loser gf hiding away from sirius when she’s sick bc she’s scared her being sick will give him the ick seeing her like that and she’s already in shock that she somehow pulled him and believes she needs to be like perfect all the time to keep him 💆🏽♀️💆🏽♀️
you refuse to stay at his for the weekend and he’s like….. this is suspicious, time for a grand gesture!! turns up at yours with little dainty flowers and some bits for dinner and is answered at the door by the most shamefaced girl he’s ever met, rumpled pajamas and chapped lips. it is THE silliest thing he’s ever had to endure, and he’s annoyed you didn’t text him because now he’s thinking about you alone and poorly last night with no one to check in, but mostly he’s just worried 😟 sirius is used to worrying about people he loves but is maybe not so used to having things kept from him anymore so he thinks it’s that you don’t trust him to be gentle with you while you’re sick, so he goes soft as caramel for the full weekend trying to get you to let your walls down and be taken care of without worrying. meanwhile you’re so embarrassed you can’t look at him and spend the weekend hiding under blankets telling him he can really go home, and you’ll make it up to him when you’re okay. make it up to me how? he teases, trying to coax you from your den by rubbing little hearts into your stomach. you’ll let me look after you when you’re all better? because that’s what i want, to look after you, but it’ll be pointless if you don’t let me do it now :(
Telling remus “you could have been nicer to me” and he gets so offended and pouty
fem, 0.9k
“Oh, handsome?”
Remus stiffens a little at your tone. He knows you well, but not well enough to know feigned hesitance from real. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
He sits at the top of his bed, where you often like to be, shirtless in a strange turn but still wearing socks and pants. His torso is pale, dotted in freckles at the chest most of all, though there are a few darker ones along his shoulders. His fairer skin paired with the lighter tones of his hair, curling impishly behind his ears. The book he’s reading gets hugged to his tummy as he waits.
You wonder how best to wind him up without giving it away.
“Can we– talk?”
He is palpably unhappy with your question. You cannot wait to see how annoyed he gets when he realises it’s all a fakeout.
“Yeah, of course we can.” Remus stares at you. “Come and sit, then.”
You sit sideways on the bed, keeping your eyes on his leg so as not to give up the game. “I’m nervous.”
He softens, some. “Well don’t be, chick, just tell me what’s going on.”
Chick is a strange one. He uses it when you’re acting small. Like he’s further apart from you than he means to be, or like he’s- it’s almost protective. Reassuringly, ever so slightly patronising, without any of the associated condescension.
“I was thinking a bit about today.”
“Yeah?”
“And there’s…” You press your knee to his gently, without meaning to. “There were a couple of things that stood out to me, and I don’t want to be a priss, but I just think you could’ve been nicer to me. That’s all.”
Remus, to his credit, looks more worried than annoyed. “What things, dovey?”
“That’s not important.”
When Remus frowns it changes his face. He is almost Cabanel, a fallen angel full of growing contempt. “Right, but if I don’t know what I did, how can I–”
“It was less about the specifics. I just– I think you could’ve been nicer.”
“Right. Again, though, I don’t really know what I’ve done wrong. I actually thought I was well-behaved today. I didn't even complain when you said that man on the telly was handsome, when I really could have, and I–”
You can see him restrain himself from starting a tally, which is mature. If he were there sitting beside you saying such a thing when your relationship is as healthy as it’s ever been, you might feel some resistance, too. Remus had woken you up gently, kissed you sweetly. He’d made your breakfast and done the washing and helped you when you couldn’t dust the eaves by taking the chore from you completely. He is a good boyfriend. He’s a good man, actually. Very hardworking, and generous in love.
You feel actually embarrassed for such a silly joke, which lends itself to your acted-shame. “Sorry,” you say, ducking your head. “I’s stupid.”
There’s a small silence. A hand with freckles on the knuckles takes your hand on your knee, cradling it gingerly.
“It’s not stupid. But I can’t understand if you can’t point things out to me. I am… sorry, though, that I made you feel like this. It wasn’t what I was trying to do, but I’ve done it, and you don’t deserve to feel like that.” He draws all of your fingers together like he’s collecting them under his thumb and squeezes. “Can you forgive me?”
“Are you teasing me?” you ask.
Remus’ voice lowers a shade. “No, dove. Not teasing you, how could I? Don’t like seeing you upset like this.”
Coming clean isn’t as fun when he’s being sincere, but what could you expect?
“Remus, I am very very sorry, but I’m just pulling your leg.” You lift his hand to your cheek and rub his knuckles against the finest of hairs that flock the side of your face. His eyes have gone very dark, his mouth pressed in tight line. “I have tricked you. You are, genuinely, always quite nice to me.”
“Not anymore,” he says decidedly, pulling his hand from your grasp to cross it over his chest. “Sofa. And I’m not kissing you goodnight, so have that.”
“Fuck off,” you laugh.
“I’m dead serious. See how nice I am now?” Remus grins. “Best pack yourself a few pillows, though, that sofa’s murder on the coccyx.”
You laugh under your breath, slinking across the top of the bed to lay yourself over his chest and shoulders. Nosing at his naked collar, you smother anymore laughter, worried and then relieved when he refuses to hug you for a bloated two seconds.
“You’re a nuisance,” he says.
“Thank you for saying sorry, even though you didn’t know what I was talking about.” Your top lip kisses his neck. You screw your face sideways to be closer, forehead tickled by his soft curls. “You don’t have to apologise, though, you could have argued with me. I was trying to wind you up.”
Remus’ arms are like cords around you. You worm your way into his lap, just ecstatic to be loved and to have tricked him. He even laughs by your ear.
Wait I just requested Clark Kent but didn’t get specific, Clark Kent and shy!reader ?? You write him perfectly like I’m biting my fist
ty for requesting! fem, 1k
You are terrified of annoying Clark.
Not because Clark is scary. Clark would never hurt you. It doesn’t take much to acquiesce this from what you know about him, which was not so long ago not a lot, but is now increasing by the day.
You know Clark likes to be kissed very gently sometimes, but most of the time, if there’s privacy, he enjoys turning into a kiss with his lips already parted. He knows that you enjoy this the same, though you might stammer and flush the whole way through.
You know that Clark weighs two hundred and forty pounds and that a genuinely insane amount of that is muscle. He knows that you like to be carried like a sack of potatoes and promises to always be able to do that, as though you’re worried his incredible musculature percentage is going to melt away.
You know that Clark has liked you for a long time, and that he’s patient with you despite that. He knows, in tandem, that you liked him for longer, but were far more shy about saying anything and so said nothing at all. Which is why Clark has started reminding you often and with incentive to speak your mind. To do what you want.
His tenacity when it comes to this encouragement is as shameful as it is warming. “Come on, say it! I know there’s something on your mind. You can tell me anything, honey, you know that.” He’s rambling around a pencil, the two of you sitting on a bench in Metropolis Park attempting to finish a crossword puzzle together before the afternoon rush. “I won’t judge you.”
“Clark, I don’t want to tell you anything,” you plead.
“Want, you said, but not need. There’s something.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It is an it. That’s not nothing.”
You think Clark might’ve invested in the wrong early morning puzzle. Brain teasers might suit him better. “It’s really nothing.”
He offers his hand palm up against his thigh. When you take it, he sews your fingers together and tucks them against his stomach, like he’s trying to convince you to let him keep them. “Okay. Don’t tell me.”
“I think that the act of telling you is an example of what I want to tell you, so telling you will make it worse.”
Clark ditches the paper, tucks the pencil into his pocket, and hums. “I see.”
You feel hotter the longer he has your hand. Clark rubs the back with his thumb, a back and forth smoothing motion that forces you to relax. No matter how shy you are, you’re getting used to his gentleness, and everything it entails to be at the receiving end of it each day. If you tell Clark what you’re worried about, he won’t judge you, or make it worse, or throw it in your face later. It’s not in his nature.
“Do I annoy you?” you ask finally, small and thin as wetted rice paper.
“Never.”
You wince. It was too quick a response with no explanation. “Are you sure?”
“You never annoy me. I love being around you, being close to you, and everything you do is endearing to me. I think that that’s how it goes. And you are a remarkably interesting person with more emotional intelligence in her pinky finger than most people possess in their whole bodies, so everything you do is– You are so careful. With me, and with my feelings, and I couldn’t appreciate that more. So no, you don’t annoy me, you never have. If anything, I admire you more every day. And even if you were to do something annoying, not that you have,” —he shoots you a furtive glance— “I could forgive it, because it’s you.”
“Oh gosh,” you mumble, looking away from him entirely. You have never been so read for filth in your life. How can he answer every insecurity from a simple question? “Sorry, Clark, but I might need some warning if you’re going to do that again.”
“Do what?” he asks, pulling at your arm to encourage your face back his way. “Did I say the wrong thing?”
“You didn’t have to wax poetic at me, I shouldn’t have– I shouldn’t have asked such a stupid question. It’s not like you could say yes without looking like a bad person.”
Clark’s eyes are a strange, electric blue, but they suit his clear skin and his dark, dark hair. The line of his brows is broad and proud atop his glasses. “Angel, you don’t have to feel bad for asking for reassurance.”
“I didn’t mean to, though. I was just wondering. And now it’s more annoying because I’m making this into a real conversation you’ve had to have with me.”
“Oh, no,” he whines, shifting into your space subtly, “trapped in conversation with the sweetest woman alive, how will I go on? Gosh, should I leave you here to recover someplace else? How could I ever go forward, having spent a morning here, holding your hand? I am truly tortured.”
You do not like sarcasm on Clark, but at the same time, it’s so dorky and achingly kind. “Sorry,” you mumble pathetically.
Clark nudges your shoulder with his. He must restrain himself. His large shoulders don’t do any damage.
“If I do annoy you, though, I’d like to know,” you say. “Is that okay, if I ask you to let me know?”
“Honey, ask me for anything and I’ll try to give it to you.”
You hesitate, letting the sudden weight of it all sink in. He is a done and dusted sort of man, isn’t he? He made such quick work of your worries, you could almost forget you’d felt insecure at all if it weren’t for the warmth that lingers in your cheeks and neck. “Kiss?” you mumble.
He practically whines. “Yes, please,” he says, clearing his throat, and leaning down to slot his lips and nose against yours, his mouth driving forward in a careful, barely-parted kiss.
He chucks you under the chin as he pulls away. You go malleable as a sugar pull, reaching immediately into his pocket for the pencil in want of a distraction lest he melt you completely.
please could we see clark getting all happy and giggly when shy!r is giving him loaadssss of attention and affection without overthinking it for once ! :,))
fem, 1.1k
Clark is aware of himself. He is always the tallest man in the room and often the heaviest. His glasses soften the more severe effects of this, but he intimidates people —despite a remarkably genial demeanour. He knows he scared you, once upon a time. Knows sometimes you aren’t sure of yourself.
You aren’t worried for your safety when you’re with him, so Clark worked with that, worked hard, talked to you a lot but never loudly, brought you the smallest of flowers and expressed his wants with linked pinkies or light squeezes, building trust and affection at the same time.
And Clark doesn’t cuss, but fuck, it went better than he ever could’ve imagined. One day your timidity turned to a tentativeness, like you wanted to try with him, just to see how things went. He wasn’t subtle about pursuing you, but he didn’t up and say that he had a crush either, couldn’t ask you for that when sometimes all it took for you to stammer through bad nerves was a cup of coffee placed silently on your desk. But enough cups of coffee and pretty thank yous turned to dinner together in the Planet canteen, then dinner together in better places.
Dinner together at home. In his lap.
(In his lap!!!)
You sort of slumped into his thighs a couple of minutes ago and he’d not thought it through as he pulled you into an arm. It took literally no effort to have you seated there, never does, but most days you waver or apologise before he can hold you as though you could ever be an imposition. “Look at that, you have rice in your moustache,” you murmur, eyes lit up with love as you rub at his upper lip.
“I don’t have a moustache.”
“Stubble.” You scratch the corner of his mouth. “You eat like a baby, you have stuff everywhere.”
He is immediately hot at the teasing. You never tease. “I’m mid meal!” he says, reaching around you to gather another spoonful of rice and sliced pork belly with a Chinese inspired glaze. You helped him make it, and he knows it tastes better for it.
“It’s on your chin, too,” you say.
“Try to sound less pleased!”
He’s lucky rice doesn’t fall out of his mouth. If you’re disgusted by his bad manners, you don’t show it, wiping at his chin and wrapping your arm tighter behind his neck as you kiss his cheek. “You’re ridiculous,” you say, with all the fondness of a compliment.
“Kiss me again.”
You kiss him again. His stomach is molten. He is insanely turned on for such a small thing, and he ignores it because he doesn’t (solely) want this to be a sex thing (unless you’d be interested). You’re being so… carefree. Whatever libido you’ve multiplied in him is honestly overshadowed by excitement, like, you’re so cutesy he needs to gather you up and squeeze you until the feeling abates.
“You are so scratchy, what happened? You never let it grow like this,” you say, still teasing and touchy, your knuckles tripping down his neck.
“I got busy making your dinner,” he says.
“Yeah, right, I’m the one who made the rice, and I made the pork marinade. You just cooked it.”
“That’s what I said. Busy cooking your dinner.”
“Shut up, you did not!” You squirm a little in his arms, the other coming up and trapping him, his empty fork stuck in an upright hand. “You’re not funny, Clark.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
You laugh anyways, worse when Clark takes back control and shoves his fork on the plate, two hands open again to take your back into his hands, big hands, encompassing and dragging you closer until there’s no air between your two bodies, just t-shirts soft from the wash.
“You’re not hungry?” he asks, wondering why you’ve wandered out of your chair and into his.
“I figured I better save you from the embarrassment of a rice-moustache, baby, and you’re distracting me now.”
“I’ll warm it back up for you,” he promises.
You take his face into your hand before he can move, rubbing your nose and mouth into his cheek. He clenches his jaw under the plush little dip of your mouth, lest he moan like a freak and send the whole boat tipping over. You laugh breathlessly.
Clark’s halfway to a white out and your giggling makes it a thousand times worse. You kiss his tight jaw again quickly before going back to your nose rubbing. “I love you.”
He laughs. Giggles. “I love you too.”
“So much.”
“So much they don’t have a word for it,” he says, clasping the back of your neck in his hand gently, encouraging you to stay right where you are for as long as you’ll allow it. “Didn’t even know I could love someone like this.”
Your breath warms his skin. “Me neither.”
“But with you it’s all just–”
“Perfect.” You sink until your face is in his collar, your hands braces on his shoulders, barest caress of your fingertips against the underside of his jaw.
He takes an indulgent sniff of the top of your head.
“My dinner really is gonna be cold,” you say.
“I know. I can make it fresh, if you want.”
“Would you do that?” you ask.
Clark would climb a mountain with bare hands. He’d hike Mount Everest, from the chilly bottom to the frozen top, ten times over. If that was what you asked him to do. If it meant you’d end up boneless and giggly in his lap for no discernible reason afterwards. It’s so nice to see you free of your own inhibitions.
“Baby, I think I’d grow the rice myself if you wanted me to.”
“You’d look good as a farmer.”
“Yeah? Should’ve seen me back home, bubby. I’m a total hick. Grow you whatever you want.”
You lift your face up, all smiley and light as you turn your head, your lips at his ear. “From the sticks? That how you put on all this muscle?”
He wants to cover you up in bubble wrap. He wants to lay you out on the table and kiss every inch of your stomach, your thigh, your knees. Even your elbows. Maybe tonight you’re feeling blithe enough to let him.
Theo’s morning started with spilled coffee, escalated into an argument with the quidditch team’s captain during practice, and now he’s speed-walking down the corridor, already late to Snape’s class, jaw tight, shoulders wound up to his ears. That’s when he collides with someone solid enough to knock the air from his lungs. “Merda—” he mutters automatically, then, quieter, sharper, under his breath, “puttana.” It’s a reflex. A habit. A harmless little vent, really. No one ever understands him anyway. He’s already halfway past when a voice snaps behind him. “What did you just say?” Theo freezes. Slowly, painfully slowly, he turns around. The woman he bumped into is staring at him like she’s about to set him on fire with pure indignation. Your eyes are blazing, accent unmistakable, hands clenched at her sides. “Did you seriously just call me a whore?” you demand, stepping closer. “Who do you think you are?”
Oh.
Oh no.
Theo’s brain short-circuits. “I—no—I mean—wait, you—” He gestures helplessly, face heating so fast it’s practically a medical emergency. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—“ You cut him off, absolutely unloading on him with the sharpness only a Mediterranean woman could muster, each word landing like a slap. Students start slowing down. Someone definitely snickers. Theo stands there, mortified, hands half-raised like he’s eight years old again and he’s getting yelled at by his nona for breaking her favourite porcelain vase. “I swear,” he blurts finally, voice cracking just a little, “I talk to myself when I’m stressed. I didn’t think you’d understand. I didn’t mean you. I didn’t mean anyone. I mean—I did mean the word but not at you—” He stops. Closes his eyes, he’s just making all of this worse than it already is. You cross your arms, unimpressed, eyebrow arched so sharply it could cut glass. “…You have a really bad habit,” you say flatly. Theo nods immediately, too fast. “Yes. Absolutely. Horrible habit. I’m deeply ashamed.”
And just like that, you walk off, leaving Theo standing there, heart racing, cheeks on fire, absolutely haunted and slightly turned on by the fact that for once… someone understood him.
A few days ago, you asked for Marauders ideas, and I have this image of a low-key Sex sex-obsessed James but only for the reader, like this man would get hard from being called Jamie by them, I just know it. Touch his hair for too long? On your back in his bed for hoooourrrrs. Compliment his muscles, or even better his Quidditch talent? Tent pitched so fast he's not sure he's gonna make it to a private enough place, in fact, he doesn't care he would gladly pin them to a wall and have his way with them(consensually ofc)
thanks for the request lovie dove 🤭 (i’m obsessed with it) xx; maybe i’ll go more in depth soon (if it’s wanted)
Several things about James made that rush of feeling flutter in your chest, but your most recent discovery was becoming something you were obsessed with teasing him about.
You had first thought it to be a fluke; a one off due to some post quidditch adrenaline and how you had complimented his game play and given his bicep a squeeze.
The straining bulge in his quidditch kit was flattering (and the main source of your pleasure there after).
It’s happened again whilst you were messing around, joking about how you could take him in a fight; a wrestling match even. You’d given his stomach (frustratingly chiseled abs) a few mock punches, giggling.
Tent pitched. And you were tangled in sheets for some time following.
You would only sometimes do it on purpose. Like today in the library…
“Hiya, Jamie..whatcha working on?” the pads of your fingers were soft and gentle on his neck as you gave it a light squeeze before giving the back of his head a few scratches.
He tried his best to mask the shiver that ran up his spine as he felt all the blood rush to his groin.
“I, erm, work-ehm, I’m working on potions..” James stuttered through his words, as you sat down next to him. Purposefully, you pressed your thigh to his and you felt his muscles flex.
You gave his leg a light squeeze before pressing a kiss to his cheek with a smile, “You’re so cute, Jamie baby. I’ll see you in the common room.”
He groaned in response, eyes closing as his fist wraps around his quill. You’re smirking as you leave.
Remus snorts from across the table and James is shooting daggers in his direction.
“Bit embarrassing, mate,” Sirius chides before receiving a certain special finger from his friend.
James ran a hand through messy curls as he hastily stuffed parchment and quills into his satchel, “Erm, yeah I gotta go.”
synopsis: James Potter is in a secret relationship with Y/N, but things spiral when someone mistakes Regulus Black for Y/N’s boyfriend and spreads the rumor around Hogwarts. How far will he go before he can’t take it anymore?
wordcount: 2,624
note: 16+ fluff. last part for this series. kudos to this request.
part I. part II.
James Potter stumbled down the Gryffindor boys' dormitory staircase like he was half-dreaming, half-dazed, and one hundred percent very recently kissed stupid. His tie was hanging through the collar of his shirt loosely, hair even messier than usual, and there was a pink flush creeping into his neck that no amount of cold morning air could erase.
Remus was waiting in the common room with a book tucked under his one arm and a cup of coffee in his hand, looking put-together as usual. His eyes were trained on James before his eyebrow slowly shot up.
James didn't notice. He was too busy suppressing a moonstruck grin, humming something off-key under his breath.
"You look different," Remus deadpanned once James was beside him.
James looked at him. "What?"
"You're glowing."
"I am not," James replied, voice suspiciously high-pitched.
"You're literally blushing."
James coughed and tried to compose himself. Putting on his best neutral face, but it still didn't work. Remus was about to add something when James immediately cut him off.
"Where's Pads and Wormy?"
"Already outside, waiting for your arse to come down."
James rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks deepening to a red hue. "Overslept."
"Hmm," Remus nodded while sipping his coffee. "Overslept or... overloved?"
James almost choked on the air. "What?"
Remus simply smirked. "Nothing. Just wondering why you're walking like your knees don't work."
"Because I almost tripped on the chair!"
"Riiight," Remus drawled. "Must've been a hell of a staircase."
James grumbled and busied himself by fixing his tie. The two began walking towards their classroom, and James tried not to think about what Remus had said earlier, but he still couldn't stop taking glances at him from time to time.
Remus noticed, and his smirk widened.
James's brows furrowed. "What?"
"You look like a lovesick fool."
"I do not," James muttered, straightening up his posture like it would do something.
"Evans finally said yes to a date?"
"I didn't ask her out."
Remus blinked. "Really?"
"Yeah. I don't know why everyone keeps assuming that!" James threw his hands in exasperation.
"Maybe because you spent years infiltrating her?"
"So?" James huffed. "Is it unbelievable that I just... stopped?"
"Yeah, Prongs. Very."
"Well, she isn't the reason why."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"So... was it Y/n, then?"
"Yes!"
Silence.
The two stopped dead in their tracks.
James froze as if he had been hit by a full-body Petrificus Totalus. His eyes went wide. His mouth opened and then closed. Opened. And closed it again.
"...Moony."
Remus sighed deeply. "Since when?"
James stammered. "Six— six months ago— how did you—?"
Remus slung an arm over his shoulder, guiding them back to motion. "Did you know your ears go bright red when you're jealous?"
"They do not!"
"And your wand hand? Twitchy. Like it's about to launch a full-scale magical assault every time someone mentions Regulus Black."
James groaned, stopping again from walking. He buried his face against his hands. "I— I proposed it, you know? Keeping it a secret. Thought it would be easier that way. House rivalry and all that. But Moony... I love her."
Remus offered a tight-lipped smile. "You know, Prongs, for what's it worth, I was more surprised that you lasted six months keeping it hidden when we know your mouth is relentless."
James grumbled. "I don't even care that she was a Slytherin. Didn't matter when I met her. Didn't matter when she was in the same house as that slimy, smelly, Snivellus or that platinum-haired Malfoy.. And I know we vowed to make the Slytherins' lives miserable but— she made me realize how stupid that was. And I'm just... scared, mate. Scared of what people will say. Scared she'll be the one getting crap for it. What if Sirius finds out and gives her a thirty-minute dramatic monologue about betrayal?"
"Pads does have a thing for theatricals."
"I just— I just want to tell people, but I don't know how."
Remus turned, offering a warm smile. "You're the bravest person I know, Prongs. The same bloke who challenged seven-year Slytherins to a duel because they said McGonagall played favorites. The one who tried riding a Hippogriff during Care of Magical Creatures class because 'you felt a connection.'"
"That was one time."
"My point still stands. Don't worry about us. You're our mate, and we'll stand by you. Pads will be mad for like... 3 hours. 5 hours max. Then he'll get over it."
James nodded slowly, thinking about it. And the two started walking again.
"Besides, if you don't say something soon, someone will ask her out. Like Regulus. Again."
James immediately frowned.
"I hate that smug little—"
"Then act like a Gryffindor, mate. Stake your claim before someone else does."
Just as James puffed his chest like a man preparing for war, Sirius and Peter came bounding down the hall, both looking disheveled and full of chaotic energy.
“What’s taking you two so long?” Sirius barked.
“You two planned a prank for Snivellus without us?" Peter asked.
“We didn't." Remus calmly grabbed Peter by the collar and started dragging him down the hall. “You’re on a roll today, mate. Let’s save that energy for class.”
“Wait— what? Moony, I can walk!”
James stared after them, then turned back to Sirius with determination burning in his eyes.
“I’m telling her today,” He said.
Sirius blinked. “Telling who what?”
"Her." James ignored him and marched off, heart pounding, tie still a disaster.
Peter nudged James in the ribs for the third time in under five minutes. "She's looking at you again," He hissed, barely masking his grin.
"No, she's not." James quipped, not even looking up from his parchment.
"She is," Peter insisted. "Left corner, three rows down, red hair— ringing any bells?"
"I don't care," James grumbled under his breath.
"She's twirling her hair."
"Maybe it's her habit."
"She's twirling it while looking at you. And she just bit her lip."
James groaned and finally looked up, just in time to catch Lily looking away, a pink hue dusting her cheek.
"Mate. She wants you."
Sirius, who had been fighting sleep next to Remus, yawned and leaned forward to join the conversation.
"Who wants who?"
"Lily," Peter whispered too loudly. "She's looking at Prongs like she wants to tutor him. If you catch my drift."
Remus rolled his eyes. "Please shut up."
"Well, well. Look who's finally getting attention from his lifetime crush." Sirius grinned.
"Was." James corrected immediately. "Was my lifelong crush."
Peter gawked at him. "You're moving on?"
"Moved."
"With who?" Sirius asked, suddenly alert. "Do we know her?"
James coughed. "Focus. Minnie is watching."
But that didn't stop the torture.
Once McGonagall dismissed the class, James immediately stood up, with three boys trailing behind him. Just as they were about to round the corner, Lily immediately showed up.
"Potter," She said, immediately stopping them dead in their tracks. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"
He stiffened. But before he could answer, Sirius was dragging Peter and Remus by their collars.
"We'll be waiting there." He said, smiling sweetly.
"Is this about Head duties?" James asked.
"Oh, Merlin, she's talking to him." Peter whispered, elbowing Remus, as they all peek out their heads to look at James and Lily nearby.
"No— no," Lily huffed out a smile while shaking her head softly. "I was just wondering if you're planning to go to Hogsmeade this weekend? You usually go with your friends, but... thought maybe you'd want a change."
James blinked. Wait— what? Was this Lily Evans asking him out? Oh, no. It's too late because he already had a perfect, lovely, incredibly sexy, secret girlfriend who just last night—
"I'm actually... not available this weekend." He said, glancing down his parchment.
"Oh." Lily's face fell. "Got plans?"
James coughed. "Yeah, plans. Private plans. Secret ones. Very private. Very secret."
Peter and Sirius's faces contorted into a confused one as they watched Lily's smile faded. Remus sighed, clearly knowing what was the reason.
Lily blinked, trying to regain her composure. "Well... let me know if anything changes." She said before turning away.
James shrugged before going to where his friends were, and Sirius wasted no time in grabbing the back of his robes and cornering him to the wall.
"What the bloody hell was that?!" Sirius asked, throwing his hands in the air.
James blinked. "What?"
"Evans was flirting with you!"
"I... noticed."
"And you turned her down?!"
"Why not?"
"Why—" Sirius closed his eyes and tried to calm himself for a second. "Why not?!"
"Prongs... are you sure you're okay? I mean, that was Evans. The love of your life—!" Peter added.
James frowned deeply. "She's not the love of my life!"
Sirius's mouth opened. Then closed. And opened again.
"Okay, what?" He asked.
James looked at Remus for silent help.
"Prongs here... wants to tell you guys something." Remus walked beside James and patted his shoulder for encouragement.
Sirius looked at him, bewildered. "And you didn't tell me?!"
"I thought you'd be mad!"
"I am mad!" Sirius yelled. "Mad that you pulled a Slytherin goddess and didn't give me any heads up?! What kind of best mate are you?"
"What—"
"You, a certified tosser, bagged someone like her?"
"I am not a tosser!"
"You are a first-class, deluxe tosser with curly hair!"
"I am very hot, thank you very much."
“Hot? HOT? Prongs, you look like a broomstick that rolled through a pile of dung and developed a personality.”
James lunged, and within seconds, he had Sirius in a headlock, aggressively messing up his already disheveled hair.
Peter clapped and smiled widely. "Yeah, get him, Prongs!" He cheered.
“Take it back!” James shouted.
“Never!” Sirius wheezed, struggling against James. “You're a mediocre seven at best!"
“I’m an eight point five! And my mum thinks I’m handsome!”
Remus, who thought this would be a calm conversation, shook his head and left them alone. "I hate my bloody life."
The Great Hall was in its usual evening chaos— floating candles, plates clattering, murmurs and laughs flying in the air. You sat at the Slytherin table, elegantly picking at a piece of corn while Narcissa talked about her love adventures. Both of you two refused to eat without Andromeda, who had been late because she's tutoring a third-year student.
"I've already picked a location," Narcissa gushed. "The Astronomy Tower at sunset. I know it's going to be good. And Lucius said he has a surprise planned. Can you believe that?"
"A surprise? What's he going to do? Part his hair in a different way than usual?"
"Hey!" Narcissa lightly slapped your arm. "You take that back. Lucius is thoughtful, romantic, and regal."
"He's got an emotional depth of a teaspoon." You reminded her.
"Well, at least someone's taking me out on Valentine's Day."
You frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're seeing someone, aren't you?" Narcissa's eyes narrowed at you. "I've seen the way you disappear after curfew hours and then go back the next morning with that dazed, post-snogging look. Is it Regulus?"
You choked. "What the hell are you talking about?!"
Narcissa shrugged. "I just assumed because he's your type."
You opened your mouth to say something, but someone caught your line of vision. From across the hall, sitting at the Gryffindor table, was James. James, who had been looking at you with such intensity that it made your stomach flip.
You offered him a smile— a barely noticeable one from the eyes of the masses. But it still made his heart flutter. That small act from you seemed to relax his nerves, the tension from his shoulders lifting off slightly.
At the Gryffindor table, Remus had also noticed it. He gave James a subtle nudge. "Go on, mate. It's your time. You should ask her out now."
James blinked. "Right— right now?"
"Go on, it's almost Valentine's Day. Go full cliche like the man you were."
James chewed on his lips, clearly nervous. He had been doing this for years with the wrong girl, and he should've been used to it. But right now, almost all of his courage was gone, which was shocking because he's James bloody Potter.
"Five o'clock," Peter whispered dramatically. "Baby Black has entered the scene."
"Bloody hell," Sirius's brows furrowed. "He's holding a flower. What the bloody hell is he doing with a flower?"
"Where would he go— ooohh— is he going for Y/n?" Peter asked gleefully, too happy to stir the pot.
James didn't waste a second. He stood up so fast he almost knocked Peter out of the chair.
The entire Great Hall paused, but James didn't care. He walked— practically stormed— towards the Slytherin table.
Time went slow around him, and the background faded into a blur. All he could see was you looking at him with wild, confused eyes and a small plate of corn in your hand.
Be brave, James. He told himself. Be brave.
Once he reached the Slytherin table, he could feel his heart thrumming against his chest, that he almost thought it would burst right there and then. People were staring at him like he was mad— and maybe he was utterly, truly, mad for you. Even the professors craned their necks, and Dumbledore had even paused mid-sip of his tea, clearly entertained.
Narcissa was the first to break the silence.
"Can I help you with something, Potter?" She asked, placing a hand under her chin.
James stammered. "I— I need to talk to your friend."
You blinked. "James— I mean, Potter— what are you doing?"
"The right thing." He said, sighing deeply. He turned to examine the room, whose eyes were placed on him like hawks. He dramatically placed his hand on his chest. "I have something to say and it's very important!"
Everyone fell silent.
"Yes, I'm a Gryffindor. Yes, I don't like most of the Slytherins. Yes, I said I'd rather kiss a Niffler than a snake..." James inhaled deeply. "But life is weird. Love is weirder. And sometimes you fall for someone who threatens to hex your eyebrows and steals your pudding without asking."
You couldn't help a wide grin breaking at your face despite the whispers around you.
James pointed at himself. "So, yes. That's right! I'm a big dork and I listen to emo muggle music..." He turned, tugging you lightly and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "...And I'm dating her."
James shot him a glare. "Do you have a problem with that?"
Regulus blinked. “I—”
“She’s mine.”
“You’re—”
“MINE.”
James wrapped a possessive arm around your waist like he was claiming treasure. Then the two of you walked from the Great Hall despite the loud whispers and eyes around you.
“I think I need a drink,” Sirius muttered.
“Can we all pretend that never happened?” Remus sighed.
Andromeda, who just walked in, cluelessly pointed at the two of you. "What the hell was that?" She asked Narcissa.
In the corridor, you turned to James, pouting. “Love, I really appreciate your whole dramatic, publicly-declared love monologue thing. It was very sweet. But I haven’t eaten yet.”
James grinned, smug. “It’s okay. Moony packed us food in the kitchen.”
Your eyes lit up. “Really?”
“And,” James added, pulling you closer, “Maybe after dinner… we can do what we did last night again? Hmm?”
You laughed genuinely, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Then you kissed him so hard it stole the air from his lungs.
Somewhere in the castle, Sirius Black screamed into a pillow.
synopsis: James Potter is in a secret relationship with Y/N, but things spiral when someone mistakes Regulus Black for Y/N’s boyfriend and spreads the rumor around Hogwarts. How far will he go before he can’t take it anymore?
wordcount: 1,663
note: 16+ fluff. will probably do one last part. comment if you want to be tagged <3
part I. part III.
Regulus Black was cornered, and he absolutely hated it.
Literally— his back was pressed against the cold stone wall near the dungeons, arms crossed as he glared at the four boys in front of him: Sirius, Remus, Peter, and... James, who was staring at him with a murderous stare that made Regulus wonder if he ever did something to him.
"How exactly did you find me here?" Regulus deadpanned.
Sirius smirked, tapping his temple with his forefinger. "Great instincts, brother. I'm basically a prophet."
Peter awkwardly cleared his throat, trying to suppress a laugh. Remus, awkwardly standing beside him, scratched his head with the same hand that was holding the Marauder's Map.
"What's that?" Regulus pointed at it.
"Nothing." Remus smiled at him.
"Looks suspicious."
"It's just... homework." Remus hummed.
Sirius clapped his hands together. "Anyway—! Regulus, my dear, weird little brother... tell me something. Are you dating Y/n?"
Regulus blinked at him. "What?"
"You heard me. Are you dating Y/n Y/l/n?" He stepped closer.
"Dating? Where did you even—?"
James's jaw clenched, and his grip on his wand tightened.
"You're lying." Sirius pointed an accusatory finger at Regulus's nose. "You're lying through your teeth. You're probably snogging her behind the dungeons, don't you?"
Regulus gave him a disgusted look. "Why would I snog someone in the dungeons? That's unsanitary."
Peter snickered under his breath. James still hadn't moved or spoken— he just kept...staring. His left eye was twitching a little.
"Come on," Sirius whined. "Are you two or aren't you? Spill, Reg."
"If you're insinuating that we're together, then you're delusional."
Sirius gasped dramatically.
"We're just close. Is it so unbelievable that I have friends? Do you need me to draw a diagram?" Regulus shot back, clearly irritated.
Sirius, undeterred, leaned in again. "So, is she single?"
James's head snapped to look at him with a deep frown.
"I suppose?" Regulus sighed deeply.
"And you're going to ask her out to Hogsmeade this weekend? Valentine's Day is coming up, you know."
Regulus shrugged. "Probably."
PROBABLY?!
Regulus's voice echoed through James's mind like a death toll.
That stupid, little casual shrug haunted him, and he was absolutely losing his mind. He was pacing back and forth in his dorm room, whilst his friends were staring at him. His hair was messy— messier than usual, and he looked like one bad thought away from throwing himself out of the Gryffindor tower.
"Prongs, you gotta tell us what's wrong or else we can't help you solve your problem," Sirius said from where he was sprawled on James's bed, munching on a chocolate frog.
Remus, perched in an armchair, sipped his cup of tea. He hummed thoughtfully while eyeing his friend. He had his suspicions— had them for a while now— but after Sirius's interrogation with Regulus, he connected the dots.
James threw his hands in the air. "I can't!"
"Why not?" Peter piped from the floor.
"Because I just— I just can't!"
"Since when do we keep secrets from each other, huh?" Sirius sat on the bed dramatically. "We're brothers! We solemnly swore and everything!"
"Maybe Prongs isn't ready yet." Remus shot James a knowing look.
"...You cheated on your NEWTs again?" Peter's eyes squinted at James.
"What? No!" James snapped.
There was a beat of silence.
"...You gay?" Peter tried again, dead serious.
"NO!" James cried, absolutely losing his mind because his friends were definitely not helping right now. He let out a wounded groan and flopped onto the couch dramatically. "I'm doomed." He muttered through the cushions.
Meanwhile, in his head, a horrible scene was playing on the loop: Regulus, all intimidating and handsome, cornering you somewhere dark and romantic (and stupid)— asking you to be his date on Hogsmeade on Valentine's Day. You, smiling shyly, will accept it. Regulus will buy you chocolates, give you a plush teddy bear, and kiss your hand like some male lead in a romantic muggle movie.
James almost sobbed at the thought.
"Prongs, you're spiraling." Sirius exchanged glances with Peter.
"We have to do something," Peter whispered.
"What? Like an exorcism?" Sirius whispered back.
"Oh, Merlin, it's like the Evans fiasco over again." Peter shook his head, looking at him with pity.
"It's not." Remus walked over to where they were.
"How do you know, dear Moony?" Sirius lightly nudged him in the shoulder.
Remus leaned on the bedpost, looking more smug than usual. "Because, dear friends, I am basically... a prophet."
"Hey, only I get to claim divine intervention around here!" Sirius frowned.
James groaned again from the couch, not lifting his head. "Kill me now."
The library was quiet— eerily quiet— except for the soft flipping of books and quiet murmurs. You and Regulus were tucked away in the far corner of the library, the one spot where the sun hits perfectly, and where Madam Pince rarely bothered anyone.
Regulus sat across from you, flipping a book open, but clearly not reading. "Sirius cornered me last night."
You blinked at him. "...What"
"Near the dungeons. Him, Lupin, Pettigrew, and Potter."
Your heart stopped at the mention of James's last name, but you didn't let it show. Instead, you leaned back in your chair. "What did he want now?"
"He interrogated me."
"About?"
"You," He answered flatly. "Apparently, everyone thinks we were dating."
You froze.
Well, that was... unexpected— or expected— given the way people had been whispering lately. But still, James must've heard that, right? You immediately imagined his reaction—probably furrowing his brows so hard it created a crease in the middle of his forehead, pacing around his dorm room, and tearing at his impossibly messy hair.
Sure, teasing him had been fun— I mean, he had the cutest pout. And it wasn't every day James Potter got jealous. Usually, you were the one watching him get tackled by his bunch of admirers, especially after Quidditch matches, while you try not to hex them to oblivion.
But even if it was mildly entertaining, the thought of James— your James— feeling insecure made your heart pinch. James was the most confident, brilliant, and the most adorable human being you'd ever met.
You frowned, lost in thought, until Regulus added something.
"...But then Sirius asked if you were single and if I'd be asking you out on a date."
THUD.
Both of your heads whipped around just in time to see a very disheveled, very pouty James Potter emerging from behind the bookshelf.
"Oh, hello," He said in the fakest, innocent voice he could muster. "Didn't see you two there."
You offered him a small smile when Regulus wasn't looking at you. "Looking for a specific book, Potter?"
"Mhm." James nodded, stepping into your little study area. He stood near you, still indulging himself with the books he couldn't care less about. "Just browsing. Loads of Slytherin energy here, though."
Regulus's eyes narrowed. "Are you following me?"
James blinked. "What? No. I came here for—" He grabbed the nearest book he could find. "—The Joy of Magical Fungus."
A pause.
"Fascinating stuff, really," James added.
Regulus frowned. "...Right."
James waved a dismissive hand. "Don't mind me here... just continue with... whatever you two were doing..."
Regulus turned to you. "Anyway, as I was saying—"
James loudly cleared his throat.
Both of you turned to look at him.
"Itchy throat." James chuckled and cleared his throat once again— this time, more obnoxiously.
"I was saying," Regulus gave a pointed glare at James. "Before I get interrupted—"
"Ahem."
"—Interrupted again, I was going to say I hadn't really considered asking you out, but maybe—"
James took a step closer beside you. This time, he was looming over the two of you. You scratched the back of your neck, trying to suppress the secondhand embarrassment creeping up your spine.
"Do you mind?" Regulus asked, clearly annoyed.
"Not at all," James replied.
"Do you live in the library now, Potter?"
"No. But I do believe in broadening my... intelligence."
Regulus scowled. "You're literally holding that book upside down."
"Am I?" James turned to look at his book.
Regulus opened his mouth to say something, but sighed instead, glancing at his wrist watch. "Whatever. I have class."
You offered him a tight-lipped smile. "Bye, Reg."
As Regulus turned to leave with a confused shake in the head, James casually slipped into the seat next to you.
You raised an amused brow. "The Joy of Magical Fungus?"
"Good stuff," James mumbled. "He was about to ask you out, wasn't he?"
You giggled and went to cup his face. "Hey."
"Hmm?"
"You're so obvious."
James's bottom lip jutted even more. "They all think you're single."
You kissed his pout.
"And worse, they think you're dating Regulus freaking Black."
You kissed the other side of his pout.
"He's not even funny."
Another kiss.
"Or beefy."
One more kiss on the nose. "You done?"
James sighed deeply and finally melted into your arms like a dramatic little spoon. “...Maybe.”
You ran your fingers through his hair gently, the one thing guaranteed to make him stop spiraling.
“Listen to me,” you whispered. “I’m your girlfriend. I like you. I love you when you're pouting, jealous, and dramatic. But also when you're smug and sweet and a bit of a show-off. No one, especially not Regulus, is going to change that.”
James peeked up at you, cheeks pink. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“And maybe,” He added, voice muffled against your sweater, “We could tell people soon. So no one else tries to steal you.”
You smiled. “I thought you wanted it secret for now.”
“I changed my mind,” he huffed. “I’m claiming my territory.”
You burst out laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m in love,” James corrected. “It’s worse.”
James's hand tightened around your waist, almost pulling you into his lap. He doesn't even care if people find out about you two right now. He doesn't even care one bit if Regulus walked in on you two suddenly.
Because Regulus couldn't make you feel everything he did.
synopsis: James Potter is in a secret relationship with Y/N, but things spiral when someone mistakes Regulus Black for Y/N’s boyfriend and spreads the rumor around Hogwarts. How far will he go before he can’t take it anymore?
wordcount: 2, 376
note: 16+ fluff.
part II. part III.
He was in Gryffindor— the golden boy, Quidditch captain, and this year's Head Boy. She was a Slytherin— sharp-tongued, keen, and entirely off-limits.
James Potter had a reputation to maintain, and people finding out that you and him were dating would spark nasty rumors, ones that could damage both of your standings. So, one night, hidden in the shadows behind one of the castle's staircases, he proposed that you two keep your relationship a secret.
You immediately agreed. You'd never hear the end of it if someone knew, anyway.
But right now, you were perched on James's lap, your back pressed against the cold walls of an unused classroom. The boy kissed you with hunger, like he hadn't seen you for months.
"Missed you so much, love." He murmured against your lips, hands snaking at the nape of your neck, pulling you impossibly close.
You smiled into the kiss, fingers tangling on his messy curls. "We were just in the same class not an hour ago."
"Details, details," He hummed, fingers creeping dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.
Sure, the two of you shared classes. But between the rift of the two houses— Gryffindor and Slytherin— you two were only reduced to stolen glances, shared smirks behind textbooks, fleeting brushes of fingers as you two passed by each other. Moments that meant everything, but looked like nothing, especially under the watchful eyes of his rowdy friends.
The same group that made a habit of declaring an absolute hatred for your house. Who never missed a chance to sneer at Lucius Malfoy or mock Severus Snape. Who would lose their minds if they found out that James Potter, of all people, was sneaking around with a Slytherin girl.
It all happened at last year's Yule Ball after party. Everyone was beet drunk, sneaking in a couple of firewhiskey and muggle beers and alcohols. You found James pissed drunk, staggering through the rose bush before puking out.
You were just trying to get some fresh air, having been suffocated in a room full of intoxicated young adults. You found him slumped against the stone bench, suit disheveled, crown of the night askew.
"Such an unexpected act from a Slytherin like you," James threw a lopsided smirk when you handed him a bottle of water that you just conjured.
"And such an expected act from a Gryffindor like you. So reckless and annoying." You muttered, rolling your eyes at him.
You expected him to leave you alone after that. Act like nothing happened.
But he didn't.
After that night, James couldn't stop seeing you— even when you weren't looking his way. Couldn't help noticing the twist of your mouth when you read, or how you sat in the far corner of the library where the sun always hit the table just right.
You knew who he was. Everyone did. The James Potter. The boy who pined after Lily Evans for six years. So, yes, you were skeptical. You thought it was a prank. A bet. Some stupid Gryffindor game orchestrated by his infamous friends.
But then weeks passed. Months. And he kept showing up. With books. With sweets. With flushed cheeks and sincere eyes. He started learning the little things about you— like how you tie your shoelace twice, or how you hummed when you were stressed.
And eventually, you gave in.
Honestly, your dating life was surprisingly good. Shocking, even. James turned out to be nothing like what you'd expected. He was thoughtful, passionate, and stupidly charming. He made you laugh. Made you feel seen. The problem was... well, it was a secret.
You weren't famous, per se. Sure, many people knew of you— top of your year, Slug Club regular, often praised by professors. But your name didn't echo towards the halls— not in a way that James's did. Which was fine. You liked it that way.
Most people would never expect you to be James Potter's secret lover. And that was fine, too. You were secure in yourself. Let them think what they want.
But the thing that pisses you off the most was when everyone still kept teasing James with Lily. It was relentless, to say the least. You've heard about the comments. Even his friends laughed about it, like it was some unshakeable part of his identity. You knew they meant no harm— that it was all good and fun— but Merlin, it gets exhausting. Especially now that both of them were Head Students. The school seemed obsessed with watching their every move.
Still, James never made you feel less. Never made you feel like you're the second best. And you were extremely grateful for that.
Sirius Black, for all his charms and recklessness, has an absolute talent for unknowingly stirring the pot.
"Do you reckon Y/n has a boyfriend?" He whispered during Flitwick's lecture, nudging James with his elbow.
James's head snapped toward him so fast. "What?"
Sirius smirked, "I mean, I know we said not to involve ourselves with Slytherins, but I could turn a blind eye. For her, I'd even forgive Malfoy."
James blinked. He felt his left eye twitch. His internal monologue was screaming.
Over my dead, hexed, and dismembered body.
"Who are you talking about?" Peter leaned in.
"Y/n Y/l/n." Sirius said without missing a beat, eyes still glued to where you sat a few rows ahead, effortlessly answering Flitwick's question. "Slytherin's babe."
James's hand gripped his quill so hard that it snapped in two. Sirius didn't even notice.
Peter let out a snort. "Oh, you're too late."
Sirius and James both turned to him, twin expressions of horror and confusion.
"Word is, your brother beat you to it."
Silence.
"What?" James whispered, his voice unnaturally high, which earned looks from Remus, who had been listening quietly.
"Yeah. Regulus. Everyone's basically saying they're a thing now." Peter shrugged.
James's jaw dropped.
"What? Since when? How did that happen?" Sirius asked.
"I don't know, mate. Probably because he has the same face as yours but isn't annoying?"
Sirius scoffed. "Rude."
James's ears almost turned into a violent shade of red. Regulus? REGULUS?!
Remus finally cut in, trying to hush them when he caught Flitwick casting a suspicious glare at them. He nudged Peter with his foot under the desk.
But James was already spiraling. He barely heard a word of the lesson after that. He just stared straight ahead, occasionally throwing a glance your way.
After class, he wanted to march straight up to you and ask you about this Regulus nonsense. But he couldn't. Not with Sirius bouncing beside him, talking about dinner plans, and not with Peter listing why Regulus "would totally pull."
And definitely not with Andromeda swinging her arm around your shoulder, chatting your ear off, pulling you toward the dungeons with the ease of someone who doesn't have a secret boyfriend fuming five feet away.
James and you just quietly exchanged glances before parting in different ways.
"So, what do you mean by Y/n and Regulus?" James asked once they were in the Gryffindor common room. He tried to sound disinterested, like he was just trying to gossip. "He's a year younger than her."
"So?" Remus sat across from him. "Age doesn't matter. They're both adults."
"W-well, yeah, but—" James tried to explain something, but failed to do so.
"Reg doesn't even have game." Sirius still looked bothered by the thought of his own brother having a romantic interest.
Peter leaned back in the chair. "Maybe he doesn't. But he has the face. Mysterious, brooding, those dark, haunted eyes. He looks like a bloody romance lead in a gothic novel, and Y/n's the artsy type. They probably sit in the library and bond over tragedies."
"Yeah, I'm not gonna lie... they do look good together," Remus added.
James looked at him and frowned. "What do you mean they look good together?"
Remus shrugged, "She looks like the kind of girl who'd fall for someone like him— quiet, witty, and handsome."
WRONG.
WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.
YOU'RE ALL WRONG.
BECAUSE I'M DATING HER, YOU TWATS.
James sat there, stewing in silence while his friends continued chatting. He barely said a word that night. Sirius assumed he was just sleepy, and Peter thought it was because of his Head Boy duties. But Remus?
Oh, Remus knew.
Later, when only the two of them were left behind, Remus caught up to James just before he went inside his separate Head Boy dorm.
"Hey," He called. "You dating someone?"
James froze.
"W-what?" He squeaked, trying to laugh it off,
Remus smiled, eyes too knowing. "Just asking. Valentine's day is coming up, after all. Lily might be expecting flowers from you. You know her type."
He winked and turned ahead towards the boys' dormitory, leaving James standing alone.
The next evening, James pulled you from the Great Hall after dinner and dragged you into his dorm, leaving no room for protest. His arm was slung over your shoulder like a possessive man, and now, you were on his bed— more accurately, you were pinned under him while he refused to let you go.
You'd barely managed to shuffle into his oversized Gryffindor Quidditch hoodie before he was already throwing himself at you like a starved dog.
He was quiet, oddly so, his arms wrapped around your waist firmly, his face buried into the crook of your neck. Ocassionally, you can hear him sniff you. He was literally inhaling your existence.
"...James?"
"Hmm..?"
Your brows furrowed slightly, fingers weaving through his dark curls— a trick you knew that would either soothe him or get him to talk. Hopefully both.
"You okay, love?" You asked, concern creeping into your voice. "You've been extra clingy tonight. More than usual. You've been practically attached to my hip like a koala."
He let out a muffled whimper against your neck, something between a grunt and a groan. Then, finally, he lifted his head and looked at you— brown, doe eyes, full pout in swing, and hair flopping boyishly on his head.
"Can I ask you something?" He said, very seriously.
Your fingers paused in his hair. "Of course."
"...Is there something going on with you and Regulus?"
Silence.
You blinked. "Regulus Black?"
James nodded miserably before burrowing his head into your lap.
"Love, what?" You asked, stunned and exasperated.
"I'm just asking." He mumbled. "People are saying things."
You laughed softly. "Okay, well, no. Nothing's going on with us. We're just friends. You know that."
James sat up. "Then why does everyone think you're dating him?"
You blinked again, trying to keep up with the sudden tempo change. His arms were crossed now, cheeks puffed out slightly, and brows drawn together like the cutest angry bear.
You bit back a smile. "I mean... maybe because we're friends and we do study together?"
"But I'm dating you!" He whispered-shouted, pointing at himself. "We've been together for months! Why is he the one everyone thinks you're snogging?"
"Probably because we're hiding this, James." You gestured at the two of you. "Like it's the crown jewels."
He flopped onto the bed with a dramatic groan. "Wormy heard the rumors. And you know he remembers everything and says it out loud like he's reading the newspaper headlines."
You lay down beside him and propped your head on your hand. "Okay... and what did he say?"
"That you and Regulus make sense. That you're both dark, mysterious, and brilliant, and pretty—"
You chuckled.
James glared at you. "And Moony agreed! He said you probably like quiet boys who look like they cry reading Wuthering Heights under the candlelight. What does that even mean?!"
You were full-on laughing now. "That does sound like Regulus."
James groaned again, rolling to his side so he could look at you. "And then Pads said you're pretty. And I almost popped a vein right there and then."
You gasped feigningly. "Sirius thinks I'm pretty? I must elope with him now."
"Don't joke like that!" He whined again.
You giggled, poking his chest. "I told you before, Regulus was just my friend. I help him with Potions, and he helps me with Charms. That's it. That's all."
James narrowed his eyes, still not convinced. "Are you sure you don't secretly like guys who brood?"
You booped his nose. "I only like you, Potter."
He huffed, a blush slowly creeping to his cheek. "...Really?"
"Yes. My sunshine, loud, chaotic boy."
James looked at you lovingly. But then, he tried to rally again, sitting up slightly. "I'm not jealous, by the way."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah." He hummed. "I'm just saying. Regulus is all... poetic and quiet and mysterious and you like books and art and moody stuff—"
You raised a brow. "So... you are jealous."
"I am not!"
"You totally are." You sing-sung.
"Am not!"
"Then why are you pouting?" You teased, reaching over to squish his cheeks.
"I always pout." He grumbled, but didn't resist the affection.
"And why'd you drag me to your bed like a clingy boyfriend who lost his teddy bear?"
"Because I am your clingy boyfriend who lost his teddy bear."
"Aww," You cooed, leaning in to kiss his forehead. "My poor jelly baby."
"I'm not jelly," He said with a pout.
You peppered his face with kisses until he stopped sulking, which only took about eight seconds. You were now situated on his lap, hands cupping both of his cheeks, while his hands were on your waist, pulling you close.
"I like you, James Potter. Not my poetic, sad-boy friend. Not Sirius. Not Remus. Not Peter— although he is very entertaining."
"Thank Merlin." James sighed. "I don't think I could survive if I ever lost you to Regulus. I would become a monk."
"You? A monk? You couldn't go twelve hours without touching me."
He grinned, face buried in your shoulder. "You know me so well."
“I do. So trust me when I say you’re my favorite boy. The loudest, sweetest, most golden-hearted one of all.”
“Even if I don’t read Wuthering Heights?”
“Especially because you don’t read Wuthering Heights.”
James grinned.
And if you caught him muttering mine mine mine mine into your neck while you both fell asleep, you didn’t say anything.
when kafka said ‘you wouldn’t believe the kind of person I could become if you wanted it’ and when brontë said ‘if you ever looked at me with what I know is in you, I would be your slave’ and when Sartre said ‘if I’ve got to suffer it may as well be at your hands’
