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professionalrodent · 20 days ago

Note

i still read this to have a good cry

Hi, i wanted to request a james potter x reader thingy :))

So the idea is that james and reader broke up during hogwarts/directly after because they had the children talk, james really wants to be a father but reader is terrified of pregnancy so they break up. But over the years the reader keeps yearning for james and eventually they meet again when james and lily are together and have baby harry and its just really angsty 😭😭

Hope all of this makes sense i thought of this while listening to a song lyric

thank you for the request babe i love how your brain works <3 this is quite angsty so hopefully you like it! and now i’m curious to know what song 👀

also here’s some shameless promotion for @astonishment’s series with the same name, it’s deliciously tragic (☹️☹️☹️) and everyone should check it out!!

in another life | j.p.

“Calm down, babe,” Sirius mutters as you walk in step, looping his arm through yours.

You nibble on your bottom lip anxiously, sighing as you glance over at him. “It’s not that easy, Siri. I’m seeing him after what — four years? I can’t just calm down!”

He rolls his eyes, reaching towards you and thumbing at your lip to save it from your torment. “You’re seeing me after four years.”

You turn to Sirius, and he huffs out a laugh at your deadpan expression. “Well, you never asked me to marry you.”

Sirius wiggles his eyebrows, his lips curving up into a grin. “Marry me?”

“Fuck off, Black.”

James and Lily Potter were holding a meet-up of sorts, and had invited most people in your year at Hogwarts. You were hesitant to go, given your history with James, but Sirius insisted you tag along. You knew he, Remus, and Peter had stayed in touch with James. Rightfully, you ought to have too. But neither of you tried to; maybe you both knew it was better that way.

Sirius simpers, coming to a halt in front of the large black gates of the mansion. He reaches forward and begins to twist the lock, and you instinctively reach over and grab his hand to stop him. He turns to you, confusion twisting his features. “What are you — oh. Oh, sweetheart.”

He softens when he sees the expression on your face. You’re biting your cuticles, and the anxiety in your features is palpable. Sirius sighs and firmly pulls your hand away from your mouth, intertwining your fingers together. “It’s gonna be okay. Just be cordial with him. There’s no bad blood, right?”

“Right,” you mutter, albeit uncertainly.

“But, um…” he sighs, dropping your hand to rake his fingers through his hair. “There’s something I should’ve told you before. But I didn’t wanna freak you out.”

“What?”

The apprehension in your tone causes Sirius to wince. “James and Lily, they… they’ve got a baby.”

There’s a beat of loud silence as the fact sinks in, a mount of uncertainty and hurt settling in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh.”

You’re trying not to show it, but the heartbreak on your face is painfully obvious. Sirius pouts, moving to take your hand again. “Babe, I’m sorry. I should’ve –”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, the gates swinging open to reveal a beaming James Potter.

“Pads,” he grins immediately, eyes locking on Sirius as he moves towards him and swoops him into a quick hug.

You take the moment to look James over. He looked exactly like you remembered — messy curls, toned biceps, that movie-star grin. Yet something felt different, in the way he pulled Sirius into a hug without all the raucous fervour he would’ve at 16, how he held him so gently at arm’s length while talking to him. He’d softened, you realised, from the responsibilities of fatherhood and being a husband.

They pull apart a moment later, and his gaze drifts to you. His smile loses a bit of its sunshine, not softening but not quite dimming either. “Y/n, hey.”

There’s a moment of hesitation as he looks at you, but then he seems to decide upon giving you a hug too.

“Hi,” you mutter as he shortens the distance between you, needling his arms under yours to press them to your back. You embrace him in return, and a sudden pang of hurt shoots through your heart at the familiarity of the action.

Perhaps he was remembering it too, from the way he tightened his grip. Both of you were heavy on physical touch, and it was undeniably the best part of your relationship back in Hogwarts — how he’d always have a hand wrapped around your waist, how you’d wake up to cuddles and hugs every morning. You didn’t exactly have anyone to hug anymore, living alone.

So you convince yourself that the reason you hold on to James for slightly longer than necessary was because you craved human touch, not because of… anything else.

Finally, James pulls away, his arms dropping to his sides as he gives you a small smile. You plaster one onto your face too, for his sake. “So,” he starts as he turns around, beginning to lead you and Sirius into the mansion, “how’ve you been, Y/n?”

You can feel Sirius’ gaze burning holes into the side of your head, but choose to ignore him. “I’ve been great, yeah. You?”

James nods. “That’s cool. Yeah, I’ve been good too. Things have been fun, but kind of busy; you know, with work and Lily and the baby…” He seems to realise what he’s said, and clears his throat awkwardly. Oh, of course. The baby.

Sirius is beside you in an instant, arching his eyebrows and nudging your elbow to respond.

“Oh, um… congrats on the baby, by the way.”

James turns around to face you as you walk, and you give him a grin to prove that you’re being genuine — to show him that it didn’t feel like there was a knife being twisted in your gut every time the word baby was brought up.

His eyes soften, and you know he can tell how you’re feeling. But he gives you a grateful smile, and says no more as the three of you come to a stop in front of the house.

“By the way,” James mutters as he pushes the door open, “you guys are like, an hour early. You’re the only ones here.”

You immediately turn around to glower at Sirius for subjecting you to more torture than necessary by bringing you early. But he all but smirks as he follows you in.

Your eyes coast around the mansion, taking it all in. It’s decorated in a minimalist aesthetic, white couches and brown rugs. It was pretty, that was for sure; but you couldn’t help but think how different it was from James’ place in the dorm — posters and stickers all over the walls, boisterously red curtains and LED lights. It used to be so full of life.

Honestly, you might’ve guessed an old couple lived here, if not for the small signs of their life as a family — the pacifier on the dining table, a cradle at the far end of the living room, and the heart-shaped photo frames lining the walls.

James watches you, a small smile playing on the edges of his lips. “You like it?”

He knows you wouldn’t like it, it’s everything you aren’t. Your dorm had been just like his; trying to fit as many vinyls and posters onto that small space next to your bed as possible. There would be fairy lights in every corner and succulents on the nightstand, a dreamcatcher which he’d gifted you hanging right above your bed. You were messy, as a person, and with your love too. You thought he was messy as well; but apparently he’d gotten his shit together already.

“Yeah, it’s simple. Pretty.”

“Honey —“ Lily bustles out the kitchen, a small gasp escaping her lips as she sees you and Sirius. She’s holding a ladle in one hand, and has her other arm wrapped around a baby perched on her waist.

You don’t register it when she kisses your cheek and hugs you, asks you how you’re doing and leads you to sit on the couch. Your gaze is locked on the baby, every second spent staring at him worsening the nauseous feeling at the back of your throat.

You must’ve asked for his name, because the word, “Harry,” registers in your head. This beautiful baby, with Lily’s deep green eyes and James’ luscious curls, was Harry.

Would you have named your baby Harry? Probably not, it was too generic. But it was too late now, to pick out names and choose a less boring aesthetic for a house together.

You had lost your chance back in seventh year, that night when you were laying on James’ bed, limbs tangled together as he raked his hands through your hair with all the love in the world. You’re gonna be my husband one day, you’d whispered, feeling so much affection for him you thought your heart would burst. Yeah, baby, he’d replied with a soft smile. We’re gonna live in a mansion, with our dogs and children and —

Children?

I don’t… I don’t want children. And that’s where it all started going downhill, that’s the moment James’ smile turned upside down and his hand dropped from your hair. It had turned into an argument, a screaming match — and eventually a reason to break up. James couldn't understand much you feared it, the pain of pregnancy and the exhaustion that came with motherhood. And some part of you knew that you weren’t blameless either — calling him awful things and accusing him of not loving you; though love was all he ever gave till the day you told him it was over.

The feeling of Sirius’ nails digging into your palm brings you back to the present, and you see him nodding absentmindedly as Lily rambles about how much trouble Harry’s been, and oh, she’s picked up a hobby of crocheting, and…

You flit your eyes to look at James sitting opposite you, gazing at you with his brows pinched in concern. Your emotions must’ve been obvious on your face, then. But he immediately looks away when Lily calls out to him, holding up Harry for him to carry.

You watch silently as James squeezes into the chair next to his wife, taking the small, lovely baby between his large, calloused hands. He smiles at Harry, looking at him though he was the most precious thing on earth. James’ fingers bunch Harry’s tiny shirt as he brings him close to his face, gently pressing a kiss to his forehead. Lily’s head lolls onto James’ shoulder as he shifts Harry into a comfortable lying position in his arms.

There you have it. The perfect family, with the gorgeous wife and the adorable baby and the man who could’ve been yours if you wanted.

It’s too much for you to take, and Sirius squeezes your hand as you start to shake. Harry coos, and you melt at how James’ face breaks into a sunny beam. He tilts his head to press a soft peck to his wife’s hair, and there’s so much love in that simple gesture that you feel like you could die.

You feel Sirius’ worried gaze on you, your hands trembling and your knee bobbing up and down. The taste of blood from how hard you’re nibbling on your lip is grounding; it brings you back to yourself, who you are, and not who you could’ve been.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly from beside you, but it doesn’t get lodged into your brain. The only thing you feel is your vision of the perfect family blurring, soft streams of regret rolling down your cheek. Sirius makes a small noise of pity from beside you, and James looks up instantly, eyes widening as they lock on you. Lily is fast asleep, baby Harry staring at you with his thumb stuck into his mouth.

“Y/n, you okay?” James asks gently, but you don’t reply, still looking at him with that distraught look on your face. You open your mouth, but you don’t seem to have the vocabulary to express the heartache you felt right that moment. It felt strangely like grief; like you were mourning for the version of yourself you never got to meet, for the version of James who didn’t have the chance to be yours.

James' mouth twists downwards in a frown as he stands up and steps closer towards you. It’s like an alarm is set off in your head, and you immediately jolt back to the present, sucking in a deep breath.

Your legs act of their own accord as you stand up, Sirius’s hand falling limp on the couch as he looks up at you in surprise. You gulp down the lump in your throat and fiercely brush the tears away, James coming to a halt in front of you. “Y/n, baby —“

“I’m not your baby.”

James slaps a hand to his mouth, eyes as wide as Harry’s now. “Fuck, no, it — it just came out. I didn’t mean to. Shit, you’re crying.”

“I’m okay,” you warble. James opens his mouth to retort but you don’t let him, knowing that the longer you spent here, the more the gaping hole in your chest would grow. You couldn’t bear it anymore, watching James with his wife and wishing it was you instead. The worst part was that it was all your fault, your stupidity and your rejection.

“I’m fine, really. I…I’m gonna go now, it was nice meeting you. Convey my love to Remus, Peter and the girls.” You pick up your bag, moving to the front door with a befuddled James tracking your movements.

“Y/n —“

“Bye, James,” you call out halfheartedly as you slip into your shoes. He comes to stand at the door, rocking Harry from side to side. He looks almost disappointed as you make to leave.

“I’m sorry.”

You look up, surprised. “It’s not your fault.”

James’ lips pursed together with guilt, seeming like he wants to say something as he opens and closes his mouth. He finally sighs, “It’s not your fault either.

It was startling, how he still knew just the right thing to say — he always had. The regret that had been clogging up your heart for years was drained out upon hearing that one sentence. James didn’t hold the utter failure of your relationship against you, and that was enough. If you couldn’t have his love, at least you had his forgiveness.

You give him a half smile and nod, turning around to leave. You’d go back to yours, more of a house than a home. But at least no one but yourself could hurt you there, there was no one to turn away and no hearts to break. No one to love.

“Hey.”

You spin back around to face the door, heart stopping upon seeing the moistness in his eyes. You hear the scratchiness in his throat as he sucks in a deep breath.

“James…”

“No, don’t — don’t say anything. I just wanted to tell you, um…” he defeatedly runs a hand through his hair and exhales shakily. “I hope we worked out, you know, in another life.”

That catches you off guard, your heart involuntarily squeezing in your chest. James looks almost embarrassed as he says it, but you see the vulnerability in his eyes. He was right — maybe there was some planet on which you were less of a coward, another world where he could put a ring on your finger. He’d been yours to lose in this life, perhaps he was yours to love in another.

You clear your throat, feeling nausea brimming in the pits of your gut. “Yeah, I… I hope so too.”

You spare yourself one last glance at him before turning towards the exit, praying he doesn’t see the tears dribbling down your cheeks.

You squeeze your eyes shut and will yourself to trudge forward, before he can call out to you and break your heart all over again.

In a few long strides, you’re out the gates; out of James’ life again.

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professionalrodent · 26 days ago

Text

Papa me want more movie

Love me a protective husband sirius fic‼️

The Trap

Duke!Sirius Black x wife!reader who is being pressured to produce an heir [1.8k words]

synopsis: amalgamation of prompts by @captainsbuckie & @girlyidek for some royal au/arranged marriage trope. There pressure is on in the Black estate and Sirius tells someone to get away from his wife

CW: afab!reader, arranged marriage, reader thinks Sirius doesn't care for her much, reader is struck, abuse, brief mention of blood, angst with a happy ending & hurt/comfort

You’re beginning to realize you’ve done something terribly wrong by ending up confined in a room with your mother-in-law, but it appears to be too late for anything to be done other than to ask Pandora to please fetch the two of you a tea service.

Pandora, for her part, holds your eye contact as she offers you a polite curtsy before she slips out of the parlour room Walburga Black has sequestered the two of you in.

The trap is set.

You hadn’t been entirely pleased at the prospect of being married off, let alone married off into the infamous Black family, but other than the fact that you think you might have preferred to marry for love, you had to admit that life with – or, rather, alongside – Sirius really wasn’t all that bad.

He was polite enough; he provided you with your own wing of the estate, you had your own staff which you had been able to choose for yourself, you never wanted for anything, and save for the first night spent together to keep up appearances of “consummating” your marriage, he really never asked you for anything. A good show was put on in public, and sometimes his lingering touches and his soft lips left you thinking you might not mind if he did ask you for more…

But you are rather content, all things considered.

Walburga doesn’t seem to appreciate that.

“My son has you set up quite nicely here, doesn’t he?” She asks, the question sounding an awful lot like a trick as she walks the perimeter of the room examining the bookshelves; every click of the matriarch’s heels against the marble tiles echoes like the jaws of a bear trap inching closer and closer together.

“It’s a lovely home, madame.” You agree with a gentle bow of your head.

She hums in agreement as she pauses in front of the large window – a click – looking out at the grounds as staff begin their task of reviving the gardens after a long winter.

“A lovely home, a lovely life, a lovely environment.” She muses, craning her neck to look at you though her body remains pointing to the window. “A woman should have no problem falling pregnant under such…comfortable circumstances.”

Another click.

“Perhaps, yes.” You agree noncommittally; gaze flitting towards the door as though Pandora might magically appear and save you from the titanium teeth baring down on your neck.

“Perhaps?” Walburga asks, voice rising a few octaves as she officially turns her body and makes to slowly cross the room.

Click, click, click.

“You’ve been seen by a physician recently, yes?”

“Yes.” You admit, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.” Walburga agrees theatrically. “Yes, I know that you have; I’ve spoken to them. Apparently, my dear, there’s nothing that should be stopping you from falling pregnant. So what, exactly, is the issue?”

“There’s no issue, madame.” You try, aiming for as undaunted as you could possibly manage whilst counting at least two more clicks.

“There better not be,” she hisses – any air of feigned cordiality officially gone – as she storms towards you. Click, click, click. “Because you were brought here for one reason and one reason only, and if you do not provide this family with an heir I can think of a number of ways to rid this house of you.”

You swallow thickly, eyes dropping to where her witch-like finger was pointed at your trachea. “Have you spoken to your son, Walburga?”

Walburga, for her part, actually sucks in a breath and takes a step away from you. “This isn’t about my son, you insolent little witch.” She sneers. “This is about you and about what you’re meant to do. And you are meant to be producing heirs for this noble and most ancient house!”

The end of her sentence crescendos in time with your heart careening up into your throat; each you punctuated by a jab of her perfectly manicured finger into the soft tissue just beneath your shoulder.

“Walburga I am going to ask you to keep your hands off of me.” You declare with your most severe tone, wondering if (and hoping that) the breathy, panicked quality of your voice is only imagined.

“How dare you speak to me in such a manner!” She wails. “In my - house.”

With this, the trap finally snaps; jaws clamping shut around your neck.

A white hot pain flashes across the right side of your face and before you can make sense of what has happened, you’re cowering away from your mother-in-law as you cradle your cheek with a shaky hand.

You register shouting, but you’re quite sure it’s not yours and it’s certainly not Walburga’s.

Suddenly, Pandora’s hand is on your shoulder and Sirius’ voice is commanding the room. You’re not sure what was said when he first entered the room, but his next words are unmissable.

“Get away from my wife.” He growls as he stalks into the centre of the room, putting himself between you and his mother; you try to stand at attention despite Pandora’s quiet sound of protest.

“Sirius, how n-” Walburga starts calmly, smoothing out her dress skirts. Sirius doesn’t give her a chance to finish.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Sirius demands; the sentence which is meant to be a question ringing more like a threat.

“I am here,” Walburga bites back, “to figure out why there has been no progress in providing this family with a suitable heir.”

You’re somewhat expecting Sirius to turn the conversation onto you, so the words that end up leaving his mouth find you speechless.

“When and how I fuck my wife is no one’s business but mine and hers.” He hisses; the only movement from your husband is a subtle twitch of his jaw at the affronted look that takes over Walburga’s face.

“If you have an issue with the way that I am running this house, you speak to me. And the next time you speak to me will be via letter, because you are no longer welcome on this property.” He proclaims, turning towards Remus and James who had stormed in here with him. “See her out, please.”

“This is my house!” Walburga wails indignantly, trying to dodge James’ outstretched hand as he reaches for her elbow.

“This was your house, mother.” Sirius spits in return as Remus manages to restrain Walburga by her other arm. “But you made the mistake of outliving your husband.”

Walburga shouts and hollers the entire time she’s being escorted out of the room and, assumingly, off of the estate as a whole; James and Remus the unlucky audience to her theatrics as they see to the escorting.

You vaguely compute words exchanged between Pandora and Sirius before someone slips out of the room and closes the door behind them.

You're surprised to look up and find Sirius staring at you with a gutted look on his face.

“Are you alright?” He murmurs softly, though he doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he approaches you. “I’m so sorry.”

You go to shake your head but find that even the act of blinking stings.

“Are you alright?” He asks again; voice such a stark contrast from the venomous tone he took with his mother as he gently brings his hands up to each side of your jaw, tilting your face to scrutinise it.

“I’m alright.” You agree, mostly because you’re not sure what to make of the distress painting Sirius’ face, only that you want it to go away. “I’m sorry, I-”

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Sirius insists, a hint of agitation making itself home in his tone though you get the sense that it’s not at your expense.

One of his hands disappears from your jaw in favour of pulling out the handkerchief from his pocket before gently dabbing your cheek bone. The white material comes back bloody.

“Oh…”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs quickly, “you’re alright. Are you alright?”

“I’m alright, but-”

“You’re alright.” He parrots as though trying to convince himself of it, too. “It’s those bloody gaudy rings of hers; she nicked me once, too.”

He tries to offer you a sad smile as he says this which emphasises a small, crescent moon shaped scar above his lip; evidence of some such gaudy rings however many Walburga-sized temper tantrums ago.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can think to say.

“I’ll consider accepting your apology if you can tell me what you’ve done that’s so horrid.” He muses as he frowns at the likely very minor cut to your face.

“I’ve ruined your handkerchief.” You bemoan, surprising Sirius enough to force his eyes away from your cheek.

He's looking at you as though you’ve grown three heads. “That wretched old hag came in here, insulted you, struck you, and you think I’m worried about a piece of cloth that I keep in my pocket for moments not entirely unlike this very one?”

You’re saved from having to respond by Pandora reentering the room; a tray with various medical supplies, a bowl of ice, and a pot of tea with two cups in her hands.

“Thank you. I’ve got it from here.” Sirius dismisses Pandora who offers the two of you a final curtsy before she exits the room again.

“I really am okay, Your Grace.” You murmur as Sirius encourages you to lower yourself onto the settee; him forgoing furniture altogether and simply kneeling on the rug before you.

His movements stutter so briefly that you have half a mind to believe you imagined it before he’s using a damp wipe to clean your wound.

“I’m your husband, love,” he murmurs, his nose and cheeks pinking slightly as he remains dedicated to your wound care, “for better or for worse, I think you can call me Sirius, yeah?”

If he continues calling you love, you think you’ll call him whatever he wants you to. You don’t tell him that, though.

“Yeah.” you agree on an exhale. “Yeah I- erm, I’m okay, Sirius.”

The first honest smile since he arrived teases the corner of Sirius’ lips as he fastens medical tape to your cheek. “She’s very lucky that you are.”

With this, he leans in to press the gentlest of kisses to the space just below your cut. The action, the kiss; both so gentle it nearly burns and sees tears welling in your eyes.

You think, perhaps, that whilst you didn’t get to marry for love, you might just find yourself falling in love with who you married.

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