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a lifetime of summers - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which every summer, at the villa your families rent together every year, gives you a version of charles OR you and charles are childhood best friends with a complicated history. warnings: angst, language, childhood friends with complicated history, smut, angst, yearning, etc... idk what I'm missing, NOT PROOFREAD (prob typos or things that might not make sense), lots of back and forth, messy messy messy, also cute, jealousy jealousy, seriously lots of YEARNING, them being stupid also word count: ~8k author's note: this idea came to me a few days ago and i've spent as much time as possible working on it since (in between carlos version). y'know when the creativity just hits right and the words pour out of you?? that was me with this. i hope you guys like it!!!! xoxo ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Age 7.

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

The villa smells of sun lotion and salty air.

Your dad’s playing music through some tiny old speaker he brought. And the adults are laughing too loud over their drinks.

The sun is beginning to sink, but it’s still hot.

You’re sticky with juice, hair tangled, and bathing suit clinging awkwardly.

Charles is chasing you. A water balloon in his hands.

You shriek, running against the hot stones. Smiling so hard that it hurts.

“Y’already got me twice!” You shout in between giggles. “S’not fair!”

Charles appears closer. Face sunburnt. A smile tugged on his lips. “You cheated at Candy Land!”

“You cheated first!”

“Because you always win!”

And he raises the balloon over his head.

“If you throw that, I’m telling maman you said a bad word the other day.”

His smile drops. “I did not!”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Uh huh…you said ‘shit’ when you hit your funny bone.”

“It hurt!” He argues.

You stick your tongue out.

And then he hesitates. Looking at the balloon. Then at you.

Throws the balloon anyway.

It explodes against your stomach. Cold water soaking you.

And you gasp.

Then lunge for him. Chase him all the way into the back yard, shrieking. Laughing so hard that you both struggle to breathe properly.

And eventually you both collapse into the grass. Side by side. Near the lemon tree.

There’s a few moments of silence. Both of you panting from trying to catch your breath.

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Because you’re funny. And you like ice pops. And you beat me at Mario Kart once.”

You look at him. And he’s staring at the leaves above your heads. Arms touching.

“I don’t think that’s how marriage works,” your voice soft.

“Don’t care.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes. “Okay. But I don’t want to wear a dress.”

“Fine. But you have to split the cake with me.”

“Only if it’s chocolate.”

“Well duh.”

And you both fall asleep like that. In the grass. Smelling like chlorine. Sticky with sugar.

Age 12

“Why are you being weird?”

The summer heat is burning.

Heat clings to you like a second skin. And you’re still dripping from the pool. The stone tiles are too hot to stand on for too long, so everyone moves around them quickly. Your hair is wet. Trying to read a book, but can’t focus.

Because Charles won’t stop staring at you.

Well, he’s technically not staring. But he’s in the pool in your direct eyesight. Hands behind his head as he sits on a float. Sunglasses almost too big for his face. Smirking.

And every so often, he splashes water your way.

“Would you stop?” You snap. Wiping the water off your ankles.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. Blinking. Innocent.

You groan, falling back on the lounger. Trying to ignore him.

He floats closer. “You haven’t turned the page in almost twenty minutes.”

“That’s because you’re distracting me.”

And he grins. A full sheepish grin. “You think I’m cute.”

You don’t answer. Keep your eyes on your book.

“Y’gonna tell your friends I have a six pack now?” He calls out.

You raise your eyebrows, “Six pack of what?”

“Muscles.” He says. Dead serious.

And your mouth twitches. “Your voice still cracks.”

Charles slips off the floatie. Swims to the edge and rests his arms on the ledge. Chin on his forearm as he looks at you.

“Yeah? And what does it do to you when I say your name?”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re blushing.”

“It’s the sun.”

He laughs. And you throw your book at him.

He ducks under the water. And when he resurfaces, grinning…you’re trying so hard to not smile. And he knows it.

“Why are you being so weird?” you ask.

He shrugs.

“You’re just starting to notice me now.”

And you don’t answer.

And later that night, when you’re brushing your teeth. Still burnt from the sun. You wonder what he meant.

You don’t ask.

But you do start to.

Age 15

“That didn’t count.”

“So kiss me again.”

The villa is quiet.

Your parents and his mom stay up talking. Your siblings long asleep. Arthur passed out on the couch.

A few candles flicker near the steps, but most of the light is coming from the moonlight.

You’re barefoot. The grass cool and soft beneath your toes as you walk to the lemon tree. The one where you and Charles always meet when its too late and you’re supposed to be asleep.

He’s already there. Leaning against it.

He looks different this year. Taller. A little bit sharper. More grown into his body.

He glances at you. “Took you long enough.”

“Had to sneak past my sister.”

He grins, holding up a bag of chips.

And you sit beside him. Your shoulder brushing his.

Talking about nothing for a while. Catching up on the weeks you aren’t together. How he kissed a girl in Monaco and it was fine but also kind of awkward. And you pretend you don’t hate hearing it.

You tell him about the boy from school who tried to hold your hand during a movie when you went with your group of friends.

Charles almost immediately demands his full name. And address.

And you laugh.

He tosses a lemon up and catches it. Again and again.

“I heard you tell Joris that I was in love with you.” You say.

And he glances at you. “I did not.”

You narrow your eyes. A smile on your lips.

And he shrugs. “I said you were obsessed with me. S’not the same.”

And you laugh. Then scoff. “You wish.”

You shove his arm. And he grabs your wrist before you can pull it back. Fingers wrapping around you. Warm. Familiar. But somehow different.

Neither of you speak for a few moments. Just take in the sound of the cicadas, the faint chatter of the adults on the terrace.

“Y’ever kissed anyone?”

And your stomach twists. Look away. “No.”

He nods. “Me either…at least, not really.”

Silence.

And then he says, “Wanna try?”

You look at him. But he’s already looking at you. And he looks nervous. Hopeful. Like he’s been thinking about this for a long time. Nothing like the boy who used to throw water balloons and stick paint in your hair.

You nod.

And it’s awkward. Your noses bump. One of you breathes too loudly. His hands tremble at your cheek.

But it’s sweet. Slow.

And his lips are soft.

And when you pull apart, you both stare at each other. Lips a little rosier than before.

“That didn’t count.” You whisper.

And he blinks. “Why not?”

“There was no tongue.”

And he grins. Slowly.

And then pulls you back into him.

And this time….it’s real.

Age 17

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

The villa’s light glow behind you. Laughter echoing from the kitchen where your parents and his maman are finishing a bottle of wine.

You and Charles are on the terrace. Barefoot. A shared bottle of win between you. Practically empty. And his leg brushes against yours every time he fidgets.

It’s the first summer where you’ve both been allowed to really drink. Not just a stolen sip of a half-empty bottle found on the kitchen counter. Or a watered down spritz. Real drinks. Poured and given to you like adults.

And you’re a little tipsy. Cheeks warm and rosy. Limbs loose.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you glance at him.

He nods. “Jus’ thinking.”

“You do that?”

And he laughs. “Shut up.”

You smile. Taking a small sip straight from the bottle before placing it back down. “What are you thinking about?”

He hesitates for a little. “Uh…that night last year.”

You don’t have to ask which night. You already know.

The night behind the lemon tree. His mouth on yours. And you think about it often.

“Me too,” You admit. Soft.

And he looks at you. Watch as his gaze dips to your mouth.

And then he’s leaning in.

The kiss is soft. Deeper. Not rushed. And his lips are warm. Tastes of wine and something sweet. Like the fruit you guys were picking at earlier.

When he pulls back, his voice cracks a little bit. “I want you.”

You don’t answer. Just smile soft. Pulling his hand into yours as you drag him into the villa. Into the bedroom.

Your clothes peel off slowly. Clumsy. And he’s careful. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, it’ll ruin the moment.

“Y’sure about this?” He whispers.

You nod. “Yeah…want it to be you.”

And he closes his eyes for a second. Like his heart is in his throat.

And then it happens.

It’s slow. Messy. You both laugh when your arms bump. And he curses softly when he cant get the condom wrapper open. But then he’s inside you, and your laughter becomes hushed gasps. Fingers digging into each other.

“Y’okay?” He mutters. His forehead pressed to yours.

And your nails dig into his back. “Yeah.”

And then he kisses you again. Harder. Holds you closer.

Later, when you’re both lying tangled in the dark…you feel his fingers tracing your skin. Both of you enjoying the silence.

Then a good few moments later.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

You swallow hard.

“Yeah.”

Age 19

“Y’gonna dance with him again?”

“He asked.”

“You let him kiss your cheek.”

“You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night.”

“That’s different.”

You’re barefoot in the sand. Music loud. And Luca…or maybe it was Leo? You weren’t sure. Had his hands lightly on your hips. Flirty.

You’re laughing at something dumb he said into your ear. And then you feel it.

The heat. The stare.

Glance over your shoulder and…

Charles. Leaning against the beach bar. Beer in hand.

Eyes on you with a glint in his eye like you’ve offended him.

You try not to react. But the next time Luca spins you, you pull away with a smile and a I’ll be right back.

You only make it a few steps before Charles intercepts your path.

“Having fun?” He says. Trying to be casual. But his voice is too tight. Too bitter.

“Yes.” You brush past him. And he falls right into step with you.

“You’ve got weird taste in music.”

“That’s not my music taste. It’s called dancing.”

And he scoffs.

You walk to the side of the bar. To a more private area. Grabbing his shoulder to face you.

“Are you okay?” Voice sweet. Gentle. Caring.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re glaring too much.”

And looks at you. “I just think it’s funny.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“I mean, you don’t even like that song.”

You cross your arms against your chest. And he steps closer.

“You let him put his hands on you.”

You raise a brow. “So?”

“So…you let him touch you. Kiss your cheek”

And you laugh. Soft. “You fingered me in the kitchen pantry last night, Charles.”

His jaw clenches. Hands twitch. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

You take a step closer. Testing him, And he doesn’t budge.

“It’s not the same.”

You stare at him. His cheeks are sunburned. And his eyes are so green it makes your heart rate spike. So handsome.

“So I’m not allowed to dance with a guy I’ll never see again?”

He runs a hand over his face. Grazing the slight stubble on his jaw. “You’re not just dancing.”

“No,” You admit. “But you’re not just fucking me either.”

His eyes widen. Slightly stunned.

And you don’t back down. Step even closer until your chests are touching.. “You don’t wanna talk about what this is? That’s fine. But you don’t get to act jealous then.”

“I’m not jealous.”

And you grin. Snort. Just a tiny bit.

“Okay,” he says. Throwing his hands up. “Maybe I am.”

Your stomach twists.

“I just…I don’t like seeing you with other guys.” His voice is low.

“Well…it’s not like you don’t talk to other girls, Charles.”

And then you leave him standing there. Alone.

“Wanna go out for a bit?” He asks. “Just us?”

And you say yes without even thinking.

You’re on a light blue towel, sunglasses over your face, pretending to read a book. Charles is stretched out next to you. An arm tucked under his head. Throwing grapes in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth.

You glance over just as a grape hits his forehead and falls into the sand.

“Impressive.”

He laughs. “The wind interfered!”

He tosses another grape. Misses again.

And you burst into laughter.

“I’m warming up.”

He laughs with you. Giving up and rolling onto his side to face you.

He squints his eyes at you. “Do you have sunscreen on?”

“Yes.”

“Are you positive?”

Your brows furrow. “Why?”

“I think that….” His hand reaches for the bottle of sun lotion, flicking it open. “That you missed a spot.”

He squirts some into his hand, a smirk on his lips.

“Back off.”

And he reaches for you, smearing it all over your chest. You shriek, tossing your book into the sand beside you.

And somewhere between this sun lotion assault, you’re both breathless and laughing so hard.

He pins you down, dropping heaps of sun lotion onto your skin.

“Truce,” You laugh. Stomach burning from laughter.

He nods. Smiling. Rubbing the sunscreen into your skin.

“Don’t want you to burn.”

You throw a pile of sand at him. And he doesn’t even flinch.

His cock is already buried inside you. Deep. Thick. Fucking aching.

“God, you’re fuckin soaked.” He groans into your neck. Hand pressed into your stomach.

You claw at his back. Back arched. Legs spread. Shaking every time he hits that spot in your tummy just right.

He looks down at you like he’s overwhelmed. Like he doesn’t understand how you can feel this fucking good.

“Swear to God,” He grunts. Pulling back slow, then snapping his hips forward. “S’like your pussy jus gets tighter every time.”

Your mouth falls open. Gasping.

His hands slip under your thigh, pushing your knee into your chest. Fucking you deeper.

And then he moans.

“Jesus….fuck.” He chokes out. “Y’feel that?”

You sob out.

“I’ve been inside you like a hundred times this summer and it still feels like fuckin heaven.”

His forehead drops and presses into yours. Voice rough.

“M’not gonna last.” He huffs. “You’re too wet. Too fuckin tight.”

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. “Don’t stop…”

“You’re fuckin milking me.” He cuts you off. “Y’gonna come? Please come on me. C’mon baby…please, yeah? Please let me have it.”

And you fall apart. Gasping. Shaking. Coming so hard around his cock it makes his head fall back.

And he swears. Filthily. French tumbling out go his mouth.

And then he’s spilling inside of you. Chest pressed to yours. Hips jerking.

He buries his face in your beck. Collapsing on you.

And neither of you speak for a bit.

Just catch your breath. Comfortable silence. Holding each other.

Eventually, he reaches up. Tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

Then whispers into the dark.

“I like it here.”

And he doesn’t elaborate.

You don’t ask him to.

Age 21

“He seems tense.”

“He’s fine.”

“He didn’t even blink when I mentioned that guy from Madrid.”

“I told you not to bring it up.”

Your best friend’s been here for five days and already the villa feels different.

She means well. But she talks fast, drinks fast, and has no filter.

She also loves to talk about your love life.

The one that you’re apparently “thriving in”.

“So wait,” she says over breakfast, digging her fork into her food. “You never texted that guy from Madrid back? Y’know the one with the sexy voice?”

Across the table, Charles is picking at his plate. Fork pausing. Just for a little bit. Enough for you to notice.

You look at her, “No.”

“Why not? He was so hot.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“But he was so into you…” She takes a sip of her drink. “What about the Italian one? The one you really liked.”

Charles cuts into his eggs. A little bit harder. Knife scraping the plate.

“He ghosted.”

“Ugh, yeah total loser.” She laughs. “Oh my god, remember…what was his name? From the bar crawl.”

“Liam.” You choke out.

“Yes! Liam!” She snaps her fingers. “Didn’t he pick you up at the bar? Like just threw you over his shoulder?”

You laugh, slightly embarrassed. Nodding.

Charles sets his mug down a little too hard.

And then he stands. Takes his plate to the sink.

And walks out.

“Was it something I said?” Your best friend asks.

You find him in the kitchen later. Your best friend is lounging out by the pool and you slipped inside to grab a water.

He’s rinsing the plates. Back to you. But his jaw is clenched tight.

You lean against the counter by him. “Hey.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps scrubbing the dishes. A little harder than before.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” He says. “Just didn’t realize breakfast started with a running list of every guy you’ve fucked.”

You wince.

And he breathes deeply. Dropping the dish in the sink. “Sorry…that was, uh harsh.”

You give a tiny nod.

“I just…” He turns off the water. Looks at you. “Didn’t know it was like that?”

“Like what?”

He shrugs.

“Is it a problem?”

He stares at you. Sucks his bottom lip in for a moment. Like he’s deep in thought. Before finally saying…

“No. It’s not my place.”

And there it is.

You step back. “Right.”

And then you’re turning around, reaching in the cabinet for a glass. “Still going to the bonfire later?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, if you still want to.”

“Cool,” Your voice is light.

Age 22

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I’m just tired.”

The long table on the terrace is full.

Extra chairs from inside scattered around it, one of your younger cousins crawling underneath it.

Your dad is asking your mom if there’s more grilled vegetables. Meanwhile your sister insists on telling the story about the jellyfish sting again.

“And she was crying so hard, she had actual snot bubbles on her face,” She says. Laughing.

You lift your hand, “I was six!”

Charles laughs. “You thought you were dying.”

“I thought it was venom!” You laugh. “And no one even helped me.”

“We were too busy laughing at the snot,” He says. Looking at you. That familiar grin pulled on his face, eyes crinkled. Like it was just you two.

And then Alex leans into him. Whispers into his ear. And whatever she says makes him smile wider. Makes him shift toward her without even thinking.

You chug your wine.

“I love that photo,” Alex says softly. And you glance at her to find her already looking at you. “The one of you and everyone in the inflatable pool. You’re the only one not smiling.”

You curl your lips. “We were sinking.”

“It’s so funny though,” She says. “You look so unimpressed by them.”

“She always looks like that,” Charles chimes in. “Probably came out of the womb judging people.”

You narrow your eyes, but the smile pulling on your lips gives you away.

Alex laughs. And your mom’s already popping open the next bottle of wine.

And it would be perfect.

If it weren’t for Charles sitting across from you, arms wrapped around another person. Like he’s not yours anymore.

You ask Alex about her job, and you mean it. She answers so soft and kind that it almost makes you hate her. Almost.

But you can’t. Because she’s nice.

“She’s good for him,” Your sister whispers under her breath, leaning toward you. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You nod. “I’m just tired.”

Eventually, dinner ends. Alex excuses herself to help your mom bring out dessert. And Charles follows.

And when they come back, head thrown back laughing.

He sets a slice of cake in front of you without a word.

And you thank him like its normal.

Someone suggest drinks at the beach bar. Something to do. The one with the bulbs on string down the street.

You come barefoot, some sweet drink already in hand. Alex walks beside you, her wedges hooked in her fingers, hem of her dress brushing her knees.

She’s pretty in a way that doesn’t feel threatening. Not showy. Just perfect.

Inside the bar, you spot Charles leaned against the bar with a beer, grinning at something Arthur’s saying. And he’s wearing that linen button up that you used to tell him he looks like a recently divorced rich guy in.

You find yourself smiling.

Alex touches your arm. “Hey…you want a new drink?”

You shake your head. “I’m good for now.”

She nods. A small smile on her lips.

“I was really nervous to meet you.”

You blink. Eyes slightly wider. “Me?”

She nods. “Charles talks about you all the time.”

You freeze for a moment.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Not like in a weird way. Just like you’re part of the picture. In his life. Almost every story he tells involves you.”

You don’t know how to respond.

“I’m just glad you’re not..uh, like intimidating.” She laughs.

And you laugh back. “I save the intimidation after a few weeks.”

She smiles. “So I’ve still got time?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

And for this moment, you like her. Even if it hurts.

Because she’s kind.

Because she doesn’t know that you and Charles shared a bed when thunderstorms were scary.

Because she wasn’t there the summer he kissed you against the sand and told you he’d never want anyone else.

You chug your drink.

Later, you’re all gathered near the back of the deck, huddled around a wooden table and wobbly stools. Someone ordered a side of fries. Someone else ordered a round of shots no one really wanted but drank anyways.

You’re pressed between Charles and your sister. You’re laughing. Tipsy. Warm.

Charles is teasing your sister about something but you’re not really listening.

And that’s when another guy slides in.

Not dramatically. Just casual. Confident.

He’s tall. Tanned. Cute.

He talks to the guy beside him, someone you’ve definitely seen before, and then turns to you.

“Did I hear something about you getting stung by a jellyfish?”

You smile. “Unfortunately.”

He nods. A grin. “Survival stories always get me.”

“Tragic,” you say.

He laughs. “I’m Nick.”

You take a sip of your drink, tilting your head. “Do you open with tragedy stories for flirting a lot? Or is it just me?”

“Only for girls who look like they bite back.”

You grin. Slow. “You say that like its a challenge.”

“Depends,” He shrugs, gaze dropping to your bare legs, then back to your face.

“On?”

“Depends how hard you bite.”

And you laugh. Like really laugh. Hard. Head falling back. And then you feel it. The way Charles stills beside you. The way his fingers grip his cup just a little bit tighter.

And Nick leans in closer. More private. “So…what other tragedies should I know about you?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“If you want facts or warnings.”

He raises a brow. “Any preference?”

You place your cup down on the table. “I like a little risk.”

And Charles says something to your sister now. A little louder. Like he’s trying to distract you.

You don’t bother to look at him.

Nick grins. “And just how dangerous are you exactly?”

You grin back. “Pretty dangerous.”

He laughs. “Good.”

You both just stare at each other for a little. Grinning.

“You dancing?” He asks, nodding his head in direction of the dance floor.

“Are you asking or telling?”

“I’m hoping.”

You slide off the stool.

“Let’s go tragedy boy.”

And as he takes your hand. Leads you into the crowd. You catch Charles’s eyes.

Watching.

Burning.

The music’s slowed a little. Just swaying to the music, instead of the rapid jumping you were doing earlier.

Nick’s hand rests at your hip. His other is holding your drink while you talk with your hands.

“You can’t seriously think pineapple belongs on pizza,” You yell over the music.

Nick grins. “It’s good.”

“You’re weird.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

And you laugh, bumping your shoulder into his. He leans in, speaking into your ear.

“You know your friend’s been staring at us for like ten minutes, right?”

You blink. “Huh?”

He tips his head. Over your shoulder. And you turn just a little bit. Just enough to see Charles still sitting at the table.

Drink in hand. Not talking. Not even blinking. Just looking.

You breathe out, turning back. “That Charles.”

Nick raises a brow, nodding. “Ahh.”

“Don’t read into it.”

He watches you.

“He has a girlfriend.”

Nick hums, a teasing grin. “He doesn’t look like he remembers that right now.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Cool.”

You shrug. “You don’t believe me?”

He smiles. “Doesn’t matter what I believe. Just means if I kiss you, he might kill me.”

You laugh. “You’re awful.”

“You’re still here.”

And you look at each other. Smiling.

You kiss him. Not because you’re falling for him. But because you’re single. Because Charles brought someone else. Because he gets to have her. Because you’re tired of thinking about him.

So you kiss him to feel good. To forget. To remind yourself that you’re free.

Hands in his shirt. Hands on your waist.

And you let yourself lean into it.

Enjoy the uncomplicated.

And for a few moments…it almost works.

Age 23

“You brought him here.”

“Yeah. Remember you said he wouldn’t last.”

You’re late this year.

Flight was delayed. Rental car place was too busy. And by the time your feet hit the familiar stone of the villa’s terrace, the sun is already low in the sky.

Theo’s beside you. Rolling your suitcase like a pure gentleman. He’s good. Kind. Gets along with your parents. Laughs at your sister’s jokes.

And still, your heart flutters when you hear his voice.

Charles.

Laughing louder than necessary. As if he wants you to hear it.

You follow the sound. Trying not to think about the last time you saw him. A few months ago in Monaco. A hotel room you both swore you wouldn’t end up in. Both seeing other people. Both pretending it didn’t count.

And it wasn’t even the first time.

Since last summer, it’s happened a few times too many. Whenever him and Alex called it off. On and off. On and off. You slipped between the cracks. A quiet fuck in your apartment. A drunken make out at a birthday party. You pressed against the shower tiles. Bent over his kitchen counter.

Always followed by soft smiles and easy goodbyes. A promise to act normal.

Best friends first.

And the moment you step further into the terrace, you see him.

Charles standing against the bar, shirt unbuttoned. Tanned. Holding a drink with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how hot he looks.

And worse…Alex is next to him.

Beautiful of course. Sundress swaying. Hand on his chest like it belongs there.

He notices you before you can even speak. Smile faltering for a fraction of a second. Just enough for you to really feel it. And then it’s back.

And he lifts his glass in a salute. “You’re late.”

Alex smiles. “We thought you weren’t coming til’ tomorrow!”

You smile back. She was always so nice. “Surprise!”

Theo steps forward. Hand extended with that charm that always made it hard to hate him. “Hey…Charles, right?”

And Charles doesn’t hesitate. Shakes his hand. But its the same one he uses with driver’s he never liked. “Yeah. We’ve met.”

And it hits you like a knife to the ribs.

You remember that night clear as day. Theo was still new. Only a few dates in. And you invited him to a party.

Charles showed up late. And barely looked at Theo. Offered him a lazy smile before finding you later into the night. Pulling you into his car thirty minutes later and fucking you in the back seat.

And Theo’s smiling. “Nice to see you again.”

Charles smiles. But his eyes stay on you. Never leave your face.

Alex swings her arm into his. “So glad you made it. Saved you the good room too.”

You smile at her. “That’s sweet of you.”

Charles lifts a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a good room to enjoy yourself here.”

And you hum. “Guess I’ve gotten a little pickier.”

He takes a sip of his drink. “Since when?”

And you shrug your shoulders. “Since I started dating someone who doesn’t forget my birthday.”

And it hits him like a bullet. You see the way his jaw shifts. Swallow.

Theo’s hand slips onto your lower back. Whispering softly into your ear. Nothing specific. Just something that makes you smile.

And Charles swear’s he might just vomit.

The ocean is calm. Waves hitting the rocks. A few birds chirping. Air cool before the sun is fully up.

You slip out of bed, letting Theo sleep. Making your way down the stony path that you walked hundreds of times. Towel slung over your shoulder. Hair twisted up in a clip.

And you’re halfway across the sand when you see him.

Already waist deep in the water. Back facing you.

You freeze. Debating if you should turn around.

But it’s too late. He see’s you. And his face shifts into something. Longing? Guilt? You’re not sure.

“You’re always here early,” He calls out.

You drop your towel, walking into the water without glancing at him. “Not always.”

He watches you. You can feel the burn of his eyes on your skin. “You do when you’re avoiding me.”

You glance up. The water cool against your skin. “Who said I’m avoiding you?”

He shrugs. “History.”

You reach him in the water. You both stand there, not touching. Not moving.

Eventually…he speaks.

“He’s staying the entire time?”

You raise a brow. “Are you asking as my best friend or something else?”

He doesn’t answer.

You move a little closer. “You said he wouldn’t last.”

“I was wrong.” His voice is low. “Clearly.”

He swallows. Looks away from you. “Does he know?”

And your stomach twists. “Know what?”

He doesn’t say anything. Lets the silence tell you.

You feel your throat tightening. “He know’s we’re close.”

“Close.” He repeats. Half snort, half laugh.

“Best friends.”

He turns to fully face you now. Jaw clenched.

“Right. Just best friends.”

You don’t respond. Because what else are you supposed to say? That you still feel his fingers dig into your skin. That no matter how many nights pass, you still wonder what this could’ve been if you both spoke up all those years ago.

He steps closer. Too close now.

“Y’still taste like that shitty rosé we used to drink.”

And you blink. Trying not to smile. “You’re not funny.”

“Not trying to be.”

His fingers brush against your shoulder.

“You have a girlfriend.”

And his eyes look sad. He breathes loudly. “And you have him.”

The villa is loud tonight. Music is blasting. Too many drinks are being poured. Bowls of snacks turning stale.

All of you are packed into the living room. Sunburn. Sprawled into chairs or the floor. Hoodies thrown on.

Your families are here. Everyone laughing and shouting. Bickering. Like its still 15 years ago.

Theo sits behind you on the rug, legs wrapped around you. Hand resting on your hip. And he’s been sweet all evening. He fits.

Yet every time you crack a joke. Or win a game. It’s Charles who looks at you first. Like he’s your person.

His leg bounces restlessly.

“Alright,” Arthur announces. “We’re playing that game again. The one with the acting.” He holds up a deck of cards.

“Y’mean charades?” Alex asks. Soft.

“No.” Charles says. “The one I always win.”

And it’s you rolling your eyes now. “Y’mean the one you always cheat during?”

He leans forward. “I win.”

Theo laughs behind you.

Your sister tries to act out like Snow White. Falling over and laughing when Arthur misreads a motion. Theo keeps guessing too many times. And Alex’s impressions are almost too good.

And later…when the game’s over. You find yourself in the kitchen, stacking freshly cleaned glass and bowls onto the drying towel.

Humming to yourself.

And Charles leans against the doorway, arms crossed. Watching you with a lazy grin.

“You two are cute,” He says.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be weird.”

“M’not.” He shrugs. Pushing off the archway and stepping closer. “It’s just…uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “You let him touch you a lot.”

You pause with a glass in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

And he smiles. Tight. Not genuine. “Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.”

He raises his hands. Says something mocking of Theo.

And it has you gasp lightly. “You’re such an asshole.” You try not to smile.

He steps even closer.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “But I’m still your favorite.”

And then he’s stepping beside you, taking the glass from your hand and dries it.

Finishes washing the dishes with you in silence.

“You’re staring again.”

“Yeah. Looks like you’re having fun.”

“Jealous?”

“Of him? Never.”

Silence.

“But of you? Maybe.”

The bar is tucked into the cliffs. A grand view of the sea. Well lit by bulbs on strings.

Everyone’s dressed for the night. Sun-kissed. Hair soft and flows. Laughter echoing.

You’re on your second drink. Lightly buzzed. Your dress clinging to you just right. And you feel good. Happy.

Theo’s spinning you around. His hands warm on your waist as you move slowly in the corner of the makeshift dance floor. He’s not much of a dancer. But he’s trying. And in the end…that’s all that really matters.

He leans in close. “Y’look so beautiful.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

“I mean…y’always do.” He grins. “But-“

You don’t let him finish. Kiss him. Easy. Soft.

And when you pull back, you catch him in the corner of your eye.

Charles. At the bar.

Sitting with Arthur and Alex. Drink in front of him. Head tilted.

And he’s watching you. Not listening to either of them.

And when you’re eyes meet, he lifts his drink.

A challenge.

And later when you slip away from the loud music. He’s there. Leaning casually against the table. Shirt undone just enough to make your throat dry.

“You’re having fun.” He says. A statement. Not a question.

“Isn’t that the point?”

He nods. “Theo’s a big fan of spinning you around like you’re some prize.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s called dancing.”

“More like claiming.” He huffs under his breath.

And you look at him.

Hard.

Trying to read him.

“What’s your problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Eyes dropping to the floor. Then to his half empty drink.

“You kissed him.” He still isn’t looking at you.

You squint your eyes a little. “Yeah. I did.”

He swallows. Harsh. “Cool.”

You laugh. Dry. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m the ridiculous one?” He finally looks at you. “You’re out here making heart eyes at a guy you know won’t last more than another year.”

Your mouth falls open. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him. I know you.”

And he steps forward. Voice dropping.

“And I know that’s the same dress you wore the night I…”

“Charles.”

You both go quiet.

Alex’s frame flickers by. Laughter erupts. People keep dancing.

“Whatever. You’re right. Have fun with your fling.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jealous?”

He smiles. Sad. “Of him? Never.”

A moment of silence. And his gaze drops to your mouth. Stays there.

“But you? Maybe.”

The trip is winding down. Bags are beginning to be packed. Towels still damp. Nights slower. Everyone pretending that they’re not ready to be home.

The sky’s dark. Everyone’s inside finishing up packing. Winding down.

You slipped out.

Without thinking, ended up here. The lemon tree.

The same as always.

You hear footsteps. Uneven. Dragging.

And you turn. Charles.

He’s drunk. Swearing under his breath as he loses his footing. A bottle dangling from his hand. Shirtless. Barefoot.

His eyes meet yours and there’s something bitter in them. “Of course you’re here.”

You breathe. “You’re drunk.”

“A lil’ bit,” His words slur. “Celebrating your last night as someone else’s girl.”

You cross your arms. “We’re not doing this.”

But he’s already walking closer.

“Y’know….s’kinda funny.”

You don’t speak.

“How he holds your hand like its somethin’ delicate. Like you’re some untouchable thing.” He takes another step closer. Voice shaking.

“I’ve had you on your knees on the kitchen floor.” He says, bitter.

Your heart pounds. “Stop.”

“In the pool too,” He slurs. “Begged me to not pull out. Said you wanted to feel it. Feel me.”

He doesn’t even let you speak. Just rambles on. Slurring. Drunk. Angry.

“Had you in every room in that house,” He grunts. “Fingers shoved in you while our parents set the dinner table. Bent you over the bathroom sink. Panties still halfway up your thighs because you were too desperate to wait.”

“Charles…”

“The pantry…remember that one?” His voice drops lower. “You were so wet it dripped onto the floor. Had to stuff my fingers in your mouth so no one would hear you cryin while you came.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I fucking have to.” He snaps. “Because I can’t fucking sleep this entire trip knowing he gets to touch you.”

You swallow. “I’m not some prize.”

“No. You’re worse.” He spits. Stepping close enough that his chest is close enough and you have to crane your neck to look at him. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and you handed it to someone else like I never fucking existed.”

“Stop it.”

“He doesn’t know what its like to hear you lose control. How you cry when you come. Shaking and begging.”

And your breathing hard now.

He leans in. Bending down to be eye to eye.

“He gets to hold you in public.” His eyes are glaring. “And I got your thighs shaking around my face while you said my name like a fuckin’ prayer.”

You don’t speak. Can’t.

Silence for a few moments.

And then…

“Tell me.” He slurs, small grin tugged on the corner of his lips. “Tell me which of us you think about when you touch yourself.”

You slap him.

Hard.

And his face whips to the side. He breathes heavily. Like he’s trying not to cry. Or scream. Or grab your face and kiss you.

He swallows.

“He gets you in the daylight.”

You don’t speak.

“He gets the sunlight.”

And you whisper back. Soft. Heart breaking. “You only met me in the dark.”

You walk away barefoot. Tears forming in your eyes.

And Charles?

He stays at the lemon tree until sunrise. Alone.

You don’t talk for three months.

Which is considered a lifetime for you and Charles.

And then on a random weekday at nearly three in the morning, he sends a photo of the lemon tree in the winter.

No message beneath it.

You don’t answer.

Not for a day. Not even for three.

But then, on a random day the following week, you send a photo back.

A shot of your bedroom wall. A blurry photo of your hand holding a book in the corner.

Can’t sleep.

And the three dots appear before you can overthink it.

Me either.

And that’s how it begins.

You don’t FaceTime each other. At least, not at first.

You fall back into a rhythm neither of you thought would come back. Almost normal. The funny kind of banter you guys always had.

Charles broke up with Alex. You broke it off with Theo.

Neither of you really said why.

Age 25

“Don’t sit in my chair.”

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

“You haven’t changed.”

“You haven’t either.”

The sun is long gone. You’re curled up in one of the cushioned chairs on the front patio. A half finished glass of wine on the stone table beside you.

The front door swings open.

“Don’t sit in my chair”

He doesn’t even hesitate. Charles drops into the cushion next to you. Barefoot. Hoodie swallowing him.

“This isn’t your chair?”

“I licked it.”

He makes a funny face. “You haven’t changed.”

And you smile. “You haven’t either.”

And its easy. The way he stretches out, folding his arms behind his head. Like nothing ever happened.

You sip your wine.

His knee bumps into yours. Gaze on you.

“Thought it’d feel weird.”

“It did…for like,” You pause. Whisper. “For like a day.”

He holds your gaze. Doesnt look away. Smiles.

You break the tension first. “Maman said you still haven’t unpacked.”

He shrugs. “I’ll get there.”

“It’s been almost a whole week. That’s psychotic.”

“You’re just mad I haven’t asked to borrow your good smelling shampoo yet.”

“You are so not borrowing that.”

“I already did.”

You elbow him in the side. Laughing. Body shaking. He laughs with you. Head falling back.

He clears his throat. “I missed this.”

And you bump your knee back into his. “Rematch tomorrow?”

“Candy Land?”

“Don’t cheat.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

You narrow your eyes, smiling so hard. “You’re the worst.”

Monaco, Age 26

Your back hits the wall of his apartment.

Urgent. Focused.

Like he’s waited for forever to get you alone again. And doesn’t want to waste a single second of it.

His mouth is hot on yours. Hands at your hips. Your thighs. Slipped under your dress. And you’re clinging onto him like he’s a lifeline.

You can still taste the champagne on his skin. Skin warm from the race. But his mouth is desperate against you.

He groans against your lips. “Thought about this almost every night.”

You gasp when his fingers curl around your thigh. “Stop thinking.”

And he’s about to take you right there. Dress bunched at your waist. Pants halfway down. But then you press your hand to his chest.

He stills. Panting. Flushed.

“I need to say something first,” You breathe.

He waits. Hands still gripping you.

And you look up at him. The man who just won Monaco. The boy you’ve known who’s been chasing that dream since you can remember. The one you loved. Hated. Missed.

“Your dad would be so proud of you.” You whisper.

And you feel his chest rise. Jaw clench. Fingers curl harder into your skin.

“I’m serious.” Your voice is soft. “Not just because you won. But because of how you’ve carried him with you.”

And his eyes are glassy.

He swallows hard. “I heard him.” His voice soft. “Right after I saw that checkered flag.”

You bring your hand to his check, pressing your palm. And he leans into you.

And then he’s kissing you again. But its different.

Still hungry. But more grateful. More claiming.

He whispers I love you into your mouth. Again and again.

He whispers it when you tug his shirt over his head. When you lift your hips to pull your panties off.

Whispers it into your skin when he touches your bare skin. Like he’s seeing it all for the first time again.

And when he sinks in, he groans. Leaning over you, gripping you like you might just slip through his fingers.

“Y’feel like fuckin heaven.” He mutters against your lips. “You are heaven.”

And then he starts moving. Not fast.

Slow. Deep.

“Squeezing me like you missed it,” He huffs. “Did you, hm? Did you miss me?”

“Yes…” You pant. “Fuck…yes.”

He kisses your throat. Hot open mouthed kisses at the corner of your jaw. Hips rolling into you. Each thrust making you cry out.

“I love you.”

He thrusts.

“I love you.”

Another.

“Not just tonight. Not just now. Always.” He cries out.

And you clench around him. Yelling out as your orgasm builds too fast.

“C’mon that’s it..” He breathes. “Come for me. Let me feel it, yeah? Let me have it…please baby.”

“I love you,” You gasp. “I love you…I love you..”

And then you’re coming. Body shaking, mouth falling slack as he fucks you through it.

Following seconds later, spilling into you.

He collapses over you. “Fuck. You’re it for me.”

You hold him close.

“You still take it with milk?” He asks, voice soft.

You nod.

He hands you a mug. His fingers brushing against yours.

You sit on the couch together. Close.

“I keep thinking about the lemon tree,” You say. Cradling the mug in your hands.

He looks at you. “Yeah?”

You nod. “How many summers we sat there pretending everything was normal.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “We were idiots.”

You smile. “Still are.”

“I’ve loved you since we were kids.” He says quietly. “Since you made me sleep outside by the lemon tree because you said it wasn’t fair that only the birds got to live outside.”

You laugh, heart clenching.

“I’ve loved every version of you.” He continues. “The snot version. The barefoot version. The one who laughs too loud after a few drinks. The one who tried to date other people. The one who…the one who kissed other people in front of me because I waited too fucking long.”

You pause. Placing the mug down on the side table.

“I was scared that loving you would ruin everything.”

He pushes you hair behind your ear.

“I love you too.” You whisper. “You idiot.”

He laughs.

Leans in.

Kisses you.

Age 28

“This is where I almost lost you.”

“And now it’s where you’re asking to keep me?”

“No. Not asking.”

“Oh.”

Its late.

You’ve changed into one of Charles’s old shirts. Barefoot. As usual.

He finds you standing at the edge of the yard.

Where the broken stone path curves. Where the grass bends. Where the lemon tree leans.

You hear him before you see him. His footsteps always so loud.

Neither of you speak. He wraps his arms over your shoulders from behind. Your back to his chest as he nudges his head into the space between your shoulder and neck.

You hold his arms. Swaying to the light breeze. Staring at the lemon tree together.

“This is where I almost lost you.” He says.

And you glance at your side to him.

“And now it’s where you’re gonna ask to keep me?” You say, laughing. Teasing. Soft.

He smiles. Small. Shaky.

“No.” He says. Unwrapping his arms from you. “Not asking.”

And then you’re turning towards him.

And he drops to one knee.

Just like that.

Just him in the grass. Kneeling by the lemon tree. Choosing it to be the place where he does the most important thing he’ll ever do.

Your breath catches. And his hands tremble as he pulls a ring from his pocket.

“I wanted to do this right.” He says. “I want to choose you the way I should’ve all those years ago. Not just when it’s easy..or when we’re alone. But in front of every version of us we used to be.”

Your throat burns.

“I want every summer.” He whispers. Eyes glued to you. “Every winter. Every fight. Every make up. I want to kiss you goodnight when we’re tired. Want to raise mini versions of us.”

You laugh. You cry. And you’re nodding before he even finishes.

“I want you forever.”

And then finally, “Will you marry me?”

You fall to your knees right there in the grass. In front of the lemon tree. And kiss him hard enough that you both fall into it. Laughing. Like little kids again.

“Yes.” You whisper against his lips. “Always. In every lifetime…yes.”

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dees-07 · 2 years ago

Text

Dead or alive? - James potter (no romantic interest)

Genre: angst, fluffy and sad all together

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: swearing

Summary: James potter hadn’t died that dreadful night, he had been kidnapped not a single trace left behind. This is his story.

Authors note: this is my first time posting on tumblr bear with me I know I’m bad also this is a really old story, there’s only 3 written chapters and will remain unfinished for a while, I get lots of writers block and procrastinate my rarely available time because I have lovely ADHD. Thank you guys

Chapter 1:

31st of October 1981 was the most horrible and tragic day of James Potters short lived life. Lily, the love of his life/newly wedded wife and Harry, his beautiful little boy, the other love of his love, had been murdered by Lord Voldemort right in front of his very own eyes. That day had passed 20 times before in his life time, normally a day filled with laughter, pranking, treats and an overall sense of belonging. Not anymore.

Every time he'd think of that day from then on he'd breakdown. He felt like he should've been the one to die not Lily or Harry. They had so much to live for and he’d do anything to go back and change the nights outcome. But he couldn’t, that night dark magic was used, magic that in his weak state James hadn’t been able to break.

James was unable to move, feet spelled stuck to the ground and his body frozen still. He was unable to help who he loved the most. Lord Voldemort standing over Lily with a grin as wide as a young child who doesn’t understand the concept of remorse, will forever be ingrained in his mind no matter how hard James may try to forget. Just because he was not in the same room didn't mean for some strange reason it looked as if it unfolded right in front of his helpless body.

He was taken away that night and put in a small and empty basement in presumably a muggle town house never to be seen again. It had no windows and the only light in there was from up the stairs in the actual house, where the death eaters guarded the basement door making sure he didn't try and escape.

The walls were cold and uninviting, bricks placed together with no care making James often wonder how this house was still standing. It was obviously old by the creaking and groaning it would make when the death eaters walked around upstairs.

Every speck of energy stored in James' body had been ripped from him over time, he felt tired and depressed every second of the day, or night. He didn't know anymore.

At first he had tried escaping but the consequences were too painful that he thought no point in trying. The death eaters may as well all go home, no doubt if he tried leaving he wouldn't be able to climb up the stairs, his body too weak.

James heard footsteps and muffled talking. Another shift change and by the sounds of it this was the one who hated James with every morsel of his body. He scoffed thinking no doubt it was Lucius Malfoy. James and the other marauders may have pulled many pranks on Malfoy in the years he was there and it was clear to any innocent passerby that Lucius did not appreciate their existence. At all. He would've loved James to be killed that dreadful Halloween night.

A common misconception about James fleamont potter was that he didn't notice things, in fact he was a very observant person but he never showed it to anyone outside people he trusted his life with. His motto was always why be smart and have expectations placed upon you when you can act stupid and always be underestimated.

As time went by James became more and more numb. He had a routine of waking up when the basement door was thrown open the wood shaking, the death eaters threw him whatever they decided he was worthy enough to have. It was generally moldy bread and maybe if he had been quiet and obedient he would get given fresh bread or a bowl of soup but it was a rarity.

If James wasn't awake by the time they got down there he would be punished. Usually by dark magic especially Crucio. His body would hurt for days upon end, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had two options, either listen to the death eaters demands and survive, or refuse and get tortured, not to death though, because what's the fun in killing him if he won't be able to feel the pain they thrive to give.

Sometimes James would want to die but he knew Lily wouldn't want him to, she'd want him to live the best life he could even if she wasn't with him to do so. That was the only thing that kept him going each and every day.

James goes in and out of regular flashbacks, he fears he has ptsd as certain noises or words from upstairs trigger him and send him spiralling. With Malfoy present, James had spun into Hogwarts flashbacks which switch up between good and bad.

His wand had been snatched from him and hidden after he was captured. James wished and hoped that it hadn't been broken, it was at Ollivanders when he was getting his wand that he'd first met Sirius Black.

He'd just gotten his wand and was walking out of the shop, when in his excited rush he had bumped into someone.

Turning to apologise to the poor person his words caught in his throat realising who it was. Walburga Black. She sneered down at him and he quickly apologised walking away. As he left he locked eyes with a boy who looked really familiar. He was sure that they had met and the boy did look to be his age. He gave James a pitied look before following the woman.

They didn't know it yet but the two boys had just met their platonic soulmate.

They hadn't become friends until the train to Hogwarts but James inquired over the holidays to his parents about the Black family and who they followed and stood for. He could tell Sirius was different, from the way he'd completely avoid speaking about his families views, he'd always tense up when you mentioned his parents and he would try and change the subject to something that made him smile, like quidditch or his brother.

He used to flinch when you would make sudden movements or make physical contact without warning. James learned that the hard way when he went to put his arm around sirius' shoulders, and subsequently got punched in the nose. Safe to say James didn't try that again for a while.

After months of chipping down Sirius' walls he let James in and they went from best friends to brothers. Not by blood but by choice. They were inseparable and you wouldn't see one without the other. It was like they'd never lived before they met.

Sirius was roughly the same height as James maybe a bit smaller on a bad day. He had jet black curly hair cut to above his ears, although through the years he let it grow to shoulder length. He always stood up straight with the correct posture and would only talk when spoken to at first, obviously drilled into him from a young age by his horrible parents. Eventually he got over the quiet spoken boy and would never shut up no matter how hard you tried to stop him. He however never let go of the posture thing, a subconscious habit he couldn't rid himself of.

James knew this was because of how Sirius was raised. In a strict pureblood family Sirius was the heir of the noble and ancient house of black so he was to do good in school and most important of all, get sorted into slytherin just like every other ancestor of his. It was nailed into his brain all throughout his childhood that slytherin was the only choice for him and any other house would not suffice.

The only time he would get a break would be around his younger brother regulus, or as Sirius called him, Reggie. They would play wizards chess for hours on end and build forts together in the attic while their parents had meetings upon meetings forgetting about their two children. The boys didn’t mind because it’s not like they were born from two loving parents, but instead to continue the deranged incest filled blood line.

They bonded over their love for the French language and their tutor was more like a mother than their own to them. She treated them like her own children and they loved her for that. They knew more about her than their own parents.

The time finally came when Sirius wasn't sorted into Slytherin and instead Gryffindor their biggest rival, Sirius was told to never speak to regulus ever again and that broke his heart more than being told he was a lousy disappointment who deserved nothing.

He rebelled against his parents and hated the holidays because he would have to leave the place he called home and return to the hell hole. Spending any longer that's a minute around them was pure torture, the only reason he was still at that house was because of Reggie. He couldn't just leave him alone like that.

One shitty day it became all too much and Sirius could not handle it anymore, he was going to breakdown if he was there any longer. He ran away that night after bawling to Reggie and apologising over and over. Regulus was quiet but crying too.

"Sirius I love you so much and I want you to stay but I know you cant, stay safe out there don't go getting yourself killed I won't be able to handle that, write to me under a different name. Now go before mother finds you I love you."

Regulus managed to say, bawling his eyes out but knowing it was for the best. The brothers shared a long tight hug with Sirius’ parting words being

“I love you more than you’ll ever know reg, stay safe please and know this is not your fault I just can not handle it any more, I love you so much little brother.”

He flew off on his broomstick into the dark and scary night. He became disowned at 16 when his mother found out he left and had his portrait burned off the family wall, becoming a part of the 'black sheep' crew along with cousin Andromeda and Uncle Alphard.

At first he was broken not knowing what to do but mostly worried for Reggie who was now going to have to take over the heir position in the family hierarchy. Sirius felt horrible for leaving but he couldn't stand being in that house any longer.

He went straight to the person who he trusted most when he was kicked out. Freezing cold and teary eyed he asked to stay with James. James didn't need to ask his parents if Sirius could live with the potters, because they'd both said he's always welcome no matter the circumstance. They were a more easy going pure blood family who as Sirius said had felt like was his real parents ever since he'd met Fleamont and Euphemia potter.

They gladly accepted him and he became their adopted son and James' brother. Euphemia was especially happy to be able to spoil someone else because James was slowly becoming more independent and would buy his own things. Sirius was grateful to finally get some attention and soaked it all up.

James met Peter Pettigrew on the boat in first year as they made their way to the great hall ready to be sorted. Peter was about the same height as James probably an inch or two shorter, his hair was a shade or two lighter and looked a lot more neat compared to James' shaggy looking mop of curls he called hair. You would think his hair would be neat and tidy considering his father created sleakeazys hair potion but no.

Peter was a half-blood, his mother was a witch and his father a muggle though he had never met him. For good reason too. He had grown up without a father, never did he contemplate what having one would be like.

Until he'd seen what James and Fleamont were like together. A joking and loving relationship that he envied. When he got to know Fleamont more on a closer level, he'd been taken under his wing and had been given the same love as James had grown up around.

Fleamont and Euphemia had a lot of love to give and the boys got the brunt of it. Not a single complaint from the marauders showed how much they appreciated it.

The potter parents always told the boys to balance their mischievous side and their studying sides. They wanted them to enjoy their schooling years but also for them to succeed in the careers they aspired to enter.

Peter especially excelled at charms and herbology. He found those subjects the easiest and was able to understand the work with not much effort. His weakest one was divination (but who is good at that one anyway) and he was fairly good at transfiguration.

He could've been a lot better but why do theory when you and your friends can flirt with professor mcgonagall, or Minnie as she had first hated them calling her, after a while she got used to it and stopped telling them off because she knew the nickname had stuck, it wasn't going anywhere.

When the boys were planning and doing the pranks Peter would be the one to set the intricate and detailed things in their places. He found enjoyment in being the mastermind in setting up the pranks and loved when they worked out exactly the way they were planned. He didn't like his precious ideas going to waste.

He was a highly intelligent boy and was often underestimated because he didn't flaunt his knowledge. He didn't pay attention in class much, choosing to chat with his friends more often than not. This didn't mean he was failing, quite the opposite actually. He was well above average in most subjects minus divination which he was at average for.

Peter and James hit it off as great friends instantly and had common interests in things like quidditch, although while James loved the thrill and excitement of playing, Peter knew all the stats of every team and you could ask him anything and he could answer, perks of having an idetic memory.

This made the art of pranking so much better and became another thing they had in common. Peter also liked chocolate frogs and liquorice wands but would always offer them to anyone else without a single hesitation.

He was a very generous person, but not many people saw that side of him because he was taught growing up to not trust easily, as his mother fell for that when she met his father, a muggle journalist. He had always had superstitions about magic being real and he had found out that she was a witch.

He had gotten her trust completely and then when she told him that she had magical abilities he had gone and written an article about it to the entirety of England and anyone else who'd listen to his dribble. Thank god the muggles thought he was crazy and he had since been obliviated rightfully.

Peters cared for his mother so much and would protect her for as long as he possibly could.

The first time James met Remus lupin was after the sorting ceremony, Sirius was sitting to his left and Remus was across him with Peter to his right. Peter and Remus had already met as they lived in the same neighbourhood and grew up together.

Pete introduced Remus to everyone else. The quiet boy was an inch or two taller then James and had light brown shaggy hair, nowhere near as messy as James' though.

He had a diagonal scar running across the top of his forehead across his nose and just to the corner of his mouth, James thought it was awesome and wished he could have a cool scar like that. Those were the first words other than hello that he had ever spoken to Remus. The response in return, a red face and quiet stuttered thank you.

Being a shy lanky kid Remus stood out and had terrible posture from constantly trying to hide how much taller he was then all the other kids. James was considered tall for his age but compared to Remus he was nothing but an ant.

Remus was excellent at all the subjects but he was especially good at defence of the dark arts, it was easy for him and he understood it very well, he'd always wanted to be a professor even after the incident his mind would not be altered from its dream career.

No matter how much his father told him he'd never become a professor and to change his ideas for a dream job it was not possible, he craved it more than he craved chocolate. And if you knew Remus you knew how obsessed he was with chocolate.

If you ever needed any you could ask him politely and he might give you a piece or two if you were special. He never went anywhere without it.

Born to a pureblood father and muggleborn mother remus was a halfblood wizard. An incident occurred when he was 5 where he was bitten by a menace werewolf, named Fenrir Greyback as payback from his father Lyall disagreeing with something to do with werewolves.

From then on Lyall lupin despised his son and thought he would never succeed in life with a disease like lycanthropy. He looked at little Remus like his mere existence was a burden in his life.

Hope lupin believed her son could do anything he wanted and told him regularly but would never say that in front of Lyall, she was too afraid of him, she wanted her little boy to be safe and if it meant keeping her thoughts to herself she'd never speak again. Anything for her precious little wolf.

He had a love for reading which he got from his mother and he'd immerse himself in the worlds of each book as he read, if the others didn't make him go to class or go and prank others he'd sit there and read forever.

He loved making sarcastic comments just loud enough so the other boys could hear but no one else. Remus liked wearing baggy jumpers that would have extra long sleeves to hang over his hands and he loved chocolate bars and sugar quills. He was the best at not getting caught pranking and on the off occasion that something did go wrong he was able to just blame it on the boys and the professors woulds believe his word over theirs any day.

The whole innocent boy thing he had going on meant many of the Hogwarts students had crushes on Remus even if he denied, because why would anyone like his ugly scarred body. It took him a long time and many arguments to get used to the fact that his scars were beautiful and they made him his own special person.

James himself was also good at all subjects but went that little bit further in skill in transfiguration. He was easily able to transfigure things and had even gotten a newts test from his fathers office desk and correctly answered all the questions when he was only 7. It just came to him and both his parents knew right then and there he'd be an amazing and powerful wizard while keeping his troublemaker antics they'd watched him grow up using.

He excelled at all subjects but like Pete, didn't flaunt them. Yes he loved attention but to brag about his grades was just stupid when he could be doing many other things instead.

The marauders as they called themselves were a very sought after group looks wise, people either wanted to be with them or be them.

James and Sirius were the most laidback people yet they would soak up every speck of attention shoved their way, almost contradicting their laidback style they said they had. Peter and Remus on the other hand didn't like being in the spotlight too much and happily let the other two boys take the stage.

It took a while but finally one of the four had gotten into a relationship. A party in the gryffindor common room was thrown and no one was allowed out until they were smashed off their face, no point partying if you're not gonna get drunk am I right?

Peter had casual flings for a while before he had gotten a crush. He gushed over Mary McDonald for months, whether it be about her perfect hair or how she smiled and touched his arm the other day. It didn't matter because he was infatuated with her.

Peter wasn't afraid to ask her out he just wanted to make sure she genuinely liked him and was ready for a relationship before he asked her. He took dating seriously and he knew she was the one he wanted to be with for as long as possible.

He'd said that to Sirius and James when they were picking on him for waiting so long, Remus said he agreed with Pete and to let him take his time, rushing into shit was never a good option and didn't end well. Jirius (as peter and Remus called the other two boys when referring to them both, because they acted like an old married couple) listened intently and finally understood it from his perspective to which they did agree with.

Gotta thank Remus for that. As long as Remus agreed with Pete then that means Sirius would too. And who agrees with Sirius no matter what you're asking? James. He got the whole group with just one I agree.

After a few months of intense flirting he asked Mary on a date to hogsmeade to which she instantly said yes. The boys approved of Mary simply because she made Peter happy, they had decided that for as long as she made him smile they would see her fit to date him. The second his grin was to disappear she would be gone. Even then they were only the second cutest couple in all of hogwarts.

The number one couple you may ask? Sirius black and Remus lupin. Yes you heard right. One half of the marauders quartet took out top spot on the list. It may be a slightly biased list with the marauders taking out top three but hey it's their list.

It took them both way too long to accept the feelings for each other, but once they did it was like they were never anything less. You'd often find them cuddled up asleep on the common room couch way before they dated so the label and the kissing were really the only things that changed.

A lot of people didn't like the fact that they weren't a straight couple. They were heckled all the time no matter if they were holding hands or simply being in the same place at the same time (the four boys were always together so it's kind of hard to be seperate but that's not the point).

Peter and James vouched for the couple whenever anyone said anything to them, they weren't afraid to hex the assholes who dare speak bad upon their best friends. That's what made them such a tight knit group. They trusted each other and would never break that bond.

Remus was the more anxious one when it came to coming out and he denied it for a long time, before coming to terms with the fact he liked boys. Sirius always knew he liked boys, but was brought up in a household where he was told that he was to marry a pureblood female, simply to keep the family line going.

He thought fuck that I'll do what I want and embraced it saying that if anyone had a problem with it, that they should say it to his face otherwise their opinion is useless. Safe to say his knuckles were bruised a lot the following month.

Peter taught him how to fight the muggle way because the wizards wouldn't expect it and it became another thing Sirius and Peter loved to do. They'd have boxing matches all the time always ending in Peter winning, he was just a natural.

When Sirius and Remus decided to come out as a couple officially, their ideas of how were very different. Remus wanted the more subtle way, by walking around holding hands and letting people realise, but Sirius decided that during dinner time he was going to jump up on the gryffindor table, and yell out to everyone telling them to shut up and listen to him.

The great hall quietened down which made professor mcgonagalls yelling to Sirius, telling him to get down this instant much louder but Sirius ignored his precious Minnie and said the following.

"Hey everyone, as you should know I'm Sirius black and I'd like to say something. I am in love with Remus lupin and he is my boyfriend, if any wankers don't agree with that fuck off it's none of your business what I do with my life. Thank you very much go back to what you were doing before." With a wave of his hands at the end.

The great hall was silent for a few seconds as Sirius sat back down, then the chaos was back from before and most people just ignored his announcement, majority thinking they were already a couple.

Remus did not appreciate this but at the same time was glad it was over.

James potter was never one to back down from a public gesture as seen every time he asked out Lily Evans the girl of his dreams and sometimes nightmares too, she was his everything but damn was the girl frightening when she wanted to be .

James however had his sights set on Lily Evans from the moment he'd seen her. Unlike the others boys he was hooked on her like he'd never lived properly before she was in his life.

She stood out from anyone else he'd ever seen with her stunning auburn hair and gleaming green eyes as he so often described to the ever more annoyed group of boys. They put up with it because she made him happy. Sometimes they hated her guts because he'd think he had a chance and she'd shut him down not a single hesitation. They just wanted their friend to be happy and he was a mix of both when it concerned her.

She on the other hand did not see him how he saw her. She rejected his every advance, many of which were outrageous and very public yet he had to declare his love for her some way or another.

He would have flings with other people but only after she'd said no, there was never an emotional attachment to the girls and guys he'd get with, it was always just to blow off the steam. He made sure they knew that too because he didn't want anyone getting attached when he knew he wouldn't feel the same. Just because he likes getting laid doesn't mean he's a horrible person.

It took him years to realise and a bit of maturity that maybe Lily would like him for who he was and his personality not how he asked and humiliated her in front of everyone all the time.

Finally in their last year as head boy and head girl he asked her out normally, just the two of them doing their head duties, on a simple date to hogsmeade and to his surprise she said yes. He was so ecstatic he declared a party to be thrown to celebrate to which she obviously said no but he wasn't James potter without trying anyway.

People often assumed the worst of James when they would see how much energy he always carried with him. He was told by many people that he wouldn't get anywhere in life because he was too ambitious but he ignored them because who were they to tell him he couldn't do whatever he wanted. They were just irrelevant people living in his world.

His world. It no longer felt like his, he had become the irrelevant person living in someone else’s story.

He remembered his years with his best friends at Hogwarts and everything they'd gotten up to.

He thought about the teachers he loved and the teachers he hated. Classes he enjoyed and hours he dreaded. Times he wished he could relive and not have taken for granted. He would trade his life fortunes to go back in time and enjoy every moment when his world was is one piece.

He smiled over his memories and then it hit him. He'd never be able to feel that unimaginable joy he had experienced during his schooling years.

The depressing thoughts crept in overtaking the good, smothering them till they were forgotten at the back of his mind.

It made him sad that he hadn't been able to see everyone for ages. They were probably living their best lives happy as ever never having thought of him again.

James didn't know how long he'd been in the basement for, but he knew it was too long and he was sick of it. The days eventually melded into one and he couldn't tell if it was morning or night. The tallies under the stairs had faded to almost nothing now, barely a scratch on the chipped dusty bricks.

Shuffling upstairs knocked him out of his trance and back to the hard reality he wished he could change.

He laid his head softly back down on the scrap of mattress that made his so called 'bed'.

He closed his eyes attempting to drift back to the happy place with his memories he loved most, dreading having to wake up to yet another day of waiting to die.

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