!reader.

❀ Coffee (@luveline) - James where u two are walking and he starts swinging your hands.

❀ Touch (@luveline) - Reader isn't typically very physically affectionate but she doesn’t mind James touching her, and one day she reciprocates and he's all happy and giddy about it.

❀ Bodyguard James (@luveline) - Where you're hyperventilating and James comforts you.

❀ Bodyguard James (@luveline) - James looks like your boyfriend sometimes.

❀ A Star Between Hands (one | two | three | four) (@luveline) - Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

❀ No (@aanoia) - James won't give up until he gets a yes.

❀ Wake up, fall down. (@curseofaphrodite) - James doesn't get drunk often but when he does, chaos follows.

Sirius Black

❀ Her Smile (@kquil) -You've been pestering Sirius to finish his part of your partner project for transfiguration and he's reached the boiling point with you. OR Sirius wants to be spiteful ; you annoy him ; it all backfires ; you're actually really cute.

❀ Ghost Of A Smile (@perpetuallydaydreaming) - Sirius said, “you fall in love with anything with a pulse.” so naturally James proves him wrong.

❀ Winter's only pretty when you're warm. (@perpetuallydaydreaming) - Where the reader goes to visit him in Azkaban.

❀ I Think He Knows (@theemporium) - The five times your secret relationship with your brother’s best friend was almost exposed to him and the one time it was. 

Remus Lupin

❀ Stick With Me (@luveline) - Remus getting very distracted by a book and r taking it as the silent treatment and feeling miserable until he realises.

❀ Fury Little Secret (@angelfic) - You find out Remus has been keeping a huge secret from you, and only you.

❀ Calm After The Storm (@angelfic) - The 4 times you hate each other, and the one time you don’t. Alternatively, Remus Lupin is a pain in your arse and yours alone.

❀ I'm Trying To Get Work Done (@luveline) - In which you are trying to get work done but Remus has other plans.

❀ Mouse (@siriuslovebot) - The reader has always had a huge crush on Remus. the girls find out and Marlene accidentally lets it get back to Remus.

Golden Trio Era:

Theodore Nott

❀ That Final Night (@theonotti) - Ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Theodore Nott is out of Azkaban. And after years and years of being apart, he's finally ready for the reunion he's been waiting on.

❀ The Way I Loved You (@angelfic) - In which Theodore Nott will do anything to get you to go out with him, but you’re just as stubborn in rejecting him.

❀ Butterfly Love (@talesofadragon) - Despite witnessing the death of his mother and being forced to grow under the watch of his Death Eater father, Theodore Nott is living proof that love and care bloom even in the most barren conditions. Maybe, they flourish even more.

[dearmy-diary]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER ONE

01 : ARRIVAL

SUM. : you take a familiar villainess' place, but it's all just a dream, right?

TAGS. : son sirius black/mother reader ; son regulus black/mother reader ; marauders fix-it-fic ; transferring into harry potter series (marauders era) au ; reader is a harry potter fan ; but not a JKR fan ; walburga black is no more ; or is she? ; pre-marauders era ; sirius black is an angry child ; regulus black is a precious baby ; big brother sirius being a little jealous ; mentions of child abuse (not explicit) ; orion black can eat dirt ; kreacher is a precious bean ; not canon compliant ; the journey begins! 

LENGTH : 6.3k

1st August 1971

Your eyes snap open to opaque darkness as a silent scream escapes you. Pain. Excruciating and tormenting pain rips your head in two and paralyses the rest of your body. You want to call for help, desperate for relief but words fail you. It’s as if someone had lacerated your throat and ran away with your mangled vocal cords. Overwhelmed by the pressure in your head, you quickly surrender and fall into the mouth of the hungry blackness encompassing you. 

The next time you wake up, you were almost blissfully unaware of the agony you previously awoke to if you weren’t sorely reminded by the lingering compression in your ears, an, almost, unbearable pounding ache in your skull, and the paralysis of your limbs. Your shaky breaths sound amplified in your ringing ears as you slowly regain control of your desensitised appendages but the stabbing sensation against your skull persists. It doesn’t appear to want to dull out unlike most continuous pains. In a desperate effort to mute the throbbing, you curl up into the foetal position and focus on your breathing, your hands clutching at the temporal and parietal areas of your head. After a while, there’s some relief. Sweet relief.

The darkness remains as obscure and daunting as you had first awoken to, a dead, unfeeling space — like a black hole. But it can’t be that. It can’t be a black hole. You hope it isn’t, at least. There has to be a way out of here. 

With great effort and a groan of pain, you get onto your hands and knees, suffering through agonising aches as you feel about the space around you. All the objects you come into contact with are insignificant, too ordinary for your brain to comprehend and speculate over — though the unrelenting throbbing in your skull may be of probable cause to your lack of analysis — it came with one reassuring thought however, their existence was evidence enough that this wasn’t a black hole…

What poor thoughts. 

You’ve never been so vapid. The thoughts swirling in your head were so lacking in cognition and inference that you instinctually shook your head in disappointment. A black hole? Impossible! —Unless you were launched into space in between the meeting with your investors and your journey home. Were you drugged? Taken hostage? If you were then why weren’t your limbs tied up? Eventually, your trembling hands find a wall, a small success that you quickly take advantage of, tracing the perimeter of the boxy room, hoping to find a doorway or vent, anything that could lead you to freedom. You probably look pathetic crawling around but there weren’t any traces of light, even a locked box was more illuminated than this. 

Your rambling thoughts continue, a distraction from the throbbing in your skull, until you feel it. A break in the wall, the border to a door. You didn’t waste any time and ignored all pains to stand and feel out the space for the doorknob, leaning your weight against the wooden entrance to alleviate your weak limbs. Disoriented and brainless — were you terribly hungover or something? More speculations, more unanswered questions but finally a release to freedom! The door relented and gave way as you finally found its handle, pushing down with your weight and tumbling towards freedom. 

The light burned your eyes and made you tear up but the relief of liberty was soothing. The throbbing, stabbing pains in your skull were now replaced by a reeling dizziness and it throws you off balance. But your hand catches the wall to steady you while your other clutches at your head; your disorientation grows and grows. It feels like you were tied to the end of a string and spun around as the length of the string gradually increases, giving the sensation of your mushy brain being stretched out. What in the world have you done to be put through this amount of distress and trauma? 

Curling your fingers into your head, you try to distract from the sickening dizziness with grounding pain and search for repose but are given none. Just as your nails begin to claw at your scalp as your other hand gropes at unfamiliar, drab wallpaper, a voice calls out to you. It’s small and confused, full of light and youth — it’s a child’s voice. 

“Mother?…”

Turning to the hesitant call, you lock eyes with steel grey pools. It’s a little boy. Maybe eight to nine years of age. He has beautiful short black hair, pale skin and angular features but childishly soft cheeks. His formal-like dress and perfect posture makes him look like a little prince. You don’t answer him right away; too distracted with your curious surveillance so he calls to you again with furrowed brows and the same title on his tongue, ‘mother’. 

He was talking to you. Strange…

“Did you just call me ‘mother’?” you ask, he doesn’t answer and you try not to wince, still very light-headed and muddled, “Why?”

“Because you are my mother,” the stare he affixes you with makes it obvious that he thinks you’re a crazy person. No, but he’s the crazy one!

“Are you okay mother?” another, almost identical looking boy walks up and stands beside the first. He, too, has beautiful black hair and pale skin but with much softer features so he must be younger than the first. They wear a similar attire —another little prince. Two little princes, brothers, that view you as their mother. 

But that’s impossible…

The younger of the two has an air of politeness surrounding him as he watches you with empathy swimming in his grey pools. In clear objection to the compassion his younger brother was willing to give you, the eldest child subtly squints at your crumpled and distressed figure. 

“I don’t have children…” your weak voice states but fails to continue, bewildered but confident in the fact although it breaks your heart. It just slipped out and now the two boys were stiff and tense from head to toe. 

Quickly shaking off his rigid limbs, the older brother scowls at you, “as much as we don’t want to be your children, we are!” his tone his biting as he speaks with a snarl, his pristine white teeth bared for defence and attack. With stomping footfalls, the duo run away, fleeing your sight in a blur of blacks, whites and greys. As soon as they’re gone, your dizziness hits you once more, like a boulder to the head, and sends you collapsing into the ground. 

Again, your world goes pitch black. 

2nd August 1971

There’s no spiralling darkness when you next wake up, nor is there an abundance of lamplight to make your eyes tear up, instead, beautiful golden rays of sunlight fall through the tall glass windows behind you. It was a much easier radiance to adjust to. You’re tucked away in bed, silky, comfortable and perfectly warm. Perhaps yesterday was just a dream, a very vivid dream— no, a nightmare. You let out a groan and squeeze your eyes shut. No matter how long it’s been, your thoughts of failure and self hatred over your own incompetence still haunts you. Curling up under the covers, you go through the breathing exercise your therapist imbued into you. 

Acknowledge it, accept it, let it go…

The phrase repeats in your head several times. The longer you rehearse it, the more your limbs unfurl until you’re flat on your back once more. 

…rigid.

Now that you think about it, was your bed always this…stiff?

Blinking in confusion, your eyes focus on the ceiling and widen. You don’t have a chandelier in your bedroom. Your eyes quickly jump down and examine the bed you lay in. This wasn’t your bed, no. Where were your Hedwig and Niffler plushies? Your all-white sheets were gone and replaced by all-black covers. It was then that you finally comprehend the cool sensation laying against your forehead, jolting your body forward, you let out a yelp of surprise as the small soaked towel falls from your brow. 

Your shocked shriek is almost matched by the bawling that accompanies it, drawing your eyes to a being you’ve only seen in movies. The small house-elf stares at you with shaking, blood-shot eyes and unaltered terror folded into his wrinkly expression. Endless apologies fall from his mouth, sincere and all underpinned by intense anxiety. He’s so real; his small, skeletal-like chest rapidly moving up and down due to his desperate pants. His three-dimensional existence quickly falls and kneels before you to commence grovelling, his shaking hands held together in prayer.  

“...Kreacher…” you gape at the house-elf, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat. In disbelief over the elf’s actuality, you reach out for him, awestruck and so dazed that you almost miss how he flinches away from your approaching touch. Apologetic, you retreat your hand and adjust yourself to sit against the headboard before addressing him, “I-I wasn’t going to hit you…”

“Kreacher is needing to be hit, mistress,” the contrite house-elf voices, twiddling his thumbs as he remains knelt down. 

Mistress…?

“Please stand, Kreacher,” you neglect to perceive his surprise in your use of the word ‘please’ as you’re still in awe of him yourself. With a subtle shake of your head, you do your best to push away your astonishment in search of answers, “and fetch me a mirror,” 

Kreacher promptly clicks his fingers and a handheld mirror appears before you. You try not to awe at the demonstration of magic — it's a simple spell in this world — and proceed to take it in your hesitant hands. Judging from what you have been able to gather, Kreacher calling you mistress and the two young boys addressing you as mother…Walburga Black should be the reflection staring back at you. However, you don’t see a black-haired, cold-eyed, pale-skinned woman, with a constant frowning wrinkle on her brow, you see yourself. You touch your face just to make sure you weren’t mistaken. It is you. 

Was this just a vivid dream? It feels so real… 

Mirror set aside, you look back at Kreacher and are astonished once more at seeing just how alive he is. His mannerisms were completely authentic and he was solid from all sides. There’s no mistaking that he’s right in front of you, tangible and no longer fictional. 

What wonders the mind can achieve when you fangirl and nerd out enough over something… But why aren’t you in the Lightening era timeline? And why are you in Walburga’s shoes? Now you’re the mother of Sirius and Regulus Black… The questions don’t stop, nor do the conjectures. Maybe it’s your mind trying to get over your life’s trauma vicariously through your favourite series and fandom… the notionmade some sense. You, not only, have one son but two. Should you feel elated or anxious?

As your thoughts continue, the apologies falling from Kreacher’s lips slowly get louder and louder until you snap out of your spaced-out state. Guilt quickly gathers in your stomach at the realisation that Kreacher had been vocally repentant this whole time and you haven’t yet acknowledged him in the slightest. 

“What are you apologising for, Kreacher?” you finally ask, putting a stop to his penitent speech. 

“Kreacher did not realise mistress had the sickness; Kreacher did not serve her well,” his tone was incredibly apologetic and there was no mistaking the panic in his eyes. 

“...It’s alright Kreacher,” the reassurance in your voice was something the house-elf was not used to and you almost smile at the explicit amazement in his eyes, “I did not know that I was ill, myself, so thank you for taking care of me when I fainted,” your warm smile confuses the house-elf but you continue. Even though this is a dream, you were going to do things right, “it was you who took care of me, correct?” 

His astonishment doesn’t leave his eyes as he nods, slack-jawed and meek, “yes..it was Kreacher, mistress,”

You nod in approval and spot a plate of food in your periphery, set neatly atop the bedside table, “thank you, Kreacher. You are dismissed,” the bashful but, still, misery-stricken house-elf goes to say something, glancing over at the bedside table but you promptly cut him off, “I will eat the food you prepared shortly, thank you, again,”

With a simple nod, Kreacher disappears in a blink and you slowly bring the plate of breakfast onto your lap. Eating in bed, you digest your situation and take in your surroundings. This was all a very realistic dream but a dream nonetheless. And it was a chance for you to, not only do right by the characters you adore but make peace with your past and present. This was a second chance. Even if it was only a dream. 

Just as you finish up your plate of breakfast, you also conclude your examination of the supposed ‘master bedroom’ and frown. The disapproval is clear in your furrowed brows, narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

Whoever designed this room needs to be demoted…or fired. 

The Blacks were such a wealthy family, surely they had more saved up to be able to hire a decent interior designer. The colours blended into each other and no furniture, wallpaper or trinket could bring you any emotion other than despair. With that disappointing thought and a grimace at the, overall, sombre decor of the room, you turn to place your clean plate back on the nightstand when a rolled up piece of paper catches your eye. Innocuously folded and tucked to the left of where your breakfast plate once laid was a newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Hurriedly exchanging your plate and utensils for the paper, your anticipation rose to witness the infamous articles and its moving pictures. You almost couldn’t stop the schoolgirl giggle from escaping your smiling lips. Never before had you been so excited to read the paper. 

Unfolding the pages, you awe at the front cover before quickly skimming the rest of the folio. It’s the real thing and it’s so detailed…even for a dream. 

It was written in clear script on the top, right hand side of the front page. 2nd August 1971. There was no doubt in your mind now that you were just about to enter the Marauders era timeline. If you weren’t mistaken, this was the summer leading up to Sirius’ first year at Hogwarts, which meant that, as his mother — the notion was still abnormal to you but also incredibly heartwarming —, you had a duty to help him fetch his school supplies for Hogwarts. You would also have the honour of seeing him receive his own wand before helping him buy his uniform robes and other necessities. You would even help him pack his bags for Hogwarts, congratulate and celebrate his achievements with him, wish him a good day, support him unconditionally… everything a loving and present mother would do. And, of course, you would treat Regulus the same way. It makes your heart sing and butterflies flutter about in your stomach; you get to be a mother. 

—one moment… 

If the date is correct in the newspaper and you’re right in that Sirius would be attending Hogwarts in a month’s time, then why did he appear one to two years younger than what an eleven-year-old should look like?

Pondering over the question makes you grimace. It’s entirely possible that it could be Walburga and Orion’s doing, Sirius definitely has a defiant manner about him despite only being eleven years of age and it wouldn’t be abnormal to expect the Black couple to be callous towards their own sons, enough to, somehow, stunt their growth. With a click of your tongue and a roll of your eyes, you eagerly move on from the topic and observe the front page more closely only for your breath to stutter and catch in your throat. 

A moving picture of the harrowing dark mark being cast over a house plays in a loop before you. Reading the associated article, you feel your stomach turn in on itself. It was such a disgusting display.

“How cruel…” Your disgust morphs into sorrow as you read over the killings made within the specific house. It belonged to innocent muggleborns and their family members, both magic folk dubbed as blood traitors and their muggle family were massacred. It was clearly an attack meant to bring fear and terror to muggle borns and the pureblooded witches and wizards that dare protect them - all in the name of the dark lord and his bigoted agenda. 

What a load of bullshit.

Not stopping for long, you read interview quotes from blood purists showing their support over the act. Their only reason was that they feared losing their pureblood traditions entirely to muggleborns. The horrific, terroristic happenings all appear to follow after the election of a muggle born Minister of Magic (Nobby Leach), the induction of Dumbledore as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and then the introduction of Voldemort last year. It’s deplorable that that’s all it takes for blood purists to excuse such radical operations —it’s inhumane. 

“‘The Ministry continues to spare no effort’,” you read under your breath but frown despite the reassuring words, “I bet those Deatheaters get a real ego boost from that statement…” if you remember correctly, Voldemort was enlisting more Deatheaters as well as magical creatures. However, those who are seen as ‘inferior’ were made to suffer, namely Goblins and House-elves. It doesn’t sit well with you. 

The fact that the fantasy world around you — one that you’re an avid fan of — feels so incredibly real, despite it being a dream, suddenly looks very bleak makes your chest tighten. And you quickly find yourself agonising over the lives of many children across the country, both in the muggle and wizarding world, being filled with unhappiness and gloom purely because of the selfish and bigoted adults that are supposed to protect them. 

You click your tongue bitterly. Only a terf could write or imply something so tragic in a supposed children’s book…

Just as you set down the newspaper and lean back against the headboard, Kreacher materialises at your bedside and begins to clear away your plate and paper. You shoot him a smile of thanks that he has a mixed reaction to. Before disappearing, he observes your state once more, dull eyes searching for something. When he returns a moment later, he’s carries with him a slim vial filled with a red, almost-pinkish liquid that contained ascending bubbles. Carbonated? It looked like a normal drink — like a brightly dyed, flavoured tea or sports drink. 

With eyes of fascination, you carefully take the potion vial from Kreacher. You were about to take your first ever magical potion and you plan on savouring every moment of it, even the moments leading up to drinking it. Slowly turning the vial in your hand, you realise that the consistency of the liquid isn’t as light as water; it was a little thicker.

“It’s a healing potion mistress,” Kreacher explains at your bedside, hunched over with his features scrunched up into a permanent scowl, “for the hot fever, mistress,” you give him a small, grateful smile for the explanation. It’s been a while since someone has been proactive when it came to caring for your wellbeing; it made you feel better knowing that Kreacher was around to take care of your needs, disregarding that it was an obligation he couldn’t escape from. Being a successful woman in commerce didn’t mean you were successful in all aspects of life. You still needed to be cared for. This was a welcomed compassion you were going to take full advantage of. 

“Thank you Kreacher,” you swiftly uncork the vial and down the potion like a shot, not expecting it to taste so revolting, “Ugh! That’s horrid!” you cough and feel tears surface. This was supposed to be your dream so why did you come up with something so foul-tasting?! You’ve never tasted anything so disgusting! You can’t even begin to describe the flavour —it’s too foul for words! 

Shaken up by your amplified reaction, Kreacher begins to shake but explains that it’s how all healing potions tasted, “there are other potions with the baddest tastes mistress,” you try to shake away the repulsive flavour but have no such luck and turn to Kreacher with a plea. 

“Water? Please?” with a snap of his fingers, a cool glass of fresh, crisp water appears and you immediately reach out to drink it. The repulsive taste on your tongue dilutes the more you drink but it doesn’t fully lift off your taste buds. Even after drinking the entire tall glass of water, the awful taste of the healing potion lingered — you couldn’t even feel relieved from the feverish headache that left you. 

The healing potion had worked its purpose and you were up and about 12 Grimmauld Place, taking in its dismal but elegant interior, opulent decor and its many rooms. You didn’t know what to expect. It was evident how wealthy the Black Family was in their expensive tastes but that didn’t necessarily translate into aesthetic arrangements. When you watched the movies, it was understandable how dilapidated it was but, despite currently being lived-in, it still looked dull. All rooms appeared the same and began to blend into one another the more you moved around. You still awed at the realistic display of the place, however; it all felt so real, as if your surroundings breathed with life and every ornament, wall and structure had its own individual heartbeat. Just the thought made your heart race. This was once a purely fictional setting and now, your dream brought it to life and you were fully encapsulated - happily so. 

One room that held your attention far better than all other rooms of the house combined was the home library. It was majestic, regal and old — a charming space that you were eager to explore. Its many shelves were lined with an assortment of books, many containing magical knowledge such as light magic and dark magic, which was surprising when considering the Black family’s preference for dark magic. What wasn’t surprising was the amount of books detailing traditional wizard and witch rituals, dates, holidays and more. Purebloods and their need for the maintenance of customs and ceremonies, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. You expected there to be more books on dark magic but most were on the history of the wizarding world and its many traditions, some of which you had never seen or heard mention of in the Harry Potter book series, movies or games. 

Your mind was very creative and you were quite proud of yourself for it. 

Time passes you as the pages of many books are skimmed by your eyes. You have no idea how much time ticks by as you consume book after book, flicking through pages before being interrupted by a rapid knock at the door succeeded by the entrance to the library being hurriedly pushed open. 

“Mother,” Regulus pants with softly flushed cheeks. His head of curls were a hint messier than the last time you met eyes with him, however, he was still dressed more formally than how a normal ten year old boy should be dressed. It was then, however, that you realised your greatest, influential role — a role that’s far more important than being the head of your company. You’re a mother now. A mother to two gorgeous and darling sons, who deserve all the love in the world. It made tears well up in your eyes. Your subconscious had realised your truest, purist desires and brought it to you in a dream through your beloved fictional characters, ”M-mother?” snapping out of your trance, you realise Regulus had been waiting for you to signal that it was okay for him to speak but hadn’t yet.

“Yes?” Your soft voice appears to catch him off-guard but he’s quick to recover and steel his features.

“I apologise for coming to you late, Mother,” he begins, remaining at the door with his shoulders straight and expression level despite the anxiety for his mistake clearly showing in his eyes. He’s still slightly panting but endeavours to explain himself quickly for your expediency. 

“It’s alright, darling, take your time,” you offer a kind smile that he doesn’t know how to respond to. And, instead of assuring him, you seem to have only made him more fearful. 

“I-I’m terribly sorry, Mother, it was entirely my mistake. It won’t happen again, I swear!” he pleads with tearful eyes and a quivering lip. His small voice raises in volume no matter how much he tries to control it and eventually has to stop talking altogether just so he could gather himself. 

“Regulus, you’ve done nothing wrong,” your words have such a profound effect on him that he stills, completely frozen in time from shock and confusion, “what were you going to say originally, darling?” ‘darling’… the endearment slips you so naturally and it doesn’t even bother you — this really was your heart’s truest desire. 

Regulus takes a few minutes to himself, trying to find his voice and swallowing to wet his gone-dry mouth in order to speak without his voice cracking, which would have an ill demonstration of the Black family’s standing, “I, once again, apologise for my lateness, mother. I did not realise you would be in the family library rather than your study today,” it’s clear he’s still quite flustered from his earlier frantic search for your wandering form as he was still faintly panting under his breath. You raise a gentle hand and, paired with your soft smile, you silently assure him to take his time once more. He appreciates the unusual consideration and leniency from his typically stringent mother, “as per usual, I am here to update you on the progress of my home studies. I’ve read through all the chapters you wanted me to read and had written notes appropriately, complete with summary paragraphs…”

You don’t speak as you observe the sweet boy before you, his shoulder pulled back and chin held squarely as if he was a soldier, a man of rigorous instruction rather than the innocent young boy he was supposed to be. As you stare with an unknown and unfamiliar look in your eyes, Regulus tenses up, slowly backing into the hallway once more. His mother is a woman of few words but would usually hum along in approval to his list of completed tasks — it was a trivial gesture of favour that he eagerly sought after, wanting nothing more than to seek your acceptance. Complete and utter silence could either be dangerous or harmless. The potential risk made the hairs on his arms raise. The poor boy didn’t know what to make of your bizarre mannerisms lately. His heart raced to new heights and his throat felt even more closed up than usual. 

Slowly, you walk up to him and kneel down, love and fondness clear in your gentle eyes. However, it was such a rare emotion for Regulus to see in his mother’s eyes that he tensed up more at the stare, no matter how affectionate and warm. 

It has to be a trap, somehow…   

Your gentle hand reaches up and cups his cherubic cheek, one of the few remaining demonstrations of his youth. Plumper, you need to fill in his cheeks, make them softer and more rounded; you’ll stop at nothing to get them to that state as soon as possible. With your thumb, you lovingly stroke his cheek and smile with all the love welling up in your chest. Your features are soft with the warmth and affection you wanted to convey beyond words. This is the first time Regulus has ever seen his mother look so kind. He’s never seen it before —it looks nice. His mother looks pretty now. He really hopes this isn’t a trap. 

Innate maternal love and instincts overwhelm you. And, after a moment, you take the plunge. You pull him into your arms and embrace his slim, short figure, pressing your face into his hair as you tuck his face into your shoulder. Finally, you have your own son, and you’re going to love him with all your heart. In your mind, you vow to all deities you would care for him like no other, even if in a dream. 

“A dream come true,” you say in a voice dripping with tears. Faintly, you hear Regulus ask for what you mean, muffled from how you have his face buried into your shoulder, “having a son like you, it’s a dream come true…” 

Regulus can’t believe his ears as a warmth spreads through his chest, rapid and, like a blossoming array of wild flowers, it’s accompanied with the purest happiness he’s ever felt in his short life so far. He doesn’t know what to say, speechless from your words, words that he’s never before heard from his mother. He’s wished so many times for such a scenario to come true that he can’t quite believe that it’s happening to him now. 

—BANG!

Sirius stands at the end of the hall, glaring ferociously at the scene happening before him, a bitter emotion consuming his small form at the words he hears and he promptly storms off. But you’re too quick with your lengthier strides and desire to reach him before he goes too far. Without a second thought, you hug the eldest brother to your chest too. You’ve pulled him as close to you as possibly could despite his protests and attempts at pushing you away. 

With a stern voice, you speak up against his thrashing form, “Sirius, do not get aggressive with me,”

“I don’t care!”

“You will care because you’ll end up hurting someone and or yourself one day, if you keep this up!”

Sirius is flooded by shock at your response and he freezes up. His mother never cared whether or not he or anyone else got hurt, so long as they succumbed to her ridiculous demands. He can’t recognise his own mother anymore. Taking full advantage of his paralysed state, your hold turns gentle and you begin to comb your fingers through his inky locks.

“Breathe...” you try to calm him down by gently petting the back of his hair down and occasionally running your nails along his scalp, “talk to me…what’s upset you?” looking up, you see Regulus a metre or two away with a curious look on his face, a mix of amazement, curiosity and caution. Sirius doesn’t respond so you gently prompt him, pulling away to meet his conflicted eyes, “darling?”

Sirius is stunned into silence and doesn’t know what to say, he’s in complete denial over what’s happening – this can’t be his mother, “did you hit your head or something?” he accuses in a snappy tone and you step back, a wave of realisation washing over you. Before this, Sirius and Regulus were pushed around by Walburga daily, abused and tortured in an attempt to conform to her ways. It breaks your heart but also fills you with determination. Even though this is just a dream, you will make the proper changes and treat them kindly. They deserve a loving mother, one who supports them and loves them unconditionally. As you part your lips to voice something, you feel an ominous presence enter the hallway. 

When you look up and over your shoulder, your eyes meet liquid mercury, swirling with anger and paired with the deepest frown. Orion Black approaches from behind you, his footsteps daunting and seeming to echo through the shaking walls of the hallway as he fixes Sirius with a cold glare. His own son, who’s only 11 years old.

“What is going on here?” Orion demands but completely ignores you when you try to explain. Your husband’s focus stubbornly remains on your son, the accusation and wrath in his eyes aggrandised. He continues to bark at Sirius, who looks at the floor in quiet shame and with bitten lips. You know he’s terrified but still tries to appear strong, knowing that if he cried out and showed weakness through pained anger in front of his parents, they would use it as ammunition to berate and abuse him further, “don’t you dare talk to your mother that way again, Sirius!”

Orion raises his wand to punish him but you hurriedly step in the way and tuck Sirius’ face into your stomach. Chin over your shoulder, you meet eyes with your husband andtry to keep from snarling at him lest your true intentions and change of heart come to light and raise red flags, “this is between me and Sirius, I will deal with his punishment myself,”

Sirius doesn’t know whether he should be fearful or relieved. That emotion is so foreign to him, especially when it comes to his mother and talks of punishment. Thankfully, Orion lets the situation go and nods curtly before walking back to his study with a huff, muttering about wasted time on his ‘useless son’ under his breath. 

“My punishment is to eat dinner in my room…” the brothers share a confused look, “usually, it’s to have no dinner and no breakfast…”

“Or worse…” Regulus’ words make them both shiver; a cold chill runs up their spines and inspires dark memories to surface. Un-welcomed, they shake their heads and banish the remembrance.  

Diverting the topic altogether, Sirius picks at his food, “what do you think happened to her?”

“Mother?” Regulus asks and receives a confirming nod, “I don’t know…Kreacher told me–” Sirius pulls a face at the friendship his brother has fostered with the elf, “that mother had a terrible fever yesterday and fainted after we saw her in the hallway,”

Sirius thinks for a moment and chews a little longer than usual, ruminating over the new information, “you think that’s what made her like that?”

Regulus shrugs his small shoulders, “that’s the only thing I could think of…” the youngest brother slowly begins to lose himself in thought, thinking back to when his mother embraced him tenderly and whispered such lovely, affirming words beside his ear. 

‘A dream come true… having a son like you, it’s a dream come true…’

“You like the change?” Sirius snaps his little brother out of his daydream and Regulus flushes in slight embarrassment, avoiding his older brother’s disapproving eyes. Or was that disappointment? Maybe something else?

“She’s much nicer now…”

“It won’t last forever,” Sirius says roughly, bitterness and disbelief evident in his voice as his brows furrow; he doesn’t want to believe that his mother, one of the two people responsible for hurting him and his little brother day in and day out, could have the capacity to change overnight, “you’ll see…”

Regulus doesn’t want to believe his brother but how could he deny such a pragmatic expectation? His older brother is right. It’s unrealistic for him to believe in such a miracle. Nevertheless, there was a troublesome ray of hope that warmed the depths of his chest and clenched around his beating heart with purpose. It was immature to be so optimistic but he can’t help hoping. 

And, he’d never admit it out loud but… Sirius was hopeful too.  

3rd August 1971

You’re astonished at how long this dream has stretched on for. You’ve been able to finish the previous day, fallen asleep beside your husband and rose the next day to have breakfast with your darling boys, served by Kreacher. And now, you’re happily immersing yourself in the home library once more. 

Amazed, you consume the contents of the book in your hand, you’ve never come across such information in the Harry Potter books, movies or games. It’s so novel! You feel bubbling excitement rise from deep within you, enchanted and equally awestruck from your imagination, even in sleep. You should be a fanfiction writer! 

“I can’t believe how detailed and long this dream is continuing on for…” you mutter to yourself, beginning to smile at your luck before you’re harshly interrupted.  

“This isn’t a dream you insufferable muggle!” a shrieking shrill scream echoes in your head and makes you wince. In a weak attempt at soothing the ache, you grasp at your temple with a hand. The throbbing discomfort the voice induces is equivalent to the same pain you experienced when you first woke up in that pitch black room, only, not as intense. The memory makes you wince even more and you wonder if the increase of pain was a type of phantom hurt brought on by your own thoughts.

“Wh-wha-?” you do your best to collect yourself but the wailing voice is unrelenting and perpetuates the pounding in your head. 

“To hell with that ritual! What. Happened?! This wasn’t supposed to be the result! Explain yourself, you filthy muggle woman! HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY PLACE!”

With staggering realisation, all the pieces click together in your head and you’re stunned into silence as the raging voice of the villainess woman continues to demand answers in your head. Her voice is piercing but is dulled out by your curiosity and rising triumph. 

“You’re saying this is real?...”

“Yes! You Filthy Muggle! Whatever you’ve done, reverse it now and allow me to return to my place!”

“...No,” your firm voice counters, a slow smirk gradually tugging at your lips. She goes silent, probably speechless at the audacity a ‘muggle’ has to disobey her demands, “I’m staying,” you threaten, “and I’m going to do right by your sons by giving them the life and mother they deserve—”

“You will do no such thing!” Walburga shouts once more in your head; this time, you don’t mind the throbbing pain it induces, “They are my sons and they—!”

“Not anymore bitch,” you grin deviously, “they’re my sons now,”  

A/N : this is my attempt at a fix it fic inspired by one of my favourite genres in webtoons etc - reincarnation/isekai/time travel do-overs, wish me luck! i hope i do a good job! ALSO! I'd like to express a special thank you to my dearest friend @thebestofoneshots for being such a darling and taking time out of her day to beta-read this first chapter for me, she's been such a sweetheart and was the one who helped motivate me to finish the first chapter! i don't think i would have been able to post this first chapter without her. i love you so much my darling! please go and support her by reading her work, commenting and reblog her work too! she deserves all the love in the world! and she writes so beautifully too! you won't regret it!

NAVI. | SERIES MASTERLIST

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88

SERIES TAGLIST OPEN

[dearmy-diary]

I Never Knew You

Warnings: angst, little bit of fluff, swearing, injury, death of a character

pairings: remus x reader, but focuses on how reader is Sirius’ sister and how that effects them all

“Can I request where the reader is Sirius’ twin sister and he hates her because she’s the perfect child but she tries everything to make him feel included in the family and then when she gets with Remus he feels super betrayed by Remus and maybe they make up at the end idk but angst please ! I love your writing”

Keep reading

[dearmy-diary]

❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders x reader. (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied parental abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 

You blink. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of Potter’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 

“I know.” Harry grins. 

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 

“Oi!” 

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!” 

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 

Harry’s eye twitches. 

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 

“In your dreams!” You shrill. 

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 

Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 

“One date, then.” 

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 

“And I want to—” 

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He falls in love.) 

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.” 

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

[dearmy-diary]

house-elves and moondew [one]

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru (poly) [hogwarts!au]

warnings: minors dni!! ravenclaw!reader, reader is also a little socially anxious, I make up some stuff about herbology and magical plants, reader has seen someone die but it’s not specific, insecurity, hints of threats, some violence and injury, blood, mentions of insomnia, suggestive themes, mahito and jogo are death eaters, polyamory

word count: 15.5k

a/n: this is the first half of this one shot!! the second half is almost finished and is scheduled to be posted hopefully by the end of the week :D let me know if you want to be tagged when it drops <3

The glistening alabaster shine of the moon illuminates the thin, frail leaves of the small plant before you. The upturned, indigo petals of a Moondew flower are nearly bioluminescent in the darkness of nightfall, a delicate cyan undertone leaking through the depths of the purple leaves and glowing faintly amongst the other fauna. In the light of day, Moondew is harder to collect due to its size, often disappearing under the growth of other plants and hiding amongst weeds or in the underbrush. It’s for this reason, that you’ve chosen to brave the darkness of the Forbidden Forest at this moonlit hour. 

Keep reading

[dearmy-diary]

The hands that hold you chp 10.2: let me in/tell me how you hurt

Master list Oh my goodness I feel like i'm finally hitting my stride again and like i really do have my muse back for this story. It went into hiding a bit after the end of september but given time and encouragement from people reading my story I think we're back in action. These events follow Satoru's birthday by a few months. (i'll probably do one shot type snippets for other events that happen in the time in between like Suguru's birthday) but we're back to the main story! I really enjoyed writing this chapter if i'm honest. CW: Satoru gojo x reader x suguru geto, GN!reader (reader only uses they/them pronouns), reader is afab but it's not really a big thing this chapter, Reader is a foreigner who was adopted by Yaga, reader has a CT (it's plot relevant), Suguru is depressed and struggling. wc. 3.6k

“Sugu?” 

Silence. 

“Suguru?” You try again a note of pleading to your voice. “I know you’re in there… I recognize your cursed energy like it’s my own.” You rest your forehead against Suguru’s locked dorm room door. Hating how as the weeks had passed he’d begun to close himself off more. Satoru had become increasingly busy. Admittedly you’d all been getting more busy, but between his training and the increase in missions? It was hard to compare. And Suguru had been alone more and more while you’d been sent on missions with Nanami and Haibara since not only were they in your year but it turned out you worked well with them, especially well with Nanami. 

“Suguru please don’t shut me out.. I’m getting worried about you. More than that I miss you.” 

There's the sound of shifting cloth on the other side of the closed door followed by near silent footsteps before the click of a lock and the  door sliding open. You let yourself fall against Suguru’s chest and wrap your arms tightly around his waist. He lets out a surprised exhale and wraps an arm around your shoulders while the other hangs limp at his side. “You’re such a clingy lil thing you know that?” 

You snort before craning your neck to look at him. “Yeah. With you I am.” 

Suguru’s dulled eyes flash with surprise as they meet your shining ones. You’re not looking at him but instead it feels as if you’re looking into him. He shouldn’t be surprised though… it was on some level why he was trying to avoid you.  “You shouldn’t be. There are better people for you to spend your time with.” A better person, he doesn’t say.

You frown deeply at him and push him backwards further into the room. He allows it. Once you make the backs of his knees hit his bed he sits on it with a bounce. “Just stay here.” 

“What am I a dog?”

“You’re stinky, that's what you are.”  

Ignoring the little incredulous sound he makes you go to his door to close it before rummaging for clean clothes for him and tossing them onto the bed next to him. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to go take a shower? Even just rinse off?” 

He wrinkles his nose and sighs and it’s the most energy you think he’s put into an expression in days. 

“Please?” You cajole, walking over, placing your hands on his knees as you look at him. “I’ll dry and brush your hair after.”

The dull look he gives you tells you he’s far from convinced. Chewing at your lower lip you hope you won’t regret what you suggest next. “What if I wash your hair for you?” 

Now that gets his attention and you feel your face heat up. “Don’t get any ideas! I just want to make sure you’re taken care of.” You glance away from him. “Normally you take really good care of yourself but lately you just haven’t been and i’m getting worried…” you trail off and then feel his arms hug around your middle and his head rest against your chest.  

“’m sorry.” The words are muffled into the fabric of your shirt but you hear them clearly enough. You comb your fingers through his lank hair, catching on tangles and then working through them. 

“You don’t gotta apologize. Just.. let’s get you cleaned up yeah? Why don’t you head down to the showers and i’ll meet you there.” You go to step back but he doesn’t release you. 

“You know Yaga-sensei will expel me if he finds out.”

You snort. “As if we’ll be caught. Besides he’d be crazy to expel one of the best prodigies this school has ever had. “

“Parents are crazy.” He finally allows you to step back from him and you roll your eyes so he can see. 

“Chances of anyone at all catching us are low. Now shoo. I’m gonna go get some stuff and i’ll meet you there.” and without waiting you leave the room. He wonders what you’re getting, wonders if he’ll get to see all of you since even with how much time you spent with him and Satoru you’d always been especially shy and they never push you. He sighs and gathers up the clothes you’d set out for him along with a towel. 

—

Suguru would be lying if he didn’t say he was at least a little disappointed when you show up to the showers already wearing a white bathrobe you clearly plan to keep on. You’re glancing everywhere but him even though he’s kept a towel slung over his hips as he sits on the tiled floor. There’s no way you could help him wash his hair if he were standing. 

“You sure about this? You look like you’re gonna run away at any second,” and you can tell he’s teasing despite his tired tone by the little curl of his lips.

Huffing you finally look at him, focusing on his face while walking forward, your feet padding across the cool tiles. Suguru had turned on the water a little before you’d arrived so the floor warms slightly as you approach. He’s sitting just at the edge of the spray so you don’t have to get hit with more water than needed. Setting a familiar shower caddy on the floor you lower yourself to your knees at his side, uncaring of how the robe gets soaked where it touches the floor and where your shoulder is closest to the warm spray. You press against his shoulder. “Come on, lean back and get your hair wet.” 

Suguru complies without complaint and leans back, soaking his hair. It’s a quiet process for a while after that. You working up a lather in his hair and washing away the grime that had settled there, which turns into slowly washing his neck and shoulders after you put conditioner in his hair. He lets you maneuver him however you need. It startles you when he finally does speak. 

“You know Satoru will be awfully jealous when he finds out.” He glances back at you, his lips half quirked with amusement.

You scoff. “Don’t give him any ideas. I don’t want him going nearly a week without a proper shower.” It’s only kind of a joke. 

“Was it really that long?” Suguru asks genuinely, causing you to frown.

“Yeah. This past week you’ve hardly even gone through the motions, Suguru..” 

He doesn’t respond, seemingly lost in his head again. You finish washing his back before rising from your knees with a slight wince. You’re sure if you looked at them there would be impressions from the tiles pressed into the skin. “Rinse yourself off and I’ll meet you back in your room, yeah? I’ll blow dry your hair for you. You tuck a bit of conditioner soaked hair behind his ear, watching his face to make sure he’s heard you. His eyes focus on you.  He nods and you wish you knew what exactly he was thinking.

—

You’re laying in Suguru’s bed, dressed in a dry pair of pajamas when he gets back. He’s wearing the sweat pants and tshirt you’d picked out for him. His hair falls down his back soaking the fabric. He’s clean though and for that you’re glad. You sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed, your legs spread for him to sit between. Everything you need to take care of his hair is already out. You smile at him warmly and make grabby hands at him. 

Sighing but unable to stop a slight smile he walks over to sit in front of you. There’s not much room for talking over the sounds of the blow dryer but you think that’s okay. Suguru hasn’t been the most chatty anyway.  But as you click off the blow dryer and run your finger through his soft and clean hair he surprises you. 

“Why are you going to all this trouble? “ He doesn’t look at you but his voice is oddly tight. 

Setting aside the blow dryer you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your face into his hair, breathing in the scent of him. “Isn’t it obvious?” Your heart hammers in your chest and you don’t give him a chance to say anything. “I love you, that’s why.” 

You both feel and hear his breath hitch, his hands come up to cover your own and he curls himself forward around your arms that you’ve wrapped around him. You’ve said it without words so many times over the months since you'd begun dating him and Satoru but never had you directly given voice to it until now. He doesn’t say it back now, but you know he does by the way his shoulders shake as he clings to your arms. You know he feels the same when you feel something warm and wet fall onto your arm. 

____

How. How was this possible? You stand in the Tomb of the Star, dazed and more than a little confused. How’d you get here? Why are you here? There are smears of blood on the ground and the stone work is cold beneath your feet. Stumbling back, panic thrums through your veins. Looking around frantically you call out. “S-suguru? Are you here?” Your voice comes out weak and small. You turn in a circle looking about the chamber, praying that you’d at least sense him or catch sight of one of his curses but there’s no sign of him here with you. Why are you here alone? You never wanted to be in this place again. You turn heel and head toward the exit. You feel sick as you go through what feels like endless corridors, all a blur, you fight to not look at the smear of blood outside the elevator Why hasn’t anyone cleaned anything up?

Stepping into the elevator, its slow rise feels like agony. The rattling of the metal cage grates against your nerves making you fingers twitch but once it stops… that’s so much worse. Everything is so quiet. Far too quiet as you step from the elevator to somehow find yourself somewhere that your brain struggles to process. Just outside the doors, despite the impossibility of it, is the crater Satoru had created that day months ago and it’s so much worse in it’s own way. The buzzing of thousands of flyheads is absent and yet the silence makes you feel sick, the only sound is your stumbling steps and ragged breathing as you make your way through the cracked earth and stone. Ignoring how you must scrape your hands and knees as you scramble up to the raised center of the crater. A stage to display one of your worst fears.

‘Satoru-’ you want to call out the name of the still figure but no sound passes your lips. You can’t seem to urge yourself to your feet and instead crawl to him. No this isn’t right. He shouldn’t still be here. When you reach him you pull your body close to his so you can hold his face. His normally vibrant eyes stare up at you blankly, dully, and missing all that spark you’ve come to treasure.

A shadow falls over you and a deep voice sends a nauseating spike of fear through you. “I told you it wouldn’t make a difference.” 

When you shakily sit up to look you’re suddenly lifted by your hair, your arms refuse to listen to you despite you screaming at yourself to fight back and when your eyes roll to look at them they’re horrifyingly twisted. His fist crushes into your abdomen. 

You let out  a choked scream and when you hit the ground it cuts off as the air is forced from your lungs. Things are… sharper now as you flail in the dark realizing you're tangled up- tangled up in your blanket. Eventually chest heaving you free yourself from your fabric confines. You look at your shaking hands in the mostly dark room, the only light coming from the early spring moon outside your window. Your arms are whole now, of course they are.

You shakily get to your feet and grab for your phone. Looking at the time it’s a bit after 3am. Both far too late and too early for you to be awake. You stumble from your room, clad only in your pj’s and your blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you barely bother to close the door behind you. Cool air hits the tear tracks on your cheeks as you stumble toward Satoru’s room. Both Suguru and Satoru are supposed to be out on solo missions, Suguru having left early the previous morning and Satoru having left a few days ago. You’re not fully thinking as you stumble your way through the halls but you can’t bring yourself to stay in your lonely room. Satoru’s dead eyes keep flashing in your mind with each blink. Your lip wobbles as you reach his door and shove it open, glad that it’s unlocked as you stumble in and make your way to his unmade bed and only partially closing the door in your single minded focus. You crawl into it letting your own blanket fall to the floor as you curl up under his and bury your face into his pillow. Each panicked breath pulls him into your lungs.

It’s a far cry from the comfort of actually having him here but being able to breathe in his scent is enough to soothe your frayed nerves. As your breathing evens out and your muscles slowly relax, the world around you slowly fades. It’s with your face pressed into his pillow and wrapped up in his blanket that reality starts to force its way back in with the dip of the mattress and a hand resting on your head. You jerk awake, heart in your throat until your eyes settle blearily on Satoru. His glasses pushed up and holding his hair back while he looks at you with an achingly soft expression. Surprise creeps in when tears begin to well up in your eyes. 

“Hey hey what’s with the tears?” As he asks you sit bolt upright to hug him. Pressing your teary face to his neck and wrapping your arms around his waist. His clothes and skin are still cool from the chilly spring night, the scent of crisp mountain air that surrounds the campus clinging to him.  Beyond that though is all him. A scent of comfort you’d sought out by crawling into his bed, but it’s so much better when paired with the sounds of his breathing and the safe haven of his arms as he wraps you up tight.  He rests his chin on your head. The two of you sit like that, him simply holding you and slowly warming up as he waits for you to calm down enough to tell him what’s going on. Normally if you’re to be found in one of their rooms it was Suguru’s since that’s usually where the three of you slept together and Suguru was admittedly at the school more than he was these days. When you finally pull your face from his neck with a sniffle he swipes a thumb over your cheek. “So is my crybaby gonna tell me what’s wrong?” 

A small watery laugh from you makes him smile and lean in to press his lips to your forehead.  It’s short lived though. You take in his beautiful, very much alive face, cheeks flushed and eyes bright but then when you blink his bloodied face flashes in your mind. You shake your head, biting at your lip. “I just…” How honest did you want to be? 

Satoru’s smile fades as the two of you sit in the quiet of his room. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“You being here is enough.” He doesn’t look convinced by your words and you relent. Thinking of how you’ve felt as Suguru’s been slowly closing you out. “I.. I dreamt about..” a deep breath.  “I had a nightmare about.. About when I thought you’d died.” You look away from him only for him to suddenly cup your face in both his hands, tilting your face toward him as he rests his forehead against yours. All you can see now are his eyes, a mix of sparkling blues that you’d happily get lost in. His breath fans across your face before his lips, warm and so alive, press against your own. An affirmation. He breathes his own life into your lungs so there’s no denying that he’s here with you.

He deepens the kiss in a way he hasn’t before with you, that you’ve only caught him doing with Suguru before. He tips you back toward the bed, pressing you down into soft sheets before parting from you slowly. He goes to speak but his glasses finally slip off the top of his head and smack you in the face before he can stop them.

Both of you remain in place, stunned, until your shoulders begin to shake with quiet laughter. Picking up the offending eyewear you hold it out to him.. “I think these are yours.” You bite you lip trying to hold back a smile. 

Satoru groans and lets his face fall to your neck. He doesn’t glance at you until he hears you place his glasses on the side table and then he feels your arms wrap around his shoulders. “See… I said you being here was enough.” You nuzzle your face against his hair. 

He hums into your neck before falling to his side and cradling you against his chest. “I’m..” he sighs. “I’m sorry I’m not here more often.. I know i’m gone a lot and it’s been just you and Suguru dealing with stuff alone.” 

“ ‘s not your fault… You’re needed in a lot of places… and besides that means you’re also dealing with things alone doesn’t it?” 

He squeezes you tight for a moment. “ Don’t worry i’m one of the stron- “

You cut him off “That doesn’t matter. You’re still just a person.” 

And he’s taken back to that night before everything went wrong. When you’d said those words to him before and you’d made him feel seen and he realized maybe you cared about him just as much as you cared for Suguru. He remains quiet as he holds you. The silence isn’t broken until you mumble against his chest. “Actually… I wanted to talk to you about Suguru..”

Satoru pulls back to look at you, showing that you have his full attention. 

“If you can… I think he needs you. He doesn’t say it! But..” You trail off a little. “He hasn’t been doing well.” 

Satoru’s eyes flick over your face, a worried crease forming between his eyebrows. “If he needs something I’m sure he’ll tell us-” 

“He won’t. “ 

The sureness in your voice takes Satoru aback a little. “While you’ve been away on your latest mission he was barely eating and didn’t even shower or brush his hair for nearly a week. He was even avoiding me until I pleaded with him at his door to let me in… “ Satoru squeezes you. “He was barely eating and didn’t even shower until I convinced him to by saying I’d wash his hair for him.” 

Satoru’s throat bobs. “Okay.. I’ll talk to him.  I promise.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He blinks at you. “Why are you apologizing?” His eyebrows vanish behind his bangs. 

“Well… I acknowledged how busy you are and how much you have on your plate in one breath and then in the next asked for your help with Suguru- ow!” You hand flies up to your forehead that had just been flicked. “What was that for?” you pout. 

“For being ridiculous that’s what. Remember what I said a couple minutes ago? ‘I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.’ That also means I want to know when things are wrong. With both you and Suguru. You’re both so stubborn, what’s it gonna take to get through to the two of you how important you are to me..” The last part is said quietly.  “I’m gonna start telling those old bastards to back off a bit okay? I’ll find more time for you both…” 

“ ‘toru…” Your chest feels tight. 

His lips quirk into a smile bringing out his dimples. “Let me help okay?”

“Okay.” you return his smile. 

“So… did you?”

You tilt your head to the side. “Did I what?” 

“Help him shower I mean? “ He tugs a bit at the collar of your pajamas. “Did he get to see you naked first and without me?” He says with a little pout. 

Your face flushes with heat and you smack his hand away. “Satoru!” a pause. “Yes and no. I helped him shower but I wore a robe the whole time.” 

He seems mollified but then that pretty mouth of his opens again. “So you got to see him naked then?”

“Oh my god Satoru. Suguru was right when he said you’d be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!” he says indignantly.  

“You’re so jealous.” 

“...Okay maybe a little.” 

You smile and cup his face. “You know… I think you both forget.. Or maybe it’s because. Well maybe it’s because I’ve been so nervous to actually say it but i don’t think it’s fair to keep it in. But I love you, Satoru. I love you both.” You think of Suguru’s tears when you said it to him finally, and it’s such a contrast to Satoru. Because his face lights up like the stars in the sky, eyes shining and turning pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. His smile is dazzling, at least what you see of it is before his mouth crashes into yours. 

Then with his lips still pressed to yours. “I love you too.” It startles you a bit to hear it back but then you’re grinning and pressing a toothy smile of your own against his lips.

___

And that wraps up this chapter! Like I said at the start I enjoyed writing this one! The next chapter actually has a good chunk written that I just need to revise to reflect changes that i've made as I've been writing the story since i wrote it a while ago. We're sort of hitting the home stretch with this story because basically everything after this I've had planned since I decided to make this a series. A lot of it is outlined and written out and just needs to be properly fleshed out.

Special thanks to @strawberrystepmom for beta reading this for me. You guys have no idea how much she's helped with this fic with her assurances and support.

Taglist! (keep in mind you must be 18+ and have your age listed before i'll add you to my tag list. ) @pastelle-rabbit @hauntedhearthowl @biscuitsngravie @nanamikentoseyebags@sleezzsister @moonsua1, @yuuuumii @yokaimoon @4sat0ruu-deactivated20231218 (nooo this isn't how i wanted to find out you deactivated!!) @chibiizzy @porridgesblog @suhmie, @defacatestenderly @agentdedf1sh @night-shadowblood-writes2 @missphanosaur18 @stevenknightmarc @icy-spicy @mysugu @fushigurro @missmugiwara

...The whole time i was typing up the tags my cat has had the zoomies and has been screaming like banshee running up and down the halls from my room to the kitchen. So i'm gonna go get his wet food now...

[dearmy-diary]

Satosugu x afab! Reader

Word count: 5.2K

CW: Angst with comfort, mentions of blood, major character death, polyamory, mentions of established relationship with Gojo, pet names (angel, pretty girl, my girl, sweet girl, etc.), instead of Y/N Name will be used instead, all around sad af

Part 2 coming soon

Summary: Has a connection to the movie JJK 0, similar but not quite.

I think of Satosugu and I sob.

Hope you enjoy!

Twilight arrived over the horizon, painting the sky of soft purples mixed with pink and blue. Mountain tops capped off with sheets of white that sparkled underneath the setting sun. Silence loomed overhead with the subtle sounds of a breeze, the air crisp with a harsh bite. The grass is glacial from the previous snowfall a few hours ago.

But the world was covered in darkness as the giant hand that pertained to Satoru lay flatly over your eyes, sitting in between his legs on a rock. A habit that he had formed in recent years to mollify the bitter head of anxiety that crippled your body. When the thoughts began to race and the hammering of your heart refused to disperse from your side, Satoru placed his hand over your eyes. The rasp of his voice tickled your ear as he requested you focus, following his deep breaths, and hushed praises for succeeding. When the dark silence consumed the crevices of your brain it pacified the cavernous void that Suguru left behind. The reason for every apprehensive thought that consumed the confinements of your brain. A gaping hole resided in the depths of your pumping heart, one he had overfilled before-- a spilling pool of red wine: warm, gentle, and welcoming, the essence of pertaining to two lovers.

Satoru shared the absence of light with you simply by covering your eyes. He wore blindfolds to protect his six eyes, to keep the core of his energy balanced so as to not fatigue himself, he experienced the bliss of darkness daily listening to the calmness of his breath, the steadiness of his heart, and the sounds of his surroundings. It was peaceful when things seemed to spiral out of control, tensions at an all time high giving Satoru that moment to ease his mind. It was the only thing he could think to do to alleviate the strain of life that gnawed at you constantly like a tender cut of meat.

The coolness of this year's harsh winter stung your cheeks, penetrating at the surface to numb your whole face. You placed your hands on top of Satoru’s, holding it in place to increase the darkness, focusing on the environment you found yourself in. Snow that the wind carried tickled your skin, dampening it slightly as the flakes melted. The comfort of your puffy jacket and beanie kept you toasty to endure the frozen conditions, but in this very moment the cold brought you solace as you embraced the blackness. You could feel the warmth of Satoru’s chest radiate into your back like a warm blanket, the breeze that blew on the side of your face howled softly, swooshing of powdered snowflakes followed. The plateau you and Satoru sat in was desolate of noise, it calmed the erratic beat of your heart and soothed the harrowing thoughts in your mind.

Since Suguru’s impetuous departure from the both of you things had been difficult, words left unsaid with various questions that had gone unanswered. An empty spot on the bed that used to belong to him had now turned cold and desperately clung onto his scent, you and Satoru had found yourselves leaving that space open, as if he’d ever walk through the front door again and reclaim the life he once had. His hoodies still hung up in the closet, his toothbrush still had a spot in the holder, boxes of his favorite tea littered the cabinet-- you preferred coffee, and Satoru liked soda. Suguru’s things were left untouched in your home, things he left behind, and things you and Satoru held onto tightly; protecting the last bit of residue on those items.

Satoru snaked his free arm around, pressing his palm flatly against your abdomen, fingertips caressing the polyester fabric of the puffer jacket that adorned your frame. He gently removed his hand from your eyes as he felt you relax in his hold, leaning forward to rest his chin against your shoulder. The world had come back into your view, the sky had become a darker shade of blue accompanied by a few stars that twinkled. The sun had fully hid behind the snowy mountain range taking away the last bit of warmth it had offered in the winter months. Satoru had insisted on taking you far from the city today despite the ice on the roads, the sunken bags underneath your eyes had prompted worry that he could not ignore. You were the only thing keeping him sane since Suguru had left, Satoru had grown petrified of losing you too. He could sense the ugly cloud of melancholy looming over your head, the way you slouched at the kitchen table-- barely touching the food on your plate, a frown etched on your lips, and tears left to dry on your cheeks. The way you stared at Suguru’s spot in bed wearing one of his hoodies, the yearning and agony you felt all too evident to him that he had to get you away from home for a few hours.

He had always been better at tucking away his emotions so as to not worry you. But Satoru felt the same agony, the cavernous hole in his heart that felt as though a knife had stabbed through and ripped a chunk out. The bile that burned the back of his throat and left a bitter taste that it didn’t matter how many times he brushed his teeth; it remained. That each time he smelled Jasmine or cedar wood he immediately burst into tears, teeth piercing his bottom lip as he tried to mollify the dreary emotions that raked his body. Oftentimes he found himself wearing Suguru’s clothes, wrapping his arms around his own body and pretending as though it was Suguru comforting him. Satoru grieved the relationship that once was, in silence, wanting to be strong for you, the most precious thing in his life. You needed Satoru more than anything in moments where you barely found the strength to get out of bed. When anxiety consumed you like the last meal on earth, he had to be strong for you.

Placing a kiss to your cold cheek Satoru hummed, “You calm now, angel?” He held you tighter in his embrace, shutting his eyes to engrave every curve of your body, the warmth you provided as you sat in between his legs, and your scent. The trepidation he felt of losing you too was one that made him lose his appetite.

Leaning your head back on his shoulder, your eyes followed the depth of the night sky, each star glimmering like a diamond. With the darkness the cold in the plateau stung your face, your nose runny and icy to the touch, but you could only focus on Satoru’s arms, “Yes, shutting out the world always seems to help,” A small smile reached your lips, “Thank you.”

Intertwining your gloved hands together he brought the back to his lips placing a kiss there making your heart flutter. Since Suguru deserted his lovers, through the agony and stabbing wound in one's heart, you still had Satoru. The six eyes refused to leave your side even for a moment, clinging onto you as a sort of life support.

The anguish was evident in his cerulean eyes, deep purple bags had found their home under his eyes, hidden under a blindfold so as to not worry his students— to worry you. Even if a part of his heart clung onto the memory of Suguru, the rest was yours. Glowing sun of warmth that caressed his cheek, holding him tightly to always feel the ardor of your heart. Lulling the anxiety he felt with lingering kisses, fingers tangled in snowy white tuffs, and the sound of your sweet voice covered in honey— speaking saccharine words.

Even if he tried to hide from you, keeping his emotions tucked away in a metal safe— you knew, of course you saw right through him. Having the privilege of meeting Satoru Gojo years ago meant understanding every single emotion he felt. A strong intuition to sense when something was off, he never truly spoke about it, only on the rare occasion of dawn drawing near, his eyes half lidded, and voice coaxed of sleep that he spoke— tired of the torment of a racing mind. You would hold him tightly in your arms, resting your chin on his hair as he sobbed into your chest, allowing his emotions to ripple like a waterfall. He was yours, you wanted to be there as much as he was there for you.

His giant hand cupped your cheek, leading your lips to his. The kiss was gentle, slow, and filled with love, Satoru’s tongue was warm as it found yours, eager to taste more of you to have more of you— he couldn’t get enough. He held you tight, pressing against your abdomen as it bunched up the polyester fabric in between his fingers. His thumb caressing your cheekbone, kissing you was a piece of heaven; Satoru’s sanctuary. The way his lips connected to yours reminded him that you were perfect for him in every sense of the way. That you were still here with him.

Satoru pulled away, resting his forehead against yours to catch his breath. His eyes remained closed but a goofy smile was ever present, his heart thudding loudly he truly believed you could hear it, light pink dusted his pale skin, “My girl. Mine.” He murmured, attaching his lips to yours once more.

It was moments like these that you truly cherished, engraving his every word into your brain like a chanted prayer. Satoru was here to stay, he could not imagine parting from you; it wasn’t possible.

Together you grieved Suguru, the fallen angel that had big aspirations of changing the world for the better. Ideals that you could not see eye to eye on, the raven haired man swore up and down it was a world for his lovers. Even if it seemed selfish at the time he would burn down the entire world for you and Satoru. If it had meant taking the life of the innocent— the weak, for those he loved, he’d do it over and over again. But the question had always remained: Would either of you do the same?

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The sun blazed down on the asphalt in a persistent manner, the heat waves radiated off of the dark pavement that burned the soles of shoes. Summer was unforgiving this year, humid and sickly that shade did little to provide an escape. The metal bleachers burned to the touch from constant heat smacking against them, the grass seemed as the only comforting place to sit underneath a Japanese cedar tree. Strands of green sticking to your thighs that you regretted wearing a skirt, almost.

First grade Jujutsu students practiced their combat skill in the enormous field, sweat dripping down their faces after an hour of intense training. The new student Yuta Okkotsu showed promise— improving his cursed energy little by little. Satoru had taken a liking to him, a powerful curse that followed him around— killing those that harmed him without a second glance. Your husband had a soft spot for teenagers that had a tough life, a man that could come off as arrogant had a huge heart. A few weeks ago Satoru had come to you, announcing he would be pleading Yuta’s case to avoid an execution even if it meant losing his job. You could never argue with him, standing next to him as you petitioned for the young boy as well.

Training had gone as any other day, students complaining about the heat but refusing to go inside— each competitive. Satoru stood with Yaga on the far end of the field coaching Maki and Yuta, while you and Shoko sat under a tree watching over Toge and Panda. The smell of tobacco wafted into your nostrils as Shoko lit up another cigarette, stating it would help with her irritation as she wiped sweat from her brow. Your fingers found the roots of grass to slowly pick at it, a distraction from the unbearable heat that made your body feel as if it would combust into flames.

Leaning back on your elbows you sighed loudly, throwing your head back further into the shade to look at the intricate leaves— hiding from the wretched sun. “How much longer are we going to torture the students in this goddamn heat?” Shoko groaned beside you.

“‘Dunno, until one of us drives Yaga up the wall with our complaining.” You chuckled, “Knowing Satoru I’d say soon.”

Due to Satoru being born in the winter season the six eyes preferred the cold and icy snow over the blistering heat. He thrived at the first snowfall, dragging you out of the warmth of your cozy bed to admire the sheet of white. His long legs would race to the backyard without the proper clothing to handle the freezing temperatures, slender fingers grabbing a handful of snow to feel the cool softness on his flesh. He’d spend a few hours outside admiring it with childlike wonder, you would oftentimes fight him to come inside as if he were a husky— stubborn and flourishing in the snow. It wouldn’t surprise you if your husband was currently throwing a fit about the sweltering heat to Yaga.

Booming voices ricocheted from the trees in the field, snapping you out of your thoughts. Shoko’s ears perched giving you a confused glance as she licked her finger to put out her cigarette, “What could that be?” She wondered.

Together you stood, requesting Toge and Panda to follow along in case it happened to be something serious. Sweat decorated your brow as the impending heat found you, raising the temperature within the confinements of your body. In the distance a large bird bigger than a human flapped its wings, the radiant golden color catching in the sun, throwing its head back to emit a loud squawk from its enormous beak. Bodies of students surrounded the creature, tuffs of milky white hair came into view as his tall lanky figure pushed past bodies. From where you walked you could see the tension in his shoulders, jaw clenched, and fists white-- something was wrong.

The length of your legs began to take lager hurried strides, loud pounding rang in your ears from the erratic beating of your heart. Heads turned as you drew closer, wandering eyes with a look of confusion stared back at you, “Satoru, long time no see!” A silky voice called, sweet like honey, a soft melody to listen to. A voice that closed up your throat, heart dropping to the depths of your stomach, eyes stinging with ocean water because it had been so long since you had heard it. The voice that comforted you when a tough day crossed your path, made you laugh until you cried, talked you through it in moments of ecstasy, and spoke sweet nothings to you.

As you pushed your way into the circle Satoru stood taut, a white blindfold covered his cerulean eyes, expression hard to read but his tight jaw spoke for him. You followed his gaze, time had frozen still as long raven hair met your eyes, glistening in the light of the sun. A smile adorned his features as he greeted Satoru with an arm around Yuta’s shoulder, he had yet to notice you. It had been nearly a decade since you had seen the familiar face, had him in close radius. “Suguru?” Your voice barely above a whisper, cracking pathetically towards the end.

His attention drifted towards you, “Name, it’s been a while.” The smile he wore faded the moment brown eyes truly caught a glimpse of you, the sight nearly broke his heart. You looked on the verge of tears, the yearning to run into his arms was evident as your hand blindly reached out-- but you held back, taking a hold of Satoru’s sleeve too paralyzed to move. The white haired man placed a protective arm on your waist as if to challenge Suguru to take a step further to either of you. But in truth Satoru would break down if given the opportunity, trying his best to remain strong, to come off as intimidating to the man that ripped his heart open; you both knew this.

“Step away from those kids right now, Suguru.” Satoru’s voice held a stern edge, the man in front of him was the only one that could affect the usual confident demeanor he had.

Suguru held back a smirk as he slowly removed his arm from Yuta, “ I heard the first years were quite special, it seems you still have an eye for talent, Satoru.”

Your gaze was fixed on the raven haired man, it felt like a sick joke, one that your mind deemed fit as a punishment for past mistakes you had once made. He looked different than before, his hair was much longer, reaching his waist. The purple eye bags and look of misery that had become a part of him almost a decade ago had disappeared, his skin practically glowing, he looked happier-- cockier than the man you once knew. You wanted to be as calm as Satoru, to appear stoic and un-bothered but the air felt heavy, the lump in your throat had formed so thick that it was nearly impossible to swallow back. For a decade you still found yourself grieving his sudden departure, the closure he had refused to give you and Satoru, leaving nothing behind but memories and a freezing empty spot in bed. “What are you doing here?” You asked, voice hostile yet the sense of longing was still there.

He tore his gaze from Satoru avoiding your watery eyes over to his entourage, “I came to declare war,” Suguru put it simply, “Five days from now I’ll be in Kyoto, I hope to see you all there.”

“A war?” Shoko scoffed, “Your ideals truly have gone to your head.”

“I’m simply creating a better world.” Suguru’s words left a bitter taste in your mouth, like rusty metal that had sat out in the sun long forgotten for an extended period of time. He no longer sounded like himself, his voice remained velvety and yet, the disconnect of the man he used to be was immense. It had brought you back to the time you were once a student, noticing his distant demeanor with hazy eyes that he looked unrecognizable. He closed in on himself, shutting you and Satoru out. Most nights had been spent sleeping on the couch or too wired as he stayed up an entire night frantically scribbling gibberish in his journal-- ideas to cleanse the world of the weak. He refused the assistance of the comforting arms of his lovers, rejecting their words of reassurance. Suguru had lost a drastic amount of weight, the churning of his stomach accompanied by a burning in his throat that kept him away from consuming food. He had become a shell of himself until one day his radio silence became permanent; leaving his lovers to fend for themselves without another word.

Only for him to return months later in the crowded square of downtown Tokyo claiming that it was all for his lovers. The world he was creating was the perfect one for those he cared about, asking to accompany him in the journey of discovering it together, only to be met by your tears and Satoru’s anger. It was the irreparable end of a relationship.

Biting your bottom lip harshly, you could taste the tang of metallic blood on your tongue, holding Satoru’s sleeve tighter, only for the milky haired man to search for your hand to intertwine your fingers-- squeezing it tightly, he could feel your agony, resentment, and pining. Focusing on his features, you wanted to burn them into your memory, hold them close to your heart because you would be damned if you forgot his face, “I think it’s time for you to go, Suguru.” You muttered, digging your nails into the palm of your hand imprinting crescent moons in the flesh; fighting back the tears that threatened to spill as you urged the man that still owned half of your heart to go.

Silence loomed overhead as Suguru processed the words that escaped your lips; soft that he almost missed them, how desperately he wanted to ignore them to take you and Satoru in his arms and make things better. The version of him you had known before was gone, that man was no longer a part of who he truly was, the weak and strong simply could not co-exist. Why couldn’t either of you understand that for his own selfish reasons, this was all for you? He turned on his heel, sauntering over to the enormous bird, only turning his head enough to catch a glimpse of the two people he adored the most, “I’ll see you in Kyoto. Until next time.” With that the creature expanded its wings, descending in the air with the man that still held onto your hearts.

Satoru watched as the massive bird disappeared into nothingness, the stitches in his heart that had once existed ripped open-- crimson blood gushing out, the ache unbearable. Holding your smaller hand tightly he began to walk toward the direction of his classroom, a small sob escaped your lips before you tried your best to hide it but he had heard it. The tall man stopped, only to see your pretty face covered in fat tears with quivering lips as you tried to fight off dramatic sobs. “Oh, my sweet girl.” Satoru cooed, bending down to envelope you in his arms. His large hand cupped the back of your head, stroking your hair as he held you tightly. He buried his nose in your hair, a small tear falling from his own eye but he was quick to wipe it.

“I- I miss him,‘Toru,” You choked out,“So much.”

“Me too, angel, me too.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩

Dark gray clouds covered the sky, leaving Kyoto in complete darkness. The sounds of war engulfed the city with crumbling buildings, destroyed vehicles, and thick clouds of smoke from small fires that had started. The perfect distraction Suguru had created to get to Yuta, it hadn’t registered in your minds that it had been his plan to get everyone away from the vicinity of Jujutsu High School.

You stood in a medical building to assist in healing those injured alongside Shoko, gifted the same ability of reversed curse technique with the upper hand of bringing those back from the dead on rare occasions. A skill you had spent most of your life trying to achieve, it had only been possible with the help of Tengen and Satoru. The consequences of cheating death had yet to show themselves to you, bringing back countless from watery graves— a draining task that consumed most of your cursed energy for a few days, it wasn’t used often.

Crouching over a severely injured fourth grade student the grand glass door of the building opened, as footsteps scrambled to deliver another injured student you felt the familiar cursed energy of your husband. “I have to go back to Jujutsu High, he set this whole thing up. Suguru is after Yuta.” He stated, gritting his teeth.

“I’m coming with you.” The urgency in your voice was hard to miss.

Satoru could only shake his head, holding his hand up to stop you from coming any closer to him, “No, it’s too dangerous, Name. Stay here and treat the wounded.”

He was always overprotective of you, your safety had always been the six eyes priority only growing ten fold the moment Suguru abandoned the both of you. You understood, but at the same time you weren’t weak, classified as a special grade two weeks after attending school. Training day in and day out when it came to combat, craving to be as perfect as Satoru and Suguru— the two strongest sorcerers. “I don’t care! I’m going with you and that’s final.” You had always been stubborn, constantly standing your ground and refusing any form of rejection when it came to proving yourself. It was a trait Satoru adored about you, but oftentimes it drove him crazy with worry, he knew you were strong but you were the last person he had besides Megumi.

Determination painted your features, clenching your fists at your side to show Satoru you weren’t going to give up. He couldn’t argue with his beautiful wife, especially with the way you looked at him as if you would follow him to the ends of the Earth. “So stubborn.” He huffed, taking your hand before teleporting the both of you to Jujutsu High.

It was silent the moment you arrived on campus grounds the smell of burnt wood wafted in the air as you walked hand in hand. A knot formed in your gut as if it were signaling you that something had gone terribly wrong, it made you tighten your hold on Satoru’s hand. The silence was deafening as the residue of a previous battle remained in the air and grubble of buildings.

Turning the corner of vacant buildings, you could see a figure in the distance covered in crimson liquid, missing a limb, long raven hair a disheveled mess as his signature bun had come undone, “You guys are late as usual.” Suguru weakly chuckled, clutching his side.

“The students in Kyoto were under your control?” Satoru asked, though he held no confusion, you both knew the answer.

Suguru leaned back on a cement wall letting out a ragged breath, “Yes, they all were.”

Letting go of Satoru’s hand you couldn’t care less about the things Suguru had done, the misery he caused when he disappeared, or even those he hurt. Your vision became blurry with tears as you took in his condition, bloodied and bruised as he struggled to maintain a steady breath. You could not bear to listen to much more, this time you had allowed yourself to run to Suguru as you had longed since seeing him on school grounds five days ago. Not giving Satoru a moment to think as he watches your figure bolt for the raven haired man.

Kneeling in front of him your arms wrapped around his neck bringing his body close to yours, without hesitation he wrapped his arm around your waist burying his bloodied face in your neck. The smell of jasmine and cedarwood welcomed you, the scent that had always belonged to him, the one that caused a sob to escape your lips. “You idiot.” You cried into his hair, clutching him tightly, afraid to let go and discover that he was a figment of your imagination.

You were warm, skin silky soft— he had forgotten how good it felt to have you in his arms, if he was being honest with himself he had forgotten your scent, how sweet and delicate it was. “There’s my sweet girl.” Suguru croaked, after a decade of pushing away the hurt he caused himself for leaving, was finally flooding out. Trembling as he hugged you tightly, burning your scent, curves, and hair into his memory. A treasure he’d lock up and guard with his entire being.

“I can fix it, let me fix it… let me heal you.” You begged, cupping his cheeks, blood staining your hands.

“Name, you can’t.” Satoru whispered, tilting his head down.

“What?! No, I'm going to fix h-“

Before you could finish your sentence Suguru took your hand, placing a kiss to the back of it, “It’s for the best, angel.”

You shook your head frantically, sobbing loudly as you looked between Satoru and Suguru, begging to not allow it to end this way. Burying your face in Suguru’s neck, closing your eyes as if to wish to wake up from this nightmare. To wake in your huge bed with them on either side of you, each wrapped around you as they slept soundly. The harsh cold breeze flowing in through your window as it snowed outside, dreading the moment Satoru woke up because he’d drag the two of you outside. Wanting a life back that once was, when Suguru was content with the things he had, when the two of you were enough for him, just one more time.

Suguru grabbed your hand, swaying your two bodies together. Noticing the rays of sunshine bouncing off of a rather large diamond on your finger nearly blinding him, he took a moment to admire it, chuckling bitterly as a wave of jealousy flooded over him. “My love’s got married.” Suguru could only blame himself for abandoning you both, envious he wouldn’t be able to share the Gojo last name with the both of you. A part of him was truly happy for you two, moving on after his selfish act. It wouldn’t have been fair to request either of you to remain stagnant.

“In October two years ago.” Satoru smiled sadly, twiddling with the diamond band on his ring finger. Proud to call you his wife, to be the one to take care of you and cherish moments spent together. It hurt that Suguru couldn’t be a part of it.

“I can fix you… then… then we can try to mend everything. Sugu please.” You choked.

But the decision had been made for you, the conclusion that Suguru was on death’s doorstep had become destiny in the moment. Your pleas and cries went unanswered even if it pained both of the men to cause such agony for you. In the end Suguru no longer had the ability to change, too stuck in his ideals to let them go. “I still love you.” You weeped.

Suguru’s heart sank at your words, even after the crimes he had commited and the torture he had put you through your emotions remained in tact, “I love you too.” The raven haired man kisses your temple, “and I love you, ‘Toru.”

A few tears had finally escaped his cerulean eyes, “I love you too… I’m sorry.”

A flash of purple came into your peripheral vision, the ringing in your ears was painful. Time had slowed as Suguru’s muscular body fell limp in your arms, the look of horror on your face was one that Satoru would remember forever. A loud scream erupted from your lungs that it felt as though they’d rip open at the seams, oxygen became impossible to inhale as you wailed out to the sky clutching his lifeless body in your arms. “No! No, ‘Toru… no. Suguru please,” The only thing you could muster was to beg and wail, preparing to use the entirety of your cursed energy to bring back your dead lover.

But Satoru pulled you away before you could do anything, holding your flailing body in his arms as he howled alongside you. He would hold onto this guilt for the rest of his life, ripping Suguru away from your lives as he meant nothing when he was everything would tear him to shreds. Suguru had perished by his own hands, he felt like a monster. All he could do was throw you over his shoulder and listen to the heart wrenching wails that left you as he dragged you away from Suguru.

He’d never forgive himself.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[dearmy-diary]

POLY MARAUDERS | FILIPINO COOKING

request. : Could i request a 🍪 with poly!marauders x filo!reader, please? Maybe reader decides to make traditional filipino food for dinner and the boys ask reader some questions while eating since they're interested in learning about the culture and the multiple languages too? I'm not sure if this is too much, so feel free to do whatever you'd like! ⏤ @lyne-lyne

length : 0.5k

“What was that, James?” you ask, looking up from your food at the man in question. His mouth was stuffed full of food so it was no wonder that you didn’t understand a word he said. 

“Chew your food first, James,” Remus scolds as Sirius laughs at James’s hilarious appearance, jabbing at his shoulder with a finger before quickly returning to his own plate of food. 

“This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted!” James finally praises after chewing through his mouthful and swallowing, “I didn’t know chicken could taste so good!” he continues as you smile humbly, trying to restrain your ear-to-ear grin and making your cheeks hurt. 

“James is right,” Sirius agrees with a lick of his lips, “just wow! You’re such a good cook and this adobo is addicting!” knowing that Sirius grew up eating very refined dishes from the renowned gastronome of french cuisine, his flattering words filled your heart with warmth and pride. You were nervous to cook for them at first but they begged and pleaded with you, insisting on the basis that they wanted to know more about your culture. Naturally, food was the first thing you thought of. Now, you have a feeling that they would be begging you to cook Filipino cuisine for them weekly, maybe even multiple times a week.   

“If you think that’s good, you guys need to try this pork dish…” Remus looks towards you with a pause that you are quick to pick up on. 

“It’s called Lechon Kawali,” Remus thanks you with a smile and a nod before continuing. 

“The brown sauce goes so well with it too,” the brunette continues, dipping a pork piece into the sauce and humming in content from the flavour that explodes in his mouth. It’s such a new but pleasant taste that he becomes a little upset that you didn’t cook for them sooner; such recipes needed sharing and wider recognition.

“Thank you,” you giggle, realising that Remus had abandoned his utensils in favour of eating with his hands, only using his spoon for the rice when balancing out the flavours. 

“If you’re gonna suggest that then save some for us, Moony,” Sirius whines upon looking over and realising that Remus was making good progress on eating up the lechon.

“You snooze, you lose, Padfoot,” it was rare to see such flagrant delinquent behaviour from Remus that even James stopped eating before laughing loudly. 

“Good food really is the way to a man’s heart,” James chuckles, eventually settling on staring at you adoringly from across the table. 

“Very true,” Remus agrees without opposition and gives a casual shrug.

“After this, I might have to go and buy a ring, huh, Dollface?” Sirius winks at you and, for once, you can’t tell whether he’s being playful or earnest. 

With a racing heart, you stand from the table and slowly back away to the kitchen, “h-how about dessert?” your suggestion immediately makes their eyes light up, “There’s Bibingka and Turon,”

Sirius smirks, eyeing you up and down, “sounds delicious, dollface,” 

a/n : thank you again for requesting this, darling, it feels so good to know i have my fellow filipinos out there supporting me too!

the picnic : 1k milestone event

[dearmy-diary]

What do you guys think of reborn male!oc from the Grand master of demonic cultivation x James Potter?

I've been thinking this for months but I'm not sure if i can pull this off.