⋆·˚˚°✦ about me ✦°˚˚·⋆
J ; 23 ; CST ; obsessed with fictional characters; honestly don't really know what I am doing with my life
⋆·˚˚°✦ important links ✦°˚˚·⋆
masterlist ; what i've read(fics i enjoy)
⋆·˚˚°✦ about my blog✦°˚˚·⋆
✦ I try and write as much as I can as a full time college student with a full time job
✦ I tend to write about characters I hyper fixate on
✦ I occasionally take requests but not often
✦ Avid Fan-Fic Connoisseur - dont ask me for specific recs pls
✦ I love talking to people it just takes me a while to get back to people sometimes but please send me asks and say hi!
✦ My main obsessions of all time are Spider-Man, OUAT, Criminal Minds, Gilmore Girls, HTTYD and Marvel (yes this is separate from spiderman). I have others but those come in and out and I can never be trusted to stick to them lol
✦ If it is posted here it is likely also on AO3 as well that is the only other place I will post them
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⋆·˚˚°✦ moot tags ✦°˚˚·⋆
#princess🎀 ➳ @/canwenotdothis
if your a mutual and would like a tag just send an ask with a nickname you like as I love doing these and would love to add more :) - I also have a list of criminal mind nicknames as well
I do not tolerate people who are homophobic, sexist, racist, ect. If I see this anywhere you will be blocked.
I do not tolerate plagiarism or anything of the sort. You will be blocked and reported if you do such a thing.
I was impressed with how NOT tropey they managed to make MJ’s relationship with Peter after having forgotten him. We don’t dwell on any sort of disbelief where she’s convicted it can’t possibly be true. She knows it’s true, and that’s part of why it hurts her and confuses her. We also don’t have any type of “she doesn’t care about him anymore” sentiment meant to punch us in the gut. Yes it’s very sad for Peter that she doesn’t love him, but ofc she doesn’t since you can’t love someone you can’t remember—but she does care about him. Because you don’t actually have to know someone intimately to care about them, so even though MJ has none of the memories of her intimate relationship with Peter, she still has intelligent and curious conversations with him, then finds out their history and feels for him and is honest with him and sees his bravery and deservingness and invites him to come meet Ned because she knows that will mean a lot to him. Because MJ is a caring person, not just to her best friend and boyfriend, and so as painful as it is that she doesn’t remember Peter being the love of her life, it was so much more bearable than it could have been, because they didn’t murder her character to contribute to Sad. There’s a reason MJ made Peter so happy to begin with, and she’s still that same MJ, memories or not. She still has all the same qualities that made her fall in love with him and him fall in love with her, even if she doesn’t have the memories and feel that same love. And I kind of love that actually.
Note: Okay so it has been soooooooo long since I was last active on here but I watched the new spiderman the day after it came out and am now itching to start creating stuff again, even if its just texts 🤷🏼♀️ anyway I hope you enjoy this random idea I had while testing out a site :)
I always forget there are maga people on tumblr, this doesn’t feel like a website you’d find them on, so to keep them away:
Reblog if your blog is a maga free zone because if it wasn’t clear enough fuck ice, fuck maga, fuck Trump, Fuck Rowling, and fuck all the other bigots I missed
summary: after being a wallflower throughout your first five years at hogwarts, you always thought that you could be invisible. but when you hear the marauders talking cruelly about you and proceeding to ask for your forgiveness after, well good luck babe.
warnings: eventual smut! 18+ heavy angst, cursing, reader wants to kill the marauders , swearing, unprotected sex, praise, oral (male receiving), jealousy
a/n: i've been completely MIA, sorry.. i saw this in my drafts, and i was like, let me just continue it. this ended off kind of weird, but there will be smut in the next part! i'm gonna attempt to finish every series.. hopefully. i haven't written in a bit, so i apologize if you hate it. see u next time!
Peter flushed tomato red when the bottle landed on him, and Evan smiled at him in a very seductive way. As long as you've known him, Evan did have a lot of charm—nearly as much as Sirius.
Evan was a close second, though perhaps not Sirius, given his overwhelming appeal.
'Whoops' and applause echoed around the circle as Evan gently crept toward Peter, crawling on his hands and knees.
Peter gulped, sitting still in his seat as Evan rose above him and whispered something in his ear, causing Peter to gasp.
Evan took this opportunity to kiss him slowly and gently, his hands on either side of Peter's face.
You looked around to see everyone's reactions but everyone was either egging it on or talking to each other. You couldn't believe this was the same group you had been 'friends' with last school year.
After what felt like years, Evan finally broke away from Peter, leaving him a swift peck on the cheek as Peter closed his legs together and blushed from the teasing of Dorcas and Marlene.
Your eyes landed on the bottle as Sirius began to grab it for his turn. His eyes were on the bottle as they lifted up to wink at you which made you swallow.
He spun it and it landed on the person next to him, Remus. You honestly expected Remus to have the same reaction as Peter but he actually looked bored at the fact that it was Sirius.
Even Sirius noticed it, "Aw, not excited to kiss me love?" He asked, faking a pout.
Remus smirked, "You think you deserve a kiss after the shit you pulled today?" He asked, using his hands as stands to keep him up as he faced Sirius.
Sirius's pout quickly turned into a matching smirk with Remus, "Have I been bad?" He asked, inching towards him.
You felt butterflies, or maybe a little below your stomach. Were they actually flirting?
"Enough with the foreplay!" Marlene whined, "Get the kiss over with!"
"Yeah," James said with a smile as he sipped his fire whiskey, "Nothing you haven't done before."
Your eyes widened at that as Sirius shrugged and went in for the kiss with Remus. Remus had a hand on his cheek while Sirius intensely grabbed Remus's hair, growing deeper into the kiss.
Sirius was almost climbing into Remus's lap as a moan erupted from Remus's mouth and you felt a tightening in your stomach.
There was no way this was actually happening.
You saw Sirius smile into the kiss as he pulled away, wiping his mouth, "Still bored?" He asked as Remus waved him off with a flushed look his face.
"As much as I don't want to give Sirius another ego boost, that was extremely hot," Mary admitted, sipping her drink.
"Everything's hot about me baby," Sirius replied, winking at Mary as she scowled.
Sirius took a look at you as you quickly avoided his eye contact which was clearly a mistake.
He spoke, "I actually think our dear Y/N should go," He announced, "She seems like she's never played before," He tsked.
Steam almost flew out of your ears as you spoke, "Actually, I think the whole point is to go around in a circle, Black," You spat as Sirius only smiled.
"Oh," His voice dripping in mockery, "I'm sorry, Y/N, if you're feeling a bit scared, you don't have to go," He spoke as your fists clenched.
"Yeah Y/N," Lily gave you a genuine smile, "You don't have to go yet if you don't want to," She hummed as several people in the circle agreed, acting as if Sirius was being genuine.
This only made your face warm up as you sat up, annoyance all over your face, "Actually Lily, I do think I should go to be fair, I'm actually feeling a bit brave," You sent a mocking smile to Sirius as you dragged the bottle back in the circle and spun it.
As it spun, you nervously bit your lip.
Since the girls were sweet and you could probably get away with just given them a peck, you wouldn't mind if it were any of them.
Or perhaps even Evan, who you liked because he certainly wasn't ugly and genuinely seemed kind.
Even Peter, he would most likely be as nervous as you and you probably wouldn't have to kiss for long.
Just anybody—aside from the three arrogant, blithering, shitheads—
James looked like a deer in headlights as the bottle fell straight onto him. He looked at you, and your expression was exactly the same.
"Well come on lovebirds!" You stood motionless in nervousness as Evan cheered.
You swallowed as James moved towards you slowly, your eyes tracing his every move. His eyes were locked onto you like you were the only person in the room.
Your gaze shifted to Sirius, and his arrogant demeanor had softened; he was now observing you and James differently.
You had never seen Sirius become stiff in his life, but it seemed as though his eyes had darkened and his entire demeanor had shifted.
Remus had almost the same expression when you turned to face him, but he seemed more anxious than anything else, as though he was unsure of what to anticipate.
"Y/N," James said as your gaze returned to him. "I've wanted to do this since last school year," he said softly, in a whisper.
As he leaned in and gave you a gentle peck on the cheek, your expression shifted to one of disbelief.
All outside cheers and hollering had been muffled, making it seem as though you two were the only people in the room. It felt like you could feel every sense ten times more than normal.
After giving you another glance, he moved in and kissed you, feeling his soft, plump lips as his hands gently gripped the sides of your face.
At first, the kiss was tender, with him giving you a deep, meaningful kiss. After that, it began to feel like the stress, the rage, and the words from that evening. His tongue invaded your mouth unexpectedly as a moan escaped from your mouth.
Your mouth fought against his as you both deepened into the kiss, your hands running through his soft curls.
He abruptly pulled away from you, staring at you while you both gasped and caught your breath. You were certain that he couldn't read your expression, but you couldn't read him either.
James was flushed, his chest heaving as he looked at you in astonishment.
You always knew that James was beautiful but in this state he was ethereal.
You were certain that while your state was comparable to his, it was probably not as lovely.
Marlene was the first to speak, "That was more steamy than I thought it would be," while taking a drag from her cigarette.
You were snapped out of your thoughts, "I actually have to be in bed, huge reading to catch up on," You said hurried to your feet. You started to hurry away and excused yourself.
Lily said, "Oh, I see. See you tomorrow!" She waved you away, looking a little perplexed and anxious.
--
You gently closed the door, careful to not wake up your roommates as you changed out of your school clothes and into your nightwear.
There were multiple feelings racing through you,
"I've wanted to do this since last school year."
It confused you.
James had been nothing but horrid to you.
All the things he had said about you and how much of a loser you basically were. Now he had wanted to kiss you since last school year? It didn't make sense to you.
And the kiss.
You didn't feel disgusted with it, in fact, you enjoyed it.
Your body was happy in ways you hadn't experienced in a long time, even if your conscious mind wasn't.
But James was a jerk and a boy you had hated all summer, so you couldn't feel that way about him.
In fact, you had promised yourself you wouldn't.
One night couldn't change what you had worked so hard for. You couldn't let them take your self-respect again.
It wasn't worth it.
As you lay in bed, you closed your eyes and wished that the tingles in your body and the restless thoughts in your head would stop.
Hoping to leave this night into some intense nightmare.
"Y/N," When you moaned and shook them off, the voice said, "Don't be a twat right now, I am already about to be late as is, wake up!" You let out a loud grunt and opened your eyes to discover a displeased Penelope staring at you as the loudness of the voice increased.
"Shit, what time is it?" You asked, your eyes widening.
"Time to get to bloody class, have you lost your mind?" As you hurriedly sat up and searched through your cupboard for clothing, she said in an increasingly anxious tone.
With frustration, you groaned, "There's no way I slept in again."
"Um, there is a way," Penelope chuckled. "I've been telling you to fix that janky alarm clock since last school year or to even enchant one but no, you stick with it," She huffed, eyeing said alarm clock with intense hatred.
She crossed her arms and looked at you. "I don't even understand why I wake you up, I should've just gone to class," she said, crossing her arms.
"Because you are a good housemate and friend and you sincerely love me," You replied as she struggled to contain the ghost of a smile. "But as much as you love me, get to class!" You urged, "I'll meet you there."
She looked at you hesitantly, "Are you sure?"
"Go!" You rushed her off as she shrugged, grabbing her bag.
"Don't be late," She winked, leaving and closing the door.
Rolling your tights up your legs before your skirt, you rolled your eyes. Even though you looked like a complete disaster when you looked in the mirror, it was sufficient for the day. You hurriedly put on your shoes, picked up your bag, and left the room.
You practically ran down the hallways in order to get to your class, being warned several times by Professors around you to slow down, you always murmuring an apology before continuing a speed walk.
You finally made it in front of the Charms room, and you slowed down your breathing as you entered. You avoided gazes from the entire class as you started walking to find your seat.
"Oh nice to see you Ms. L/N!" Professor Flitwick happily said, "Please sit next to Mr. Lupin," He instructed before giving you a nod and continuing his lesson.
You weren't surprised that Flitwick wasn't mad at you, he had always been extremely nice to you since you had met him.
Your jaw tensed as Remus watched your movements as you sat next to him.
Remus had eyed you multiple times since you sat down throughout the lesson, his eyes glazing over you every two minutes.
You sighed, "What is it, Lupin?" You asked, your eyes still focused on the front.
He looked shocked that you had spoken to him, "Sorry, what?" He asked, staring at you.
You looked at him, "Well, you have been glancing over at me for about every two minutes now, so I'm assuming you have something to say." You said, his mouth gaping, that you had actually said that to him.
"I just wanna talk about what you overheard last year," He started as your eyes went back to the front.
"I don't want to speak about it," You murmured.
Remus frowned, "I just don't want you to think we meant something we didn't." He said as you scoffed.
"So you didn't mean that I was basically a sad case and that you felt bad for me, you all practically mocked me," You countered.
He fiddled with his fingers, "I know what it sounded like, but I swear-" He began.
Professor Flitwick bellowed, "And for this project, you will work with the pairs behind you." Everyone turned behind them as he spoke.
The idea of working with Lupin made your stomach turn, but you were relieved that others would be working with both of you rather than just him.
However, when you turned to look behind you, your gaze met Sirius, the most annoyingly charming person you couldn't seem to forget.
And James, his accomplice.
You gasped in shock, swearing they had never been there before, and then suddenly they were.
"Oh great love, we are gonna be partners!" Sirius grinned as you instantly got up to persuade Flitwick to change and make up some nonsense justification.
Sirius pouted, "Oh love, I wouldn't do that, you don't want Flitwick thinking you're difficult to work with." You rolled your eyes at him, not falling for it. "He might just not write your recommendation for you to be an Auror," He remarked firmly as your eyes widened.
How could he possibly know what?
You sat back down carefully and glared at him, but all he offered you was a smug smirk. You looked away from the boys before you and crossed your arms.
James cleared his throat. He responded, "Well, I say we work in our dorm tonight," and the boys nodded, showing their agreement.
You scoffed, "Why not the library?" You asked, annoyed.
"Because Madam Pince insists on continuing to convince us that she will forever have a stick up her bum," Sirius said in a hushed tone.
"Well, maybe you should learn to shut your mouth once in a while," You spat, giving him a stern look.
He grinned and said, "I love it when you talk dirty to me." He leaned in closer with a whisper, "And I think you would love my mouth."
Your face contorted to disgust as Remus spoke and glared at Sirius, "We will be on our best behavior, and we will even do the most work." He tried to make the situation better.
"I'm not a charity case, I don't need your help," You remarked.
"Trust me love, we know," He replied with a laugh, "But it's the least we can do,"
You sighed, "Fine, but not too late, I don't want Filch to have his knickers in a twist if I'm coming to my dorms at eleven."
"We'll have you in bed by nine," James said, winking,
You rolled your eyes as you began writing something down in your journal. You felt eyes on you as you looked at all of them, "Problem?" You asked.
They all looked away, and you just gave them a strange look as you continued to write.
They had been extremely more weird than last year.
You shrugged the thought off as you tried to cram in as much of your part of the assignment as you could before having to work with them.
The bell chimed, and you instantly started packing up your quills and papers, shoving them into your bag in hopes of escaping this horrible situation as soon as possible.
"Don't be late tonight," Sirius whispered, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
You scowled at him, "Just hope I show up at all, Black." You said as you stood from your seat.
"Oh, trust me," He whispered as he locked eyes with you, "You will."
You swallowed, quickly trying to exit the classroom. You were starting to believe that this school year was a bizarre dream.
You must've been racing out of the room, considering the out-of-breath voice you heard rushing after you, "Y/N!" You looked to see Lily racing after you as you stopped.
She caught up to you as she tried catching her breath, "Merlin, you walk extremely fast," She huffed, throwing a quick laugh.
"How can I help you, Evans?" You asked, clearly not in the right mood for this conversation.
Her face straightened. "I was just hoping that we could talk about everything." She spoke hopefully.
You sighed, "Lily, now is not the best time." You replied, already starting to turn around.
"But!" Lily moved in front of you, "I just don't want you to think that I never cared about our friendship or forgot about you," She said regretfully.
You scoffed, "Lily, we can both be honest with ourselves." You folded your arms. "We were never friends, and you only pretended we were because you pitied me." You said blankly. Lily's eyes saddened as you continued, "But I'm not saying this to make you feel bad, you are a good and kind person, Lily, but we aren't friends."
Lily paused, "Do you actually believe that?" She asked, fiddling with her fingers.
"I'm surprised you don't." You replied as Lily looked down, "Don't get down on yourself, Lily, it wasn't only you." You laughed lightly.
She mustered up a smile, "Thank you for talking to me." She said before exiting the hall.
You hadn't meant to make Lily feel bad but she couldn't have possibly believed that you guys were friends.
Especially after what you had heard.
You were honestly starting to wish it was Winter break already.
This group project was probably one of the most dreadful things that you have had to do in your life.
But your plan was to finish the rest of your part and go back to your dorm, leaving the Marauders and any chance of communicating with them in that room.
Considering that, you were dressed in just your tank top and sleep shorts, wearing a silk coverall.
You knew it wasn't the most appropriate thing in the world, but there was no way the Marauders would ever see you in that way.
You took a deep breath before trying to knock on the door, but before you could, it swung open. Your eyes widened in surprise as James was looking at you with a flustered look as he eyed you up and down.
You looked at him confused, "Uh hi," You uttered.
He gulped, "Hey." He scratched the back of his head as you clicked your teeth.
"Are you gonna invite me in or just stare at me awkwardly?" You asked.
"Oh, sorry," He spoke quietly, widening the door for you.
You came in with your books pressed to your chest as you spotted Remus already at his desk while Sirius lay on his bed, looking at a magazine.
He looked away from the magazine to you, "Well, isn't this a sight?" He hummed, setting it aside on his dresser.
He stood, coming near you with a smug smile as he stared into your eyes.
"I've come here to actually work on the project, Black." You said sternly, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach.
"We can't do pleasantries, dollface?" He asked, coming so close that you could smell his signature scent of Ash and a mix of dark chocolate and mint. You looked up at him, almost feeling his breath fanning your face, "Or maybe we can skip them."
You nervously looked into his eyes, the air growing thick.
"Sirius." Remus warned.
You swallowed as Sirius only smirked, moving near Remus. "I'm only joking, Moony, I'm just trying to make dear Y/N feel more welcome." He sat on the leg of Remus's chair.
You exhaled as James spoke, "You can sit on my bed." He smiled, urging you towards it.
"Thanks." You muttered, sitting on his bed.
You were actually surprised by how soft the mattress was, yours felt like a rock compared.
As if he read your mind, James said, "It took fifty bloody spells to figure out how to break in that mattress." He laughed as you gave a slight nod in response.
"Where do you guys want to start?" You asked, "I've already done most of my writing portion and-"
Remus cut you off, "Maybe we could talk first."
You gave him a confused look, "All due respect, I would rather complete the assignment." You replied, opening your book.
It disappeared in your hand as you spotted Sirius with his wand, giving you a shake of his head.
You huffed, "I came here to work on this project, and if we aren't, I would prefer to be elsewhere." You glared at the boys, beginning to stand.
James stopped you, "Once chance, dove." He pleaded as you crossed your arms, "Just one." He spoke softly
You sat back down as you looked at the boys, "I'm listening." You exhaled.
summary: harry has warned you that if you don't stop stealing his sweaters, he'll tell your parents about your boyfriend. but your parents are very much aware of your relationship, so harry goes one step further.
wc: 1k+
cw: discussions of sex
Harry lifted his hoodie up, about to snake his arms into the sleeves when he noticed a familiar scent clinging onto it. He froze, pausing his movements for a moment to sniff the air around him. Harry groaned, lifting the hoodie up and inhaling into the fabric of the sweater before huffing in frustration.
He had countlessly told you not to wear his jumpers because your perfumed scent clung to the material causing his friends to tease him about having a girlfriend. The conversation was always the same: Harry would tell them it was his sister who stole it and they would all begin talking about how hot they thought you were.
You could borrow the jumpers he wore to bed, he elaborated, but not his outside jumpers. You had nodded, unconvinced as you continued painting your nails, the awful smell of chemicals filing your room. “Stop taking my stuff or I’ll tell mum and dad about your boyfriend!” He had huffed, stomping his foot angrily on the floor like a toddler. Laughing mockingly, you raised your eyebrows, mumbling “Yeah, go ahead.”
Harry knew you played the nonchalant role well, but when it would come to it, you would panic. The teenager rushed over to his closet, pulling out another jumper and shoving his nose into the fabric, yelling out a frustrated yell as he recognised the floral scent of your perfume.
Your brother stomped down the stairs furiously, his eyebrows furrowing in anger as he spotted you leaning into your mother’s side, looking through the newest edition of the quibbler with her as your father spoke animatedly to Sirius, sat on his left. All eyes were instantly drawn to Harry’s figure, waving a jumper in the air as he screamed “Y/n has a boyfriend!”
It was silent in the living room as Harry revealed the news, and Remus froze in the doorway from where he’d been entering the room. Lily shot you an amused glance from the corner of her eye and you shrugged. Harry, seemingly unpleased with the lack of reaction, pursed his lips before adding “And they have sex!”
Your eyebrows shot up at his audacity, and you chuckled quietly before turning to look at your parents. James decided it was an appropriate time to speak. “Yeah, love, we know.” Harry spluttered at the discovery, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. So you weren't playing a nonchalant role at all.
Not only did your parents know, but after you had lost your virginity to your boyfriend, you had panicked so hard because your period had been three weeks late that you trudged home on a Hogsmeade weekend to alert your mother.
Tears were rimming your eyes, and you slammed the front door open, immediately following the attentive call from your mum. “Hello?” Her voice had echoed in the house, leading you towards the kitchen. She wasn’t alone. Uncle Remus was there too, and they were clearly having a gossip session, when they suddenly stopped at the terrified look on your face.
“I lost my virginity and now my period is like so so late!” You sobbed, tears fully streaming down your face now. Lily didn’t bother asking how you got home, or scolding you that your clothes were not fit for the chilly weather outside. No, she came closer to you and wrapped you tightly in her loving arms. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s normal for your cycle to change after having sex for the first time.”
Whilst you interacted with your mother, sniffling softly and looking up at her with hopeful eyes, Remus put on the kettle to make you a cup of tea. After the initial panic passed, a smirk made its way onto both your mother and godfather’s faces, and your eyes widened, immediately knowing an interrogation would begin.
It wasn’t as bad as Angelina’s questions had been, but it was embarrassing nonetheless, with Remus ensuring that you had lost your virginity to Fred Weasley, your boyfriend, rather than a random boy. But when your mother’s question of “Did you enjoy it?” arrived, you instantly jolted up, looking around and stuttering as you made up an excuse to leave. “I have to go back to Hogwarts! It’s getting late.” But the two adults were well aware that it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
Obviously, the news travelled to your dad and his best friend at dinner, and James had been empathetic of his daughter, still his young princess, while Sirius externally panicked about you having sex.
His reaction had been similar to Harry’s, who threw a proper fit, and didn't speak to the Weasley for two weeks, opting to glare instead.
“Really?” Harry now insisted. Your mother hummed, and Remus reinforced it when he walked into the room by nodding along to what they were saying. “Yeah, honey, we’ve met him.” You giggled ecstatically at the look on Harry’s face, sticking up a middle finger at him. He groaned, flailing his arms around. “Just- stop stealing my jumpers!”
“Don’t worry about it, Harry. Fred lent me one of his jumpers to wear over the break.” You grinned widely at the sea of red climbing up Harry’s neck, and revelled in the way Sirius chuckled at your brother’s misery.
Harry huffed, storming back up the stairs, and just to piss him off a single bit more, you yelled after him “How’s Cho, by the way?”
The only response you got was a door slamming shut.
A few long seconds passed before the door squeaked open again and you raised your eyebrows slowly, waiting to see what Harry would say. He tip toed down the stairs again, not even waiting for the eyes to return to him before he announced “I overheard her telling Angelina that he bent her in ways she didn’t know she could be bent.”
It seemed that had earned Harry the reaction he desired, everyone in the room gasping at the newly disclosed information. You didn’t dare to look at your dad, not in these circumstances, let alone any of the other adults in the room. Instead, you sprung off the couch to chase Harry back up the stairs, yelling threats at him. You wrestled against the door that Harry was trying to shut in your face, only freezing when a cackle was suddenly heard from the floor below.
Unmistakably, it was Sirius’s loud laugh. Harry took the opportunity to slam the door closed, and you huffed, returning to the stairs.
Halfway down, you froze, shaking your head, and turned around, ready to hide in your bedroom until you died.
summary: after a haunting nightmare where you lose your boyfriends, you wake up breathless and unraveling, only to find them there with warm hands and unsteady voices pulling you close until the fear ebbs and the night begins to feel safe again.
w/c: 3.4k
warnings: nightmares, panic attack, anxiety, death (in dream), physical comfort, swearing, teasing, emotional vulnerability, soft hurt comfort, affectionate banter, crying, clinging, being held through panic, post-panic exhaustion.
a/n: i remember reading a fic with a similar scene in the marvel fandom on ao3, but i haven’t been able to find the author again, credit for the inspiration goes to them wherever they are <3 masterlist
You surface from the dream in the dark, and it feels like being dragged up from the depths of some cold, black sea where you had been drowning for hours, lungs bursting and body numb.
You wake gasping in the too-warm bed, with air that won’t come fast enough, the weight of the dream still choking your chest, your throat so tight no sound escapes but a low, cracked sob you barely register as your own.
It takes a long, harrowing second to even realize you’re awake because the images are still there, vivid and sharp-edged and cruel, imprinted against the inside of your skull.
James’ glasses, shattered and smeared with blood beneath his head on cold stone. Remus slumped in a heap, one arm twisted beneath him unnaturally, eyes empty and staring. Sirius screaming himself hoarse until his voice broke into nothing and then silence, a horrible ringing silence that left you standing in the ruins of what used to be everything.
Your hands useless and shaking and stained. Your voice gone. Your whole body cold with the knowing that you had lost them, all of them.
It’s that knowing that rips the breath from your lungs all over again. You clutch at the sheets beneath you like an anchor, but even the bed feels wrong. The air is too thin, the room too bright, your body too small and fragile in the too-big space that is suddenly full of sound and warmth and too many hands.
Because they’re there, all of them, and before your mind can make sense of it, there are hands everywhere, warm and frantic and too real against your trembling skin.
Broad palms on your shoulders, your arms, grounding you yet making you feel weightless, unmoored, one hand cupping your face, trembling strands of sweat-damp hair brushed gently from your cheeks and jaw, another pressing at your hip, pulling, steadying, one set of arms sliding tight around your waist, anchoring you to a body you can barely register through the rising storm inside you.
And voices tumbling over each other, breathless and panicked, sharp with fear, trying to reach through the spiraling chaos in your chest where breath won’t come and your heart is battering itself against your ribs.
The world feels distant and close all at once, too bright, too loud, your body foreign, unrecognizable beneath the weight of it, and you cannot tell where you begin and they end, only that you are falling and falling and they are trying to catch you with hands and words and warmth that cannot yet pierce the panic surging through you like a flood.
"Love, breathe. Bloody hell, what’s wrong? What’s wrong!?" James is saying, his voice shaking, high and frightened.
He pulls you gently up into his lap, cradling you close, arms wrapping around your middle like if he holds you tightly enough the trembling will stop, like if he rocks you gently enough the dream will fade.
You can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t even force your eyes open against the burn of tears and panic behind your lids. Another broken sob catches in your throat, sharp as glass.
"She’s burning up. Remus, what the fuck. What’s going on?" Sirius’ voice cuts in, rough and terrified, close now. You feel his hands on your face, cupping your cheeks in cool palms, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t even feel fall.
"Darling, can you hear me? Sweetheart, please. What’s wrong? What happened?"
"It’s a panic attack," Remus says quickly, voice soft but urgent. You feel him behind you, sliding an arm firmly around your waist, pressing close, his breath warm at your ear as he speaks low and steady.
"She can’t breathe. She’s caught in it. Darling, listen to me. You’re safe. You’re here with us. No one’s gone anywhere. Just breathe for me, dovey."
But you can’t. The air won’t come, no matter how your chest heaves and shakes beneath the weight of the panic. Your heart is pounding too hard, too fast, a frantic bird trapped behind your ribs, wings battering at bone.
The sobs keep breaking free now, ragged and desperate, only making it harder. It’s terrifying, because even though you know you’re awake, some part of you is still trapped in the dream where they were gone.
The sheer wrongness of the fact that they are here now, holding you, alive, only makes it worse, as though your mind can’t reconcile the two realities.
"Remus, she’s not breathing right." James’ voice cracks, arms tightening around you. There is real fear in it now.
"I know, Jamie, I know!" Remus says quickly, voice calm even as his arms hold you steady and close. "It’s alright. I’ve got you, dove. Listen to me. Try to breathe in with me. Just a little, love."
But the breath won’t come. You gasp and choke and sob harder. Sirius curses under his breath, leaning in closer, forehead pressed lightly to yours, his voice breaking.
"Fuck. Remus!"
"Talk to her," Remus says, voice lower now, soothing and grounding, fingers stroking gently up and down your arm.
"Keep her here. Keep her with us, she’s still trapped in it. Sweetheart, can you hear us? It’s remmy, love. You’re safe. It was only a dream. We’re all here, I promise."
"It’s alright, love. You’re alright," James says, voice trembling but trying so hard to be gentle. He presses soft, shaky kisses to your temple as he rocks you slowly in his arms. "We’ve got you. Just breathe. Please, sweetheart. Breathe."
Sirius’ hands are still on your face, thumbs moving softly across your cheeks. His own are damp now with tears as he presses closer.
"You’re okay," Sirius whispers, voice rough and low, so close you can feel the tremor in him. "We’re here. Look at me, darling. Please open your eyes. You’re safe."
Another sob rips through you, harsh and gasping. But this time, the sharpness of their voices, the warmth of their bodies around you, the steady weight of Remus’ arms and the sound of his voice in your ear anchor you just enough that something shifts. The edge of the panic loosens for the span of a heartbeat. In that heartbeat, you manage one thin, shuddering breath.
"There, love. Just like that," Remus says softly, holding you tighter. "That’s it, darling. Another one. Slow, love."
James presses another kiss to your temple, voice barely above a whisper now.
"Good girl. That’s it. We’re not going anywhere. You’re safe."
You clutch at James’ shirt, knuckles white, body still trembling hard. But the breath comes again. Another thin, shallow inhale that catches but doesn’t break this time. Then another. And another, though your chest still burns and the tears won’t stop.
"I... I..." The words won’t come, tangled in the remnants of the panic and the weight of the dream. Sirius leans in quickly, brushing your hair back with trembling fingers.
"It’s alright, love. You don’t have to talk. We’re here. We’ve got you."
"I thought..." you manage at last, voice wrecked and raw, a sob catching in the single word. "I saw..."
James shakes his head, kissing your hair again, pulling you closer into his lap.
"It wasn’t real, love," he says softly, voice shaking.
"Not going anywhere," Sirius whispers, hand cupping your cheek again.
"Not ever," Remus murmurs against your ear, voice steady, breath warm. "I promise."
Slowly, so slowly, the storm inside you begins to break. The tremors ease bit by bit as you cling to the steady rhythm of their voices, their hands, the warmth of their bodies holding you close in the dark. As if they could stitch the broken pieces of your heart back together with love alone.
The air moves through you now in broken gasps, but each breath comes a little easier, no longer jagged with panic though the ache in your throat and chest remains heavy, your head tucked beneath James’ chin.
You feel the warmth of Sirius pressed to one side of you, his face buried in your hair, arms wrapped tight around your waist, and Remus’ steady presence at your back, his voice low against your ear as he murmurs again and again that you are safe, that they are here, that nothing can take them from you.
No one moves for a long moment. It is as though they are afraid to loosen their hold even slightly, afraid that if they let go, even for a breath, you will spiral again, lost in that terrible place where they cannot follow.
But your fingers begin to uncurl at last, no longer clawing desperately at James’ shirt, though you stay pressed close, every part of you still too raw, too fragile.
Then you feel James shift beneath you, just a little, one hand brushing your hair back gently from your damp forehead.
"Sweetheart, I’m gonna get you some water, alright? Just for a second. I’ll be right back."
A soft sound of protest escapes you before you can stop it. Your fingers clutch at his sleeve.
"Please... don’t go." Your voice is rough, barely above a whisper.
You feel him press a kiss to your temple.
"I won’t go far, love. I promise. Remus and Sirius are right here. I’ll be back before you even notice."
Still, it takes another whispered reassurance from Remus — "We’ve got you, darling. We won’t let go," — before you finally loosen your grip just enough to let James slip carefully from beneath you.
The warmth of his body leaves you aching, though only for a moment, because then Sirius is pulling you gently closer into his lap, wrapping his arms securely around you.
James moves quickly across the room, barefoot, grabbing the glass of water from the bedside table with shaking hands before returning just as fast, sinking back down onto the bed beside you with a soft curse under his breath when he sees the tears still lingering on your cheeks.
"Here, love. Just a sip. Slowly." He holds the glass to your lips with one hand while his other strokes soothingly over your hair. The first sip makes your throat burn, but you take another, and another, the cool water grounding in a way you hadn’t expected.
"Good girl," James murmurs. "That’s it."
Sirius kisses your temple, his voice softer now but still thick with worry.
"You scared the hell out of us, darling. What’s got you so caught up like that?"
You shake your head, another small sound of protest in your throat.
"It’s stupid," you whisper, voice rough, ashamed of the tears still spilling from your lashes. "You’ll laugh at me."
"Never," Remus says instantly, arms tightening around your waist. His voice is steady, warm. "You could tell us anything, love. We’d never laugh."
"Not ever," James echoes, brushing the backs of his fingers gently across your cheek.
Sirius’ hand slides softly over your arm.
You close your eyes for a moment, breath trembling, trying to steady yourself. The images still flicker behind your eyelids, sharp and raw, but the warmth of their touch anchors you enough to speak.
"It was a dream," you begin softly, voice shaking. "It started... it started with James and me. It was Halloween night. We were together and... and we got attacked. There was nothing we could do."
Your voice breaks on the words. Sirius presses a soft kiss to your hair while James’ hand finds yours, fingers lacing together.
"You were gone first," you whisper, voice cracking. "I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save anyone. I... I died too."
You feel James shake his head, as though trying to banish the image from your mind, but he says nothing, just squeezes your hand.
"And before... before I died," you continue, breath catching, "I saw Remus. He was already gone and there was blood. So much blood."
Remus holds you tighter.
"I’m right here, love," he murmurs. "I’m not going anywhere."
"And Sirius..." Your voice shudders again. "You were... you were caught. You were screaming for me and you got pulled through something. It looked like a veil and then you were gone."
A soft, choked sound escapes Sirius, and he presses his face more firmly against your hair.
"It wasn’t real," he whispers fiercely. "I’m here. I’m right here, love."
Tears spill down your cheeks again, though your body trembles less now beneath their touch. The room is quiet but for the soft murmur of their voices, the steady rhythm of their breathing, the warmth of their bodies wrapped around you, holding you safe against the lingering echoes of the dream.
You let out a long, shaky breath.
"It felt real," you whisper. "Too real."
James presses another kiss to your temple.
"We know, sweetheart. But we’re here. We’re safe and you’re safe."
Remus’ hand strokes soothingly up and down your back, grounding you further with each gentle touch.
"We’ll stay right here with you, love," he says softly. "As long as you need."
And you believe him, as you sink a little deeper into their arms, surrounded by their love, the last sharp edges of the nightmare slowly beginning to fade.
You begin to relax further into their arms, exhaustion pulling at your bones now that the worst of the panic has passed.
But before you can close your eyes fully, you hear a soft noise — muffled, strangled — and after a beat you realize it is coming from Sirius.
You lift your head slightly from where you’ve curled against Remus, blinking sleep-heavy eyes up at them — and immediately catch the sight of Sirius, his mouth pressed so tightly shut it looks painful, shoulders trembling violently with the effort not to laugh.
His whole face is pink, lips twitching, chest shaking.
James is watching him too now, eyebrows raised, the corner of his mouth twitching with a barely-suppressed grin.
Your eyes narrow instantly.
"You’re laughing!" you accuse, voice hoarse but sharp with disbelief.
Sirius lets out a strangled noise, something between a snort and a wheeze, and shakes his head rapidly, biting hard on his bottom lip like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
"N-No," he chokes out, voice warbling with the effort of holding it in. "No, love. Not— not at you, just—"
He clamps both hands over his mouth now, eyes squeezing shut as if that will help.
Remus lets out an exasperated sigh behind you, though you can hear the faint thread of amusement in it.
"Padfoot," he warns, tone low. "Don’t you dare."
But it’s hopeless — a wheezing giggle escapes Sirius, his shoulders shaking harder now.
"I’m sorry!" he finally gasps, laughter bubbling up in spite of himself. "But honestly — what kind of stupid fucker dies because he forgot his wand?"
At that, James bursts out laughing, throwing his head back against the pillows.
"You absolute arse," he snorts between helpless chuckles. "She’s telling us about a nightmare and you—"
But it’s too late. Sirius is practically wheezing with laughter now, wiping tears from his eyes, face flushed.
"I mean—!" he manages between gasps. "Come on, Prongs! Even in her subconscious, she thinks you’re a complete idiot! Forgot your wand and got us all killed!"
For one stunned second, you gape at him — then, with an outraged noise, you scramble up out of Remus’ lap and launch yourself across the bed at Sirius.
"You bastard!" you yelp, aiming a pillow straight at his head.
Sirius yelps in mock terror, still laughing so hard he’s barely able to dodge.
"Ahh! No, love! Mercy! I can’t breathe!" he cries, collapsing backwards into James, who is now laughing so hard he’s clutching his sides.
"You deserve it!" you shout, pummeling him with the pillow as Sirius flails, giggling uncontrollably.
Remus, shaking his head, watches with fond amusement.
Sirius throws an arm dramatically over his face, peeking out at you with sparkling eyes.
"I regret nothing!" he declares between laughs.
James wheezes, wiping at his own eyes.
"You’re no better," he shoots at Sirius, grinning. "At least I died — you got stuck in a bloody veil. What does that say about you?"
That sets Sirius off again, howling with laughter beneath you as you collapse half on top of him, breathless with a reluctant giggle of your own
"Alright, alright," Remus murmurs, though you can hear the warmth in his voice. "That’s enough, you two."
Sirius grins down at you, brushing your hair back gently.
"See, love? No matter what happens — we’re here. You’ve got us. Always."
Their laughter softens the room, filling the cracks left behind by your dream.
You feel your breath steadying further with each quiet moment, your body growing heavier, wearier, but no longer from fear. Only exhaustion now, the kind that seeps deep into your bones after too much adrenaline, too many tears.
They are still wrapped around you, warm and solid, a living shield against the shadows that still linger at the edges of your mind.
Sirius kisses your temple once more, arms snug around your waist. James runs his fingers slowly through your hair, his free hand curled around yours beneath the blankets. Remus behind you is a steady, unshakable weight, his cheek resting lightly against your head.
For a long moment you stay like that, content to be held. But as your breathing slows, your eyes begin to drift closed — until a soft, sleepy thought edges into your mind and, with a small murmur, you shift, untangling gently from James’ lap you were on.
You wriggle your way between Remus and Sirius, pressing close to Remus’ side, one arm draped lazily over his chest.
Immediately you hear an exaggerated, scandalized gasp from James.
"Sweetheart! What’s this, then?" he says, voice full of mock offense.
Sirius lifts his head, smirking.
"Yeah, what the hell, darling? Running off to Moony like that?"
You peer up at them through sleep-heavy eyes and give the smallest smile.
"You laughed at me," you say simply, voice soft and hoarse but laced with playfulness.
Sirius lets out an overly dramatic sigh, clutching his chest.
"Betrayed in my own bed," he declares. "Well then. Come here, Jamie, I suppose it’s just you and me now."
James snorts but grins, flopping back onto the pillows and holding his arms out.
"Come here, you big idiot. I’ll show you what real cuddling looks like."
Sirius promptly sprawls across him with an exaggerated groan of contentment, tossing one leg dramatically over James’ hips.
"Mmm, yes, this’ll do."
"Ow— You’re heavy!" James complains through a laugh. "You’re going to crush me!"
You and Remus exchange a look, the same tired amusement twinkling in his eyes. You can’t help the soft laugh that bubbles up, echoed by the low, warm chuckle rumbling in his chest beneath your cheek.
"Honestly," Remus murmurs, voice full of fond exasperation. "What are we going to do with them?"
"Nothing," you mumble against him, eyelids fluttering. "Just let them be ridiculous."
At that, James reaches over, tugging gently at the blanket until it covers all of you again, tucking it up around your shoulders.
Sirius shifts slightly, stretching one arm back across you so that now you are wrapped in all three of them — Remus at your side, Sirius’ arm thrown lazily over your waist, James’ legs tangled with yours beneath the covers.
The warmth of them, the quiet rise and fall of their breaths, the soft, contented hum of the room, all of it settles deep into your chest. You feel your body finally relaxing completely, the last remnants of fear slipping away into the dark.
Just as your eyes begin to close again, you feel Remus shift slightly, his lips brushing against the crown of your head. His voice is soft, low, just for you.
"You’re safe, love," he whispers. "Nothing will happen. Not while we’re here."
And you believe him. You let yourself believe it, wrapped in the warmth of them all, the sound of their laughter still echoing softly in your mind.
For now, this is real — the gentle thrum of their hearts, the weight of their arms, the comfort of knowing that this dream will not come true, not here, not tonight.
Even if somewhere, in another time or a near future, shadows rise and fates turn dark, here in this bed, beneath these hands, beneath their steady breathing and whispered words, you are safe. This moment, fragile and bright as a flame in the dark, will live on long after the dream has faded.
Summary: After overhearing some choice words between Bucky and his best friend, you make the difficult decision to avoid him. For a week. Bucky loses his mind in the process.
Word count: 2.1k
Warnings: Some angst and miscommunication
a/n: I love this trope!! It was so fun to write a little one and I loveee reading it. I hope you enjoy!! Thank you for reading ily ❤️❤️
Masterlist
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You fought off the swell of your throat with tight lips, stirring the contents of the pot with unnecessary care. He was staring at you. He had been staring at you from the moment he came inside, but there was nothing you could do about it—nothing you should do about it.
The spices from the haphazardly thrown-together dinner were beginning to burn your eyes. This felt awful. The past week had felt awful.
After overhearing Bucky call you intense, everything you felt was amplified.
It had been an accident, you being at his apartment at that exact moment. You were dropping by unannounced, but you hadn’t even knocked on the door before his words had vibrated past the locked threshold of the door. And then you had left.
You had taken great care to be less intense over the past week. This was the first time Bucky had been in your apartment since that day, and that hadn’t been without struggle. He asked to come over several times, even showing up and knocking on the door while you pretended to be asleep. It all felt very juvenile—the ignoring and avoiding and missing calls. But you didn’t know how else to respond.
You loved Bucky. You loved him and it felt intense, but, apparently, things had moved too fast for him. A few months of dating were not enough. You were too much.
You had told him you loved him for the first time just days before you overheard his confession, so connecting the dots hadn’t been very hard.
You were too much.
Avoiding him had been made easier by your intense work schedule. You stayed overtime and texted brief excuses. That had worked for a time. But last night, Bucky showed up at your office with a bag of takeout and an uncomfortably furrowed brow, and you knew it was probably time to face this.
You gave him space for a week, and now it was time to practice being less intense in person. You couldn’t avoid him forever. And it hurt—being away from him for too long. Not that you would admit that. Not now.
“I don’t know how good this is going to be,” you huffed out a laugh, ladling noodles into two bowls. “It’s a new recipe, and I’m kinda low on groceries.”
When you glanced up at Bucky sitting on the couch, his smile looked strained. “‘M sure it’ll be great.”
You replied with a short smile, glancing down at the bowls as you joined him in the living room. You sat far enough away for it to make sense—one cushion over, not halfway in his lap like you used to. The television created a soft backdrop of some show you weren’t paying attention to, but the meal was otherwise silent.
You missed kissing him.
When he came in, you gave him one quick press of your lips and then darted back to the kitchen, ignoring the feel of his hands on your waist as they rushed to grab you. He was only doing all of that to appease you—the calls and trips to your office and the affection.
If you let him do what he didn’t want to do, you would lose him.
“Well,” you prompted, your teasing smile almost wobbling over the bowl. “How is it?”
Bucky caught your eye from the other side of the small couch. His expression narrowed on your mouth, and then he winced, almost imperceptibly.
Something dropped in your gut.
“It’s good, sweetheart.”
You kept up your smile, but as you turned back to your meal and pretended to watch TV, everything felt final. Your jaw was stiff as you took your next bite, the food tasting like nothing and curdling in your stomach. You hadn’t done enough. You hadn’t given him enough space. He had been so adamant about coming over because this was the end.
You left your bowl half-filled when you placed it on the coffee table, the smell of it nauseating. The inside of your cheek was bleeding from where you bit into it.
“Done already?” Bucky asked. He had finished a few minutes before you, his dish next to yours, and his arm looped back behind the couch. He wasn’t touching you. Almost, but not.
“Yeah,” you replied. The single word sounded unstable, and you cursed your throat for feeling so thick with anxiety. You looked at Bucky from the corner of your eye, only to find his eyes closed and his expression pinched.
Your lips parted. Were you going to beg? That would only make it worse, surely. Too intense, too much.
Maybe this would be for the best. Some time for a break would—
“Please, tell me how to fix this.”
You blinked at the TV, and then you blinked over towards Bucky, lips still parted but no words escaping them.
A pause as breath was caught in the heaviness of your chest, and then, “What?”
Bucky moved his tongue to his cheek, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He was wearing a hoodie today, and it felt so uncharacteristic that you had almost been distracted at the door.
“I can’t… I can’t lose you, okay? I don’t know what I did, but you gotta tell me or I’m—” his hands came up to run over his head and fall at the nape of his neck. “—just tell me what I did, sweetheart. Please.”
He turned to look at you then, only a foot of space between you but the distance almost stifling. Your hands clenched atop your knees, and he watched them, eyes flickering to any movement you made. He tracked your unsteady breath, the way your gaze couldn’t stay rooted in one place, and each minute shift in your features.
“I don’t—I don’t understand,” you offered, because it was the truth.
Bucky’s jaw rocked to the side. “You barely said three words to me this week. You didn’t want me over—didn’t want to see me. I fought through your building security to bring you dinner, and you looked… Baby, I walked through the door and looked about ready to cry. I mean, you didn’t even—you barely even kissed me today.”
Your gentle sigh weighed down your chest. You dropped your gaze down to the couch, unaware that Bucky was desperately trying to find himself there, leaning his head down to no avail. This didn’t make any sense. You really couldn’t do anything right, it seemed.
“It’s just—baby, I thought you said—” Bucky started, speaking in such disjointed sentences you looked up to try and parse them out. His shoulders untensed as you did, but then he said, “Thought you loved me, is that still true?” and the confusing swirl of emotions turned to devastation.
“I do,” you fervently replied, shaking your head as if that made sense. “Of course I do, Bucky, but you…”
“I what?” Bucky rushed to get clarification, the vulnerability so clear on his face it made you ache.
“I thought I was too much for you. I was trying to give you space. I thought you were going to end things tonight.”
“Why in the hell would you think that?” he exasperated, the words harsh but his delivery of them so gentle.
You bit into your bottom lip and let out another breath, the pressure on your chest looming down into your ribs. The fists on your knees moved to pick at a loose thread on the couch.
“I came by on Saturday—to your apartment, I mean. You left your jacket in my car, and I knew you were going to be out late with Sam.”
“But I didn’t—”
“I never actually got inside your apartment,” you revealed, knocking your head to the side, still unable to fully meet his gaze.
A tick of silence passed.
“You heard me.”
This was the worst part. It made you seem immature, eavesdropping from the hall of his building. It made you seem immature, and you were also petty because you avoided him for a week. You fought the urge to allow the couch to swallow you whole.
“I didn’t mean to hear you,” you stressed, pulling and tugging at the loose corner of your cushion. “I left pretty quickly. I didn’t—”
“Hey,” Bucky interrupted. He placed fingers under your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. The concern in his features masked lingering hurt, and you moved your hands into your lap to squeeze them together instead. “What did you hear, baby?”
You flickered your gaze between his eyes. “I’m not mad at you. I understand, you know? I wouldn’t want—”
“Y/n. What did you hear?”
“That you think I’m too intense. That this—us—is too much, maybe.”
Bucky kept you in his hold, but he closed his eyes. The hurt melted from his face only to be replaced with something akin to regret. He shook his head slightly, jutted out his jaw, and then he looked at you once again, his features strained.
“Damn,” he whispered. The fingers under your chin moved to cup your cheek, rubbing soothing shapes there. “Thought you were leaving me, did you know that? Whole time this has been my own fault. God.”
Bucky shifted forward on the couch until your legs were pressed close. You untucked yours to accommodate him, greedy for the contact despite your confusion, and he only got closer. When his forehead touched yours, you gave in to the burn in your waterline, vision blurrier than it had been.
“I love you so goddamn much,” Bucky began, moving back only an inch to find your watery gaze. “When I said you were intense, I meant that this is the most I’ve ever felt for someone. That the intensity was mutual. That maybe, at the rate we’re going, it would be too much for you. I was asking Sam for advice—seeing if he thought I should back off.”
“You?” you asked, the word crackling in your throat.
“Yeah, me, sweetheart. Not you. I was afraid you were gonna bolt one of these days. I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, according to quite a few people, and I know that loving you means that I’m probably the worst around you.”
The muscle at the corner of your mouth twitched, and along with it went the stress that had settled in every nerve ending in your body. The tension in your jaw released, your chest began to ease, and the only remaining negative was the sadness at Bucky’s confession—at his fronted vulnerability.
You reached up to catch his wrist in your grip, and he responded by bringing his other hand up to hold you fully.
“I love you,” you affirmed. Bucky’s own smile was sad. “I’ve never thought about ‘bolting.’ I spent this entire week sad and lonely because I was afraid you were going to leave me. I was trying to show you that I could be… chill, I guess.”
“Chill?” Bucky repeated with a scoff-like laugh, brows shooting up as he brushed his thumbs along the dampness of your cheeks. “I drove past your apartment every night this week. I used that shampoo you left in my shower just to make my bed smell like you again. I wrote…God, I wrote you this letter because I figured maybe if you got something in the mail—”
“You sent me mail?” you interrupted.
Bucky’s face blushed a bashful pink, his mouth open in a defensive smile. “We can forget about the mail, okay? Now that we’re talking it out.”
“Right. I’m going to check my mail when you leave.”
“Hey,” he demanded, his playful, pointed look reorienting you to the reason behind the tears now drying on your face. When you settled back into his gaze, Bucky readjusted you in his hands, bringing your head into his shoulder until you were fully in his arms. “I love you, you got that? I’m sorry you heard what you did and thought—thought that wasn’t true. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I never want to feel like that again—like I’m losing you.”
You tightened your fingers into the material of Bucky’s hoodie, taking a moment to relish in his arms around you. You nodded against him, hoping that would suffice, and it did. He kissed the side of your head and leaned back against the couch, bringing you with him.
“Can’t even check the mail,” Bucky eventually grumbled out. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving any time soon.”
helloooo if your you’re taking requests for James Potter i have a REALLYYY long idea and I’m thinking maybe a long story where they are childhood friends and known as the Golden Girl and Boy of Hogwarts. James is quite clingy and touchy with her, so everyone thinks they’re dating. Then, one day, he makes a public, dramatic love confession when he realizes she’s going on a date.
PLEASE PLEASEE feel free to ignore this if its too much💗💗
Just Friends, He Swears ♡ | J.Potter ⋆. 𐙚 ˚
“We were just best friends—until she smiled at someone else and I realized I was one scarf away from staging a public meltdown in the rain.”
pairing : James Potter x fem!reader
summary : A golden boy, a golden girl, and the chaos of being “just friends” when everyone else knows it’s love—except them. A slow-burn Hogwarts rom-com full of tension, longing, and one very dramatic confession in the rain.
warnings : Fluff, Jealousy, Dramatic idiots, Public love confession, Mild language, Secondhand embarrassment. Please let me know if I missed any.
author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.
della's note : Thank you so much for requesting anon!!! I really appreciate you coming here and sharing your ideas with me <3 Hope you like this!!
word count : 1.5k
navigation <3
banners : @/omi-resources and @/cafekitsune
James Potter met her on the train to Hogwarts in first year, hair wild from the wind, face flushed with excitement, and she had a chocolate frog stuck in her hair. He fell in love right then. Not that he’d admit it. Not even now. Not even when he’s sixteen and she's sitting next to him in the common room with her legs on his lap and his fingers tracing lazy circles into her shin.
They’re best friends. Have been since day one. She’s the only one who can match his chaos, ground his storms, slap him upside the head when he’s being arrogant, and whisper in his ear when he’s too proud to admit he’s scared. They’re Hogwarts’ Golden Pair—he, the adored Quidditch captain with a cocky grin and heart of gold; she, the fierce, loyal, terrifyingly clever girl who laughs at his jokes like he invented the sun.
Everyone thinks they’re dating.
They’re not.
They just… do things like a couple. Sit too close. Touch too much. Argue like they’ve been married for fifty years. She kisses his cheek before every match. He carries her bag to class. Once, he made her a flower crown out of actual magic and then got detention for hexing a Slytherin who called it “soft.”
Sirius once said: “Either snog already or take it to the Room of Requirement and spare the rest of us.”
Lily muttered: “Honestly, it’s like watching two penguins in denial.”
Remus just sipped his tea. He’s smarter than all of them.
But she doesn’t see it. Doesn’t see the way James stares when she’s laughing. Doesn’t feel how he tense-pretends-not-to-be-tense when another boy flirts with her. Doesn’t notice the absolute havoc he descends into when she walks in wearing that stupid Ravenclaw blue scarf—
Wait.
That’s not hers.
James squints.
“Whose scarf is that?”
She blinks, fiddling with the tassels. “Oh—Aidan gave it to me. The Ravenclaw prefect? I’ve got a date with him this weekend.”
Silence.
Like… actual silence. The kind that makes the room cold even though the fire’s crackling.
James blinks once.
Twice.
Then says, louder than necessary:
“A date? Like… a romantic one?”
She laughs, tilting her head. “Is there another kind?”
He wants to throw himself out the window.
James does not spiral.
He is composed. Collected. A mature young man.
That’s why he definitely doesn’t—
Drag Sirius out of bed at midnight to rant about "Mr. Ravenclaw Bloody Kindness"
Accidentally blow up a pumpkin in Herbology while muttering “he probably says please before kissing her”
Tell Peter he thinks the bloke’s trying too hard to be soft. (“Is that illegal now?” Pete asks. “IT SHOULD BE,” James hisses.)
By Saturday, it’s raining.
Of course it is. Because the universe is dramatic. And so is he.
She’s standing near the courtyard fountain, dressed in a skirt he’s definitely never seen and lipstick that’s going to kill him. The scarf’s around her neck, and he wants to rip it off.
He marches toward her like a man possessed. Wet curls in his eyes. Shirt clinging to his chest. The Marauders (plus Lily, Dorcas, Marlene) are trailing behind him like it’s a bloody play.
“Oi!” he yells.
She turns, eyes wide.
“James?”
He kneels.
Like a bloody idiot.
In the puddles. In the rain. Like she’s leaving him at the altar.
“Don’t go.”
She blinks. “What—?”
“Don’t go on the date.”
His voice cracks. Cracks.
“James, why are you—”
“I don’t know!” he nearly shouts, arms flailing. “I don’t know why I feel like I’m dying when you wear his scarf or talk about his stupid kind smile or mention that he reads poetry—WHO EVEN READS POETRY VOLUNTARILY?!”
“You do,” she whispers.
He falters. “I know. But it sounds better when you read it.”
The rain pours harder.
Everyone is watching. But it’s just them now.
“James,” she murmurs, confused and stunned and breathless, “why does this matter to you?”
His eyes lock on hers. Desperate. Soft.
Possessive.
“I don’t have the words,” he admits. “I just know I need you. Like… air. Like magic. Like my broomstick needs me not to be a dumbass. You’re the one thing I can’t risk losing because I’d never recover. Not really. Not where it counts.”
Her lip trembles.
She kneels down with him, the cobblestones digging into her knees, the rain soaking through her skin, their noses inches apart.
“I think…” she whispers, “I think I’ve been in love with you since first year and just thought it was normal to feel like this all the time.”
His breath hitches.
Then she kisses him.
It’s messy. Rain-slick. A little uncoordinated.
James makes a sound like someone just gave him oxygen for the first time in weeks.
James Potter, now that he is officially your boyfriend, is insufferable.
He always was, of course—hovering over your shoulder during breakfast, twirling your hair during study sessions, slinging an arm around you like it was a reflex. But that was before. That was when he was still pretending he wasn’t in love with you.
Now?
Now he wakes you up with a “Good morning, love of my life, did you dream of me?” every day. He holds your hand in the corridors and refuses to let go, even when you’re both trying to eat toast. He spells “J + Y/N = 🧡” into the condensation of every window he passes.
It’s revolting.
You adore it.
You’re sitting in the library, trying to do Transfiguration homework. James is across from you, meant to be writing a paper on theoretical wandless magic.
Instead, he’s staring at you.
Again.
Hard.
Like he’s trying to memorize your face for war.
“James,” you whisper, not looking up from your notes. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop looking at me like I’m about to vanish.”
He grins like you just told him he’s your Patronus.
“I would literally pass out if you vanished. Right here. Face-first into my essay.”
“You don’t have an essay.”
“I’d write one about you.”
You blink. “What would it be titled?”
He pauses for half a second before saying, proudly:
“‘Anatomy of a Face I’d Die For: A Study in Tragic Obsession.’”
From across the table, Remus snorts.
Aidan—the Ravenclaw you almost went on a date with—is not helping James’s emotional stability.
He’s still friendly. Too friendly. He waves in corridors. Compliments your handwriting. Smiles a bit too long.
James is Not Normal™ about it.
“Do you think he wants to duel?” James says one day while you're walking to Charms.
You blink. “What?”
“Aidan. He looked at me funny. I think he wants to fight.”
“James,” you sigh, “he was holding a kitten.”
“Yeah. As a weapon.”
You stop walking. “Are you jealous of the boy I didn’t go on a date with?”
“I’m not jealous,” he says, tightening his hold on your hand. “I just think he’s too nice. And suspiciously symmetrical.”
He’s pouting. Full-on, Golden Retriever Pout™.
You tug him closer and whisper in his ear, “You know I only want you, right?”
James short-circuits. Blushes so violently Sirius will make fun of him for three days straight.
The Marauders, Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas are trying to have a civil conversation in the Gryffindor common room. You and James are not helping.
You're on his lap. His face is half-buried in your neck. He’s literally just… sighing contentedly.
Dorcas gags. “Do they think they’re in a cottagecore romance novel?”
Sirius throws a pillow. “Oi! James, you’re making us single by proximity.”
James doesn’t move. “You chose this life.”
Lily deadpans: “We didn’t choose anything. You cursed us.”
You grin, twisting slightly to look at your boyfriend. “James, maybe we should tone it down—”
James groans like you’ve stabbed him.
“I just got you!” he whines. “I’ve spent six years in platonic hell! I deserve this! Don’t take this from me, woman!”
“Godric’s bleeding ghost,” Marlene mutters, “he’s dramatic with her too.”
It happens in the middle of a Quidditch match.
You’re cheering from the stands, cold air whipping through your hair, and James does this ridiculous dive to catch the Quaffle—and slams into the ground with a dramatic thud.
Everyone gasps.
You leap from your seat. “JAMES?!”
He sits up immediately and yells:
“I’M OKAY, DARLING! I JUST SAW YOUR FACE AND FORGOT GRAVITY EXISTED!”
The stands go silent.
The Hufflepuff Beaters stop mid-swing.
Madam Hooch looks personally offended.
You turn bright red.
Sirius screams, “GET A ROOM!”
Remus whispers, “We are in the emotional splash zone.”
Later that night, curled into each other on the Gryffindor couch, James hums against your shoulder.
“You think people are sick of us?”
You smile, brushing back his hair. “Definitely.”
“Should we stop?”
“No.”
“Good,” he mumbles sleepily, already halfway to dreaming. “Because I plan on loving you out loud for the rest of my life.”
And even though he’s dramatic, possessive, clingy, and a little stupid in love…
synopsis: in a world where soulmates see color only when they meet, james potter has always lived in vivid hues without knowing why. the girl who once lit up his world in childhood vanished, leaving only fragments of memory behind. years later, when she returns, tangled memories and aching hearts reveal a truth he’s longed for — that everything has always been about you.
cw: soulmate au, reader is adopted, childhood friends to lovers, getting hit by a ball, kissing, dual point of view, extensive james pov, james deeply in love, reader adopted by a french family, reader is a transfer student to hogwarts, background wolfstar elements, mild emotional intensity, some angst, slow-burn romance, no major triggers, fluff fluff fluff!
w/c: 5.8k
request: here!
a/n: based on the song About You by The 1975. i’m genuinely so proud of this, and will be rereading it till i get the ick <3
masterlist
James Potter believed he had no soulmate. For many reasons.
The idea that the universe could conjure one singular person who was perfect for him sounded, frankly, implausible.
Wasn’t a person meant to decide their own fate? The very notion bristled against his nature, too neat, too scripted, too convenient.
James had never liked being told how things ought to be, how paths were meant to wind, or whom he was meant to love.
He thought of the way the world spun with infinite variables, endless choices, each step shaping the next in ways no prophecy could predict.
What if he didn’t like his soulmate? Worse, what if they didn’t like him?
The thought sat sharp-edged and unwelcome in the quiet corners of his mind. He did not dwell on it, as a rule.
Still, it was difficult to escape the idea entirely. All his life, he had heard the stories, told over dinners, late-night fires, quiet moments between his parents.
Tales of that first breathless instant when color had bled into the world, so rich it left them dazed.
His father would speak of the impossible green of his mother’s eyes, the startling red of her lips. His mother would smile, eyes soft with memory, describing the gold in his father’s hair beneath the sun.
James would listen, curious but strangely distant from it all, as they told him how the world had split wide and new when they met, how they could still remember the exact moment the grey had vanished.
There was something beautiful in it, he supposed. Something that stirred at the edge of longing. But beneath that was a quieter, sharper thing — fear, perhaps.
A worry that his story would not unfold in such a fairytale manner, that the universe might be cruel, or careless, or simply indifferent.
And yet, for all those tangled doubts and questions, none were his strongest reason for disbelief.
In a world where people are born to see only black and white, where the first meeting of a soulmate floods the eye with color, James had known with mounting certainty that he did not have one.
Because for as long as he could remember, he had seen the world in color.
He remembered it as a child, dashing barefoot through the echoing halls of Potter Manor, the tapestries a riot of gold and crimson, the gardens spilling green across the summer air.
He remembered color at the village markets, the bright bustle of stalls, the striped awnings swaying in the wind.
And most of all, he remembered color from the orphanage, of all places, a rather grey and drafty stone building that somehow still flickered to life whenever he visited.
Euphemia Potter had a heart wide as the sky. Though she came from a pure-blood family, she had never cared for the stuffy ideas that often clung to such lineage.
She would say, in her usual firm and breezy way, that the world had more than enough coldness in it already.
And so it had been her habit, even after marriage and motherhood, to visit the local orphanage with baskets of sweets, books, blankets.
She brought James with her, of course.
“You should make friends everywhere you can,” she would tell him. “That is what magic is for.”
James had not needed convincing. A boy of seven with boundless curiosity and a great deal too much energy, he had thought the visits a grand adventure.
The halls of the orphanage were a new playground, full of new faces, new games, new scrapes to be had.
And though his memory, even now, was a rather hopeless mess of scattered images and blurred hours — he had been seven, after all, with the attention span of a gnat — there was one thing he remembered clearly.
One certain girl.
She had bickered with him from the very first moment. It seemed to be her sport, her purpose in life, to contradict everything he said.
If he claimed the sky was blue, she would argue that it was grey.
If he ran to the swings, she would beat him there and call him slow.
If he tried to charm her with sweets from his mother’s basket, she would sniff at them and declare them probably poisoned.
And yet, for all her stubbornness, for all her sharp tongue and quicker wit, something about her had altered James’s world, tilted it on its axis.
He could remember the exact shade of her hair beneath the sun, the color of her laugh (yes, it had seemed to have color, or perhaps that was only how he had felt about it), the bright flash of her eyes when she grinned at him in triumph after a particularly vicious game of tag.
She had been, if he was honest, the closest James had ever come to finding love.
Not that he had known it at the time. It had been a stupid thing. A childish thing. A crush from when he was seven, foolish and fleeting.
But sometimes, in quiet moments, the memory would drift back.
And then, as quickly as she had appeared, she had vanished.
One day, she simply was not there.
James had asked his mother, bewildered and frowning. “Where did she go?”
Euphemia had smiled, soft and knowing. “She was adopted, love.”
Adopted. Off into some other life, some other world. Gone.
And so, James had decided, with the certainty only a small boy could possess: he was doomed. Utterly doomed. Never to find love again.
A ridiculous thought, of course. A dramatic one.
But even now, if one asked James Potter about soulmates, he would shrug and say with a crooked grin that the matter was simple: he had missed his chance at seven years old, and the universe had long since given up on him.
Which was all fine by him, really.
Absolutely fine.
Or so he told himself.
Still, doomed or not, James had other things to think about. Seventh year would not make itself easy. N.E.W.T.s, Quidditch, Prefect duties he mostly ignored.
The castle was louder this year, more crowded with couples now that so many had found their soulmates.
Everywhere he looked it seemed someone was falling into place — eyes brighter, hands clasped in the corridors, laughter a little too soft for comfort.
Even Sirius and Remus had settled, the two of them inseparable these days, perfectly content in their own easy orbit.
James had long since stopped teasing them for it. It was hard to begrudge your best mates something so clearly right.
No one in their year was surprised when Sirius stopped chasing girls and started sitting closer to Remus by the fire, heads bent together over a book, fingers sometimes laced beneath the table.
The two of them had found what the rest were still hoping for.
And James — well. He had no use for hoping. The universe had forgotten him, or worse, chosen to leave him out of the story altogether.
And honestly, it was fine. Absolutely fine. He was not the type to pine for something that would never be.
He did not even think of it again. Not until one crisp October afternoon, when fate chose to remind him that the universe had its own plans after all.
It had been a long practice. The Gryffindor team had spent hours drilling plays beneath a sky streaked pale with autumn clouds.
By the time James finally touched down on the pitch, the sun was slanting low behind the towers, painting everything in gold.
James touched down first, broom tucked beneath one arm, hair a windswept mess, sweat clinging to the nape of his neck.
A few paces behind, Sirius landed with a grin, spinning his broom lazily through one hand.
They had lingered after the rest of the team had gone in — a habit of James’s, these days. Some hours just did not want to end.
Remus was waiting at the edge of the stands, book tucked beneath one arm, watching them with quiet amusement.
He was never one for flying — though he had a good eye for plays — and often brought some battered novel to keep himself occupied during long practices.
By now the pitch had mostly emptied. A few stragglers remained at the far end, gathering gear, trailing off toward the castle.
James caught a worn quaffle from the basket and tossed it from hand to hand as they crossed the grass.
“Remus says you nearly knocked their new Chaser off her broom earlier,” Sirius said, slinging an arm over James’s shoulder. “Show-off.”
“She wasn’t watching her line,” James replied easily, giving the quaffle another spin.
“Besides, the only thing I knocked was that shot past you, mate.”
Sirius laughed, but before he could retort, James wound back and sent the quaffle arcing lazily into the air.
The throw was wide, idle, more habit than thought, the sort of casual motion born from years of play.
“Oi, careful with that,” Sirius called, shielding his eyes from the sun.
But already the quaffle was sailing out across the pitch, farther than James had meant, the angle off.
It spun in a slow arc toward the edge of the stands — and straight into an unsuspecting figure who had just rounded the corner.
There was a faint cry, a stumble — and then you went down hard, knees hitting the damp earth where the grass was still slick from the rain the night before.
A sharp splash of mud streaked your skirt, the quaffle rolling uselessly to a stop in the grass beside you.
Brilliant. Your first week at this school and already you were on your knees in the dirt.
And then a shadow fell across you.
“I’m so sorry—” he began, dropping into a crouch, reaching for your hand.
You looked up, ready to snap, and the words caught somewhere between your chest and throat.
The boy standing before you was tall, broad-shouldered beneath the loose fall of his Quidditch robes.
His skin was tanned deep by long hours beneath the sun, warm against the crisp October light.
Curls of dark brown hair framed his face, damp from practice, a little tousled at the edges. And his eyes—
You faltered.
His eyes were something else entirely. A colour so fierce and rich it stopped your breath, as though the world had narrowed to that single glance.
He crouched swiftly, one strong hand reaching out. His fingers curled around yours, firm and steady, as he helped you upright.
The instant his palm touched yours, the air shifted.
A spark, low and bright, lit beneath your skin. The faintest hum, dizzy and disorienting, curled through your chest. Every inch of you seemed to prickle with heat.
Your breath stilled.
And then you saw it in him. The subtle gasp, the way his mouth parted in some small sound.
His eyes widened, sharp with something between recognition and alarm. His grip faltered.
He jerked his hand back as though burned, stumbling a half-step away, chest rising fast beneath his robes.
He stared at you, gaze bright and bewildered, lips parted, no words finding their way out.
Then, without a word, he spun sharply on his heel, boots slipping slightly in the wet grass as he fled across the pitch.
You stood frozen, one hand half-raised where he had left it, heart beating so loud you were certain it would echo through the field. Your skin still hummed faintly, breath caught and uneven.
You blinked after his retreating form, brows drawing together.
“What in Merlin’s—?”
His friend, who was standing far behind him, frowned. “Prongs?”
But the boy was gone, disappearing fast beyond the edge of the stands. After a beat, the two of them exchanged a glance and hurried after him.
You were left sitting in the damp grass, heart racing so loudly you were certain the whole pitch could hear it.
“What a complete weirdo,” you muttered aloud, though your voice shook faintly.
You pressed your palms to your knees, trying to catch your breath.
The earth spun quietly beneath you.
“There you are!”
You glanced up. Lily Evans was making her way toward you, copper hair glinting in the sun, Mary Macdonald trailing close behind. Both girls looked concerned.
“We saw what happened,” Lily said, crouching beside you. “Are you alright? That looked like a nasty fall.”
“I’m fine,” you answered, though your heart was still pounding. “It was just—surprising.”
Mary smiled. “That’s one way to start the afternoon.”
Lily offered her hand to help you up. You took it gratefully, brushing damp earth from your knees.
“Honestly,” Lily continued, shaking her head, “some of these Quidditch boys have no aim at all.”
You forced a small laugh. “It seems so.”
Lily gave you a warm look. “Come on. Let’s get you back inside.”
You fell into step with them as they made their way toward the castle, grateful, as always, for their easy company.
Transferring to Hogwarts for your final year had been an ordeal, a whirlwind decision after your adoptive family’s move from France.
Beauxbatons had been your home for six years, all grace and polished magic.
Hogwarts was wild and sprawling by comparison, full of shifting staircases and unruly ghosts and students who had known each other forever.
It was rare to transfer so late. You knew the whispers that followed you through the halls.
A seventh-year newcomer was no small curiosity.
But Lily had been kind from the first. So had Mary. Their friendship had been a soft, steady thing amidst the strangeness, helping you find your footing in this unfamiliar place.
Still, even now, there were moments when it felt as though you did not quite belong.
“I still feel a bit lost,” you admitted quietly. “All of it is so different here.”
“It’ll settle in,” Lily promised. “Give it time.”
Mary grinned. “Just watch out for stray quaffles.”
You managed a real laugh then, though your thoughts kept circling back. Not to the fall. Not even to the crowd that had stared.
But to him.
The boy with eyes like burnished gold, who had looked at you as though the world itself had cracked open.
And fled. What a coward—who even gets scared from girls?
Lily glanced at you with a gentle smile, her eyes bright despite the chill in the air. “You’ve handled the fall better than most first years.”
Mary nudged your arm playfully.
“Yeah, and that mud really brings out your fille mystérieuse aesthetic.”
You rolled your eyes, though a reluctant smile tugged at your lips.
“If fille mystérieuse means ‘walking disaster,’ then sure. I’m nailing it.”
Mary grinned, “I still can’t believe you transferred here this late. Must be quite the change from Beauxbatons.”
You shrugged, folding your arms against the cool air.
“It’s... different. Beauxbatons is more... polished, orderly. Hogwarts feels like a wild storm — unpredictable and sprawling.”
Lily nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that makes sense. But it’s home, in its own way. You’ll find your place.”
“Do you miss it? France?” Mary asked quietly.
You hesitated, looking down at your boots. “Sometimes. The way things were there. The certainty.”
Lily’s voice softened. “We all feel a bit adrift sometimes. Especially here, where everything is old and layered with so many stories.”
You looked up, catching their eyes. “Thanks. You both have been... a lifeline.”
Mary smiled warmly. “That’s what friends are for.”
The conversation drifted then, from classes to teachers to the upcoming exams.
The castle buzzed around you with the usual hum of students rushing between lessons, laughter echoing in the high ceilings.
And slowly, your attention began to wander, the words around you blurring into background noise.
That’s when you saw him.
He was standing farther down the corridor now, leaning casually against a stone pillar.
The sunlight caught in his curls, highlighting the rich brown and the damp sheen from practice. His skin, lightly tanned, seemed to glow faintly in the afternoon light.
But it was his eyes that rooted you in place — steady, unflinching, as if he were watching something rare and fragile.
You blinked, startled by the intensity of his gaze.
“Do you see that?” you murmured, nodding toward him.
Mary’s eyes followed your gesture, a grin tugging at her lips. “He’s staring like you’re some miracle.”
You folded your arms, lips tightening. “What’s up with that idiot bastard? Can’t he find anything better to do than gawking like I’m some kind of freak?”
Lily laughed softly. “You’d think someone from Beauxbatons would handle that sort of attention with a bit more grace.”
You rolled your eyes, a wry smile breaking through. “Grace isn’t exactly what I’m feeling.”
Mary chuckled. “Don’t mind him. That’s James Potter.”
You frowned, the name slipping somewhere into your memory. “James Potter...?”
Lily nodded. “Gryffindor’s Seeker. A bit of a troublemaker, but talented.”
“And his friends,” Mary added, “Sirius Black — his best mate, always at his side — and Remus Lupin, who’s been close to both for years.”
Your mind swirled with those names, distant echoes you’d heard but never quite understood.
You glanced back at James, still watching you without shame or hesitation.
The conversation with Lily and Mary faded into the background as you watched James, his figure etched against the stone pillar, his eyes still locked on you with that strange intensity.
There was something about him that tugged at the edges of your memory — a distant echo, a faint pulse beneath the surface of thought — but no matter how hard you tried, you could not place it.
It was as if a name was just beyond reach, a face blurred by time and distance.
You scoured your mind for clues, for fragments of some forgotten chapter, but all you found was a quiet ache of familiarity you couldn’t name.
You swallowed the feeling, telling yourself it was just the oddness of being new here, the disorienting swirl of so many unfamiliar faces and names.
With a sigh, you shifted your weight and turned toward the exit, ready to leave the corridor and the boy who unsettled you so deeply.
Mary and Lily fell into step beside you, their easy chatter picking up once more, but before you could take more than a few steps, a voice called out your name.
“Y/N.”
You stopped in your tracks, heart suddenly pounding as you spun around.
James was running toward you, his expression a mixture of hope and something more vulnerable.
Closer now, the fading light revealed a faint scar above his right eyebrow—a thin, pale line that caught your eye instantly.
And in that moment, the memories came flooding back with unrelenting clarity.
The muddy courtyard of the orphanage, sun-warmed stones beneath your hands.
The days when he was just a boy with dark curls, tanned skin, and laughter that rang out loud and clear.
How his mother, Euphemia, would visit the orphanage and bring him along, her wide heart pulling children from shadow into light.
You remembered the afternoons spent teasing and bickering, how stubborn he was, how fiercely alive.
And then the sharp sting of a broken branch — your misjudged swing, the cry of pain, the apology whispered breathlessly as you pressed your hand to his brow.
The scar you had given him was etched deep, a mark of childhood recklessness and unspoken connection.
Your breath caught.
He was the boy from your past — the boy who had shifted your world on its axis before disappearing into the unknown.
“James,” you whispered, the name tasting strange and familiar on your tongue.
He smiled, a little sheepish, but his eyes shone with relief.
“I never thought I’d see you again.”
For a second, the world hung still.
Your name trembled between you, spoken softly, almost reverently. His voice, warm with memory and something far deeper, seemed to echo through your chest.
And then, without thought, without hesitation, you moved.
“Oh my God,” you whispered, the recognition swelling so suddenly within you that it left you breathless.
“James Potter!”
You crossed the space between you, heart racing, arms rising as though guided by something older than memory.
You embraced him, your arms winding around his neck, pressing close with the full, unguarded joy of seeing someone long lost to time.
James stood frozen for a single, fragile instant. His breath caught in his throat, eyes wide with disbelief, as if the entire universe had shifted beneath his feet.
He had imagined this moment before, of course.
Countless times in quiet hours, in stray, half-formed thoughts that never quite dared to hope. But no imagining had prepared him for this.
For the way you felt in his arms, for the press of your cheek against his shoulder, for the soft scent of lavender and rain-soaked grass clinging to you.
Slowly, his arms rose and wrapped around you, unsure at first, almost hesitant, as though he feared one wrong movement might break the spell.
But the warmth of you was too real, too vivid, and something in him unfurled in that moment.
He held you closer, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real — like if he loosened his grip for even a second, you might vanish again.
His heart pounded hard enough to hurt, a wild, desperate rhythm that had only ever belonged to you.
It wasn’t just relief blooming in his chest. It was recognition. It was longing curling inward like a second heartbeat, something older than memory, louder than logic.
Everything in him was reaching — every thread of muscle and magic and soul stretching toward you, as if his very existence had been stitched together wrong without you in it.
He didn’t just want you close. He needed it, like air in his lungs, like light in a place that had gone too long without warmth.
And in that moment, with you wrapped in his arms, the noise of the world faded. It didn’t matter where you had been, how long it had taken, or how much had been lost.
You were here. You had always been his. And everything inside him knew it.
You pulled back after a long, trembling breath, your cheeks flushed, a bright smile curving your lips.
“Sorry,” you said, voice breathless, eyes shining. “I—”
James found his voice, rough and low, though his heart still beat wildly beneath his ribs. “It is all right,” he managed.
“It is more than all right.”
Around you, the corridor seemed to dim and still, as if the castle itself had withdrawn, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment.
Lily and Mary shared a glance behind you, a quiet understanding passing between them. With a soft word and a small smile, they slipped away into the flow of students, leaving behind a silence that was somehow heavier.
James could not look away from you.
He traced the lines of your face as though seeing them for the first time, though some part of him had carried the memory of them all these years.
The curve of your mouth, the shape of your eyes, the light that seemed to radiate from within you.
The years had only deepened what was already beautiful.
His voice was softer when he spoke again, touched with something you could not name. “Where have you been all this time?”
You drew in a breath, eyes flicking away for a moment as you gathered the words, unsure where to begin.
“I was adopted,” you said quietly.
“A family from France. It was… very sudden. I remember Euphemia told me the day before it happened. One moment I was there, with you and the others… and then I was gone.”
James’s brow furrowed, something aching flickering in his gaze. “I remember,” he said softly.
“Mum told me you’d been adopted. I thought—” He hesitated. “I thought you might still be nearby. I kept hoping.”
Your heart gave an odd little lurch at that, though you pressed on. “They moved not long after. To Provence. 1They were kind, truly, but it was all so new, and I suppose… I lost touch with everything from before. I spent the next six years at Beauxbatons.”
A faint smile touched your lips, though it carried a hint of wistfulness. “It was… beautiful there. Graceful, in its own way. Very different. But I always wondered about this place.”
James could only listen, rapt, as though your voice alone could anchor him to this moment.
“And then,” you continued, “this summer, they decided to return. My adoptive father was offered a position here, something in the Ministry. They thought it would be good for me too, to finish school here before… well, before whatever comes next.”
You let out a soft breath, lifting your gaze back to his. “And so, here I am. Quite unexpected.”
James shook his head, a slow, incredulous smile growing at the corners of his mouth. “Not unexpected,” he said, voice low and sure. “Fate, maybe.”
Something about the way he said it sent a ripple through you, warm and unsteady.
He studied you openly, drinking in every change, every new grace in your bearing, every familiar spark that still lived in your eyes.
“You have grown…” His voice caught, but he pressed on. “Beautifully. I nearly did not recognise you at first.”
You tilted your head, a glint of humour dancing beneath your words.
“So I was not beautiful before?”
Colour flushed his cheeks instantly, his composure slipping. “No— no, that is not— you were— you have always—” He broke off with a helpless little laugh, raking a hand through his damp curls.
You laughed too, the sound light, lilting between you. “I am teasing, James.”
Relief washed across his face, though the warmth in his eyes only deepened.
You let your gaze travel over him for a moment, noting how the years had reshaped him.
Gone was the boy who used to trail after you in the orphanage courtyard, all gangly limbs and stubborn defiance.
Now he stood taller, broader, with a presence that seemed to fill the corridor. The glasses remained, but behind them his eyes gleamed brighter than you remembered, full of something vivid and unspoken.
“You have grown quite well yourself,” you said softly. “You used to be shorter than me. I remember quite clearly.”
That drew a breathless, boyish laugh from him, the kind that caught in his throat. “Well,” he managed, “I could not let you stay taller forever.”
For a beat, neither of you moved. The moment stretched between you, a quiet, humming thing, as though the air itself was charged with something neither of you fully understood.
And James Potter, who had once been certain he would never know what it felt like to belong to someone, found himself standing before you, heart laid bare, and wondered how he had ever imagined anything else.
After that day, something began to change between you and James Potter, though the nature of that change unfolded with such quiet certainty that it seemed almost inevitable, as though it had been written long before either of you could comprehend it.
He began to appear more often in the spaces between your days — not merely by chance, but with a certain quiet deliberation, as though drawn to your orbit without fully understanding why.
After lessons, he would be there at the foot of the stairs or by the classroom door, offering a bright smile and some casual remark that seemed to disguise the hope in his eyes.
In the corridors between lectures, he would fall into step beside you, his presence easy and unforced, the conversation flowing in a manner that was both comfortable and new.
Before long, you began to notice him elsewhere.
In the library, beneath the high arches of the south wing, where he would pass by your table with an idle glance.
On the way to meals, where he would hold a place for you without being asked, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
In the common room, where his voice would grow softer when he spoke to you, his laughter somehow warmer.
It had been years since you had seen him last, and though your memories of the orphanage remained fragmented — blurred impressions of sunlit courtyards, laughter on wind-stirred afternoons, a stubborn boy with a scar on his brow and a fierce glint in his gaze — there was something about him that stirred an unspoken familiarity.
He felt, even now, like the sun itself: so warm and so constant that no matter how long you had wandered or how far you had been carried by the tides of life, you would always know the shape of that light.
It was impossible to outrun the sun, after all. One might seek shadows or turn away, but sooner or later, its warmth would find you again.
And so it was with James Potter.
You also grew closer still to Lily and Mary, their friendship becoming a steady anchor in this new place.
The three of you would linger over long breakfasts in the Great Hall, take quiet walks beneath the changing leaves, or while away late evenings in the common room .
The Marauders too, in their own way, welcomed you into their fold.
Remus, with his quiet wisdom and perceptive gaze, would offer thoughtful conversation and a gentle kind of understanding that needed no words.
Sirius, bright and sharp-edged, carried his loyalty with an intensity that was impossible to miss.
Aand beneath his teasing smiles there was a depth you came to value more with each passing day.
It was on one such afternoon that you found yourself with James beneath the willow by the lake.
The great tree swayed above you, its long branches drifting in the breeze like the threads of some ancient tapestry.
The grass beneath was cool, the earth soft, and from your place beneath the canopy. The castle seemed distant, its towers half-lost in the glow of the descending sun.
Books lay forgotten at your side, your conversation having long since drifted away from studies.
After some time, James shifted slightly where he sat, drawing one knee beneath him as though bracing himself.
He glanced toward you, and there was a seriousness in his gaze that stilled the air between you, a question that had long been waiting for the right moment.
When he spoke, his voice was lower than usual, touched with something softer, more deliberate.
“May I ask you something?”
You turned toward him, curiosity flickering beneath the surface of your calm. “Of course.”
He hesitated only a heartbeat, his amber gaze searching yours with a quiet intensity.
[please, please, please play About You by The 1975, here!! it will change up the entire scene <3]
“Have you,” he asked, his words careful now, as though they carried more weight than he could explain, “have you found your soulmate?”
“No, I haven’t.” You whispered.
Something about the look in his eyes made your breath catch, though you did not quite understand why.
You turned your head slightly toward him, voice quiet, curious.
“Have you found yours?” you asked softly. “Your soulmate.”
His breath seemed caught in his chest, his shoulders taut, as though your question had shifted something vast within him.
And then at last, he spoke, voice low, but the truth of it rang through you all the same.
“I have,” he said.
The words struck harder than they should have, sharp and sudden.
You flinched inwardly, though you tried to mask it.
Your heart, for reasons you could not quite understand, seemed to stutter painfully in your chest.
Of course he had. Of course. By this age, nearly everyone had. It had been foolish of you to even wonder otherwise.
A tightness rose in your throat. You glanced away, pushing quickly to your feet, fingers trembling faintly at your sides.
The sudden need to put distance between yourself and him felt overwhelming.
“I… I should go,” you murmured, already beginning to step back, voice unsteady despite your efforts to remain composed.
“I have— I should not be here.”
But before you could take another step, James surged forward, his hand catching yours.
You tried instinctively to pull away, to keep the ache in your chest from spilling over, but he held fast.
“Wait—” he said, his voice rough with something raw and vulnerable. “You asked if I’d found mine. And I told you yes.”
You froze, your heart thundering.
James swallowed, his gaze pinned to yours, his fingers trembling where they held your wrist.
“I always wondered why I could see colors when I never met my soulmate. Why I felt everything so deeply when no one was meant for me. Why everyone else had to wait to meet their soulmate till they saw color.”
He laughed, but it was hollow.
“I thought maybe the universe made a mistake. That maybe I was broken. I spent years thinking I was born wrong, that I was the only one who got left out of the magic.”
His thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles.
“But then you came along. And suddenly everything made sense. All that time I spent aching, waiting, wondering — it was for you”
You stared at him, breath caught.
James took a breath like it was the first one that hadn’t hurt in years.
“It’s always been about you.”
And before the ache in your chest could even become a word, he kissed you.
His mouth found yours with a hunger that stole the breath from your lungs, a heat that seemed to burn through every inch of you.
The contact sent a rush of sensation through your body, sharp and bright, as though the very air had turned electric.
You gasped softly into the kiss, the shock of it leaving you dizzy, helpless beneath the weight of the moment.
His lips moved over yours with aching purpose, gentle at first, then deepening, as though something vast and unspoken had broken free in him at last.
Your fingers curled unconsciously into the fabric of his robes, holding on as though the earth itself had shifted beneath you.
You could feel the heat of him through every layer, the taut strength of his arms braced around you.
And still the kiss went on — searing, consuming — until at last, breathless and trembling, you tore your mouth from his, gasping for air.
You stared up at him, wide-eyed, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm.
James hovered above you, one hand still cradling your head, the other pressed to the earth beside you.
His gaze was blazing, the amber darkened with something fierce and undeniable.
“You are my soulmate,” he said, voice thick with something unshakable. “You always have been.”
The words wrapped around you like a thread pulled tight, tugging at something buried deep beneath your ribs.
“James,” you breathed, your voice trembled. “I thought you would forget me.”
His eyes didn’t waver. His hand tightened gently around yours.
“Do you think I have forgotten about you?” he asked, quiet but fierce, like the very idea was an insult to the stars.
You let out a soft, shaky laugh, one that didn’t quite hide the ache underneath. “I forgot a lot of things,” you said, watching him like he might disappear.
“But do you know what I never forgot?”
His brows furrowed, gaze locked to yours. “What?”
You lifted your hand, slow and hesitant, and reached up to brush your fingers gently across the arch of his brow.
“This scar,” you whispered. “Right here.”
His lips parted in surprise, a breath of laughter slipping out. “You gave me that,” he said, eyes lighting with memory.
“We were playing near the garden wall behind the orphanage. You hit me with a stick and then cried harder than I did.”
“I was dramatic,” you said, smiling now.
“You still are.”
Your smile wavered, softening into something more fragile. “There’s a lot I forgot about you, James. But somehow… there’s something about you that even now, when I can’t remember everything — it’s the same smile, same eyes, and the same damn scar that made my heart surrender.”
He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you like you’d stitched the air back into his lungs.
Then, with a quiet, aching tenderness, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm between you.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ve got the entire time in the world to remember each other.”
You laughed as he pressed another warm kiss into your lips.
“My mother will lose her mind,” he said with a soft laugh.
“She will be beside herself when she sees you. I have to write her the moment we leave this tree. She will not forgive me if I wait even an hour.”
That drew a true, another bright laugh from you.
You curled closer, head resting lightly against his shoulder, your heart steady now in a way it had never been.
And for James Potter—who had spent so many years quietly mistrusting the universe, doubting that such fragile, luminous things as soulmates could truly exist beyond storybooks and hopeful hearts — this was the moment everything changed.
Beneath the ancient sweep of the willow, with you nestled close and your fingers tangled in his, James held you like something sacred.
Your breath moved gently at his shoulder. The taste of your kiss still lingered on his lips, and all the old fears melted away like mist beneath the morning sun.
Because how could he doubt any longer?
How could he deny the truth when every thread of his life, every unseen choice and twist of fate, had led him here.
To you, the girl who once lit his world with color before he even knew he’d been living in grey, the only soul whose presence could turn the air to gold and make the light itself feel like it was made just for you.
In this moment, James Potter finally believed in fate, not as some cold hand that ruled from above, but as a force that, against all odds, had placed you in his path again.
Because it had always been you.
Every turn, every heartbeat, and every breath he took without knowing why.
a/n: i am honestly not sure how to feel about this but if you love it, i’ll end up loving it. Honestly its giving jeff buckley’s yearning.
summary: James Potter touches you like it means nothing. You feel it like it means everything. Best friends caught in the in-between. Too close to be casual, too scared to be honest. It’s all glances that linger too long, hands that almost hold, and words neither of you are brave enough to say. But how long can you keep waiting for someone who’s already halfway yours?
including: Slow emotional, mutual pining, angst, no explicit content or character death
word count: 2k+
James Potter always touches you like it means nothing.
An arm slung over your shoulder. A hand on your arm when he’s laughing too hard at Sirius. His chin on your shoulder as he reads your Herbology notes upside down. You’ve learned to breathe through it. To pretend your skin doesn’t buzz every time he’s close.
You’re best friends. You don’t ruin that.
But it’s hard.
Especially when he curls up next to you on the Gryffindor common room couch and falls asleep halfway through some dull Astronomy chapter you offered to read out loud. His head is on your chest, soft snoring, lips slightly parted. You don’t dare move.
You also don’t sleep.
You stare at the ceiling for two hours and wonder if he hears how fast your heart beats when he’s this close.
⸻
You get good at hiding it.
The longing. The way you look for him in every hallway, laugh a little louder when he’s nearby. The way you watch his hands, his long fingers, calloused knuckles, a freckle on his middle knuckle you once counted just to distract yourself.
He talks about girls sometimes. You pretend not to care.
“You think Smith likes me?” he asks one afternoon, sprawled on your bed eating half your chocolate stash.
You shrug. “Probably. You’re loud. People notice loud.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Do I?” you joked.
He throws a pillow at you. You throw it back.
⸻
One morning, he’s already at your table in the library when you arrive. There’s an extra quill waiting for you, your favorite fruit chews, and a note folded in half.
“Thought you’d forget your stuff. You always do.”
You roll your eyes but keep the note.
You tuck it in your pocket and read it again three times during History of Magic.
He never mentions it.
⸻
Sixth year feels heavier.
He’s taller. His voice is deeper. Lily Evans finally starts looking at him the way he’s always looked at her. It makes your stomach twist.
You hate that you see it. That he doesn’t seem to care as much anymore. Or maybe he’s just tired of waiting for her, the same way you’re tired of waiting for him.
You sit beside him in Transfiguration and pretend it doesn’t mean anything when your knees touch.
You lend him your scarf one day when he forgets his. He forgets to give it back for a week. When he does, it smells like him.
⸻
You tell yourself you’re fine with this.
This limbo. This almost.
He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you.
Because how could you? What would you even say?
“I think about kissing you every time you lean too close.”
or something even better
“I feel like I’m falling in love with someone who thinks of me like a place to rest, not stay.”
You’d sound crazy. Mental.
But worst of all— you’d lose him.
So you smile. Laugh. Let him get close, but never close enough.
You wait. And wait. And wait.
⸻
It changes one night in November.
It’s late. Past curfew. You’re both on the Quidditch pitch, lying in the middle of the grass after James dragged you out for “fresh air and perspective,” whatever that means.
You’re lying side by side, his fingers close to yours. Not touching. Just close enough to feel the warmth radiating like a furnace.
He sighs. “Everything feels like it’s moving too fast lately.”
You glance at him. “What do you mean?”
“I dunno. Lily. School. Life. Everything feels like it’s on the edge of changing and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing.”
You chew your lip. “Maybe it is.”
He turns his head toward you. “What if I don’t want it to change?”
You look at him.
And you say the bravest thing you’ve ever said “Then tell it to stay.”
James blinks.
You keep going, even though your chest feels like it’s caving in. “Sometimes… I feel like I’m standing still and everything else is moving on without me.”
He’s quiet.
And then he whispers, “Mine doesn’t move without you.”
You stare at him. His voice is low. Vulnerable. Like he’s saying more than he knows how to say.
“James—”
“I think about it,” he says suddenly. “Us. Sometimes.”
Your heart stutters. “Oh.”
He laughs softly. “That’s all you’ve got?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “That you think about it too.”
You look down. “I think about it all the time.”
He’s still. Like he’s scared to move, scared it’ll break whatever moment this is.
But then he reaches out — slowly — and takes your hand.
Just that.
Not a kiss. Not a confession.
Just your hand in his.
And somehow, that’s everything.
⸻
After that night, nothing’s different.
And yet everything is.
He still jokes. Still ruffles your hair. Still falls asleep beside you with a book open in his lap. But now, his fingers find yours under the table. His arm lingers around your waist longer than it should. And when he smiles at you, it’s softer.
You still don’t talk about it.
Neither of you are ready.
But when you see Lily Evans look at him and he doesn’t look back, you feel something loosen in your chest.
You’re still waiting.
But it feels different now.
Like maybe — finally — he’s waiting too.
⸻
(James POV)
James Potter doesn’t know when it started.
Maybe it was fourth year, when you cursed Mulciber for hexing his broom and then shrugged it off like it was nothing.
Or maybe it was fifth, when you fell asleep on his shoulder in the library and slightly drooled on his robes and he didn’t even care.
Or maybe it was always there — this quiet ache that sat low in his chest every time you laughed and it wasn’t at something he said.
He doesn’t know.
He just knows it’s getting harder to ignore.
⸻
You’ve always been his soft spot.
He thinks he hides it well. He teases you like he teases Sirius. Shoves your shoulder in the hall.
But he notices things about you that he doesn’t notice about anyone else.
You chew your lip when you’re nervous, even though it annoys you. You hate coffee but drink it every morning needing anything to wake up. You sleep on your side, always facing the wall. You pretend not to care when people hurt you, but you always go quiet after.
He notices.
He wishes he didn’t.
⸻
When he talks about other girls, he watches you.
He doesn’t mean to — he just does.
Watches how your jaw tenses, how your eyes flick down, how you suddenly start organizing your bag like it’s the most urgent thing in the world.
And every time, he feels like the worst person alive.
Because he wants your attention, but not like this. Not through jealousy. Not through hurt.
But if he asked you — really asked you — what would you say?
⸻
He dreams about you sometimes.
He never tells anyone, obviously. Not Sirius. Not Remus. Definitely not you.
But they’re not always romantic. Sometimes you’re just… there. Laughing in the rain. Sitting on the Quidditch stands. Reading upside down with your foot tapping against his knee.
But sometimes, it’s more.
Sometimes, it’s your hand in his, your lips against his throat, your voice in the dark saying his name.
He always wakes up sweating.
⸻
When he finds you on the Quidditch pitch that night, something in him unravels.
He doesn’t plan on saying anything. Just wanted to be near you. That’s always been enough.
But the way you look at him — like you see him, not the version he pretends to be which only makes it harder to lie.
He says everything without saying anything.
“Everything’s changing.”
“I don’t want it to.”
“I think about us.”
And then your hand in his.
Just that.
It should’ve been too small to mean anything.
But it feels like the start of something he’s been running from for years.
⸻
He doesn’t kiss you.
Not because he doesn’t want to — but because he wants it to mean more than almost.
He wants to be sure. Not of you — he’s always been sure of you. But of himself. Of the version of him that’s not just the Quidditch captain or the loudest in the room or the idiot pining after Lily Evans.
He wants to be the version of him that’s worthy of your attention.
And maybe — just maybe — that version is already here.
⸻
Every time you’re near him after that, his whole body feels wired.
Like if you touched him for one second too long, he’d combust.
He doesn’t tell you this.
He lets his hand brush yours under the table. Lets his fingers rest on your knee when no one’s watching. Lets his shoulder bump yours when he sits beside you, like he can’t stand the inch of air between your bodies.
Because he can’t.
But he still doesn’t kiss you.
Not yet.
Not until you look at him like you know.
Not until he’s brave enough to say the thing he’s never said
“It’s always been you.”
⸻
(Readers POV)
It starts with a glance.
You’re in the corridor, laughing with Marlene, and James is passing by. He looks over his shoulder like he always does, like he’s checking you’re still there. Like he can’t help it.
But then Lily catches up to him and links their arms.
He doesn’t look back.
You laugh a little too loud after that.
Marlene notices. She doesn’t say anything.
⸻
Later that night, you’re curled in a chair by the fire, pretending to read. James flops beside you with a sigh and that familiar look — one part affection, one part restlessness.
“Evans thinks I’ve been distant,” he says.
You don’t look up. “Have you?”
He shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe.”
You flip a page. You haven’t read a single sentence.
“Do you want to be with her?” you ask, and it sounds calm, but your knuckles are white on the book spine.
James hesitates. “I thought I did.”
You nod, like it doesn’t cost you anything. “Well. Let me know when you figure it out.”
You stand.
He grabs your wrist.
“Wait—what does that mean?”
You don’t answer. You just look at him — really look — and see it: the confusion, the fear, the same ache you’ve been carrying all year.
“You don’t get to hover near me forever, James,” you whisper. “You don’t get to want me halfway.”
Then you walk away.
⸻
( James’s POV )
She’s pulling away. He can feel it.
Not all at once — no, that would be easier. But piece by piece. The long looks become quick glances. The silence between them stops feeling comfortable.
He misses her in the small ways first.
Misses how she always passed him a sugar quill when he fidgeted. How she said “you’re fine” every time he doubted himself — not in the loud, Gryffindor way everyone else did, but in a quiet, real way that actually worked.
He misses her voice.
He misses her attention.
But he doesn’t say anything.
Because saying something makes it real. And if it’s real, it can break.
⸻
Sirius elbows him one day in the courtyard. “You’re brooding. Stop.”
“I’m not brooding,” James mutters, lying badly.
“You look like you’ve just been dumped.”
James doesn’t reply.
Sirius raises a brow. “Wait—did you? Did you and Y/N—?”
“There was no me and Y/N,” James snaps.
But the words taste wrong in his mouth.
Because maybe there was. Just in a way he never had the guts to name.
⸻
That night, he finds her by the lake.
She doesn’t look surprised.
“I figured you’d show up eventually,” she says.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Can we talk?”
She stays silent.
“Only if you stop pretending you don’t know how I feel.”
James stares.
“I’ve loved you since fifth year,” she says flatly. “And I’ve waited. And waited. And you’ve spent every second dancing around it like it might ruin your perfect little world if you say something real.”
James feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him.
“I never wanted to ruin what we have,” he says.
“Well, you did anyway,” she says. “Congratulations.”
He steps closer. “That’s not fair.”
“No?” Her voice cracks. “You don’t get to hold my hand like it means something and then tell people you’re not sure how you feel.”
James opens his mouth. Closes it.
“I wanted you to say something first,” she says quietly. “Just once. I wanted it to be you.”
Silence.
Then James says, hoarse, “I think about kissing you every time I’m near you.”
She goes still.
“I think about how you smell like cinnamon and ink, and how you laugh when you think no one’s listening, and how I started waiting for you at breakfast even when I wasn’t sure why.”
He exhales. “I’ve been in love with you so quietly for so long I didn’t even realize it until I thought I lost you.”
She swallows. “Then why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I’m terrified,” he says. “But I’m more terrified of never trying.”
A painfully long pause.
Then, finally, she whispers, “Say it.”
“What?”
“Say it. Like you mean it.”
He steps forward. Takes her face in both hands.
I’m in love with you,” James says. “Not just in the way people say it. I mean in the way where you’re the first person I look for in every room. The one I can’t stop thinking about, even when I’m trying not to.
Then he kisses her.
And she kisses him back.
It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s everything they’ve held back for years pouring out all at once.
It tastes like relief. Like maybe they were always heading here.
Like they were always going to break just to fall into each other.
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a/n: i wrote this a 6 in the morning…i am running on fumes
summary: Y/N and James Potter have been in love with eachother since 3rd year and it’s common knowledge to anyone except them. But what happens when James gets a tad bit too drunk on a party?
warnings/notes: fluff fluff fluff, idiots in love, use of y/n, girlhood, marauders banter, alcohol consumption, idk what elsee
a/n: oh my god in genuinely so mad it literally erased the WHOLE STORY AND I HAD TO REWRITE IT WHST TJE FUCK hope you enjoy anyway chat 🙏🏻
The sky over the Quidditch pitch is an angry gray, rumbling low and threatening, but it doesn’t stop the crowd from roaring like a stadium on fire. Rain drizzles steadily, soaking scarves and robes, but no one seems to care. Every eye is locked on the blur of red and blue circling high above the pitch, faster and faster—bludgers whizzing past, players shouting, the wind slicing through the stands like a knife.
You’re at the front of the Gryffindor section, heart thudding so hard you can barely hear the chant thundering around you:
“POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!”
There’s no mistaking him.
Even from here, you can see the wild mess of black hair, the scarlet robes plastered to his skin from the rain, the glint of determination in his hazel eyes as he leans into the dive of his life.
James Potter looks like a firework seconds before it explodes.
And then—he catches it.
One hand, mid-air, golden wings trapped in his palm.
The pitch erupts.
Gryffindors launch to their feet like they’ve been stunned. Red and gold streamers shoot from somewhere above, and someone behind you yells so loudly they lose their voice on the spot. You don’t realize you’re screaming, too, until your throat burns.
The sound of celebration rises like a tidal wave—but your eyes don’t leave him. Not even for a second.
He’s grinning, eyes wide, hair dripping, arm still raised with the Snitch clenched between his fingers—and then he’s looking straight at you.
And your breath catches.
⸻
In the professor’s box…
“There it is,” McGonagall murmurs, a little smug.
Slughorn groans and drops three Galleons into her hand. “Every bloody time.”
Sprout passes Flitwick a folded bit of parchment with something scrawled on it—probably a prediction. “I had them getting together before the end of the match.”
“Too optimistic,” Flitwick says. “He’ll probably declare his love by Christmas. Or next century.”
Kettleburn frowns at the field through his rain-splattered spectacles. “Are we still talking about the Quidditch score?”
“No,” McGonagall says flatly. “We’re talking about Potter and Y/L/N. The will-they-won’t-they of the bloody decade.”
⸻
Back on the pitch, James doesn’t even acknowledge the rest of his team dogpiling each other in celebration.
He doesn’t stop to gloat, or bow, or wave at the crowd like he usually does.
He runs straight toward you.
Through the mud, through the noise, through everything—and you’re barely down the stairs when he barrels into you, arms wrapping around you, lifting you off your feet like you weigh nothing.
“Did you see that?!” he shouts, voice buzzing with adrenaline and disbelief.
You can’t stop smiling. You’re soaked to the skin, freezing, and buzzing like you’ve been hit with a cheering charm. “James, that was insane! That dive—I thought you were going to die!”
“I would’ve died dramatically!” he declares, spinning you in a ridiculous circle, his laugh echoing against your ear. “And you would’ve said I looked brilliant doing it.”
“You did look brilliant.”
He pulls back just far enough to see your face, his hands still on your waist, warm even through the rain. His grin falters just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so seriously.
“You really think so?”
“Of course I do.”
“Say it again.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re laughing. “You’re brilliant, James.”
“Again.”
“James—”
“One more for luck, come on.”
You swat his arm, and he catches your wrist and swings it gently between you two like you’re seven years old again on the playground.
⸻
Somewhere a few feet away, Sirius Black is groaning dramatically into his hands.
“This is torture. This is literally slow-burn hell.”
“They’re going to kill me with this,” Peter mutters, wrapping his scarf tighter around his head to muffle the scene in front of him.
Remus crosses his arms and sighs. “They’re standing in the rain. Holding each other. Making heart eyes. And neither of them has any idea.”
“Tell me again why we’re not legally allowed to interfere?” Sirius asks.
Remus shrugs. “I think it falls under cruel and unusual punishment if we force them to kiss before they figure it out.”
⸻
You, meanwhile, are still standing there with James, the rain now falling in soft silver sheets around you.
He’s grinning, breathless, flushed from the cold and the win and something else—something softer.
“You’re my lucky charm, you know that?”
“Is that why you always play better when I’m watching?”
“Exactly,” he says, not even pretending it’s a joke.
Your heart stumbles.
But before you can say anything, before you can even breathe, Sirius whistles from the sidelines.
“Oi! Lover boy! Save the swooning for the afterparty!”
James flips him off cheerfully and takes your hand.
“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go get absolutely wrecked.”
You let him drag you off the field, hand in hand, heart still thudding against your ribs like a snitch trying to escape.
You don’t know it yet, but that’s the moment every professor marks on their mental betting sheet as the beginning of the end for your denial.
..
The Gryffindor common room looks like a postcard from chaos.
Laughter ricochets off the walls. Firewhisky sloshes dangerously close to priceless magical tapestries. Red and gold streamers dangle from floating lanterns, and the Fat Lady is two notes into an off-key drinking song from her frame before someone silences her with a silencing charm (she keeps singing anyway).
You’re curled up on the couch now, legs tucked beneath you, cheeks flushed from the heat and the firewhisky and maybe the fact that James Potter has just collapsed beside you like he belongs there.
(He does. But don’t say that out loud.)
His head lands against your shoulder with a groan. “Merlin, I can’t feel my spine.”
You snort into your butterbeer. “You just won a full-on war match. What’d you expect?”
“A parade. Chocolate. You serenading me.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re delusional.”
He lifts his head slightly, just enough to glance up at you with that lazy, lopsided grin. “Delusion looks good on me, though, yeah?”
He’s too close. Not in a bad way. Just in a dangerous way. His face is warm, hair still damp from rain, and his cheeks are flushed a little from drink and laughter and you.
He bumps your shoulder lightly. “You haven’t told me yet.”
“Told you what?”
“That I was brilliant.”
You stare at him.
He stares back. Wide, innocent eyes. He’s not even joking.
“I literally told you that on the pitch—”
“I know. Say it again.”
“James—”
“One more time. For my ego. It’s fragile. Ask Remus.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m yours,” he says brightly, and then immediately frowns at himself. “Wait, no. Not like— I meant, like—your ridiculous. As in. You own me. Platonically. Friendly-like.”
Your face burns.
He blinks at you, like his brain is just catching up to his mouth. “Unless you don’t want that? The—uh. Friendly ownership?”
You open your mouth. Then close it.
Then open it again, because he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room. And it’s maddening. And wonderful. And unfair.
“James,” you say, voice a little softer, “You’re always brilliant. Match or not.”
His entire face lights up. Like a sunrise, like a Patronus, like you just gave him a love potion by accident. His grin is all teeth, all joy, like he just heard something he didn’t even know he needed.
“Well,” he says, blinking hard. “Now I definitely need you to say it again.”
You groan and drop your head into his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”
“Say it with more affection next time.”
You don’t move. It’s warm here. You’re tucked against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he’s just—letting you. His hand comes up instinctively, curling over your knee like you’ve sat like this a hundred times before. Like this is just what you do.
You’re both quiet for a beat.
Then—
James shifts, speaking into your hair, barely above the music.
“You looked really pretty today.”
You freeze.
“What?”
“After the match. Or during. Or always.” He says it like he’s thinking it out in real time. “In the rain. With your hair all messed up and your voice all loud. It was really distracting. I nearly flew into a goalpost.”
You pull back to look at him, heart beating a little too loud in your ears.
His smile wobbles, almost shy now. “It’s not fair, you know. How you make it so hard to focus.”
You’re about to say something—what, you’re not sure—when Sirius crashes down onto the couch beside you both, dramatically sprawled like a dying Victorian maiden.
“Will you two just kiss already?!”
You and James spring apart like you’ve been hit with a Stunning Spell. Your knees knock. The blanket slips off your lap. James nearly falls off the couch. Your face is on fire.
“Sirius!” you hiss.
Remus appears behind him, dragging him by the collar. “Sorry, sorry, he’s had four drinks and zero impulse control.”
“I’m right, though!” Sirius yells as he’s hauled away. “This has been a seven-year buildup! You’re killing me!”
James is still staring at the spot where you were just curled into his side, like he’s unsure if it happened or if he dreamed it.
You clear your throat. “Anyway. Butterbeer?”
“Please,” he says hoarsely.
You both stand awkwardly, side by side.
Neither of you says what you’re thinking.
Neither of you notices the way you mirror each other’s nervous gestures.
Neither of you knows that the whole common room is quietly taking mental bets now.
You just walk toward the drinks table—shoulder brushing shoulder, cheeks pink, trying very hard not to fall in love again in front of everyone.
Too late.
..
It’s been, maybe, thirty minutes since you last talked to James — maybe less — and he’s now reached the level of intoxication where he’s bouncing from couch to floor to table like a golden retriever stuck in a Quidditch locker room. A loud golden retriever.
And you, unfortunately, are the center of his universe.
“Y/N,” he’s saying to a poor first-year who clearly only came over for crisps. “Y/N Y/L/N is a genius. A gift to magical academia. She’s rewriting the rules. Have you read her last essay on spell layering? I read it for fun. I highlighted things. I made notes. NOTES.”
The first-year bolts.
Across the room, Sirius groans. “He’s reached stage four.”
Remus raises a brow. “Already?”
“He’s talking about her footnotes again.”
You, meanwhile, are curled into a chair with Lily and Dorcas, sipping from a butterbeer and watching this trainwreck in motion.
“I didn’t even do anything,” you murmur, wide-eyed.
Dorcas snorts. “That’s the problem.”
James turns next to Marlene, wild-eyed and swaying like a tree in a hurricane. “She’s going to change the world, Mar. I’m just some twat with a broom, but she’s—she’s like a wand-core in human form. Powerful. Regal. Glowy.”
“Glowy,” Sirius repeats, deadpan.
“She deserves her own holiday,” James says gravely. “With no homework. And themed pastries.”
Peter, lying starfish-style on the floor, just mutters, “You said that already.”
James ignores him.
“Moony,” he says suddenly, stumbling over. “Did you know she reads magical theory books for fun?”
“I did, yeah,” Remus says calmly. “She’s in our study group.”
James gasps. “You’ve studied with her?! In real life?!”
“Every Tuesday.”
“Why wasn’t I invited?”
“You were.”
“I WAS?!”
Sirius kicks Remus under the table. “Don’t answer that. He’ll cry.”
James wipes his face. “No, no, I’m fine.”
“I would pay to be in a group with her,” James continues, wildly unaware. “Like actual Galleons. Maybe my Firebolt.”
“You’d trade your broom for study rights?” Sirius asks.
“I’d trade my dignity,” James replies, deadly serious.
“You already have,” Peter mumbles.
“Okay but she’s just so incredibly amazi-”
Sirius sighs so loudly his soul escapes for a second. “Mate, please, for the love of Merlin—take a breath.”
“I can’t!” James cries, hand on his heart. “She just talked to me, Sirius. She said I looked brilliant out there. Brilliant. She said it. Out loud. With her mouth. To me.”
He’s swaying. There’s a butterbeer bottle dangling from one hand and a crumpled bit of parchment in the other — no one knows where it came from, or what it says. He keeps trying to read it dramatically, but it’s blank.
He lurches toward Lily now, grabbing her shoulders with too much emotion for someone this off-balance. “Evans. Lily. You’re smart. You get it. Tell me she’s the most magnificent human being to ever live.”
Lily looks him dead in the eye. “She’s alright.”
James’s jaw drops. “Alright?! You take that back right now.”
Dorcas cackles. “Lily, you’re going to send him into cardiac arrest.”
“I just think Marlene’s got better cheekbones—”
“HOW DARE—”
James starts climbing the arm of the couch like it’s a podium. His butterbeer spills onto Sirius’s leg.
“I would die for her,” he declares to the room, fully ignoring Sirius screaming “MY TROUSERS, JAMES!”
“I would go to Azkaban for her!”
“I think you’d go to Azkaban for knocking over that table,” Peter says mildly.
“I would invent new spells for her! Emotional ones! With poetry built in!”
“You don’t even remember the counter-hex for hiccoughing,” Remus mutters.
“I’d learn!” James insists. “For her? I’d learn anything. Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Goblin dialects—anything.”
Marlene sips from her cup, eyeing him like a science experiment. “Should we be worried he’s going to propose tonight?”
“No, no,” James says quickly. “Not tonight. I have to make it special. You only get one first proposal. I’ll probably need a broomstick and a dragon.”
A pause.
“Maybe two dragons.”
“James,” Sirius says slowly, like speaking to a spooked Hippogriff. “You do know she’s still here, yeah? At this party?”
James freezes.
“What.”
“She hasn’t left,” Remus adds. “She’s literally by the fireplace.”
He turns slowly.
Y/N is laughing again — head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut — and it hits him all over again like a rogue Bludger.
He turns back to them, hand over his mouth. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“I have to tell her she’s amazing.”
“NO!” all four of them yell at once.
Sirius grabs him by the collar. “You already did! At least five times! Just now! You were very loud!”
“I was?!”
“James,” Remus says gently. “If you tell her again tonight, she’ll never take you seriously ever again.”
James frowns, gaze flickering. “But she’s just so—look at her. How is a person allowed to be that capable and that pretty? At the same time?! While breathing?! It’s not fair.”
“Neither is this hangover you’re about to have,” Peter mumbles.
You’re across the room, sitting with Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene near the fireplace, laughing at something. Your head’s thrown back, hand curled over your stomach, cheeks flushed from drink and heat and happiness.
James sees this.
And promptly gasps.
Loudly.
“Did—did you see that?” he whispers furiously to no one in particular, swatting at Sirius’s arm.
“See what?” Sirius blinks.
“She just—” James gestures vaguely in her direction. “She laughed. Like a—like a goddess. Like something out of a romance novel. Did you see that?!”
Remus raises an eyebrow, sipping from his butterbeer. “James, she’s laughed like that since First Year.”
“Yes,” James says, grabbing Sirius’s face. “But this time it was at my joke.”
“It wasn’t,” Peter pipes up from the floor. “She was laughing at Marlene.”
James doesn’t hear him. He’s too busy sinking deeper into the cushions, clutching a half-empty bottle and sighing like someone just recited a Shakespearean sonnet into his soul.
Sirius grabs him. “Alright, Casanova, let’s sit back down before you give McGonagall a reason to revoke your Prefect badge.”
James collapses onto the couch but doesn’t stop talking. He’s now mumbling into a throw pillow.
“She’s so smart. Her brain is like—like a Pensieve made of diamonds. And her eyes? Unfair. Illegal. Should require a license.”
You bury your face in your hands.
“Don’t look at me,” you groan. “Don’t even look at me.”
Dorcas leans into your side, grinning. “You’re not embarrassed. You’re thriving.”
“I’m combusting.”
Across the room, Lily narrows her eyes. “Okay. Who gave him the last bottle?”
Dorcas smirks. “He nicked it from Peter when he was doing that thing with the singing frog.”
“Oh no,” Marlene says, already turning to watch.
“Oh yes,” Sirius says gleefully, patting James on the back like he’s winding up a toy.
“Did I ever tell you,” James says, swaying forward with the glass raised like a toast, “that in Third Year, Y/N got an Outstanding on that bloody Transfiguration essay—without extra credit? And then she apologized for ‘only’ getting one foot over the minimum length. Like some sort of modest academic angel.”
“You have,” says Remus, dryly. “Twice a month. Every month. Since Third Year.”
“She’s just so…” James trails off, blinking at nothing, trying to summon language that doesn’t exist. “She’s like… if the library came to life and had really nice hands.”
“Poetic,” Peter murmurs.
James leans his head against the back of the couch, watching her from across the room like she’s the only star in the sky.
“And her handwriting,” he slurs, dreamy and devastating. “She dots her i’s with perfect little circles. Not hearts, thank Merlin, she’s not insufferable. But like. The neatest circles you’ve ever seen. I’d kill to be one of her i’s.”
Remus spits out his drink.
Sirius is laughing so hard he has to bend over.
“Mate,” he wheezes. “You are so far gone you’re about to become a sonnet.”
James frowns, eyes still locked on her. “She deserves one.”
“Write her one, then,” Remus says, exasperated.
James shrugs. “Couldn’t do her justice.”
Across the room, you start to stand up, clearly preparing to come over. James perks up immediately, nearly launching off the couch, except Sirius holds him down with one hand.
“She’s coming this way,” James whisper-shouts, scrambling to fix his hair and elbow Remus in the ribs. “Do I look tragic? In a romantic, yearning sort of way?”
“You look like you just got hit by a flying book,” Peter says.
“That’s very her-coded,” James whispers urgently. “She’ll love it.”
Y/N appears in front of them, hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. “Are you drunk?”
“Depends,” James says brightly. “Are you real or did I dream you up in Charms class again?”
You blink. “What?”
“What.”
Everyone freezes.
Lily, from across the room, covers her face. “Oh my god.”
Dorcas kicks Marlene under the table. “We’re witnessing a historical event.”
“James,” you say slowly. “You dreamed about me in Charms class?”
James’s face goes bright pink. He blinks. “No.”
“James.”
“…Yes.”
Remus drops his head into his hands. Sirius is making a strangled keening sound beside him.
You don’t say anything for a second. Just stare.
James, meanwhile, is staring up at you with the dumbest, dreamiest smile in all of wizard history. “Y’know, you have the best laugh I’ve ever heard. Like music. Not like bagpipes. Like—like harps. But funny.”
You press your hand to your face. “James, you’re sloshed.”
“But still honest!” he says, raising a finger. “And if I die tonight, which is a real possibility—someone needs to tell you. You’re absolutely—stunning. And terrifying. And the best person I’ve ever met.”
You go very still.
“You deserve everything,” James says, serious now. “Every top mark. Every bloody award. And—and someone who worships the ground you walk on.”
Sirius points dramatically at James. “Like this guy, for example!”
James waves weakly. “Hi.”
You stare at him.
Then you shake your head with a disbelieving smile, cheeks burning.
“I’m getting you water,” you mutter, turning on your heel.
As you walk away, Sirius leans in. “Well?”
James is still smiling like an idiot.
“I love her,” he mumbles.
“You think?” Remus says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Across the room, James looks up like he’s just spotted a unicorn.
“There she is,” he whispers reverently, eyes locked on you. “Look at her. Laughing. Being intelligent. Breathing air.”
He turns to the boys. “I’m going to tell her she’s amazing again.”
“No, you are not,” Sirius says, throwing an arm across him.
“You already did,” Remus adds.
“You said you’d invent spells with poetry built in,” Peter says, eyes closed. “That’s enough vulnerability for one night.”
“But I didn’t even tell her about the way her nose crinkles when she’s annoyed,” James insists, distressed.
“YES, YOU DID,” the entire group yells at once.
James flops dramatically back onto the couch, gaze still on you, hand pressed to his heart.
“I hope I never get used to it,” he mumbles.
“To what?” Sirius asks, too tired for this.
“Her. Being… her.”
Silence.
Then:
“That’s it,” Lily whispers to you. “I’m putting a Galleon down that he confesses within the week.”
You snort. “He’s not going to remember any of this.”
“Oh, he will,” Remus says, already conjuring a camera. “Because we’re going to make him.”
..
James is soft in the firelight.
Slouched on your lap, staring at you with those dreamy eyes while you run your hands through his hair. His eyes are glassy, smile sleepy. There’s an empty butterbeer bottle rolling somewhere near his foot.
You think he might fall asleep mid-sentence, right until he says it:
“I’m in love with you.”
No teasing. No grin.
Just the truth — dropped into your lap like a glass heart he doesn’t think you’ll keep.
You stare at him. Everything in you flickering, still, glowing.
And maybe he’s tipsy, and it’s way too late, and maybe you’ve spent years convincing yourself not to say anything — but your mouth opens before your doubt can shut it.
“I’ve been in love with you since third year.”
James turns to you fully now, dazed.
“You have?”
You nod, heart thudding so hard it nearly knocks you over. “You—” your voice catches, and then it softens, wavers at the edges. “You helped me carry six books back from the library. I was too proud to ask anyone. You didn’t even say anything. Just took half of them out of my arms like it was nothing.”
He blinks. “You’re telling me I won your heart with library logistics?”
You laugh — really laugh — the kind that curls into your cheeks. “It wasn’t just that. It was the way you smiled at me like I already mattered. I think I’ve been trying to catch up with that moment ever since.”
James stares at you like you just rearranged the stars.
And then you add, softer, thumb brushing along his knuckles:
“You’ll probably forget this tomorrow.”
He shakes his head so hard his curls flop. “No. Not this. Not you.”
“You said that last time you got drunk.”
“Yeah, but that was about pineapple on pizza, which is totally so wrong by the way, and this is about you, and you’re my favorite person in the world.”
You blink, throat tightening.
He exhales like the truth has been sitting on his chest for years. “You make everything better just by existing. Like—I look at you and forget what I was mad about. Or scared about. You just—calm the chaos.”
You nudge his knee with yours, voice watery. “You’re drunk and romantic and a little bit sappy.”
He nods solemnly. “And I still know you’re the girl I want to marry.”
Then, quieter:
“Kiss me tomorrow, okay? Just to make sure it wasn’t a dream.”
You smile, curling closer to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“Only if you remember the third year library incident.”
“Deal.”
He tucks his head into your shoulder.
And in the dying firelight, with the castle quiet around you and the taste of unsaid things still sweet in the air, you let yourself believe it.
Tomorrow, he’ll remember.
Because love like this doesn’t get drunk. It waits.
..
James wakes up like a man reborn.
Which is to say: violently, dramatically, with a sharp inhale and a jolt upright that knocks his glasses off the nightstand and sends his pillow flying to the floor.
He blinks at the ceiling, hair sticking up in twelve different directions.
And then—
“OH MY GOD.”
The sound echoes through the boys’ dormitory like a spell misfired. Peter lets out a strangled yelp and rolls off his bed with a thud. Sirius groans, dragging a pillow over his face.
Remus, who’s reading some poetry book, even with a hangover, doesn’t look up.
“Unless Dumbledore’s tap-dancing at the foot of your bed, I swear to Merlin, James—”
“SHE LOVES ME.”
Silence.
Absolute, stunned, not-this-early silence.
Peter pokes his head up from behind his blankets. “Who? The librarian?”
“Y/N!” James yells, launching himself out of bed and spinning like he’s in a Disney film. “Y/N loves me. She told me. Last night. Right here.” He points aggressively at his chest. “In the heart zone.”
Sirius groans louder. “It’s too early for this level of optimism.”
“She’s loved me since third year!” James says, nearly tripping on his own shoe in excitement. “Third! Year!”
“You’re shouting,” Remus says, very dry. “Please don’t shout.”
“I REMEMBER EVERYTHING!” James howls with glee, climbing onto Sirius’s bed. “She said I make her feel calm. I make her feel calm! I am a human soothing draught!”
Sirius whacks him with a pillow. “You’re a human disaster!”
James falls dramatically to the floor, arms spread wide like he’s been shot. “A loved disaster!”
Peter squints. “Wait, are you sure this wasn’t a hallucination?”
“Hallucinations don’t tuck their heads into your shoulder and promise to kiss you in the morning.”
Sirius sits up at that. “Wait. Did you kiss?”
“No,” James says reverently, like it’s sacred. “We’re saving it.”
Sirius throws himself back down. “Merlin, just kill me.”
“I’m going to marry her,” James says suddenly, with the confidence of a man who can barely tie his tie in the morning.
Remus finally puts his book down. “Maybe eat breakfast first.”
“I’m going to buy her breakfast. Then marry her.”
Peter groans into his hands. “I hope she knows what she’s signed up for.”
“She does,” James says, dreamy, like the thought of you just rewrote his entire brain chemistry. “She’s perfect. Life is perfect. Life is great.”
And then he sprints to the bathroom singing something that vaguely sounds like a love song but might also be the Gryffindor Quidditch chant.
The Marauders exchange a look.
Sirius sighs, rubbing his temples. “You know what the worst part is?”
Remus raises an eyebrow.
“He’s not wrong.”
..
You find him by the lake.
He’s sitting under that same tree you always gravitate toward when the castle feels too full — hair still messy from sleep, tie loose, legs stretched out like he’s been waiting all morning. Because he has.
When he sees you, his face lights up like the bloody sun.
“You came.”
“I figured you’d be here,” you say, soft.
He grins. “Course I am. This is where I first realized I was doomed.”
You blink. “What?”
“Third year,” he says, sitting up straighter. “I watched you lug about twenty kilos of books up the hill after the library kicked us out. I tried to help, and you gave me that look — the one that’s all, ‘I’m fine, but I’ll murder you if you tell me I’m not.’”
You can’t help laughing. “Sounds like me.”
“You dropped a book on my foot,” he says fondly. “A heavy one. Arithmancy.”
“I remember.”
“And I remember thinking—” his voice dips lower, gentler, “—that I wanted to carry your books forever. Even if you hexed me for it.”
Something warm stirs in your chest.
You sit beside him in the grass, close enough that your knees brush. The lake glitters beside you like it knows this is a moment worth shining for.
“Did you really remember everything from last night?” you ask, quieter now.
He nods immediately. “Every word. You said you loved me since third year. That I make you calm. That I smiled at you like you already mattered.”
Your breath hitches.
“You do matter,” he says. “Always have.”
There’s no one around. Just the wind and the water and him looking at you like you hung the constellations he memorized for Astronomy.
You lean in.
“You asked me to kiss you, remember?”
“I said to do it if I meant it,” he murmurs.
“So I will.”
And then you kiss him.
It’s not a firework — it’s a sunrise. Soft. Certain. Familiar in all the ways a first kiss shouldn’t be, but is, because you’ve loved him for so long you’ve practically memorized him.
He exhales into it, like he’s been holding his breath for three years straight.
You pull back just slightly, resting your forehead against his, both of you smiling too hard to speak.
“You’re not dreaming,” you whisper.
His voice is just as quiet, just as real. “No. I’m finally awake.”
You link your pinky with his — that’s all it takes.
“Let’s go back,” you say. “We’ve got Charms in ten.”
James smirks. “I’ve already won.”
You arch an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I got the girl who dropped an Arithmancy book on my foot.”
You laugh, shaking your head, and he grabs your hand properly this time as you both head back toward the castle — together, finally, ridiculously, completely in love.
..
Up on the Astronomy Tower, half-hidden by a stone balustrade, six faces are squished into a far-too-small window view, watching the scene unfold by the lake.
When you and James finally kiss, Sirius lets out an unholy screech.
“YESSSSS! FINALLY! THE ENEMIES-TO-BEST-FRIENDS-TO-SOULMATES PIPELINE IS REAL!”
Marlene punches the air so hard she almost falls off the ledge. “WE CALLED IT. WE CALLED IT IN SECOND BLOODY YEAR.”
Dorcas screams into her scarf. “Do you know how long I’ve had to listen to Y/N say ‘It’s not like that with James’ while doodling his name in her notes?!”
Remus smiles, smug and knowing. “Took them long enough.”
Peter nods solemnly. “I would like financial compensation for emotional damages.”
Lily is beaming, arms crossed, looking like the proudest mum of two tragically slow children. “I’ve had a toast prepared for this day since Fifth Year.”
Sirius wipes an imaginary tear. “They kissed like they’ve been in love since third year.”
“They have been in love since third year,” Lily, Dorcas, Marlene, and Remus chorus at once.
“Oi!” James shouts from below, turning around with you still tucked under his arm. “We can see you, you know!”
Sirius immediately cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “WE DON’T CARE! GET MARRIED!”
“NAME YOUR FIRSTBORN AFTER ME,” Dorcas adds.
Remus chuckles. “Get ready for uncle Moony!”
Meanwhile, in the staff lounge, Flitwick glances out the window and gasps so loud he almost falls off his stack of books.
“They did it! They finally kissed!”
McGonagall doesn’t even look up from her tea. “About bloody time.”
Sprout pulls out a dusty betting chart from under her gardening apron. “Alright, who had post-Quidditch-match, lakeside, mid-June?”
Slughorn sighs dramatically and tosses a Galleon into her palm. “I said Hogsmeade weekend. Close, but no cigar.”
Kettleburn peeks over his newspaper. “Still talking about the students?”
“Yes,” they all say in unison.
Flitwick smiles fondly. “They were always going to find each other.”
McGonagall watches you and James walk back toward the castle, hands clasped, smiling like you’ve just cracked the code to the universe.
“They just needed a few years. And a few footnotes.”
THE END
a/n: hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it—twice—, please reblog and give feedback! / requests are open!
GENERAL TAGLIST: @strlightfilms @natalia42069 @glittervame
A secret romance. A big reveal. And a whole lot of chaos.
(you are james sister in this)
⸻
Gryffindor common room
A few weeks before Christmas
It’s late.
The common room is quiet soft firelight flickering, everyone else either asleep or wrapped up in essays. You’re tucked in the shadowed corner of the room, hidden behind the high back of a velvet armchair that’s always somehow warm. Your legs are curled into Remus’s lap, a blanket draped over the two of you. His hand is gently tracing patterns on the inside of your wrist, his other resting low on your waist.
You’ve been dating in secret for a little over two months now.
And it’s perfect like this.
The stolen moments. The whispered “I miss yous.” The way he looks at you like you’re something carved from starlight and wild magic. You haven’t told anyone yet — not Marlene, not Lily, not even Sirius. And definitely not James.
Because James is your brother.
And Remus is… Remus.
Gentle. Quiet. A little afraid he doesn’t deserve this, even though you remind him every single day with your hands and your mouth and your eyes that he absolutely does.
You shift and press a soft kiss to his jaw. “You smell like parchment and chocolate.”
He hums, smiling lazily. “And you smell like danger.”
You laugh quiet and sweet. “Is that why we’re hiding behind a chair like we’re about to commit tax fraud?”
“I’m not afraid of being caught,” he murmurs, pulling you closer. “I just like having you to myself.”
You melt a little at that. You always do.
But then
“Oi, Moony!”
Sirius’s voice rings out from the stairs. “Have you seen my—”
He stops cold. His eyes land on the two of you like twin spotlights from a train.
You freeze. Remus stiffens. You both try to shift the blanket, but Sirius has already seen it all the way your legs are curled into Remus’s lap, your hands tangled in the hem of his jumper, his fingers still resting on your hip like they live there.
Sirius blinks.
Then
“OH MY GODRIC-GRACIOUS-GRYPHON-GUTS, YOU’RE SNOGGING HER?!”
Remus jumps like he’s been electrocuted.
You sit up too fast and nearly fall off the couch.
“Sirius shut up”
But it’s too late.
The room explodes.
Marlene appears from literally nowhere. “Wait, WHO’S SNOGGING WHO?!”
Lily pokes her head down from the dormitory staircase. “Oh my Merlin, I KNEW it—”
Dorcas gasps so loudly you’re sure it echoes through the towers. “Wait, was this a thing this whole time?!”
Then James.
James Potter walks into the common room at that exact second, casually munching on a biscuit.
“What’s going on”
Sirius spins dramatically, points both arms like a muggle air traffic controller and shrieks:
“REMUS AND YOUR SISTER HAVE BEEN MAKING OUT IN OUR COMMON ROOM LIKE HEATHENS.”
The room goes silent.
Remus turns a shade of white that may never return to normal.
You just. Stare. At James.
James stares back.
Remus tries to speak. “James, I—”
“YOU’VE BEEN KISSING MY SISTER?”
“She kissed me first!” Remus blurts, panicking.
“NOT HELPING!” you hiss.
James looks horrified. “IN OUR HOUSE? OUR COMMON ROOM? YOU’VE BEEN… COZYING UP BEHIND CHAIRS?”
You scramble to stand. “Jamie stop. It’s not some sordid thing. We’re together. We’ve been together for a while, and we didn’t tell you because we knew you’d freak out like this—”
“Like this?! I’m being REASONABLE! I’m staying CALM—”
“You’re yelling.”
“I’M YELLING WITH CONTROL.”
Marlene is doubled over with laughter. Lily’s grinning from ear to ear. Sirius is sitting dramatically on the stairs with his head in his hands muttering, “The betrayal. The lies. The secret cuddles.”
Remus clears his throat, trying to salvage what little dignity remains.
“James,” he says carefully, voice low and sincere. “I didn’t plan for this to happen. I didn’t think I deserved her. But I love her. And I’m not going to hurt her. Ever.”
James stares at him. Then at you. Then back at him.
Long pause.
“…you love her?”
You and Remus both freeze.
But Remus doesn’t falter. “Yes.”
You reach for his hand.
James stares a moment longer.
Then sighs. Rubs his face. “Bloody hell, I need a drink.”
Marlene: “Want a Butterbeer?”
Sirius: “I want a pensieve so I can delete this entire memory.”
James points at Remus. “If you ever hurt her”
“I won’t.”
James narrows his eyes. “Even accidentally”
“Still won’t.”
“…Fine,” James says at last, waving a hand in defeat. “But if I hear about you snogging behind any more furniture”
“You won’t,” Remus says quickly.
Marlene: “You definitely will.”
Sirius: “They were absolutely about to snog before I walked in.”
James groans into his hands.
Lily walks past him and pats his shoulder. “You raised them both, and now they’re in love. Be proud.”
⸻
Later that night, when the fire’s burned low and the chaos has finally settled, Remus pulls you aside near the portrait hole.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
You smile. “They know now. No more sneaking.”
“No more hiding.”
“No more jumping behind chairs.”
He grins and tucks a curl behind your ear. “Except maybe for old times’ sake.”
And when he kisses you this time slow, warm, public no one interrupts.
(Though you’re pretty sure Sirius is watching from the stairs and silently rating the kiss out of ten.)
Thank you @burningradio for the tag 🥰 post your top ten on repeat songs!
🏷️: @themareverine @novastarambeau @lostinlovingrevery @lookitsgrim @thevoicefromanotherworld @princessanglophile @echosdevil @sheabuttahwrites @trainingseasons @tezooks @bruceewayne and anyone else that would like to do it ❤️
I think I was tagged before by many people and I forgot, whoops. So millennial of me
It's Bucky! (Son Lux, Thunderbolts*)
Noman (Jeremy Renner)
Save the City (Rogers: he Musical, from Hawkeye)
One Night Love Affair (Bryan Adams)
Sittin' on Go (Bryan White)
Count 'Em (Brandon Lake, KB)
SEVENS (Brandon Lake)
VIGILANTE (Errol Allen)
HOLYGHOST (Sons of Sunday)
Shoot to Thrill (AC/DC)
tagging: @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @itsgoghtime @claudette13 @cheekybarnes @matronmothercrone @lubdubology @damimami1994 @th3mrskory @bcksbarnes <- getting to know some new peeps that I'm learning to loveeeee
I love this game - it's like a snapshot of my house in any given week. This is not just my top 10, this is the 7yo and 4yo as well 😅 We're all about Chappell, Sabrina and the SIX soundtrack atm!
Espresso - Sabrina Carpenter
Pink Pony Club - Chappell Roan (4yo really thinks this is about pink ponies. I'm NOT telling her otherwise.)
Good Luck, Babe! - Chappell Roan
Vigilante Shit - Taylor Swift
HOT TO GO! - Chappell Roan
Don't Lose Your Head - SIX
Please Please Please - Sabrina Carpenter
Busy Woman - Sabrina Carpenter (song of the week in this house!)
my on repeat playlist on spotify never changes because it’s the only playlist i seem to listen to, so these 10 songs have a special place in my heart. i know i listen to way too much interpol, but can you blame me?
1. leif erikson - interpol
2. my desire - interpol
3. even though - inhaler
4. sway - the kooks
5. untitled - interpol
6. automatic stop - the strokes
7. wasted - bôa
8. if you really love nothing - interpol
9. ode to the mets - the strokes
10. sweet emotion - the kooks
np tags- @bcksgirl @buckysslut @artficlly @buckyseternaldoll @danysdaughter (and anyone else who sees this and wants to take part! <3))
tysm for tagging me loves <33 @lokisgirlie @iamthatonefangirl @bckyslover
im shy in general and extra shy with my music taste, but i wanna share more so i love this game!!
my top 10:
1.) small town scandal- zolita
2.) IT girl- JADE
3.) midnight cowboy- JADE
4.) FUFN- JADE
5.) if you want perfection- death becomes her
6.) wasabi- little mix
7.) HOT- le sserafim ftz JADE
8.) potential breakup song- ally & aj (the rerecorded version and yes this song has been in my repeat top 10 since it first came out its forever a banger)
9.) gnarly- katseye
10.) six legs (tippy tappy toes)- scrawny & madilyn mei
if yall couldnt tell i love women!! and i specifically love jade thirwall my queen <333
hehe no worries. I've practically disappeared off of tumblr 😔😭 ahh, I hope it slows down too!! And I hope you're taking care of yourself.
I've been good! It's a little weird to be on summer break and not have any structure or classes and stuff, but I'm trying to get it together lol. How about you??
I am! focusing on myself as much as I can when I can. I've managed to get out of a 6 month reading slump so I'm very excited because I have a lot of books I want to read. I would say I've been good, lots of life changes that are both exciting and scary.
Summer break is great! do you have any fun plans for the summer?
