#james potter angst

[roze-latte-zz]

𝓕alling 𝓣hrough 𝓕alse 𝓵ies ⚞ James Potter ⚟

james potter x fem!hufflepuff!reader 7k Summary : What started as pity turned into love. James Potter never meant to fall for the quiet Hufflepuff who asked him out on a whim, but when the truth comes out, it might be too late. Now Hogwarts’ golden boy will do anything—letters, apologies, even begging under the stars—to win her back. she fell first he fell harder Warnings : Angst, miscommunication, overheard conversations, breakup, heartbreak, groveling, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending. Main masterlist || Navigation

The corridors of Hogwarts were always bustling, but today they felt like they were closing in on you. The stone walls seemed taller, the chatter of students louder, and every footstep echoed like the drum of your nerves. Your heart had been doing this strange, jittery dance since you woke up this morning, but now it was practically clawing at your ribcage, desperate to escape. You clutched the strap of your bag tighter, trying to steady your breathing.

This was stupid. Absolutely, horrendously stupid. Who in their right mind walked up to James Potter — James Potter, Quidditch captain, prankster extraordinaire, boy who had half the school trailing after him like he was the bloody North Star — and confessed to liking him? You. Apparently, you. Because your crush had been gnawing at you since third year, and it was fifth year now. Two years of stolen glances, of catching yourself smiling at his laugh across the Great Hall, of blushing whenever his hand brushed yours when passing a parchment in Charms.

Two years was too long. You couldn’t keep it bottled up anymore.

You spotted him at the end of the corridor, lounging against the wall with his gang — the Marauders. Sirius Black was telling a story with his hands waving wildly, Remus Lupin was pretending not to listen while clearly listening, and Peter Pettigrew was laughing a little too hard. And James… James was just there, all messy hair and bright eyes, twirling his wand between his fingers like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You should walk away. Run, even. But your feet kept carrying you forward, like some unseen force was pulling you closer. Your palms were sweaty. Your mouth dry. With every step, doubt gnawed deeper. What if he laughed? What if Sirius laughed? What if they all laughed? What if he said no in that casual, dismissive way James Potter was known for, and you had to carry that rejection like a scar forever?

But then he looked up. His hazel eyes flicked to you, a blink of recognition — you were the Hufflepuff he’d seen in Charms, right? The one who always smiled when someone asked you for help with notes. Not exactly on his radar, but not a stranger either.

“Uh—hi,” you managed, your voice trembling like a string about to snap. The Marauders stilled, turning to look at you, their pack-like attention unnerving.

James tilted his head, a polite smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. You’re—uh—y/l/n, right?”

Your heart swelled stupidly just because he remembered your surname. You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Right. That’s me. So, um…” You swallowed. The words lodged in your throat like stubborn stones. This was it — your point of no return. “I… I like you. Like—like like you. And I was wondering if maybe… you’d want to go out with me sometime?”

Silence.

Absolute silence. Even Sirius stopped mid-gesture. The air felt thick, heavy with expectation. Your stomach flipped so violently you thought you might be sick.

James blinked. Hard. Like his brain had blue-screened. What? His inner voice was a jumble of disbelief. He’d been confessed to plenty of times — it wasn’t new — but the way you said it, nervous and honest, it wasn’t coated in flirtation or games. Just… you. Sweet, straightforward, vulnerable. Cute, even.

But still. His first instinct screamed no. He didn’t know you. Not really. And James Potter didn’t go out with girls he didn’t know. He dated girls who were loud, dazzling, popular — not quiet Hufflepuffs who looked like they might cry if he so much as frowned.

Except there you were, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and hopeful, waiting like the world depended on his answer.

His smile faltered. He felt a twinge of something he didn’t expect: guilt. He didn’t like the idea of crushing that hopeful look. James Potter feeling bad for rejecting someone? What the hell.

So the word slipped out before he could stop it. “Yes.”

Your breath caught. Relief and joy rushed through you like sunlight after a storm. “Really? I—um—great. Maybe Hogsmeade this weekend? Ice cream? At Fortescue’s?”

“Yeah, sure,” James said, scratching the back of his neck, trying to play it casual. “Sounds fine.”

You grinned. A wide, radiant smile that made something warm stir in his chest, even though he’d meant the yes out of pity. “Okay! I’ll—I’ll see you then.”

You turned and hurried off before your nerves could collapse entirely, your heart still hammering but now with excitement instead of dread.

The second you were out of earshot, Sirius doubled over. “Merlin’s beard, Prongs, what the fuck was that?” His laugh was sharp and disbelieving. Remus was biting back a smile, Peter snorted into his sleeve.

James frowned. “What?”

“You just agreed to go on a date with her!” Sirius cackled. “You don’t even know her!”

“I didn’t want to crush her in front of everyone,” James defended, crossing his arms, but even as he said it, he sounded uncertain.

Remus arched a brow. “So your solution was to say yes?”

James shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

The weekend came faster than you expected. The crisp bite of autumn hung in the air as you made your way down to Hogsmeade. Leaves crunched under your boots, and you clutched your scarf closer to your neck. You were nervous again, but less so now — he’d said yes. That had to mean something. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.

James was already waiting outside Honeydukes, hands stuffed into his pockets, hair as messy as ever. He spotted you and gave a little wave, his smile easy but not quite warm.

“Hey,” you said, breath puffing white in the chilly air.

“Hey. Ready?”

You nodded, and together you walked toward Fortescue’s. Conversation stumbled at first. You filled the silence with small chatter — classes, professors, funny little things you’d noticed. James listened more than he spoke, tossing in comments now and then. He wasn’t cold, just… reserved. But you didn’t mind. You were talkative enough for both of you, and slowly, the tension eased.

Inside the ice cream parlour, you ordered something sweet and colorful, while James opted for a simple chocolate. You laughed when you got cream on your nose, and he chuckled softly, shaking his head as he handed you a napkin. That little moment lingered between you, unexpectedly gentle.

Afterward, you wandered the village. He bought butterbeer, and you insisted on paying him back, which made him grin for real. The two of you ended up walking back toward Hogwarts as the sky shifted into dusky shades of orange and purple, leaves swirling in the wind.

You talked about your favorite spots in the castle, about how autumn was the best season, about how you liked the quiet corners of the library because they smelled like parchment and ink. James listened, really listened, and found himself thinking you weren’t half bad company. Sweet. Kind. Easy to be around.

By the time you reached the castle gates, your nerves had melted into something softer. It hadn’t been a disaster. Far from it. You smiled at him, shy but genuine. “Thanks for today. I had a really nice time.”

James, to his own surprise, didn’t have to force his smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

And for the first time since he’d blurted out that impulsive ‘yes,’ he didn’t feel like it had been such a bad idea after all.

You still couldn’t believe it. Every time you walked into the Great Hall and James Potter’s hand found yours, every time he smiled that crooked grin and tugged you toward the Gryffindor table instead of letting you drift toward Hufflepuff’s, it felt unreal. You — quiet, bookish, never-in-the-spotlight you — dating James Potter, golden boy of Hogwarts. The whispers that followed you were proof enough. You caught the stares, the nudges, the murmurs: James Potter? With her? And every time, you felt a cocktail of nerves and giddy disbelief bubbling in your chest.

You tried not to let it show, but sometimes, when he leaned close to whisper a joke only you could hear, your smile betrayed you. You’d never imagined this, never dared hope beyond that reckless confession in the corridor. And yet, here you were.

James, though… James was struggling. Not that he let it slip easily. To you, he was the attentive boyfriend — not overwhelming, not overly sweet, but present. He held your hand when you walked together, he walked you down to the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room after late-night study sessions, he even nudged your pumpkin juice closer at breakfast like he’d always been looking out for you. It was enough to make your heart race.

But inside, James was a mess.

The thing was — he liked you. Against his own expectations. Not love, not the wild, star-scorched sort of affection he dreamed of giving someone someday, but a softness had crept in where he thought there’d be nothing. You were easy to talk to, easy to laugh with, easy to just… exist around. And that scared him more than it should have.

Sirius didn’t bother to hide his opinions. “You’ve got to tell her, mate. If you’re not serious, she deserves to know.”

Remus echoed the same, albeit quieter, gentler. “It’ll hurt less if you’re honest now than later.”

Even Peter muttered something like, “Yeah, feels wrong, James.”

But James couldn’t do it. Because every time you looked at him with those warm, hopeful eyes, the words lodged in his throat. He didn’t want to see them dim, didn’t want to hear your voice falter with disappointment. So he told himself lies that tasted like honey: he’d give it a month, see how it went, break it off gently if it didn’t work. No one would get hurt. Right?

He wanted to believe that.

Days slipped by in a haze of autumn gold. You sat with him at the Gryffindor table, feeling simultaneously out of place and exactly where you wanted to be. Gryffindors welcomed you in their own chaotic way — loud chatter, flying toast, Sirius cracking jokes across the table until you laughed so hard pumpkin juice nearly came out your nose. And through it all, James’s hand lingered on your knee under the table, grounding you.

At night, when he walked you down to the cozy entrance of the Hufflepuff basement, you could hardly believe the picture you made: James Potter, messy hair catching torchlight, grinning at you as though escorting you was the most natural thing in the world. You sometimes hesitated before slipping inside, half-expecting him to vanish into smoke when you blinked.

“Goodnight,” you whispered one evening, clutching your books to your chest. “Thank you for walking me.”

James shrugged, too casual, hiding the way his chest tightened. “Of course. Can’t have you getting ambushed by Peeves, can we?”

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and James found himself staring a moment too long. He liked that sound. More than he wanted to admit.

But when he crawled back into the Gryffindor dorms, Sirius was waiting. Arms crossed, smirk sharp. “You’re doomed, Prongs.”

James groaned, collapsing onto his bed. “I’m fine.”

“You like her.”

“I—no, I don’t. Not like that.” But the denial felt thin, weak. James rolled over, staring at the canopy. “She’s fine. Sweet. I’ll give it a month and if it's still like this then I’ll… I’ll break it off. Nicely.”

Remus’s voice drifted from the corner, quiet but firm. “It won’t be nice for her, James. You can’t make it painless.”

James shut his eyes. He knew they were right. But he also knew he couldn’t bring himself to tell you yet. Not when you were smiling at him like he was your entire world.

And Merlin help him — part of him didn’t want to let go.

Every moment with you was another thread tying him down. He found himself watching you more often — the way you furrowed your brows when concentrating in class, the way you always shared your notes with anyone who asked, the way your laughter came easily, without calculation. It wasn’t dazzling or dramatic, but it was real. And James was starting to realize he liked real more than he thought he did.

But beneath it all, the guilt festered. Every time you leaned into him in the common room, every time you brushed his arm with yours at breakfast, every time you kissed his cheek before ducking into class — James felt the weight of the truth he wasn’t telling you. He liked you, yes. But not in the way you deserved.

And yet, when you turned to him one evening under the autumn stars, whispering, “I can’t believe this is real,” he only smiled back and pulled you closer, even though his chest ached with the lie.

Three weeks slipped by like a dream. You had never known happiness could feel this simple — like sunlight spilling through autumn leaves, like laughter echoing across the Black Lake, like stolen glances that made your cheeks burn long after. Everything with James felt… amazing. Better than you ever dared to imagine. The stares, the whispers, the disbelief of others melted into nothing whenever his hand found yours. For once, you didn’t doubt yourself. For once, you allowed yourself to believe you were enough.

You thought things were going strong. And they were. Only stronger than you realized — because James Potter had fallen, hard.

It started quietly. At first, James told himself he was just indulging the sweetness of it, just giving you — and himself — time. But somewhere between the picnics by the lake and the butterbeer dates in Hogsmeade, he found himself grinning when you weren’t looking. He found himself replaying your laugh in his head when he was meant to be studying. He found himself reaching for you automatically, as though his body had decided it was no longer complete without you pressed against his side.

He was doomed. And he knew it.

The day it hit him hardest was the skating picnic.

The lake had frozen over early that year, the ice shimmering like glass under the pale winter sun. You’d brought a basket of food wrapped in cheerful yellow cloth, insisting on a picnic even in the cold. James teased you endlessly about it, but he carried the basket anyway, secretly delighted just to see you so determined.

After you ate, you’d both strapped on skates and ventured onto the ice. You wobbled almost immediately, clutching at his arm, and James laughed so hard he nearly toppled with you. “You’re hopeless,” he teased, but he didn’t let go. Not once. Every time you slipped, his hand was there, steady and sure.

“Stop laughing at me!” you squeaked, cheeks flushed from cold and embarrassment.

“I can’t,” James managed between chuckles. “You’re too cute when you fall.”

You swatted at him, but your grin gave you away. And then — without warning — your skate slid too far, your balance gave out, and you tumbled forward. James’s reflexes kicked in instantly. His hands shot out, gripping your waist, hauling you back against him before you could crash to the ice.

The world seemed to still.

Your palms pressed against his chest, his heartbeat pounding beneath your touch. His hands remained at your waist, fingers curling tighter, unwilling to let you go. The laughter faded from his lips as his hazel eyes locked on yours. Wide. Intense. Hungry.

And then he kissed you.

Not the hesitant brush of lips you’d sometimes imagined, not the tentative peck of teenagers figuring it out. No — this was James Potter, undone. He tilted his head and closed the gap with a desperation that startled you. His lips were warm against the winter chill, his kiss deep and claiming. One hand slid up your back, anchoring you to him, while the other tightened at your waist as though he feared you might vanish if he didn’t hold you close enough.

You melted into him, the shock giving way to something hotter, wilder. The ice beneath your skates, the laughter of distant students, the entire world blurred until there was nothing left but him. His mouth moved against yours like you were the only thing that mattered. Because to James, in that moment, you were.

When he finally pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “Bloody hell.” His grin was dazed, his hair messier than ever, and his eyes shone like he’d just discovered a secret he wanted to keep forever.

You giggled softly, unable to find words. Instead, you leaned in and kissed him again, quick but certain, and James Potter knew he was gone for good.

Of course, the Marauders noticed.

Sirius caught James staring at you during breakfast, toast forgotten in his hand, and nearly spat out his pumpkin juice laughing. “Merlin’s balls, Prongs, you’re gone. Absolutely finished. Look at you — all heart eyes over there.”

James shoved him, scowling but blushing all the same. “Shut it, Padfoot.”

Remus only smiled knowingly over his book. “It suits you, James. She suits you.”

Even Peter piped up, grinning. “She makes you less annoying. We like her.”

And though they teased him relentlessly, none of them could deny the truth: you were good for him. Better than good. For once, James Potter wasn’t all bravado and antics. He was softer. Warmer. Happier.

And for once, you weren’t just the quiet Hufflepuff with her nose in a book. You were the girl James Potter couldn’t stop thinking about, the girl who’d stumbled into his orbit and made herself indispensable.

Three weeks in, you thought everything was perfect.

Three weeks in, James knew he was ruined.

And he couldn’t bring himself to mind one bit.

The walk back from the Quidditch pitch should’ve been nothing. A normal, golden afternoon — James changing after practice, you slipping away to fetch him water, the autumn sun still hanging low and warm. But instead, it became the day your chest hollowed out, the day you realized how foolishly you had believed in fairytales.

You hadn’t meant to overhear. You had rounded the corner with two chilled bottles in hand, only to catch the echo of laughter — Sirius’s sharp bark, Remus’s steadier murmur, Peter’s giggle threading through. Then James’s voice, low, defensive, fraying at the edges.

“She asked me out — what was I supposed to do? Say no to her face?”

And Sirius’s reply, “Prongs, you said yes out of pity. That’s rotten.”

Your breath stuck. The water felt heavy in your grip. Pity. The word burned into your ears, etched into the soft parts of you that had been glowing these last weeks. Pity. You waited, praying for a contradiction — for James to scoff, to say, No, that’s not it, I like her. But you didn’t stay long enough to hear the rest. You fled, water bottles still clutched tight, shame and disbelief dragging you down.

By the time you collapsed in your dorm that night, the bottles were nowhere near James. The water never reached him.

—

The next morning felt different. You sat at the Hufflepuff table for the first time since you’d begun dating. You felt their curious eyes, heard their whispered questions, but ignored them. James noticed instantly from across the Great Hall. His head jerked toward you, brows furrowing, confusion flickering like a candle flame. For weeks you’d been glued to his side, laughter spilling between you both. Now you didn’t even glance at him. He shifted, restless, picking at his toast, pretending to listen to Sirius.

Maybe she just wants to sit with her own friends today, he told himself. But the unease pooled in his stomach.

After breakfast, he caught you before you could vanish. “Hey—” his voice soft, uncertain, relief creeping in as he finally had you close. “I was looking for you last night. Where’d you go? You didn’t bring the—”

You cut him off. Your tone was sharp enough to slice him open. “Out of pity, right?”

James froze. The words hit him harder than any Bludger could. His heart tripped in his chest, his throat went dry. He blinked at you, panicked, uncomprehending. “What? No, I— how did you—”

You laughed, a sound brittle and cracked. “Doesn’t matter how. I heard enough.”

James felt everything tilting. He reached for you, desperation flooding his veins. “No, listen to me, it wasn’t— it isn’t— I never meant—”

“Don’t.” You stepped back before his hand could brush yours. Your stomach churned, your vision blurred. Anger at yourself sharpened your words. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve known this wasn’t real. James Potter doesn’t date Hufflepuff nobodies unless he feels sorry for them.”

The words gutted him. His mouth opened, but nothing came out at first — just the ache. Then, frantic, “That’s not true. I swear, it’s not what you think. Please—”

Your chest rose and fell, ragged. “Stop. Just stop. Whatever this was, it’s over.”

He shook his head violently, his voice cracking. “No, no, you don’t understand— I— I like you, I do—”

You laughed again, wetter this time, your throat thick. “Don’t lie now, James. Don’t make it worse.”

The finality in your tone shattered him. He stumbled closer, eyes wide, pleading. “I’m not lying. Please. Give me a chance to—”

But you cut him off again, your voice trembling. “We’re done. I don’t want to be the pity project anymore.”

The silence after hung heavy, unbearable. James’s hands hovered uselessly in the air, empty. His chest heaved like he’d run ten laps around the pitch. He wanted to scream, to grab time itself and rewind it, to make you hear the part you hadn’t stayed for: how the pity had burned away weeks ago, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you had become his favorite part of every day.

But you were already turning away.

“Please,” he whispered hoarsely, one last time, like the word could anchor you to him. “Please, don’t—”

You didn’t look back. The corridor swallowed you whole, leaving him stranded, hollow.

James stood there until his knees buckled. He leaned against the stone wall, head dropping into his hands. His chest hurt like someone had hexed him open. The bottle of water you had meant to bring him — the simple gesture that should’ve been nothing — never left his thoughts.

He didn’t even notice when Sirius found him minutes later. “Prongs?”

James lifted his head, eyes red, jaw tight. For once, Sirius didn’t smirk or tease. He just clapped a hand on James’s shoulder, steady and silent, as if holding him up when he couldn’t stand on his own.

Because James Potter — golden boy, Quidditch captain, Marauder — had just lost the one person who made him feel more than all of that combined. And it was his fault.

James Potter had never known desperation like this.

It started small: letters. Neat at first, written late at night under the soft glow of his wand. Please, just let me explain. Please talk to me. By the third day, his handwriting had grown jagged, his quill blotting ink with every frantic word. He sent them with owls, slipped them into your bag, folded them between the pages of books he knew you’d borrow from the library. Every single one came back unopened — sometimes still sealed, sometimes crumpled, sometimes left on the floor outside the Hufflepuff common room for him to find like a reminder of your rejection.

He started waiting. First between classes, leaning casually against the stone walls, pretending he wasn’t searching for your face in every crowd. Then outside your common room, long after curfew, until his legs ached from standing. Sometimes he’d sit on the floor, running a hand through his hair until it stuck up worse than usual, hoping you’d appear. You never did.

The Marauders noticed. Of course they did. Sirius ribbed him at first, until James snapped so hard Sirius’s smirk dropped. Remus tried to soothe, told him he needed to give you space. Peter avoided his eyes. But James couldn’t stop. Every corridor without you felt hollow. Every meal you spent at the Hufflepuff table tore another piece of him away.

He cornered you once in the library. You slipped away before he even opened his mouth. Another time, he chased you down a hallway, calling your name until his voice broke, only to watch you vanish around the corner. Each rejection left him more frayed, more undone.

By the second week, James Potter — Quidditch captain, prankster king, golden boy of Gryffindor — looked wrecked. Shadows bruised the skin under his eyes. His laugh had vanished. He walked the castle like a ghost.

—

The Astronomy Tower was supposed to be your escape. Late at night, long after curfew, when the castle slept and the stars stretched endless above, you climbed the spiraling stairs to breathe. You wanted distance, a quiet place to unravel without being seen.

But when you pushed open the heavy door, you weren’t alone.

James stood at the railing, hunched, shoulders drawn tight like he was carrying something too heavy to set down. His broom-calloused hands gripped the stone ledge, knuckles white, and for a moment you thought about leaving, slipping back into the shadows before he noticed.

You turned on your heel. But you weren’t fast enough.

His hand shot out, closing around your wrist. The touch was hot, trembling. “Wait.”

“James—” you started, sharp, but he tugged gently, then harder, pulling you around until you faced him. The stars spilled silver across his face, highlighting the redness in his eyes, the raw ache carved into every line. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He looked broken.

Your stomach flipped. You tried to pull free. “Let go.”

He didn’t. His grip tightened, not hurting, but desperate, anchoring you in place. His other hand came up to your waist, hesitant at first, then clutching like he was afraid you’d disappear. Your body was nearly flush against his, your heart thudding wildly as he bent close, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

“No,” he rasped, voice shredded. “No, you’re going to hear me this time.”

You stiffened, anger rising with your panic. “James, I don’t want—”

His breath hitched, chest heaving against yours. “Please,” he broke in, the word hoarse, torn straight from his throat. “Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you without telling you everything.”

The rawness in his voice stole yours for a moment. He pressed on, eyes locked to yours, glassy and frantic.

“Yes, it started wrong. I was an idiot, a coward— I didn’t know what to do when you asked me out, and I said yes without thinking. I thought— Merlin, I thought it’d be a week, maybe two, and then I’d let you go gently so you wouldn’t get hurt. That’s what I told them. That’s what you heard. But that’s not— that’s not the end of it.”

You shook your head, trying to step back, but his grip on your wrist held. He leaned closer, voice cracking as it tumbled out faster, desperate.

“Because then you smiled at me. And you laughed with me. And you sat with me at every meal and walked me back to my tower like it was the most natural thing in the world. You— you listened. No one listens to me, not really, but you did. And suddenly it wasn’t pity, it wasn’t some bloody joke, it was everything. You were everything. I fell, harder than I’ve ever fallen for anything, and I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Your throat tightened, but you swallowed it down, shaking your head again. “James—”

“I’ve called for you in every stupid way I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking fully now. “Letters, hallways, waiting outside your common room like some lovesick fool. Do you know how many times I’ve stood there hoping you’d open the door? I would’ve stood there all night if it meant seeing you. I don’t care if it’s pathetic. I don’t care if I look like an idiot. I just— I can’t stand this silence. I can’t stand not having you.”

His forehead dropped against yours, his breath ragged. His hand on your waist clenched tighter, like he needed proof you were real. “I love you. I didn’t know it at first, but I do. And I’ll spend every bloody day proving it to you if you let me. Please. Please, if you can’t give me another chance, at least— at least forgive me.”

Your eyes burned. You hated the ache in your chest, the way his words cracked you open. You wanted to pull free, to run, to protect yourself. But his desperation held you rooted, trembling under the weight of everything he’d just confessed.

For the first time since you’d walked away, James Potter wasn’t the golden boy, the untouchable heartthrob. He was just a boy. A boy with tear-streaked cheeks, clutching you like you were air, begging you not to leave.

And Merlin help you, you couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at you like that.

James’s forehead pressed to yours, his chest heaving, his voice trembling with the force of everything he had spilled. For a long moment, the only sound was his breathing — uneven, desperate — and the steady thud of your heart that seemed far too loud in the quiet tower.

Your throat burned. You hated him for breaking you, hated yourself for still feeling the pull of him even now. His hand was warm around your wrist, his grip at your waist almost painful in its need. He was shaking. James Potter, who never faltered, who shone so brightly that everyone else bent toward his orbit — was shaking.

“I love you,” he whispered again, quieter this time, like the words themselves were fragile. “Please. Don’t walk away.”

Tears pricked your eyes. You had imagined this moment a hundred times in the past weeks — what you would say if he tried, how strong you would be. But now, standing here with him undone before you, the edges of your anger softened into something else. Something raw. Something human.

Slowly, you lifted your free hand, hesitating before brushing your fingers against his jaw. His breath caught. His eyes, wide and red-rimmed, searched yours like he was terrified of what you’d say.

“You’re an idiot,” you whispered, voice breaking. “A selfish, reckless idiot who should’ve told me the truth from the start.”

“I know.” His answer was immediate, fervent. “I know. I was a coward. I was wrong. I’ll never stop being sorry for it.”

Your chest ached. “You hurt me.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, his grip loosening just enough to let you pull back if you wanted. “I know. And if you never want me again, I’ll accept it. But I need you to know — there’s no pity anymore. Just you. Just… love.”

The last word cracked something inside you. Because even after all the pain, after the nights of doubt and the weeks of silence, you believed him. Not because he was James Potter, golden boy, but because he was James — tear-stained, broken, trembling — and he was laying himself bare.

You exhaled shakily, then leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. “I forgive you,” you whispered, and the weight in your chest eased for the first time in weeks. “But you’d better spend the rest of your life proving it.”

The laugh that broke from him was wet, choked, disbelieving. Relief washed over his face in waves, and before you could say another word, his lips were on yours. The kiss was desperate at first, then softer, reverent — like he was pouring every apology, every promise into it. His hand at your waist slid around to your back, holding you close like he never meant to let go again.

When you finally pulled away, his forehead stayed against yours, his grin small but luminous through the tears. “Deal,” he breathed. “Every day. For as long as you’ll let me.”

For the first time since the world had splintered, you let yourself smile. And in the quiet of the Astronomy Tower, beneath the vast stretch of stars, James Potter held you like he’d finally found his way home.

[colouredbyd]

Share Your Girl

sirius black x reader x james potter

summary: sirius black knows exactly how badly his best friend, james potter, secretly wants you. all those dirty thoughts he tries to keep buried whenever you’re around are no secret. wanting to stir things up a bit, sirius decides to finally share a taste of his girl.

word count: 8k (and yes, all of it is smut)

warnings: threesome (m/m/f), oral sex (male and female receiving), spit play, cum play, choking, light gagging, praise kink, degradation kink, hair pulling, cream pie, blindfold, bondage. fingering, jealousy as foreplay, corruption, humiliation, possessive behavior, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, anal sex, cunnilingus, squirting, james is in love w reader, overstimulation, double penetration, reader being very into it, they fuck on a piano (?), co-written with my lovely friend mari ;) consensual from all sides, some messy emotions between the smut.

This is a dream. This must be a dream. Otherwise, how could you explain it?

There’s no other way to explain it—how else could you make sense of being pressed between two boys whose names alone make people turn their heads, whose reputations precede them in every hallway at Hogwarts?

Sirius Black is on your left—your boyfriend, your beautiful, reckless mistake of a love—and James Potter is on your right, with those golden brown eyes and that effortless grin that always lingers a moment too long.

They’re dressed for the party, both of them in open-collared dress shirts, ties loosened, cloaks discarded somewhere on a dusty sofa in the abandoned Astronomy classroom Sirius had dragged you into after the Gryffindor common room had become too loud.

You’d barely had time to ask what he was doing before he kissed you, hard and fast, only to pull away and glance behind you.

That’s when you saw James, closing the door with one hand, his mouth parted in disbelief.

Now, you’re caught between them in the dim candlelight. Sirius’s lips claim yours, hungry and territorial, while James trails soft, burning kisses down your neck, right where your pulse betrays you.

The thudding in your chest is deafening. The cool air of the castle seeps through the cracked window nearby, but your skin is flushed, feverish from the heat of their bodies.

Sirius still wears his signet ring, the same one he twisted nervously the first time he asked you out under the Quidditch stands. His all-black attire makes him look like sin wrapped in velvet.

James is the opposite—white button-down, sleeves rolled up, maroon tie hanging loose around his neck. He smells like firewhisky and something sweet, like the fruit punch he swears he didn’t spike.

You remember the party. You remember laughing with Lily, music pulsing through the common room, someone shouting about a drinking game.

But you don’t remember how you got here—back pressed to cold stone, breath stolen by Sirius’s kiss, hands fisting into James’s shirt as he groans softly against your collarbone.

Are you drunk?

You don’t feel drunk. You feel alive, aching, suspended in something you don’t quite understand. Your body moves like it remembers something your mind hasn’t caught up with yet—how it feels to be desired by both of them at once. How easy it is to let go of reason when Sirius is biting down on your lip and James is whispering something sinful against your ear.

You’re the center of their attention. Of their hunger. Of their want.

Their beauty is almost unearthly, and some part of you—hazy and overwhelmed—thinks maybe they don’t belong to this world. Maybe they’re not boys at all, but something else entirely. Maybe they fell for you like stars crash through the sky—bright, brief, and destined to burn.

And now they’re burning you from the inside out.

Wicked, beautiful, untouchable. Except you’re the one they’re touching now. The one they want. The one Sirius called mine before he looked James in the eye and whispered, only if you’re gentle.

And Merlin help you, James said yes.

“Keep your voice down,” your boyfriend warns in his gentle, seductive husky voice. “You can do that for us, can’t you, love?” His teeth grind against the skin of your neck, tasting the scent of your perfume with his tongue while his best friend goes down to his knees before you.

A pair of warm hazel eyes, flecked with gold and honey, look up at you through a tousled mess of dark curls.

James, cheeks tinged with rose like the first bloom of spring, gazes up at you with a longing so deep it steals the breath from your lungs—years of affection, buried and burning, now surfacing all at once.

His fingertips trace your thigh with a reverence that borders on worship, each touch sparking heat beneath your skin.

“Sweetheart…” he murmurs, voice thick with awe, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh as he wraps one arm around your leg, grounding himself in the moment.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl…”

The words fall from him like prayer—soft, aching, and meant only for you.

You chew on your lip to refrain yourself from making sound, giving your boyfriend two tiny nods to his earlier question. 

Sirius chuckles, his hand sliding down to cup one of your breasts over the fabric. Though your dress spills down to the floor in elegant waves, the high slit running along your thigh offers James easy access to you—something he takes full advantage of.

He kneels before you, eyes gleaming behind his glasses, and presses a trail of feather-light kisses along the length of your exposed leg.

“Merlin,” he breathes against your skin, voice low and reverent, “you’re so soft…”

His hand glides slowly up your thigh, fingers splayed, teasing, as if he's memorizing the feel of you—every inch, every breathless shiver under his touch.

before he settles his head between your thighs. “Your body is a dream. So beautiful…” His breath fans your skin, elevating the tiny hairs on your nape. 

“You’re like an angel.” The pet name and the praises he gives you feel just as foreign as the way he touches you, but James is only eager to make you feel at home.

“An angel?” Sirius snickers, his lips grazing your earlobe, his fingers curling around your throat. “What kind of an angel, are you, Sweetheart? Wanting another man’s face between your legs when you already have your boyfriend satisfying you all night. What, one cock isn’t enough for you, baby? Want my best friend to fuck you too, is that it?”

You can’t answer, your thighs quivering when you feel James kissing you over your underwear.

You’re much more sensitive as you never fantasized to be in such a position with the boy you shared hours of conversations with about your favorite books and he spilled his Quidditch strategies to you. 

James has always been attractive. You noticed that from the start—he was all charm and careless smiles, with eyes that lingered a little too long when he looked at you. It wasn’t exactly a secret, either. 

Everyone knew he had it bad for you, and James was never subtle about it. But you never paid it much attention. Not because you didn’t see it, but because Sirius knew—and didn’t care. If anything, he liked it. 

There was something twistedly satisfying to him about watching his best friend want the one thing only he could have.

You never thought of James that way before. He was always sweet, almost boyish—blushing at the idea of holding your hand. Innocent, in his own eager, golden-hearted way.

And yet now… now he’s on his knees in front of you, hands reverent, eyes dark with want. And there’s nothing innocent about him anymore.

“I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?” James says, professing the words like it’s a form of reassurance.

Your high heel slides down the floor when he separates his lips and presses his mouth hotly against the lace of your panties. You would’ve lost your balance if your boyfriend wasn’t there to catch you.

“Sensitive, are we?” Sirius croons, purring delightfully next to your ear as he moves to stand behind you. 

“What is it, honey? Does it feel good?” You weakly nod, biting the corner of your lip to contain your whimper. 

Sirius’s eyes glaze, his voice drops a pitch lower as he takes in your expression, loathing the fact that another man can make your face contort in pleasure. “He hasn’t even started yet.” He holds you close, his face hovering past your shoulder to lock gaze with the shorter male. 

“Isn’t that right, James?”

James, keeping his eyes on you, hugs your legs close and does a little mm-hmm as he mouths against your clothed heat. You softly whine, leaning your weight on your boyfriend’s chest. 

It’s funny how responsive you are right now, acting like this is the first time someone has performed oral sex on you when your boyfriend has done that almost every day since you started dating.

“Sirius…” you moan, your body flinching when you can feel the shape of James’s tongue gliding over the cloth. “What are we—What is happening?”

“We’re making your dreams come true,” he answers, his arm shifting down to grapple your leg. Lifting it high enough for your dress to slide to the side, Sirius exposes your thigh and your center at once.

“Show him, baby,” Sirius tells you. “Show him how fucking wet that pussy is.”

Your heart is hitched in your throat but you follow nonetheless. Reaching down, you push your panties to the side. 

“Good,” your boyfriend says. “Now, spread them apart.” With your cheeks burning brightly, you bring your other hand down, spreading your lower lips apart until James can see your dripping cunt, your entrance twitching in anticipation.

“Take a good look, James,” Sirius utters, his tone conceited and cold. “This is what you want. Been thinking about fucking my girl behind my back for a while, haven’t you, Prongs?”

James has the hardest time tearing his gaze away from you, but he manages. Exchanging stares with your boyfriend, he solemnly utters, “I wouldn’t have done this if you didn’t give me permission to touch her.”

“That’s right,” he smiles pompously, shooting one hand down to join your fingers, putting you on display. 

“This pretty cunt here belongs to me. You don’t get to taste it. You don’t get to fuck it unless I let you to. You’re only here because of me.” He dips his index finger deep inside your hole before he retrieves it and plunges it into your mouth. 

You whimper around his finger, tasting your own slick. “You better take good care of her. Better make her cum and lick her clean. Do that, and maybe I’ll forgive you for this. After all…” Sirius turns his face to the side, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheek. 

“I’m just here to please my girl. If she wants to be a fucking slut and have her holes stuffed with our cocks at the same time then I would gladly do it.”

Your boyfriend spreads your legs as wide as possible with one hand circling your waist protectively to keep you standing on your feet. “Go on,” Sirius urges, eyes gleaming dangerously as he peers down at the other man. 

“You want to fuck my girl’s cunt with your tongue, don’t you? Do it before I change my mind.”

James breathes out heavily. His fear, desire, and overwhelming thrill add pretty colors to his pale face. Sirius tells you to keep your hands where they are. 

James tentatively darts out his tongue, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, his nose bumping against your finger. He removes your hand, placing them on his head so you could guide him. 

His moan reverberates to your skin when he feels you tightening your hold around his curly strands, leaving his hair all disheveled. Now that he has more room to reach, James eagerly latches his mouth against your folds, tongue flicking obscenely before his lips close around your clit.

Your body jerks. “Ah—mmph!”

Sirius slaps one hand over your mouth, stopping your voice from thundering down the hallway. “Shhh,” he titters, stuffing two of his fingers inside and pressing them flat against your tongue. 

“You want people to catch us like this? I won’t mind if you ask me. I would love to fuck my girlfriend in front of everyone. Want them to see how good I am at making you cry out my name like a fucking little bitch you are.”

Moments like this make you realize that your boyfriend was never an angel. He’s been the devil, Lucifer himself, from day one. 

James’s little grunts are muffled against your skin, his cerulean eyes turning hazy as he watches your expression twist in pleasure. 

He sneaks one hand behind your leg, palm splayed against your calf before he guides you to rest your thigh on his shoulder. 

You’re now lifted off the ground, trusting your bodyweight entirely on the two males to fight against gravity. “sweetheart…” He bestows a gentle kiss on your clit, pulling away slightly just to replace his mouth with two of his fingers. 

Gliding them down over your folds, there’s a hint of curiosity and nervousness as he speaks his sentence. “Do I make you feel good?”

You’re not sure what to say. No, you’re not sure if you should speak at all as your boyfriend is right behind you. But Sirius removes his fingers from your mouth, your saliva dribbling down your chin as he frames your face and forces you to look down at James. 

“He asked you a question.” Sirius’s voice is just as melodious as it is perilous. You sink your teeth on your bottom lip, too afraid to be honest. “It’s only polite to reply.”

“B-but–”

“Answer him.”

“Yes,” you vocalize in a tattered breath. “Yes, it feels good.”

You expect your boyfriend to be upset, maybe curling his fingers around your throat a little harder to remind you who owns you but Sirius chuckles, saying, “That’s my good girl,” as he grants you a soft kiss on your shoulder. “Now, relax, love. I want you to enjoy everything while it lasts.”

James, encouraged by your answer, dives down to taste you again, this time focusing more on abusing your already swollen clit. Your hand tugs harder against his roots as your hips start to move on your own.

“Aah, look at you,” Sirius says, drawing your earlobe between his teeth. “Riding his face like that… Just how much you’ve been thinking about this, hmm?” His hand slips under the garment of your dress, taking possession of your breast and squeezing it until your whole body jolts. 

“Filthy whore,” he growls, teeth-gritting as he says it.

He’s angry. Even if he pretends he isn’t, there’s no denying it. He’s swallowed by the rage of seeing another man pleasuring his girlfriend right before his eyes but he doesn’t do anything to stop it. 

He keeps holding one of your legs in the air, commanding him, “Fuck her with your tongue. If you can’t make her squirt, I won’t let you fuck her.”

James groans, the dazed look on his face morphs slightly into a glare, vexed by his words. He retracts his fingers, stretching your pussy’s lips as wide apart as possible, tongue darting out to tease your entrance before he plunges it inside your hole. 

Your body lurches forward, eyebrows stitched together in pleasure. You have one hand clawing against your boyfriend’s shirt, your reaction fueling the jealousy raging in his chest but Sirius simply tilts up his chin, an arrogant smile breaking upon his lips.

“That’s the spirit, James,” he says, a moment before he sinks his teeth against the spot that connects your neck to your shoulder, rewarding you with the pain while James tortures you with pleasure. “Keep it up. I want to see her cum all over your face.”

James doesn’t have Sirius’s practiced touch—the kind born of years of experience and confidence—but what he lacks in finesse, he more than makes up for in sheer, devoted eagerness. There’s something dangerous in that kind of want. Desperate to please, desperate to unravel you.

And when he slides two fingers inside you, thrusting with an intensity that betrays how badly he’s imagined this, how long he’s wanted it—it takes no time at all before your body begins to tremble.

“Ah—Sirius…” you gasp, voice catching as your knees buckle beneath the weight of pleasure. Your hand shoots out blindly, grasping at Sirius’s arm like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

“I’m—I’m about to cum—James—“

Sirius grabs your face, smashing your mouths together and kissing you harder than he’s ever been before you can finish pronouncing the word. 

“Don’t say his name,” he growls, squeezing your cheeks together with one hand as the knots inside your belly grow taut. “You either scream my name or nothing at all. Understand?” The sudden drop in his pitch makes your skin crawl in both fear and excitement.

You’re breathing hard, fogs clouding your thoughts as James drives you closer to the brink. “I—Sirius—”

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” you sob out. “Yes. Only you, Sirius.”

Satisfied, he kisses you again, whispering between the collision of your mouths, “Good. Now, cum, baby. Give him what he wants.”

Not two seconds later, you reach your high, your scream strangled in your throat as you give in to the blind pleasure. Your orgasm hits you so hard that you end up squirting. 

James’s eyes shut close in reflex when your cum stains his face, a little bit of your juice dripping to the floor before he catches the rest of your essence in his mouth, lapping you clean and swallowing everything you give him as promised.

Sirius sneers, the tip of his nose brushes against your ear. “Squirting on another man’s face,” he titters mockingly, “I can’t believe it.”

James returns to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His chin still glistens with your slick, your taste sitting thickly on his tongue. 

He offers you his usual angelic smile, the adoration he holds for you never falter even if you’re his best friend's girl. “Let’s move somewhere else,” he says, his thumb sliding across your lips as he holds back the temptation to kiss you. “The party will be over soon. I don’t want anyone to see us like this.”

Sirius untangles his arm from your leg, letting you stand on your own. Your knees still wobble from the aftershock of your orgasm, leaving you with no choice but to have your body pressed flat against his chest. 

Despite the terms he used to degrade you a moment ago, your boyfriend soothes you down with a little kiss on the side of your temple, his arm holding you still by your waist.

“You okay?” He asks, genuinely concerned.

Turning bashful, you respond with a timid smile and a weak, “Yeah, umm… I think I just pulled a muscle from the way you were holding me.”

Sirius laughs, landing a playful peck on your cheek. “Not as flexible as you were before, huh, grandma?”

“S-shut up.”

James watches with his jaw clenched, jealousy starting to gnaw at him just as much as the one that was blazing inside Sirius’s chest. “Come,” he says, pivoting on his heels and leading you down the hallway. “I know a place we can use.”

***

You’ve been in this room before.

It’s tucked away in one of Hogwarts’ forgotten towers—a space James had claimed long ago as his own. He called it his sanctuary. With its high, arched windows and shelves crammed with weathered spellbooks and Muggle novels alike, the room feels more like a secret study than a part of the castle. 

The stone walls are softened by old rugs and scattered cushions, a few armchairs charmed to stay warm no matter the season. 

At the center sits a white grand piano, slightly out of place in the magical chaos—its ivory surface gleaming in the candlelight, its lid closed, waiting.

You remember the last time you were here. It was his birthday. He’d snuck you away from the party in the common room, tugging you by the hand through secret passageways only he seemed to know. 

You’d sat beside him on the piano bench, close enough to feel the warmth of him, and listened as his fingers danced across the keys. That was the night James declared his love for you, but you could’nt seem to be able to return it.

Because even then, with all that tenderness spilling from him, you couldn’t give it back. Your heart already belonged to someone else. And he knew it.

But that was then.

Right now, you’re lying down on the same piano, your dress thrown away haphazardly on the floor, your chest exposed and your legs opened wide with no fabric covering your skin. 

It’s been an hour since you started this. You’re in a haze, your body enervated after your boyfriend gave you your second orgasm that day only by using his fingers.

The two handsome men now stand tall before you, their eyes still fixated on the way your bare chest is heaving up and down as you try to catch your breath. 

Sirius had shed his formal robes long ago, trading them for something far more him—a loose black button-down, completely undone and hanging open over his bare chest, the fabric slipping off one shoulder like it had given up trying to contain him. 

His white undershirt is nowhere to be seen, tossed somewhere across the room, and his sleeves are rolled carelessly to his elbows. 

He smirks, eyes dark and wild as ever. “I hope you’re not tired yet, love. We’re just getting started.”

James, dressed in nothing left but a shirt and slacks, unfastens the three top buttons of his shirt with a little tremble in his fingertips. He’s visibly nervous at what your boyfriend has planned for the rest of the evening but he doesn’t file a word of protest. 

The curly-haired boy still feels jittery even after he was holding you close from behind as your boyfriend fingered you until you drenched his fist with your juices. Sirius tells him to take off his robe and he follows, sliding it away from his collar.

“Let’s play a little game,” Sirius announces with mischief in his tone, walking to the other side of the piano where you have your head resting a few inches away from the edge. 

His sensual, devilish smirk is the last thing you see before your boyfriend covers your eyes with his tie. He lifts your head, knotting the tie securely behind your skull.

“Sirius—”

He lowers his head to close the gap and kisses you upside down, silencing you at once. “Relax, love,” he coos, the shape of his smirk pressing against your lips. 

“I’m gonna take care of you real nice, okay?”

Now that you’ve lost your vision, you rely heavily on your ears to figure out what’s going on. You can hear James’s footsteps closing in at the same time you feel Sirius moving away from you. 

“Lift your hands, sweetheart,” his honeyed voice echoes near, a lot gentler than how your boyfriend spoke to you. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

Trying not to tense so much, you raise your hands in the air. James wraps his tie around your wrist, careful not to hurt you, unlike your boyfriend who always loves to tie it hard enough so it will leave angry marks on your skin for him to marvel in the morning. 

Once the fabric wraps around your wrists, binding you gently, James guides your arms down to rest across your stomach. His touch is patient, reverent—like he’s memorizing every inch of you with his hands alone.

He leans forward, fingers tilting your chin toward him, and kisses you upside down—mirroring the way Sirius had kissed you just moments earlier.

But James kisses differently. He kisses like you’re fragile, like pressing too hard might break you. There’s something achingly soft in the way his lips move against yours, careful and searching. You exhale quietly through your nose, letting yourself fall into the simplicity of it—just breath and warmth and the subtle hum of magic in the air.

Then you feel it—his tongue, timid and slow, tracing along the seam of your lips as if asking permission, tasting you like you’re something sacred. Your heart stutters in your chest, racing in time with his, even though the kiss is barely there.

Time feels suspended—like the world has curled in on itself, quiet and dreamlike—until—

“James.”

The boy stiffens, breaking off the kiss at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice rumbling through the air. 

He raises his face, a muscle in his jaw twitches as he sees Sirius’s eyes turn dark and piercing. Both males are jealous of one another. 

James wants you for himself, while Sirius, despite giving him his permission, grows even more resentful in sharing you with another man, even if it was his best friend. The tension between the two is enough to smother you but fortunately, you’re too distraught by your own thoughts to notice.

What are they planning to do to me?

You take a deep breath, trying to unwind your muscles as best as you can as you wait. You can hear footsteps again, Sirius and James circling your body before they stop. 

There’s a silence where you can hear nothing but your thundering heartbeats in your ears. 

There’s a sound of belts being pulled away from their loops, zippers being tugged down. None of the men make a sound. When two pairs of lips begin their journeys from your ankles to your thighs, you realize one thing.

It’s a guessing game.

Sirius doesn’t have to tell you the rules for you to know how to play, or maybe this isn’t a game at all. 

Maybe he just wants to fuck with your mind, injecting more thrill into your veins at the thought of being embraced by two males without knowing who’s doing what to you. But if this is a game, then you know how to win. 

You’ve been dating Sirius for years. You know how rough he is–you love how rough he is–how sinful and obscene his touches are, how he clamps his mouth against your clit—you’ve memorized everything. 

Plus, Sirius and James are two different species. While Sirius is the fire that burns you with his passion, James is the salve that soothes you down. The devil and the angel are not the same. It’s easy to differentiate the two, even if you can’t see or hear a thing.

The two have their heads settled between your legs, fighting for space and a chance to please you. 

Each man is pinning one of your thighs on the piano, wanting to spread you apart as much as possible so they can taste how sweet you are. 

You can tell almost immediately that it’s your boyfriend who is now latching his mouth on your clit, sucking hard enough until your hips buck forward. 

The other man—James—takes his time kissing the sensitive skin on the inner part of your thigh, his hand stroking and kneading soothingly.

“Ah, Sirius—” You squirm, hands going down to his head, tugging on his bun.

Your boyfriend laughs, his voice dulled by your sensitive parts. “How can you tell it’s me?”

You always do that, doing as you please, overstimulating me. But you don’t voice your thoughts out loud. No, you can’t, as you feel James joining in, their tongues dart out eagerly to lap at your wetness at the same time. 

You’re being pulled to the edge of the piano to make it easier for them to share space. 

“Oh—” Your whole world shakes. The mental image of two pairs of eyes looking up at you with their desire blazing inside, hungry and lustful, occupies every part of your mind. 

It’s too much. The sensation is too much.

“Relax, sweetheart,” James says, circling his tongue around your nub as Sirius lowers himself enough to plunge his slick muscle into your hole.

“Please, I’m—” You whine, your nails digging into your palms, “I’m about to cum—“

“Again?” Sirius jeers as his sinful smirk resurfaces. “Well, then, allow me.” Pushing James to the side, he pushes two of his fingers inside his mouth, making them wet before he drives them inside you at the same time. “You know what to do, baby,” he coos.

He wants you to squirt just like before and with the way he works his fingers, thrusting them in and out of you in a come-hither motion, he’s leaving you with no other choice. 

As embarrassing as it is, you find your body doing exactly what he wants, cumming hard with a silent cry until the trickle of your juices drenches his hand all the way to his wrist. 

Sirius retracts his fingers, licking each digit clean while his eyes traverse down your body. “That’s fucking hot,” he says, while James dives down to lick your pussy’s lips clean from every bit of your cum.

“You taste amazing,” James breathes out in bliss, kissing your clit and slowly eating you out to soothe you down from your crashing orgasm.

You’re all spent, eyes turning vacant as they’re transfixed on the ceiling but they don’t stop. One of them walks away to the other side of the piano, stopping once they stand on the other side of your head. 

He hovers above your face, refraining himself from leaning in for another inverted kiss, afraid that the sweet taste of his mouth would reveal his identity too soon. 

Instead, he frames your face, angling your head to the side so he can latch his mouth against the side of your neck. He uses his teeth almost instantly, suckling hard on your skin, marking angry bruises for everyone to see.

“Siri—”

He clasps his palm against your mouth before you can finish pronouncing his name, knowing that the game would be over once you guess it correctly. 

He then slides two of his fingers inside, forcing you to part your lips wide so he can see the shape of your tongue as he presses his digits flat against your slick muscle. 

Sirius thrusts his fingers inside and you know what he wants you to do. You suck on them, in the most obscene way possible as if you were treating them as something else. 

Your boyfriend always loves to do this. Loves enjoying the look on your face when you hollow your cheeks around his fingers, giving him a vivid image of how pretty your lips are going to look when you wrap them around his cock later on.

You flinch when you feel the other man leaning half of his body forward over the piano, peppering soothing kisses on the inner part of your thighs just in the way James did a few moments ago. 

His soft lips, the way he’s still a bit awkward and shy as he tries to please you, send goosebumps breaking all over your skin.

 James can’t seem to get enough of your taste. Knowing that this could be his only chance at having you in such a position, he places his mouth on your center again, kissing you down there so languidly as if he had eternity to please you. 

He hugs you close by your thighs, his nose pressing against your pelvis. You can’t hear his soft groan but you can feel its vibration directly on your clit.

You moan between sharp gasps when the man—Sirius—who’s standing over your head starts to clamp his hot mouth around your breast, rolling your nipple between his teeth before he sucks hard. 

He grabs a hold of your mound, squeezing it hard enough to make you squirm then he flicks his tongue around the bud. The material of his shirt grazes your face when he pulls back, pushing down his pants to break himself free. 

You’re being tugged forward, your head falling over the edge of the piano with the head of his cock pressing against your lips. 

Sirius doesn’t do anything. He wants you to do all the work. With your hands tied, you reach up and circle your fingers around his cock, kissing the head and tasting the salt of his pre-cum. 

He’s hard, throbbing and twitching in your hands at the slightest touch. Exhaling sharply, you take his tip into your mouth, and Sirius, without warning, shoves everything inside at once. 

You choke, groaning around his dick as he lands both palms on the piano to balance himself, trapping your body between them as he rocks his hips forward. 

Your throat constricts around his length and he can see how far he goes from where he is looming tall above you.

James’s patience is starting to run thin as well. He starts using both hands, stuffing three of his fingers inside you while his other one abuses your clit with his thumb. 

He pumps you hard and fast, perfectly imitating the way Sirius did to you a few minutes ago. 

You mewl, moaning around Sirius’s cock, your legs sliding down until they fall onto the keys. 

The sound of broken notes fills the air, startling you enough that you pull your mouth away from his cock, coughing and gasping frantically as you try to refill the air in your lungs.

James suddenly grabs you by the back of your knees, yanking you down until you’re close enough for him to seize you by the waist. 

He hoists you away from the piano, forcing you to return to your feet and turning your body around. Your vision is pitch black, your hands still bound together, reaching out blindly for support until you find yourself balancing your weight on the keys. 

James lowers his trousers to his mid-thighs, his cock springing free out of his briefs. Spitting onto his palm, he lathers himself quickly with his saliva before he nudges his tip against your entrance.

Despite his nervous, awkward demeanor, James is not taking it slow, propelling inside you with one hard thrust until your entire body is pushed forward, a strangled cry stuck in your throat. 

He’s being uncharacteristically aggressive, stretching you out almost in the same way as your boyfriend does. 

He bends himself down, wrapping his hand around the front of your throat and pulling you up until your back is plastered against his chest.

The butterflies inside you flutter their wings, a sob of pleasure threatening to break free. “James—”

“Wrong.”

Your heart plummets to your stomach, the fingers he has around your neck threaten to crush your windpipes. 

“You’re breaking my heart, love,” Sirius chuckles right next to your ear. “How could you forget your boyfriend filling you up like this? I thought I’d fucked you hard enough for you to remember the shape of my cock.”

It’s Sirius? Your heart palpitates fast, panic rising to the surface. The one who was inside my mouth before was James?!

“You seem surprised,” your boyfriend laughs mockingly, ramming his hips against yours over and over again with his nails digging painfully into the flesh of your waist. 

“You thought I was him, didn’t you? I treated you gently and you started thinking about another man. Can’t say I’m not hurt.”

“Ah—Siri—” You’re breathing fast, your cheek pressed against the closed lid as Sirius pinned you down to the piano by your nape. 

Your stomach is bumping against the keys with each thrust, both of you making music of your own, accompanied by the sound of his pelvis slapping against your behind.

James watches you from the other side of the piano with his cock pulsating hard in his hand, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he tries not to make noise. 

It feels terrible, humiliating even, to pleasure himself as he watches you being taken hard by Sirius but he can’t restrain himself. 

At the sound of your name escaping his lips in a breathy, longing moan, Sirius’s eyes dart to his face, the corner of his mouth twitching into an impish smirk at the sight of another man masturbating to his girlfriend being fucked. “There’s room for one more if you want to join, James,” he arrogantly says, “That is if you can’t stop yourself from cumming within seconds.”

The thought of you being watched caused warmth to pool in your belly. 

Taking off your blindfold with one hand, Sirius grabs a fistful of your hair, hauling you up until he can hug you close as he stands. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his long fingers framing your face. 

He forces you to look at James who’s fisting his dick in one hand, while his other one grips tightly against the edge of the piano. 

He’s giving himself a string of pumps that matches the way Sirius is driving himself inside you.

“Y/N…” He sighs in yearning when your eyes meet, absolutely wrecked from how much effect you have on him, turning a shade redder than he already does. “You’re beautiful…”

“Yeah,” Sirius sneers, whispering in your ear, “My beautiful, beautiful slut.”

He penetrates you with aching shallowness between your legs, teasing you, moving with a rhythm like an inevitable sea tide. 

You squeeze around him, keening as your body starts to crave more. “Fuck, taking my fucking dick so good,” Sirius hisses, drowning in rapture.

“Sirius, please…” You glue your thighs together, clenching your walls around him.

“What, honey, do you want more?” Sirius questions melodiously, even when he knows you want him to lose control. “Want me to give it to you harder? Or do you want James too? Maybe find out if he can fuck you as good as I can.”

He must have been fucking you so good that your brain turns all mushy because right now, you want to turn his teasing words into reality. 

You’re not sure how you’re able to find the bravery within you to answer but your lips form the words before your mind can finish your thought. “Yes,” you whimper, and James almost moans at the sound. “Yes, please, I want him too—”

Sirius stops. For a moment, the smirk falters from his face, before— “Is that so?”

Siriu’s thrust turns forceful within an instant, pouring all his rage and jealousy in every plunge of his cock inside you. Your jaw turns slack, mouth wide open in a silent scream with your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

He’s fucking you to prove a point, one hand rubbing furiously against your clit, slapping and abusing it until you cry out.

Sirius keeps his gaze on James, his eyes glowing menacingly as he growls out the words, “You think he can fuck you like I do?” He pulls himself out without giving you a chance to answer. 

Before you can groan at the loss of the frictions he gave you, Sirius whirls you around until you’re face-to-face.

“He can’t,” Sirius says, squeezing your face with one hand. 

“No one can fuck you like I do. This fucking cunt won’t be satisfied until I fill it up.” He emphasizes by slapping a hand over your heat, making you jump and whine at the pain before your whole body shakes at the way he’s pumping his fingers into you again.

“I’m the only one who can please you this way, Y/N. You got that?”

“Yes!” you reply in a faint cry, getting lightheaded as if he’s blocking oxygen to your head.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sirius.”

“Good.” He retracts his fingers, shoving them inside your mouth so you can taste yourself as he nudges his head, telling James to come close. “Let’s move to the couch. I want to fuck her mouth.”

Sirius sweeps off your feet, carrying you in his arms before he forces you to go on all fours on the couch. 

He tells James, whose shirt is sliding off his shoulders and his pants hanging low on his hips, to get into position as Sirius moves to stand on his knees before you.

 “Show me how much you love me,” he purrs as he unfastens the tie around your wrists.

Obediently, you curl your fingers around his shaft and start your ministrations by giving him lazy strokes. Sirius threads his fingers through your hair, pushing back your hair as he thrusts himself into your mouth. 

“Pretty girl,” he praises, watching you flick your tongue over his tip. “I love you so much. Can’t go on a day without you. Need you so fucking bad.” He hypnotizes you with his words, your insides melting as they resonate through your brain.

James, settling himself on your other end, bends down to spit onto your cunt, spreading his saliva all over your lips with two of his fingers before he does the same to his cock. 

He prods his tip along your folds, breathing hard in anticipation with his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. 

You both groan at the sensation of his head passing your entrances just slightly the second you push your hips back. Fuck me, James can hear the unspoken words and he’s ready to oblige.

“Sweetheart,” He paints soothing kisses along your spine, one hand splayed against your stomach. “I’m putting it in.”

Unlike Sirius, James moves slow, taking his time and waiting for you to adjust until he’s fully sheathed inside. 

Though he’s an inch shorter than Sirius’s, he’s wider in girth, rubbing against your walls and stretching you out in a way that has you whimpering around your boyfriend’s cock.

You can hear James taking a sharp breath, and a low, “Fuck…” It’s the first he ever let expletives depart from his pretty mouth, his silvery voice turning guttural.

“Tight, isn’t she?” Sirius asks him, pride sitting thick on his voice.

“Y-yeah…” James rocks his hips once, feeling your walls tighten even more at the friction. “And so… hot inside too…”

You slide Sirius’s cock out of your mouth, taking a breath and a moment to relish in the sensation of having another man fucking you in front of your boyfriend but Sirius’ not having it. 

He slaps his dick against the side of your face. “Who told you to stop?” He says.

“Pretty little whore wants to be filled in two holes at once, doesn’t she? Come on, baby.” he shoves himself inside your mouth, making you gag around his length. 

He buries himself to the hilt right at the same time James does the same. Tears start to prickle at the corner of your eyes.

“Ah,” James breathes out as he picks up his pace, giving you shallow, pointed thrusts that hit your spot just right. “Wish I could see your face… Wish I could see how pretty you look as you take me in…” He closes the spaces between his chest and your back, kissing you softly on the nape. “You feel like heaven to me.”

An idea submerges in Sirius’s mind. Telling James to pull out, Sirius flips you over to your back, his cock hovering above your face as you take him in one hand. 

“There you go, Potter,” your boyfriend says.

“Now you can fuck my girl as you watch me fuck her mouth.”

James, now seeing you spread your legs for him, your pussy dripping and waiting for him to fill it up again, is on the verge of turning absolutely feral. 

The juvenile, innocent side of him has disappeared — replaced by a man with his blood boiling with desire. 

He pushes your legs forward, his hands gripping tight at the back of your thighs as he pushes back in — his cock standing hard enough that he can slide in without using his hands. 

He folds your body in half, knocking you forward and robbing a moan from the back of your throat.

 Gasping in surprise, you throw your face to the side, your filthy moans are spoken against the side of Sirius’s cock. You try your best to bring him back into your mouth, not wanting to upset him as you can see his rage flaring in his eyes.

“So good,” James grunts, his hips swaying obscenely. His shirt slides off his shoulders, stopping to pool around his elbows. “You’re perfect, so perfect, I love you—ah—”

At his confession, your walls flutter around him and you release Sirius from your mouth, shifting your gaze down to see James watching you with sentiment in his eyes, your stomach flipping in delight at the sight. 

It’s true that he can’t fuck you as good as Sirius can, but at the moment James exudes more feelings, pulling more emotions out of you. It pleases you just the same in such a different way.

Sirius, unsettled by the chemistry between you, clamps one hand around James’s throat and yanks him forward until their lips collide above you. 

Sirius kisses him forcefully, tongue thrusting inside, sloppily moving together inside James’s mouth until he has his drool dripping down his chin. 

James thrusts begin to stutter as Sirius breaks his concentration, mewling helplessly against his mouth. James had never been kissed this hard, never felt like his oxygen was stolen right from his lungs. 

When Sirius breaks away, a string of saliva connecting their lips, he tightens his fingers around James’s throat, making him wince from the pain.

“You get to fuck my girl,” Sirius growls. “But you don’t get to have her heart. It belongs to me. She belongs to me. Know your fucking place, James.”

“Sirius—” he chokes, one hand curling around Sirius’s wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip.

The brunette kisses him again, hard enough to turn James’s lips all swollen before he tells him, “Lie down.”

James, receiving a hard shove on his chest, falls on the couch, his limbs all tangled with yours as he’s pressed flat on his back. 

Sirius lifts your body, grabbing you harshly by your hair as he forces you to lie down on top of James, your face hovering above his. 

James gulps at the sudden proximity between you, shaky eyes peering into yours. 

You look breathtaking with your lips all bruised and your lipstick smeared to your cheeks, your chin wet with saliva, and Sirius’s pre-cum. 

You’re so beautiful and dirty at the same time, reek of purity and sensuality.

“Sit on his cock, baby,” Sirius says, and with wobbly legs, you position yourself on James’s length, sinking agonizingly slowly onto his dick until he’s buried deep, your clit grazing the trimmed hairs on his pelvis.

“Ah—mmm,” James turns into a moaning mess, his cock pulsating hard inside you. Your body is weak but you still find the strength to smile when he gently strokes your face. 

“Feels good?” He questions which you reciprocate with a feeble nod, your eyes shifting to his lips and James gets the message. 

You meet each other halfway, lips molding, slow dancing with one another. For a moment, serenity hugs you both, moaning softly against each other’s mouth with him whispering praises between kisses, “Sweet… You taste so sweet… I can kiss you for eternity and it won’t be enough…”

You’re about to move your hips when Sirius stands on his knees behind you, each hand on your ass cheeks, spreading them apart. 

Your body jolts, almost accidentally biting on James’s tongue when you feel Sirius spitting harshly onto your hole. 

Shock runs like electricity through your veins. “Wait—Sirius—”

“Relax, baby,” he says, closing his eyes as pushes his face forward, his tongue circling the rim of your hole, giving you the sensation you’ve never felt before in your life.

“Oh—God—” You cry out, both thrilled and a bit terrified from how strange it feels.

James, aroused by your expression, slightly bucks his hips upward, thrusting into you. “sweetheart…” he whispers, “Pay attention to me too…”

At the feeling of Sirius’s tongue probing against your hole, James’s hot, throbbing length rubbing against your walls, you can barely think about anything but you try your best to comply. 

You lean down to kiss him again, your eyebrows furrowed as you feel James driving himself a little further inside you. You both muffle each other’s moans, soft lips hugging another pair in a way that can only be described as romantic.

Sirius glides one finger inside you, doing as gently as he can to not hurt you. Your body turns rigid in discomfort and your boyfriend calms you down by placing open-mouthed kisses on the skin that covers your tailbone. 

“Love, relax,” he says, losing the venom that once coated his tongue. “I won’t hurt you. I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

“We’ll make you feel good,” James corrects, casting a smile too innocent to be thrown in this situation as he pushes a lock of your hair behind your ear. “We love you. All we’re trying to do is to please you.”

“That’s right,” Sirius chuckles, dipping his tongue inside your heat this time before he licks a stripe up and returns to your rear. “So be a good girl and relax for me, okay?”

You draw a deep breath. “Okay…”

James props one elbow on the couch, raising his body slightly so he can whisper in your ear, “Just focus on me. Focus on the way I’m sliding inside you. Can you feel it? Can you feel where we’re connected?”

You shakily nod, feeling his smile pressing against the contour of your jawline.

Now that you’re loose enough to take one finger inside, Sirius spits onto his hand again before he brings another one of his digits, scissoring you wide open. Every time you flinch, your boyfriend would reward you with another tender kiss on your skin. “I won’t rush,” Sirius assures you. “I’ll wait as long as you need until you’re ready.”

The sudden change of his attitude works perfectly on calming your nerves, and once your body relaxes, Sirius pushes his third fingers inside. “I think you can take me now, baby,” he says, rising tall on his knees. “I’ll take it slow, okay?”

James holds you close, shrouding you with his arms. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m here.” He kisses your ear, murmuring, “Just focus on me…”

Sirius pushes his length into your rear as slowly as he can, muttering a gravelly, “Fuck, you’re even tighter this way,” under his breath.

“Ah,” you whimper, fingers clenching into fists. “Sirius, I can’t… It’s too much…”

“You can, baby,” Sirius replies in a guttural moan, leaning forward to mouth his words against your nape. “Just a little bit more–ah, Christ–”

“Siri–”

“I know,” he swallows his breath. “I swear I’ll make you feel so good after this, baby.”

The friction burns to the point that you almost feel like giving up but Sirius is trying his best to be gentle. James kisses you to swallow your groan, distracting you from the pain. 

It takes another few seconds before Sirius is fully enveloped by your warmth, just like James is and he chuckles, rewarding you by showering kisses down your back. “You’re doing so well, pretty girl. I’m so proud of you.”

Having two men inside you at the same time is something you wouldn’t even have the bravery to imagine and yet here you are.

“I’ll start to move, okay?” Sirius says after giving you a moment to catch your breath, and you spin your head to the side to slant your lips together with him.

“Okay…” you breathe out. Your boyfriend rewards you with a smile and one last kiss on your bare shoulder before he straightens his back, places his hands on each side of your hips, and begins to move.

“Ah—fuck—” You can feel tears stinging your eyes, from pain or pleasure, you’re not sure, probably both. 

With every drive of Sirius’s hips, you’re sinking lower onto James’s cock, the three of you grinding against one another — it’s awkward for the first few seconds, each of you trying to match your rhythm but once you find it, waves of pleasure start to come crashing in.

“How do you feel?” Sirius asks, uncharacteristically solemn as he’s worried of your well-being. “Does it hurt?”

“N-no.”

“Does it feel good?” James chimes in, peering into your eyes.

“Yes,” you exhale in bliss. “I feel so… full.”

Sirius smiles, exhaling in relief. “Well then, how about we take it up a notch?” He adds more force into his thrust, sending you toppling down with your head landing on James’s chest. 

James can feel it too, the snap of his hips and the way your walls are hugging him tightly. Sirius is in control, leaving both of you under his mercy.

“How is it, baby?” Sirius speaks between his labored breathing. “Feels good?”

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly, clawing against James’s chest as you feel like you’re trapped between heaven and earth. James’s thick hardness opens you up while Sirius’s penetrates deep inside your body.

“Wanna fuck you harder,”Sirius says once he feels your muscles unwinding, your tight hole finally adjusting to his size. “Wanna fuck you so hard until I cum, baby, can I?”

“Me too.” James takes one of your breasts in his hand, tongue circling your nipple. “I want it, sweetheart.” He mouths against your skin. “Want to feel you clench harder around me.”

You bite the corner of your lip, nodding your head as your heart rate escalates fast. “Ah—mmm, yeah.”

With your permission, both men hastily pick up the pace, robbing a scream from the back of your throat when James lifts his hips at the same time Sirius pushes forward. 

You feel like floating — it’s insane how your body can still handle this instead of breaking apart. Sirius penetrates deep but James grazes the spot that makes your vision turn white. 

Gasping in surprise, you blurt out his name. “Ah, James—”

Sirius’s hand slithers from behind, clasping firmly against your mouth. “I’ve already fucking told you,” he snarls, “You either scream my name or nothing at all. Don’t piss me off.”

Sirius never hurts you, he would rather die than lay a finger on you but at that time, anger radiates off of him in a way that sends fear crawling on your skin. You nod your head, eyes wide open in shock, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Now what do you say?”

“I want you, Sirius.”

“Want me to do what?”

“Want you to fuck–ah–want you to fuck me–”

“Scream for me, baby.” Sirius turns to hard, pitiless thrusts, grabbing one of your hands and pinning it against your back. 

He snaps his hips, once, twice, emphasizing his next words. “Scream. my. fucking. name.”

He’s forcing it out of you, making you cry out his name in such a pathetic way, you turn the other man jealous. 

James, now wanting nothing more but to get your attention and reach his high, starts to abandon his effort in being docile. “I want you to look at me,” he begs, rutting his hips harder against yours. “I want you to look at me as I cum—”

“Cum inside her and I’ll kill you,” Sirius growls, his nails digging painfully into your hips.

“But—ah!” James throws his head back, feeling like he’s already on his limit. “I can’t—I can’t hold it—”

Sirius breaks away, wrapping an arm around your stomach and yanking you close to his chest until James has no choice but to slide out of you. “On your knees,” Sirius orders him. “You can cum in her mouth.”

It wouldn’t feel as delightful nor as satisfying compared to shooting his seeds inside your walls, but James — knowing his position — takes what he can get. 

You return to your hands and knees as James stands before you, the tip of his cock, coated with your slick, hanging a few centimeters away from you.

Sirius pushes himself inside your pussy this time, sending your body forward right at the same time you’re taking James into your mouth. 

He fucks you fast, knowing that he doesn’t have to be gentle this way. James winces at the vibration your mouth gives him, his hips slowly moving on their own. 

He lands one hand on your hair, stroking your strands first and tugging at the roots when you moan harder around him at the feeling of Sirius pulling out only to slide his dick inside your ass. 

“Goddamn, I love this,” Sirius rasps, giving one thrust inside your hole, and another one in your cunt next. “Both your ass and your pussy feel so good. So fucking tight. All for me.”

Your face is burning, your heart soaring high, and you’ve been standing on the edge for so long, your body can’t keep up with this any longer. Stroking James’s cock in one hand, you plead, “Fuck, Sirius, don’t play around—I—I need to cum.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, still constantly changing from one hole to another. “You want it, baby? Tell James who’s making you feel good right now.”

You chew on your lip, your hazy eyes drifting up to meet his azure ones. James’s face is set in resigned sad lines, his heart breaks in his eyes when you say, “Y-you, Sirius!”

Sensing the hesitation in your voice, Sirius fills the dip of your spine with his chest, his hand sneaking to your throat before his fingers frame your jaw, forcing you to whirl your head around to face him as he hovers right above your shoulder. 

“I can’t hear you,” he says, “Who fucks you the best?”

You put more pressure on your words. “You, Sirius.”

Sirius fixates his gaze on James’s face, smirking both contemptuously and arrogantly. “Louder, Sweetheart.”

“You, Sirius!”

Keeping his eyes on the other male’s face, he croons, “Well, I guess I have to live up to my name then.”

Sirius moves back and forth, burying himself so deep in your cunt that you can feel his tip kissing your cervix. 

He’s urging you on to your ecstasy, giving you a glimpse of what heaven feels like, by brushing his fingers over your sensitive clit and then presses, over and over again, teasing and taking as he claims your everything.

James flinches when your grip around him gets a little too tight, your orgasm approaching fast that you forget to pay attention to the man kneeling before you. 

“Fuck my mouth,” you tell him, as you have no strength to spoil him any longer. With your hands balancing yourself on the couch, you relax your jaw and let him push in as much as he wants into your mouth.

A sudden snap of Sirius’s hips makes you moan louder and James gasps, the muscles in his abs tautening as he’s drawing closer to his climax. “Ah, —I’m gonna cum—“

“What about you, love?” Sirius’s breathing turns labored. “Gonna cum too? Gonna cum hard on my cock while he cums in your mouth?” He lands his palm on your head, shoving you harder onto James’s cock. 

“Do it then, you filthy whore.”

James moans loudly, his blush spreading to his ears. “G-God,” he nearly whimpers as he hits the back of your throat. “sweetheart–”

Within seconds, the waves of pleasure inside you crest higher and at last, your orgasm crashes over you, stealing your breath and sending the roar and rush of blood ringing in your ears. 

You have no choice but to pull away from James and thankfully, he lets you even when he was so close to achieving his ecstasy.

“Ah, I can feel it,” Sirius chuckles, his hips moving erratically as he’s nearing his brink. “Squeezing around me like that. Been my girl for so long and you still have the best fucking cunt in the world, baby.” He keeps moving his hips, overstimulating you until you let out a spurt, drenching the leather material of the couch with your juices.

“Wait, Sirius—” You sob out, your thighs trembling. “I’m still—”

“I know, baby, just give me a few seconds more,” Sirius says, panting hard, losing his rhythm. This aural evidence of his impending orgasm triggers another for you—smaller, but no less intense. 

“Gonna fucking cum—I’m gonna—ah, fuck—” You can feel it exactly the moment he hits his orgasm, giving a forceful thrust one last time before he slows down, a drawled-out moan fleeting from his lips. 

He still rocks his hips, fucking his seeds back into your hole, his head thrown back as he relishes in the sensation.

Dazed and wrecked, you watch James going down to his knees before you, one hand stroking his shaft while his other one finds your face, pulling you into a kiss. 

He lays his temple against yours as he closes his eyes, nibbling on his lower lip as he pumps himself faster. 

Seeing how rough Sirius fucked you earlier sends his blood pumping and James needs his release. “Touch me, please…”

Sirius, hearing his words, untangles his fingers from your hair. He pushes you down by the nape until your closed lips are pressed against the head of James’s cock, his pre-cum staining your mouth. 

“Take care of him, baby,” your boyfriend says and in your haze, you separate your mouth, taking him in as much as you can. James groans, your mouth feels scorching hot and wet compared to his cold hands.

“Mmh—” you moan around him, giving James the final touch that he needs to send himself to cloud nine. James ejaculates inside your mouth with his lips —  his hand lands on your shoulder, conflicted between pushing you away so he won’t stain you with his essence more than he already does, or keeping you still so you can swallow everything down your throat. 

None of you are given any chance, however, as Sirius says, “Keep it in your mouth.”

Sirius pulls you up, your back flush against his chest as his face hovers above you, staring at you upside down. 

“Open up,” he commands and you do, parting your lips to let him take a glimpse of James’s thick, white semen pooling inside your mouth. 

Sirius smirks. “He came a lot, didn’t he?” Before you’re given a chance to respond, your boyfriend spits into your mouth, his hand pressing against the underside of your jaw. “Now, swallow.”

James watches the scene with his jaw hanging slack, unable to believe that this is the reality he’s seeing. He watches you share another inverted kiss with his best friend, with Sirius moaning against your mouth as he tastes the rest of James’s cum on your tongue.

James finally snaps out of the haze—though just barely—after watching you kiss Sirius like your life depends on it. His eyes are still glazed over with lust, lips parted, chest rising and falling a little too fast. He looks like he’s forgotten where he is—forgotten everything except you.

Then Sirius leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice is dark silk. “What do you say, baby? To Potter?”

You turn your head slowly, gaze locking onto James’s. There’s no teasing in his expression now—just raw want, wide and open. He’s still watching you like he can’t believe you’re real.

Your voice is soft, shaky. “Thank you, James.”

A slow, crooked smile pulls at his mouth. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Satisfied, Sirius peels himself away from you and strides toward James, the tension between them simmering just beneath the surface. The space narrows until it vanishes altogether—Sirius grabs James by the throat, rough but controlled, and drags him forward.

It’s James who breaks first—slamming his lips into Sirius’s like he’s been waiting years for this.

You feel the heat rise again in your chest, between your legs, just watching them.

When they finally part, their lips are swollen, breaths ragged. James leans in close, voice low and reverent, and whispers against Sirius’s mouth:

“Thank you for sharing your girl, Black.”

[amnmesias]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

poly!marauders x fem!reader

word count: 11.1k

summary: After your apparent betrayal, your boyfriends are left juggling with their unresolved grief and anger. That is, until Riddle is declared dead. The war is over. Then a bloodied body stumbles back into their lives. 

tags: angst, lots of angst. hurt with various attempts at comfort. mentions of blood and violence. death is a plot point in this fic.

a/n: oooo my first poly!marauders fic!! and of course i had to make it unhealthily angsty! i’m sort of geeked about this one, it took me a while to finish it but i’m happy with the final outcome. as always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated, enjoy!! xx

—

Sirius exhales deeply, looking away from the bed and the lumps of his boyfriends sleeping soundly in front of him, neither of them waiting to shake off their own high. The adrenaline is still coursing through his veins as well, coming out in short puffs of smoke as he pushes the cigarette on the ashtray. The rage too, though he suspects it’s mostly a second skin at this point. An unwanted and constant visitor in their home.

So is your absence. 

His eyes flicker to the door, then to the closet, the bed… where you’d be sleeping soundly between James and Remus. A lump forms in his throat at his eyes mapping out the movements you had done before he ceremoniously fucked everything up with his bothersome anxiety–when he yelled at you and pointed fingers for something he himself didn’t even understand. Sometimes, late at night when the weight of war is still heavy on his shoulders, he punishes himself remembering that night.

Tinkling lights, pecan pie smell in the air, laughter despite uncertainty. Your cottage was full of life despite the war outside its windows, where one would find you and Remus tutting to each other until one would tap out from one your endless banters to prepare dinner, James running around menacingly spreading his happiness and love with little sloppy kisses and cuddles to whoever was free and Sirius… always sitting back, basking on the home they’ve created, one he never thought he’d be worthy of in the past.

He laughs–oh, how wrong he was.

“Sweetness!” He yelled, pointedly ignoring James’ loving jab as he twirled around the bannister, glistening eyes waiting for you to appear by the end of the stairs. “Dinner’s almost ready!“

A thud. Then a muffled, nervous curse. Your steps picked up on movement. 

Sirius had frowned in confusion, wondering whatever you’d be doing to cause such commotion. He cut a quick glance at his boyfriends, and after deeming them properly occupied with one another, climbed up the stairs to check up on you.

“Coming!” Your answer came quickly. Too quickly, and your voice sounded frantic. Sirius’ brows furrowed. 

He stopped by the door, left ajar, almost closed. That was strange, none of you were in the habit of closing it. His heart twisted to its own accord, mind coming to different conclusions.

He knocked softly. “Lovely?” At the touch of his knuckles at the door, it opened with a creak. 

Sirius stepped in despite his best judgments, not suspecting anything other than maybe a small misunderstanding–you probably had tripped, or dropped something, he foolishly thought. However, the sight he encountered was far different, a recipe for heartbreak and despair. You were packing a bag in haste, hurried movements, but froze as he pushed the door open, stepping in with slow steps. 

“…What are you doing?”

Your shoulders gravitated to your ears, eyes wide much like your heart was on your throat, similarly to him. The remaining clothes in your hands shook, an indication of your own body betraying your nervousness at being found out. Sirius took a short, tentative step closer, his eyes not leaving yours. 

“Sirius–I… I was,” you swallowed thickly, eyes flickering from the door to him, almost begging for him to close it. To get an opportunity to dig your secret, hide it along the bag left open by the bed. “It’s not–it’s not what you think, love. I promise.”

“It’s not…” he frowned, looking down to make sure he was, in fact, not imagining things. That his frail mind wasn’t concocting more illusions to harm him. “It’s not what I think? Why are you packing your things, then?”

You cringed, stepping back to put down the clothes. Sirius noticed the way you placed them into the bag, not away–proving it was exactly what he thought. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“You’re leaving?” 

You screwed your eyes shut, forcing the tears he had noticed in the corners of your eyes to finally let loose, sliding down your cheeks like a tide, a bad omen. Sirius sucked in a breath, watching as you pushed the clothes deep into the bag, and closed it with finality. To him, James, Remus–to all of them.

“I must go,” you whispered, passing a harsh hand over your cheeks. Sirius’ eyes stung with unshed tears. “It’s for your own good.”

At last, a bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Since when do you have the bloody right to dictate what’s good for me?” he took a step to you, and his heart twisted at the way your grip around your wand tightened in response. “Tell me the truth. Now.”

You shook your head, turning to take your bag. And as a desperate instinct, his hand reached for it before your fingers could grasp the handle. 

“Sirius–please. Don’t do this.” you pleaded quietly, your cold hands touching him over the handle. 

Your promise ring glistened over his hand, his own ring shining in response. Its love charm had been working overtime to patch the cracks in his heart.

“Me?” he asked, a startled albeit bitter chuckle left his lips, staring at you in disbelief. “You’re the one packing your things.”

“I know… I know,” you nodded, the tears on your jaw continued their trail all the way down to your neck. Sirius’ lip quivered, his fingers twitching to reach for you to clean them. “I have to.”

Steps shuffled closer, then, an unsuspecting quip. “Oi, are you two leaving me out of something?” James called out, climbing up the stairs. 

Your eyes widened more, if it was physically possible, and Sirius almost felt bad for it–but he was desperate. He fully opened the door as James walked closer. His steps faltered at what he saw, and you finally let go of your bag to turn away, to turn your back to them in order to collect yourself. 

“Everything alright?” James asked cautiously, hazel eyes flickering between Sirius and you as he slowly entered the room. He frowned at the bag in his boyfriend’s hand. “What’s that for?”

Sirius’ jaw tightened, pointing at you.

“Ask her.”

James turned to you, tilting his head as he scanned you quickly. His eyebrows pinched at your tears.  

“Is something wrong, lovie? What happened?” 

It had Sirius’ desired effect, however, not the reaction he expected. You simply snatched the bag from him in his distraction, a hiccup leaving your lips before you could stop it as you pushed past him, running down the stairs before neither of them could get a word out. James had only thrown an accusatory look at Sirius before turning to run after you, firing rapid questions that only made your hiccups turn erratic. 

He followed the voice of your sobs, of James’ hurried, desperate voice–then, Remus. 

“Dove, you’re scaring me. Why are you crying?”

“I can’t do this,” you mumbled, shaking your head the closer Sirius got. It was only a matter of time until he met you three by the door. “I promised. I promised I wouldn’t say anything–Please stop asking.”

“Promised what?”

You shook your head, shoving your foot into your boots instead of meeting their gazes–their panicked, worried gazes. When Remus moved to reach for you, Sirius only raised an arm in front of his stomach, stopping him from even taking a step. His betrayed heart controlled him despite his own loving nature when it came to you.

“Promised who, y/n?” Sirius asked this time, voice purposefully cold. Both James and Remus cut a warning glare at him–at his implications. But Sirius only took a step closer. “Riddle?”

He watched in unusual satisfaction as you froze, his lip twitched in an almost bitter smirk when you stood straight to meet his own glare. A tense silence blanketed your otherwise cozy cottage, and both Remus and James’ stances changed as they fully registered the question thrown at you–and how your silence was an answer on its own.

You scoffed. “Of course,” you muttered, passing a harsh hand over your cheeks again. Your stance changed too, one of anger that they hadn’t seen in a while. “Of course you’d think that, Sirius.”

“What else am I supposed to think?”

You shook your head, shrugging your coat on with shaky movements–anger and despair radiating off you. 

“I would never betray you that way and you know that.” 

“You’re doing it now, aren’t you?”

“Enough.” Came Remus’ voice, cutting through the tension as he walked to you, pushing Sirius’ arm from his way. However, you took a step back, almost pressed against the door. 

James sighed. “Love–please, just… just tell us enough to understand.”

“What’s the point? You’d still think I turned–that I’m leaving you to join Riddle.”

Sirius couldn’t help it. “And? Are you?”

“Sirius.”

“Answer me.” he only said, pointedly ignoring Remus’ frustrated plea. 

“Sirius, enough.”

He watched, eyes stinging with tears, as you held his glare, then turned to your boyfriends as if saving the last images of their faces in your memory–all before tightening your hold on your wand and turning to walk out the door. 

Not at all deigning to answer his question. 

But the answer came, eventually. After weeks of silence, mourning your absence–his answer came in the form of a grainy, barely visible photograph in the Daily Prophet. Next to his well known death eater brother and his friends.

“…Sirius?”

He blinks, looking away from the closed door to meet James’ half-lidded gaze, his voice drowsy as if he just noticed Sirius wasn’t by his side. 

“Go to sleep, James.” he only murmurs, reaching over to grab a brand new cig from his nightstand. 

“Hey–”

“Go to sleep.”

Hurt passes over his face, and Sirius momentarily regrets his harshness, if only he had done such a thing months ago–if he had remembered he had two loving boyfriends left that surely wouldn’t leave him for a genocidal cult. But they all had their own coping mechanisms, if James can cling to his quiet denial, and Remus to his raging silence, Sirius thinks his anger is well earned.

Nights are mostly spent that way, heavy with grief and anger depending on who’s awake and willing to embrace it. Sometimes Sirius himself would wake up to find Remus wandering around chain smoking with that permanent frown on his face, others to James’ staring out the window, cheeks glistening with tears he never had the desire to clean. On rare occasions, they’d all be granted a full night’s sleep.

Tonight is, apparently, not one of them. As James rests back on his elbows and studies him over, knowing better than to insist, Remus only sighs from his side of the bed before pushing himself up to trudge out the room. Not emitting a single word, he hasn’t since you left. 

The bad feeling clings to them like a bad omen again, and however they try to suppress it with mindless, empty sex, it seems to follow them deep into the night as the silence makes itself louder in the cottage. Sirius lights up his cigarette, pointedly looking away from James’ sad eyes as he exhales a puff of smoke, hazel eyes staring intensely to the side of his face. 

He tilts his head ever so slightly, almost challengingly. “What?”

James’ parts his lips to speak, his Adam's apple going up and down as he ponders on his words. However, a loud crashing sound comes from downstairs, and soon a bright, almost blinding light enters the room. A patronus in the form of a Phoenix. 

“He has fallen…. Riddle is dead.” Dumbledore’s voice echoes like a faraway hallucination, Sirius scrambles to stand, pushing the cig over the ashtray. “Location 3. Location 3.”

James jumps off the bed, running to take his trousers and put them on. Remus comes stumbling to the room, usual emotionless eyes staring wide open in shock. The patronus fades into nothingness at their lack of answers, and they remain frozen looking at one another almost in fear of breaking the fantasy of what they just heard. 

“Is he…” James clears his throat, very slowly lowering his jumper over his head. “Could this be a trap?”

Remus only shakes his head, but doesn’t offer a logical answer like he normally would’ve done time ago–when his words were a balm to your and all of their war-driven anxieties. 

“Well,” Sirius says, pushing past Remus to walk up to the closet, shaky hand reaching for a shirt so harshly the hanger flies off. “There’s only one way to find out. Location 3 is here, whether it is good or bad, we must be ready.”

Remus and James share a look, but both follow Sirius down to the sitting room in silence. Where, ever so faintly, a quiet tinkling sound increases in sound–a pattern well known among Order members to announce their arrival to a secret location. James swallows down a relieved sigh and mirrors his boyfriends’ stances, wands drawn and readily pointing at the door. 

However, as it opens, the relieved sigh does leave his lips when Lily walks in with an equally frazzled Marlene in tow, both with red-rimmed eyes searching for answers none of them could offer. 

“Did you receive one, too?” Marlene asks, shaky hands brushing hair away from her tear-streaked face. “Has anyone else arrived?”

Sirius shakes his head, at last lowering his wand. “No.” 

“Do you think they’ll be able to…” Lily hiccups, but stands tall as she wanders around the room. “To tell us? Where they are? Or if they–”

“Shut up, Lily.” Marlene nearly barks, but shakes her head afterwards, lips turning downward in guilt. “Sorry… sorry, I just–just… don’t say that, please.”

But it’s too late, the ever consuming thought lingering between them grows heavy as the silence stretches on. Secret coding and messages are shared as each member arrives, all of them with endless questions at the tip of their tongues and no one to answer them yet. 

Dumbledore’s arrival comes almost an hour later, finding twenty-somethings walking around in dread and anxiety as they wait for him. The old man only makes his way into the cottage in calculated silence, as if testing the tension before launching into explanation. 

James, surprisingly, is the first to snap. “Well?” He raises an eyebrow, knuckles white from holding his wand tightly. “Is he really dead?”

“It appears, so, yes.” Dumbledore nods, making a point of turning to look into everyone’s eyes as the truth settles in the room. “I apologize for my late arrival, I needed to confirm certain details with my spies before coming here to deliver the news.”

“Spies?” Someone asks.

“As in Death Eaters?" Someone follows. 

A diaspora of questions fly around the room, and all it takes to lower its volume is Dumbledore raising a hand ever so calmly to put an end to their questioning. Sirius cuts a quick glance at his boyfriends, both with tense jaws and staring holes into their past headmaster’s head. 

“Many have fallen to serve this cause and secure our victory tonight… Many friends, families, brave people who gave their lives so others may live to see this happen.” He starts, voice monotone and lacking any real comfort to their distress. 

Sirius’ fingers twitch for another cig. 

Dumbledore clears his throat. “Among them,” He says, tone taking a rather tentative edge that has everyone holding their breaths. “Those who walked in the shadows to fight, who tarnished their reputations in order to secure our future, those whose sacrifices we may never fully know–or comprehend.”

“You mean the spies.” Sirius cuts in, arms crossed tight as he glares at the man, who only nods in return. “Who were they?”

None of them miss the way a sorry look passes over his eyes, hand fixing his half-moon glasses as he turns to continue addressing the room. 

“Let us honor our well loved soldiers and friends, Dorcas Meadowes, Regulus Black, y/n y/l/n and Peter Pettigrew in their ever consuming battle to ensure we see the day we’re freed of Riddle’s tyranny.” 

And just like that, Sirius feels like the air has been completely, violently sucked out of him. His chest tightens in a way he has to wheeze to get oxygen through, hand clasping his wand desperately as two sets of hands find his back with equal shakiness to what he feels.

However, Dumbledore continues on as if the well deserved reactions were merely a distraction to the monologue he had prepared to explain their victory. 

“They bravely took on a very dangerous mission that none of them knew if they’d return from–yet they did to honor the cause, for all of you. Let us not forget their sacrifices.”

Sirius blinks. And his anger comes aflame as he nearly pushes his boyfriends away from him.

“You–you made them go?” Sirius seethes, glaring at the man and seeing red. Who, in return, only sends him a sad smile. “You forced her to go?”

“I merely presented the mission. The decision was theirs to make, Mr. Black.”

Marlene stands, her own eyes a fiery shade. “Why them? Why not any of us? Why… why would you do something so selfish?”

“Because they were the most prepared and skilled people in this Order to fulfill this mission–it was imperative for it to be done by them, otherwise it would’ve failed.”

James frowns. “What was the mission?”

“Horcrux hunting.” He replies easily, as if he was back in Hogwarts, explaining a concept to a first year. James’ clenches his fists. “Mr. Black came to me one night, and told me intel about how Riddle apparently split his soul into six objects to remain immortal. However, he couldn’t pinpoint the location of said objects.”

“So you sent them to a bloody scavenger hunt? Is that it?” Lily’s voice snaps, sucking the air out of the room at the anger taking over her words. “Was it successful, at least? Or you just sent them to their own deaths?”

Dumbledore has the gall to smile. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

The Order falls into an almost silent state, thick with whispers and sniffling as some members begin coming off their high at the news of their victory, others in grieving silence as the truth lingers in the atmosphere. Sirius wants them to leave, to get every single person, whether they deserve it or not, out of his home to let him rage and grieve in silence. To drown in his own guilt, his regret at all the times he wrongfully thought you had betrayed them. By the looks of Remus and James, they’re not so far off from breaking as well, it’s only a matter of time. 

Dumbledore clears his throat, but Marlene speaks first. “Were they the ones who killed him?” She asks in a small voice, strained by months of pain and sobbing. “Are they… are they dead, too?”

Every set of eyes fall on the man, who only sighs. “They did, however I can’t tell you who survived and who didn’t.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” James jumps to his feet. “You just said you talked to your spies! Are they dead or not?”

“They weren’t the only spies in our group, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore says in infuriating calmness. “We know as a fact that they were present the moment Riddle was pronounced dead, but they couldn’t tell me who did it–and if they survived.”

Sirius pushes his wand on the back pocket of his jeans. “Who’s this bloody spy? I’ll talk to–” 

A hand holds his arm, with enough strength to pull him back as he takes a step to the door. Remus only shakes his head when he whips his head to meet his gaze. Sirius has half the mind to push him away, to throw cruel words to finish him off, but at the first indication of tears glistening in his boyfriend’s eyes, his shoulders slump. 

“No need for such ruckus, Black. I’m here.” A deadpan voice calls, drowned out by the murmurs and whispers among the group. 

Snape steps out from his place, his presence silencing the room. 

“Ah, Severus,” Dumbledore says, sounding almost relieved at his arrival. Sirius bites back a comment. “What news do you bring?”

Snape’s eyes, ever devoid of emotion, flicker around the room. “Dead, all of them.”

A strained sound comes off James’ lip, denial wrapped in a badly contained sob.“What…? She… she’s dead too?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Sirius says then, before he can stop himself. He shakes his head in anger, taking long strides to Snape before any of his boyfriends or the order members could react. “You’re a bloody liar, Severus–I know you, you’re doing this to taunt me, isn’t it? Is this your well earned vengeance?”

“Sirius.” Lily speaks, her shaky hand comes around his wrist where he’s pointing his wand directly at Snape’s throat. “That’s enough.”  

But Snape only swallows, lips twitching. “I’m sorry, Black.” He says, almost sounding a little sympathetic. “She put up a good fight until the end.” 

Sirius only steps back, reeling in shock. A hand finds his hand, and he’s being pulled away to his usual spot in a wingback by the chimney. His fingers go numb, so does his mind. 

Dumbledore parts his lips to speak, probably at the ready to mutter another vague sentence to cement them in their uncertainty and grief. But then, just to the untrained eye, a simmer begins, increasing in its intensity as the silence stretches on. Remus, already on his feet, draws his wand before any of the order members can realize something shifted. 

Sirius, in all his mildly dissociated state, stiffens visibly at the vibrating under his boots, increasing as he stands. The protection charm goes off then, signaling in a frightening way that someone has crossed the concealed, protected barrier around the cottage. All signals that an unknown presence lingers just outside the meadows where Remus and you had placed the first protection spells. 

Sirius snaps into action, and so does the rest of the order, members apparate away in panic, others take the Floo powder and flee the scene without a second thought–the small group that stays, jump to action with wands drawn pointed in every direction with a hex at the ready.

Except… for a while, nothing happens. The meadow is as still as ever, wheat flowing with the small busts of wind coming from the west, the starry sky tinkles unsuspectingly. 

He’s about to retreat, blaming his paranoid tendencies when he hears it–the quenching sound against the mud, coming in quick, hurried steps as if they were running away from something. 

Then, a flicker. Movement beyond the trees, quick enough to pass in a blur, a figure–no, a shape, half-running out of their hideaway, breath louder and louder the closer they get. A person, covered in red–head to toe–sprinting towards the cottage with utter terror, their eyes a blinding, widened white a stark contrast to their bloodied state. 

Someone growls a warning, probably him. Sirius sees from his peripheral vision as all Kingsley, Moody and Dumbledore lift their wands, Lily and Marlene take a tentative step forward with shaky movements. But Remus and James still, hands lowering just a smidge. He does, too. 

Because they know that run, that gait. 

James takes a step forward, then another, and before anyone can react, you slam against his chest so harshly you tumble backward. His arms move to catch you before he can even comprehend what happened, but you’re already scrambling back on your elbows. Eyes wide with feral terror as your hand hurriedly pats the wheat in search of your wand, snatching it like a lifeline once you find it. You’re panting, chest heaving and eyes wild and dilated with survival, you whirl towards James. 

Wand pointed directly at him. 

James freezes, “Don’t–”

But your hold doesn’t waver, eyes not even looking at him, more like through him, as if assessing his stance. You don’t hear your name in his mouth. 

The moon casts its glow on your form, catching on the sticky and sheen of blood all over you, on your neck, your face. your arms, everywhere. You’re soaked with your blood, or someone else’s, most definitely, wearing it like a second skin as you point your wand up at them. 

Sirius swallows the lump in his throat, and your eyes snap to him, widened and ferocious with adrenaline as you point your wand at him, then at Remus, then back at James. It seems you’re knee deep into your survival instinct that has barely registered to your traumatized mind that you’re not supposed to fear them–that they would never hurt you. 

He holds your crazed gaze, and his chest heaves as you crawl backwards on your elbow, wand still drawn like an injured animal retreating from imminent danger. What sort of hell did she have to claw through in order to survive? Sirius thinks, though he suspects it’s a thought he shares with his boyfriends as they finally lower their wands at you. 

“Put it down,” someone says, voice commanding but far away. Maybe Moody, or even Kingsley, it’s hard to make out the tone. “Put the wand down.”

Your grip doesn’t loosen, you don’t blink. 

James clears his throat, trying to soften his voice. To swallow his sorrow. “Put it down, love.”

If anything, your shaking increases in intensity, leaves crushing beneath your weight as you crawl away from them. Wand still pointed like a lifeline, like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, adrenaline pumping through every fiber of your body with such vigor Sirius knows he’s not the only one picking up its sound. 

At last, he completely lowers his wand with finality, a stark difference to yours as your arm trembles under the weight of your wand, of your instincts to fight. Blood drips from your elbow, fresh, crimson blood. Your jumper is torn, twisted here and there like whoever tried to attack you reached for anything to hold you back. But you don’t move, only your chest up and down as your pants lower in sound until they echo very faintly through the air. 

Remus dares to take a step closer, hands out, leaves crunching under his boot as he moves, and your eyes snap to him, fury and dread mixed with the remains of your last duel echoing behind your gaze. Like you’re still running, still surviving. 

And James–who is seemingly still reeling, chest heaving from where you slammed into it, says your name again. Softly, like a plea. 

“It’s me. James.” He says quietly, voice breaking. 

You blink. Very quickly, like you can’t afford a moment of darkness, of uncertainty. But when your eyes flicker between them, there’s confusion–slow recognition of something distant, a life so far away. Your wand lowers a fraction. 

Another step, leaves crunching closer to you. You crawl back, half of a movement as you whip your wand at Remus, who only gets closer with every release of air from your lips. His scarred hands come into your view, spread in front of him to show his compliance, that he’d never hurt you. 

“D–Don’t,” you mutter, voice cracked and strained, like it pushes through your throat to come out–thick with blood and mud. “Don’t.” 

There’s a flicker of movement, and you turn to point at Moody as he limps to you, your eyes hardening where they meet his eyes. “Identify yourself.” He snarls, pointing his wand at you in return. Then, as if he thinks better of it, “Were you followed?”

“Don’t speak to her like that.” Sirius snaps, withdrawing his wand to his back pocket, away from sight. 

Moody pointedly ignores his jab, holding your glare with one of his own. “Who are you?”

You back away, grip tightening once again around your wand in response. The fight simmering in your veins waiting for the moment to lunge at him, to fight or flight. 

“Did Riddle send you?” He presses, eye twitching when you visibly flinch at the mention of your fallen leader. “To finish us off? Speak.”

You shake your head, swallowing thickly. “I–I didn’t mean to,” you say, voice wavering and at odds with the stoicism in your hold around your wand. “I didn’t… I didn’t–” you falter, so does your arm.

Then, in a second of thick silence, where your erratic breathing slows to a simmer of survival, Remus lowers himself in front of you, shaky hands still spread out in soft warning. Your eyes follow his movements, widened and studying him to find a flaw in his attempt at proximity. Leaves crunch under his knees, which crack as he kneels before you with nothing but care to offer, however you seem too deep into your own head to recognize his comforting presence. 

“Don’t–Don’t,” you whisper, watching with a flicker of confusion as he leans, very slowly, closer to you. The tip of your wand hovers inches in front of his chest. “Please, I… I–Not you, too.”

Remus’ lips twitch, eyebrows furrowing in a faint movement. Then, “Dove...” He says, his own voice barely a whisper and strained over the months he hasn’t spoken. 

You shake your head, blinking furiously as the beginnings of reality come crashing down. Your wand lowers just a smidge, pausing mid-air as your brain manages to register the shape in front of you over the fog of your instinctual dissociation.

Sirius dares to take a step closer as well, moving despite himself, guided by his heart more than his own instincts. Your eyes snap to him, less widened as they, too, register his face for flaws that could uncover his true intentions–he has half the mind to put your mind at ease, to remind you once again they’d never cause you harm. 

That you’ve returned home, however you managed to, but you’ve clawed your way to them.

“I… I didn’t mean to,” you repeat, with less conviction this time, eyes snapping to Remus where he meets your gaze with comfort and patience. Your hand drops between you, silence thickening by the second. “He… He was going to kill us both, I couldn’t–”

Moody mutters something under his breath. Kingsley only hushes him with a hand up, all eyes on Remus’ back where it’s eclipsing you. 

“Who, dove? Who was going to kill you?” Remus asks softly, his own hands lowering as your breathing visibly calms down. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you say again, eyes frantic as your mind refuses to let go of the memories, to let your guard down. But your body has other ideas, stilling as Remus shuffles ever so gently towards you. “I… I didn’t–”

“It’s alright,” he nods, swallowing thickly as his shaky hand comes closer to you. You hold your breath where he places it on your arm, warm hand touching the sticky substance over your skin where the sleeve is torn off. “You’re safe now, you… you’re home.”

Your chest heaves as you inhale sharply, eyes snapping up to meet his gaze. “…Home?”

Remus nods with hopefulness, and you mirror it mostly as a reflex. His hand, trembling, moves up and hovers over your face–not at all phased by the way you flinch inwardly in response. Then, very gently, he places it on the side of your face. Filthy with mud, blood, your body temperature borders on iciness.

James lowers himself by your side, eyes glassy as he studies your bloodied form with a tightness in his chest. 

“Yeah,” he smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You blink again. “Home, you… you came back.”

A light flickers in your eyes, not quite calm. Not peace, just… recognition. Your lips part, head shaking mostly like a reflex of the fight still simmering under your skin. 

Then, Remus moves again. Slowly, without hesitation as he gathers you into his arms. Blood be damned, flare up aches be damned. Because you’re home, in his arms again, and Sirius, caressing the nape of his neck with his ringed hand, is finally capable of offering comfort after months of nothing but rage. And James is there, crouched next to him, eyes glistening with tears as you slowly return to them not only physically–but emotionally as well. 

…

The chimney has long past casted any warmth since they walked in, James holding your limp form in his arms before you put up a fight against his hold–seemingly slipping in and out of disorientation at their attempts at comforting you. 

Sirius paces once again around the room, pinching the bridge of his nose as they wait for any indication that you’re done doing whatever you’re doing up in the room. You had requested space—and they granted it without a second thought, but even for them it was far too eerily silent to indicate any movement from your part. Almost like you’re not even there.  

Remus is somewhere by the kitchen shakily preparing tea by the stove, passing a sleeve over his eyes to clean the tears that escape his attempts at holding them back. James isn’t so far better, sitting by the chimney with hazel eyes lost on the barely visible fire before him. The room is thick with silence. 

Then, a loud thump noise, and before he can stop himself, Sirius sprints up the stairs, boots stomping on each step as he runs to you–if you’re there, or if your body has finally given out after the fight you crawled out of. Whatever it is, his heart jumps up his throat at the repetition of the same mantra, the same thought that you’re gone again, that you fled. 

When he pushes the door open, his eyes immediately land on the bathroom door, left open ajar in a cruel parallel to the last night he saw you–when he cornered you demanding answers and pointing accusations he had no right in uttering. But now, he’s learned his lesson. He doesn’t wait to knock, only opens it cautiously, almost in fear of whatever he might find. 

Steam fogs the mirror, it’s what he first notices as he steps in–the light is warm, but dimmed and flickering ever so slightly in the corner. You’re hunched over the edge of the tub, bloodied trousers and jumper discarded in a crumbled mess by the sink. As his grey eyes scan the scene, his heart skips a beat when they land upon the fabric clinging to your form, a blue graphic tee you had stolen from James years ago–a relic of another life. 

You inhale sharply, knuckles holding the edge of the tub tightly as your eyes snap to him. “Sorry,” you mumble, swallowing thickly and eyes widened like you had been caught doing something wrong. “Sorry. It’s just, this… this wasn’t here… before.”

His eyes flicker to the tub, then back at you. The water running provides a calm, ever present sound to the silence surrounding you both in the bathroom, droplets of water running down your bloodied arm where it’s holding a sponge in your hand. Crimson red where you’ve tried to scrub your thighs. 

Sirius’ lips part, torn between reminding you the tub has always been there–that you used to love it, and your time alone to take a bath in the midst of the chaos. But, at the faraway look that seems to come and go in your face, he only swallows any comment that would make you close off. 

He clears his throat, “Uh, yeah, it’s… it’s relatively new,” he lies, taking a tentative step inside. He closes the door behind his back. “Are you alright?”

You nod, eyes flickering down at the sponge in your hand, and how it seems to do a futile job to scrub the blood away from your skin. Sirius only wets his lips–salty where his tears had finished their trail down his face moments prior–and extends a hand out, palm open in silent question as he holds your gaze. 

“Do you need help?” He asks softly, pointing at the sponge in your hand. 

He half expects you to flinch back, to reach for your wand where it’s by the floor next to the tub. But your eyes have that foggy quality again, like you’ve slipped into dissociation. He waits, heart thumping loudly as you take a deep, trembling breath before nodding your head very slowly.

Sirius nods in response, sitting on the floor, legs folded uncomfortably under him. And then, very gently, he rolls up his sleeves, like he’s preparing himself to touch something important, something sacred. Your eyes follow his movement, not emitting a word as the back of his cold fingers brush your skin on your abdomen, pinching the hem of your shirt in question. 

“I’m just going to…” he looks down at the bloodied shirt, and you follow his gaze, lips parting like you’ve just realized the state you’re currently in. 

“Yeah, um, sure.” you whisper, raising your arms as he very gently pulls it up and over your head. “Just–just don’t throw it out, please.” 

A lump forms in his throat, and he nods wordlessly as he puts it down by his side on the floor. It pools in a little puddle of blood against the tiles. 

You step into the tub with cautious movements, and Sirius only reaches for the washcloth under the sink, soaking its soft fabric in warm water before wringing it out. 

And so, he begins. 

His hand finds yours, guiding it away from your knees as he takes it in his, passing the washcloth over your skin with tender movements. There’s blood everywhere, between your fingers, under your nails, in the little cracks of skin in your knuckles, traveling all the way up to your forearm. 

The source of it, he suspects–where he half expected a dark mark staring at him in mockery, he only finds burned off flesh and scars like someone had tried to strip you off the skin. Only remains of scars are barely visibly surrounding the poorly tended wound, and he tries to make his movements even more careful as he dabs at it very gently to clean it. 

He moves up its trail to your arm, and your eyes follow each of his movements with such intensity he has to pause a few seconds to allow you some time to yourself, to remember you’re safe. Sirius wishes you’d had this fact well imprinted in your head, but he doesn’t mind reminding you–if pausing his careful cleaning to allow you peace of mind, he will give you all the time you need.

He looks back at your hand, now clean and bare where it rests over the edge of the tub. He tries to not dwell on its nakedness, at the lack of rings–the one you nicked from him back in fourth year, the amethyst one you’ve bought off a street vendor at Diagon Alley, the little, thin ones you’d occasionally use depending on your mood. 

A fear creeps up his body, his veins, taking over his heart as it skips a beat in restraint before he casts a quick glance at your other hand over your knee. Still bloodied and waiting to be cleaned, but most importantly–most heartbreakingly, where it lacks your promise ring. 

His hold on the washcloth loosens just a fraction, and it takes him a small movement from you as you press your knees closer to your chest to shake himself off his despair. Sirius only has a moment to collect himself before you could swat him away–or recoil as you come to your senses and find him so close to you. 

Almost like you would’ve done years ago–when being fussed over was something still new to you. Something they had helped ease you into. 

Sirius cuts a quick glance at you, lips twitching mostly at the memory than at what he finds–your faraway eyes staring a hole into the wall. His thumb brushes at your palm, a smooth motion that causes you to blink at the tiles before turning to meet his gaze. 

He doesn’t ask where the ring is–if you threw it away, or if it was taken from you in a battle. He doesn’t ask why. He just holds your hand gently, like it’s made of glass, like you might dissolve if he lets go–and continues scrubbing. Quietly, lovingly, with aching care.

…

As soon as Sirius jumps down the last step of the stairs, James and Remus are on their feet. Equal widened and red-rimmed eyes staring at him with questions at the tip of their tongues. 

He sighs, eyes glassy, sleeves rolled up, there’s a smudge of blood on his shirt by his stomach where it’s clinging to his skin from warm water. He doesn’t say anything at first, but there’s a wet, bloodied piece of fabric crumpled in his hands.

“She, um,” His voice is thin. He blinks as if to stop the tears from finally cascading down his cheeks. “She asked if we could wash it for her.”

There’s a funny tilt to his voice–faint and almost unrecognizable–he sounds like he could almost laugh in amusement, though it’s hollow when he looks down at the shirt. And it isn’t amusing, because your shirt, the battered and torn thing in his hands, still matters to you despite everything. That you carried a piece of home with you and even now, when you’re safely back, you’re pleading for him to take care of that piece that anchored you to them. 

There’s a faint creak as the door opens upstairs. Then, tiptoeing the floodboards silently, you appear by the end of the stairs. They freeze. Your hand clasps your wand by your side as you climb down in careful, calculated steps, before meeting them by the sitting room. Wide eyes flickering between them in a manic albeit less alert manner like you’re calculating each of their movements as much as they are to yours.

Remus almost parts his lips to speak, probably knee deep in a memory as his eyes clock your bare feet against the freezing floor. The fabric of the clothes Sirius laid out for you swish softly with every tentative step you take.

Your fingers twitch around the wand, seemingly stuck in defense or attack at the sight of three boys in front of you. Sirius’ chest heaves when you take a tentative step back in reflex. 

James clears his throat, “It’s alright–you… you’re safe. See?” He spreads his hands open, then points at Remus and Sirius, who mirror him unconsciously. “No wands.”

Your eyes scan each of them in silence, and your grip loosens just a smidge, imperceptible to the untrained eye–but they are completely attuned to you, despite the months away, they can notice your tells, your fidgeting. Doesn’t help that your heart is going a kilometer per hour, with no indication of slowing down any time soon. 

“My… my clothes?” you turn to Sirius, who blinks back the tears when he meets your gaze. He looks down at his hands, at your crumpled shirt. “My necklace… it was in my jumper. I–I need it.”

“Your necklace?” Sirius echoes dumbly, eyes falling to your chest just barely visible over the hem of your oversized shirt. You nod. “I haven’t thrown them out, let me… I’ll check.”

You nod, bringing your hand to your forearm, nails scratching the tender flesh of your wound. James frowns when he notices the wince in your face when you touch it.

“Don’t… You’ll get it infected,” he manages, voice coarse like it had been scraped out. 

At last, he snaps into action, so does Remus as each reaches for the healing potions they prepared for you while Sirius helped you get cleaned up. Your eyes follow their movements, and it seems to take you an enormous amount of courage to prompt your feet to move forward, tiptoeing your way to the couch in careful motion. James visibly swallows the lump in his throat at your evident distrust for them.

A scarred hand squeezes his wrist as he unpacks the bandages, and he’s eternally grateful when he looks up to find kind, amber red-rimmed eyes staring at him with softness. He clears his throat, and continues with his task as Remus moves and lets go to fully turn to you, washcloth at the ready wet with his healing potion of choice. 

You’re nearly pushed deep between the cushions, leg bouncing with apparent nervousness as your eyes scan each boy inquisitively–like your brain knows they’re safe, they’re yours, and yet your body keeps betraying you, rejecting any feeling of comfort they offer. 

“It’ll sting a bit, okay?” Remus whispers, patient hand open until you offer your wounded arm. As your eyes flicker from his hand to him, he tries to make his voice extra soft. “Would you like some calming draught?”

“No.” You shake your head quickly, placing your arm over his hand in response. He startles at your immediate compliance. “No calming draughts.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” he nods, dabbing the washcloth on your arm very gently. You still wince.

Remus continues dutifully dabbing at your wound, amber eyes patient and gentle hand stopping when a specific movement snaps you back into survival mode, yanking your arm away from him. It’s okay, he says every time–he’s well aware of the intimacy of getting healed up. He wishes you could remember how you’d done the same to him countless times after violent full moons. 

Sirius emerges from the back of the kitchen a moment later, torn jumper in his hands and a face like he can’t quite understand where you could possibly leave your necklace–by his pinkish fingers, it’s obvious he tried to save you the hassle of searching for it yourself. But to no avail, there’s no glistening or indication that said necklace got tangled up with the fabric. He doesn’t really have the heart to tell you it’s probably lost, maybe during your escape.

Instead, he walks up to you, stopping to give you your wished space. “I… I couldn’t find the necklace, I’m sorry.” Love, he almost says. But bites his tongue, his heart cracks. 

Despite everything, you don’t seem devastated by this fact. Free arm reaching for the jumper when he hands it over to you. Both James and Remus pause on their healing when you place it over your knees, smudging your skin with the mud and blood clinging to the fabric. You’re not deterred though, eyes intense and nimble fingers working over the threads until the jumper is torn into pieces. There, in a hidden pouch none of them can comprehend you managed to knit, you take out a large, thin chain with a ring hanging at the end. 

Your promise ring.

The air is sucked out of the room–and their chests, as you push the fabric away to put the necklace over your head. It’s so long it nearly reaches your sternum, shining under the dimmed lights of the sitting room. 

James exhales sharply, “You… you kept it? All this time?” 

You nod, chewing at your lower lip. He swallows thickly, fingers fidgeting with the bandages in his lap. 

Remus only wets his lips, blinking in surprise when you wordlessly stretch your arm back at him to resume his healing. He lowers the washcloth again, and tries to not think about his own promise ring glistening against the damp fabric. 

“It’s charmed–they… they would’ve taken it away if they found it.” you reply quietly, almost in fear. None of them dare to question who’s they. “It was easier to keep it in a necklace.”

Sirius swallows the lump in his throat, blinking as he looks down at his own hands. The silence stretches on as Remus continues patiently cleaning your arm, multitasking as his warm eyes scan you for any other wound that may need tending to. 

When he blindly opens a hand to James, asking for the bandage, James only clears his throat. “Is it okay if it…?” He points at your arm, and Remus looks up to meet his gaze with surprise. He nods, but tilts his head at you where you remain silent looking at the now dead chimney in front of you. 

He calls your name softly, and you snap your head to meet their gazes, blinking as if to clear the fog from your mind. James only shuffles closer where he’s sitting over the coffee table, movements slow and tentative as he fidgets with the bandages.

“Is it okay if I…?” He points at your arm, now fully tended and skin slowly healing around your wound. 

You swallow, eyeing him more curiously than apprehensively, arm now clutched to your chest. Remus tuts, very slowly detaching it where the sticky potion on your skin clung to your shirt. James winces, and you watch in silence as he dabs the washcloth again. None of them make a comment, they begin healing your arm again. 

When Remus deems it fixed, they blink in surprise when you turn to James expectantly. His hands are still holding onto the bandages like a lifeline, and all it takes is a gentle nudge from Remus and Sirius clearing his throat for him to snap out of his shock. He shuffles closer to place the first bandage over your forearm, his hazel eyes landing on the remains of ink around the wound–like whoever caused it had tried to burn off a tattoo… a mark. 

You draw back into yourself in shame, eyes scanning his face for a reaction when his hand stops. James clears his throat, making a point of sending you his most comforting smile–the one you had said you secretly loved years ago–before resuming his work around your forearm. No questions asked. 

However, your shame has other intentions.

“They… they burned it off when they realized I was a spy.” you mumble, looking away from them. You withdraw your arm from James’ hold, clutching it back to your chest. “Healing charms aren’t really my strength.” 

They all share a look, all seemingly shocked. No one could do a healing charm better than you. Before. 

“Reg… Regulus tried to tend to it but we didn’t have much time.” you cut a quick glance at Sirius, who stiffens visibly at the mention of his brother. You wet your lips nervously, fingers twitching around your forearm as an unconscious tick. “We… we had to run, we had to destroy the locket.”

Sirius frowns. “What locket?”

You flinch very faintly at his interruption, and he has half the mind to mutter an apology when his boyfriends throw warning looks at him. However, you only swallow thickly, eyes flickering between each boy.

“The… the last horcrux.” you say, each word tilting in a tentative way as you look at him, as if gauging his reaction. “When we got to the cave…. he–he said he’d destroy it, that he would replace it with a fake one.” 

As you speak, your hold around your wand tightens, knuckles turning white as if the mere memory is pulling you away from reality–like you’re back at that cave fighting for your life. A silver lining of tears appears in the corners of your eyes, shining despite your futile attempt at blinking them away. 

You swallow, “It was a trap–he… he was there, they were there–ready for us. Riddle.” you whisper, though your breathing takes momentum with each word. You don’t flinch when James’ thumb brushes the skin just shy of your bandage. “K–Kreacher tried to hold them off, but… but they were stronger. We were outnumbered.”

Remus’ eyebrows pinch slightly, as if he can’t decide if he’s sympathetic or plain angry for you, for everything you had to endure. He schools his face as the first signs of movement pass from his peripheral vision, Sirius moving to sit by your side in intense silence–his own eyes hardening with every word you mutter. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you repeat, the same mantra you’ve whispered like a plea since you crashed back into their lives. “I… I only wanted us to survive, I didn’t mean to–” 

Your hand trembles, knee resuming its bouncing under James’ touch. His own promise ring glistens with each movement, though its love charm does nothing to slow the upcoming anxiety that’s pumping in your veins. 

Remus lowers his head, searching for your eyes. “You didn’t mean to what, dove?”

You swallow, frantic eyes flickering from his soft eyes to James then Sirius, each boy pouring everything they can to hold back their tears at your evident distress. 

“I… I didn’t mean to kill them all. It was.. I didn’t… I didn’t know what else to do,” you say quickly, almost in one single breath like the words are pushing to be said at once. Like you’re desperate for them to hear your side of the story, to grant you at least the grace to explain. “I didn’t know it would happen that way–the curse… the curse Regulus taught me, he said only to use it in case it was necessary. I didn’t–I didn’t think it would end that way.” 

They lean back, but James’ fingers gently press over your knee, moving up until his hand is holding yours with one tentative move. His sad, teary eyes scan your face and the way it twists in pain as you retell the hell you endured to get to them–he suspects it’s only the tip of something worse, something more sinister none of them will ever be able to understand. The horrors you clawed your way through to ensure Riddle would fall. 

“What curse, my love?” he whispers, pointedly searching for your gaze. You look away, throat closing up as your breathing comes in quick puffs of air. “Hey, it’s alright–you’re alright. You don’t have to say more, not if you don’t want to.”

“It… uh,” you press your lips together, looking down at your shaking hands in fear. Your hand drops the wand like it burns your skin. “It was called sectumsempra… Snape taught it to him, said it was a dark curse he created to, uh, to create imminent death and suffering–that’s what he said. I wouldn’t–”

They nod. “I know.” James smiles softly, mostly for your sake. 

The thing is, months ago, they knew you wouldn’t, that you’d never inflict harm to someone else–not even if they deserved it. But now? 

You look down at your hands, which moments prior were stained with someone else’s blood–hell, even Riddle’s blood if they really think about it, if they connect the dots. 

Sirius shuffles next to you, energy coursing through his body and nowhere to channel it–his anger, his frustration, his grief… Now that he knows your true purpose in the war, where will all those feelings go? Is he even allowed to feel them at all?

“Regulus… he… he didn’t–” you whisper, not daring to search for his eyes. James’ thumb brushes the back of your hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Sirius nods, the movement prompting the tears hanging by a thread on his eyelids to finally cascade down his cheeks. A sniffle, and his fingers twitch to hold your face in his hands–to show you he would never blame you. “I know, love. It’s okay.”

You pull your legs up, hugging them close to your chest in response, desperately trying to make yourself smaller between the cushions–if it’s physically possible. 

Remus’ lips twitch as he scans your heavy eyelids and the way you slump back into yourself against the couch. Exhaustion making its way into your body before you can even let yourself accept it–but so does your shame, coursing through you like it’s the only emotion you’re allowing yourself to feel.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, voice wavering like the weight of your guilt is shredding its way up your throat. You swallow nervously. “I didn’t mean to leave, I… I didn’t want to.”

Three things happen at once at your words. Sirius looks away in shame–unable to control his tears as he passes a trembling hand over his face. Remus, who had been characteristically quiet during your confession, stands from his sitting position, thumbs pressing hard at his eyes with such harshness the tears roll down his cheeks anyway. And James? He finally breaks–after months of denial, he finally lets his heart accept the grief and heartbreak his mind denied every single day since your departure. 

Your hand flies to the necklace against your sternum, fidgeting with it almost unconsciously as your eyes flicker from each boy with something akin to guilt–the only feeling strong enough to overpower your shame. 

“I wanted to tell you. I–I promise, many times I almost did.” you continue, swallowing sobs that are fighting their way up your throat. “I’m sorry.”

Then, another thing happens. You break. 

“I’m really sorry, I… I didn’t think I’d ever come back,” you take a breath, your other hand joining the one gripping the necklace on your palm. Both hands desperately hold it like a lifeline, like it could simmer your pain and theirs altogether. “I thought–I just thought it’d be better if–if I just left. I didn’t want to… to be another fatality… another tragedy to mourn.”

You wet your lips, now salty with tears. And when you open your mouth to speak, to continue, a sob comes out instead. High and strained like it had been kept captive in your throat for months, and, apparently, it’s all it takes to activate your survival instinct once again–you clasp a hand against your mouth. You close your eyes and breathe slowly as if to calm yourself down, to make your pain smaller in order to stay alive. 

You press your face against your thighs, swallowing thickly as you control your breathing, slowing it down to quiet and shorts exhales of air. Voice very low as you whisper calming mantras to yourself. All it does is break their hearts further as they watch in agony as you regulate yourself like someone that has endured indescribable horrors.

A hand, very tentatively, finds your shoulder, moving in gentle strokes as you slowly come down your spiraling. You drop your hands from your chest, the necklace returning to its resting place as you look up to meet Sirius’ equally teary eyes–his eyelashes wet with unshed tears as his hand travels up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing at the dampness of your face. 

“You don’t have to be sorry… or explain.” he whispers very softly, making a point of searching for your eyes when you look down. “Just–don’t ever think you’d be better off gone. I–We would’ve never thought of you as a fatality…”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, mostly as a reflex. 

He nods, thumb intercepting the tear cascading down your cheek. “I know, love… I know.” 

“You… you battled worse than us, and faced horrors we’d never understand. Alone. And you came back… you came back despite everything.” Remus steps in, hands wringing together in evident distraction, but his amber eyes remain fixed on yours. “That’s more than enough, dove. You’re here… alive. And that is what matters to us right now.”

“I… I,” your lower lip trembles, and you shut your mouth to stop any other sound from coming out. They all share a look. “I’m sorry.” 

They all nod, almost in unison. And you mirror it unconsciously, mostly like you’re convincing yourself more than them. Sirius hands drop from where they cradled your face, and your head rests over the back of the couch, eyelids dropping as if your body is finally allowing itself to give in to your exhaustion. 

James calls your name softly, clearing his throat as he passes a quick hand over his eyes. He sends you his most comforting smile when you pick up your head to meet his gaze. 

“Ready to get some rest?” his smile widens when you nod, looking more sure in yourself with your decision. Remus’ lips twitch as well, though he tuts softly when you shift on the couch to lay down to sleep. “Oh–no, we prepared you a room. If that’s okay.”

You pause, looking up to meet his gaze in surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Sirius breathes out, voice tilting, once again, in suppressed amusement at your reaction. Remus sends him a look. “Of course. We thought it’d be better than this ratty thing.” 

“Now, Sirius, no need to insult my couch.” James jokes half-heartedly, it doesn’t really land–especially when you’re looking around the cottage with wide eyes. He stands slowly, hand open for you. “Come, lovie, let’s get you to your room.” 

You send both Sirius and Remus a quick look, as if assessing their stances before taking James’ hand, who doesn’t let go even as you climb up the stairs by his side. They watch in silence as he ever so gently guides you through your own home, like you’re a ghost visiting after a long night. Their hearts twist lovingly when James’ arm comes around your back, supporting your weight when you trip over the carpet. 

“Oh, careful there,” he smiles, his own heart skipping a bit when your hand reaches for his forearm as a reflex. “I’ve been meaning to fix that–I just know Moony will be scolding me later.” 

Your lips twitch, head tilting to look behind your shoulder where Sirius and Remus are observing from the bottom of the stairs with twin glassy eyes. Their hands clasped together and promise rings offering comfort to one another. 

James smiles at you, and guides you deep into the hallway, arm spread open at the door just across their room–your shared old room, mind you. He swallows the quip, smile dimming when you step into the guest room with tentative steps. 

“I… I forgot this room existed,” you mumble, looking around as you sit down over the bed. James studies your movements, heart cracking at how out of place you look. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah, we never use this room much,” he fixes his glasses, looking away as you turn to get into the covers. The bedding looks insanely colorful in contrast with your dulled skin. “or, well, unless one of us forgets to empty the bin. Then it’s got plenty of use.”

Your lips quirk ever so faintly, looking down as your hand moves around the covers, testing its softness against your skin. James swallows nervously, shifting his weight with awkwardness–he used to have tons of things to say to you, now he finds himself scared of even cracking a joke. He wonders if whatever he comes up with would even make you laugh. 

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’ll just… uh, we’ll be across the hall.” 

You nod, and he steps backwards, sending you one last smile. “Thank you, Jamie.” you say quietly, and he almost trips over his own feet as he makes his way out. “Oh, um, please don’t… don’t close the door.” 

His hand hovers just over the knob at your request, pausing mid-air where he had reached to close the door. “Of course, yeah. That’s okay.”

“Thank you.” 

“Goodnight, lovie.”

“You, too.”  

James only walks out, leaving the door open behind him as he climbs down the stairs, his straight and relaxed posture crumbles with each step closer to his boyfriends–who readily embrace him as he finally breaks down. His quiet sobs mix with their sniffles as they all come down the high of seeing you again–at the cost of your sanity. 

“It’s okay, love–she’s alright.” Remus whispers, his scarred hands thumbing at the tears cascading down James’ cheeks. His own red-rimmed eyes sting with tears. “She’s alright, she’s here.”

The bespectacled boy nods, sniffling quietly. The ringed hand at his back, moving in comforting circles and warming his skin with aching care–Sirius continues his dutiful work to comfort him until James’ back stops shaking, his sniffles subduing to short exhales. The sitting room falls into a silence as they collect pieces of each other, love poured into each whisper and comforting word. 

Remus steps back, managing to force a half-smile on his face. “Let’s call it a night, yeah?” He tilts his chin promptly at the stairs. “We’ll face tomorrow. Together.” 

“All of us.” Sirius adds quietly, pressing a quick kiss over James’ cheekbone. Not at all minding the dampness he finds. 

But first they all bask in each other’s hold–something they hadn’t done since you left. Since they thought they weren’t worthy of love or compassion without you to share it with as well. 

“Come on,” Remus half-smiles, guiding James up the room like he had done to you. He sends Sirius a quick look as they climb up the stairs. 

Sirius follows wordlessly after a while, watching with several healed cracks in his heart as his boyfriends share comforting whispers to one another as they walk to their room–pausing just enough to send you a quick look from the hallway into the guest room. 

He sighs deeply, turning off the lights of the sitting room before climbing up each step of the stairs, passing the wall of photographs he usually wouldn’t have the courage to even glance at. Mementos of your shared life before the war–before you were taken from them because of your selfless and courageous nature.

He brushes a hair behind his ear, trying not to think about the way you used to do it time ago–and pauses just by the threshold of the guest room, leaning sideways to allow himself a selfish moment to bask in your peace. 

His eyes fill with tears once again at the sight of you, finally home, sleeping peacefully after months and months of indescribable horrors. Sirius’ hand reaches for his own promise ring, not looking away from your curled up form. Your own hand is clasping your ring unconsciously, love charm warms your skin and tethers you to them even in your sleep. 

The adrenaline, despite everything, is still simmering slightly through his veins–but so does another thing. Forgiveness. 

At you. For, even if he still doesn’t fully understand your reasons, leaving to fight a war not only against the tyranny of blood supremacy, but against every single person that ever put your right of existence into question. 

At James, for denying himself the power of feeling your absence and protecting himself and his boyfriends with the optimism of hoping you’d return. 

At Remus, who spent every waking moment imploding inwardly and keeping his pain to himself instead of overbearing him or James with it, who punished himself with silence in hopes you’d return one day to hear his voice again. 

And at himself, for the rage and frustration he put out into the world and his boyfriends at the cause of your disappearance. For thinking, for one moment of pure idiocy, that you’d ever willingly leave them without putting up a fight first. 

Sirius passes a hand over his face, ignoring the dampness against his skin as he turns to walk into the room, where Remus and James are already getting ready for bed. He sends your sleeping form one last look behind his shoulder, and lets his heart settle for peace at last. 

[marauroon]

˗ˏˋ ★ ──── 1 TO 100 ‼

「 “ 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘵. ” 」

eventual james potter x fem!reader; inevitable angst and annoyance as james slowly matures over his time at hogwarts. slowburn. total word count: 53.7K

— Read it on Ao3 !!

2.7K | FIRST YEAR.

5.8K | SECOND YEAR.

2.7K | THIRD YEAR.

6.0K | FOURTH YEAR.

6.4K | FIFTH YEAR.

14.0K | SIXTH YEAR.

18.7K | SEVENTH YEAR.

[reggiesgrinningsoul]

James sobbing in Regulus' arms for the very first time and Regulus thinking he's doing the worst job ever at comforting him because he isn't speaking but this is exactly what James needed for so long. To just be held as he let it all out, not having someone in his ear telling him it will get better, that he's strong. Regulus silence comforts him more than words ever could, Regulus arms wrapped around him comforts him more than the distractions he'd force himself into ever would.

[dismalflo]

all the reasons we're not in love

James potter x fem!reader ✩ 4.6k words

summary: You and James are best fucking friends—nothing more, nothing less. So why does everyone act like you're secretly in love, like it's some kind of undeniable fact?

cw: fluff, a pinch of angst, steamy makeout but no smut, best friends to lovers, idiots in love.

James gets up from the booth and leans down to ruffle your hair just because he knows it’ll annoy you. All sat around a too small booth in the back of the pub with a few chairs pulled up to accommodate the large group. It’s James' turn to buy a round, and you make a show of swatting his hand away as he goes, tracking his movements all the way to the bar. 

You have a second to take in the dingy lights and the rowdy regulars in the local before Lily scares you half to death, leaning into your field of view. Eyes alight with mischief and an impish smile on her lip.

“So…” she says, dragging out the vowel, “what's going on?”

“What's going on with what?” you laugh, confused but delighted by Lily after a few drinks. 

“You and James!” she practically squeals, shaking your arm with gleeful energy. “You’ve been giggling like schoolkids all night. He had his arm around you! Just admit it already—you like each other.”

You groan. “Lils, we always do that.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically, clearly fed up with your refusal to see what she sees. And you? You’re fed up with everyone constantly implying that you and James must fancy each other. As if friendship isn’t enough.

“James and I are friends. That’s—”

“Best fucking friends,” James announces cheerfully, appearing out of nowhere and sliding your drink in front of you before placing the rest in the middle of the table.

“Exactly! Thank you,” you say, gesturing to him like he’s just proved your point.

Lily exhales sharply, throwing you a meaningful look before turning back to the group.

James sinks back into the booth beside you, draping an arm casually along the backrest behind your shoulders

“Try this,” he says, nudging his glass toward you. He’s been working his way through the list of ridiculous specialty mocktails on the menu and insists you sample every one. “It’s strawberry… something. You’ll like it.”

You take a sip. He’s right, obviously, it’s sweet and bright and tastes like summer. You smile up at him, pleased. “That’s really good. I’m getting one next round.”

He grins, radiant. “You can have that one, angel.”

You try to push the glass back, but he doesn’t let you. He’s about to insist again, mouth open, eyes soft, when a familiar voice cuts in.

“Why don’t you share your drinks like that with me, Moony?” Sirius whines from across the table, looking genuinely offended.

Remus sighs—meaning to sound exasperated, probably—but the fond look he gives his boyfriend tells a different story.

“We’ve been drinking the same thing all night, that’s why,” he replies, a smile starting to bloom on his lips. “And…” He glances your way with a teasing glint in his eye. “We’re not an old married couple like them.”

“Yeah,” Sirius mutters, barely above a breath, like it's a tragedy, “good thing they’re both fit.”

You let out a loud laugh. “We’re friends—”

“Best fucking friends.”

“—Not an old married couple. And honestly, you can’t say anything, Remus ‘Knitwear’ Lupin.”

“She’s not wrong,” James says with a quiet chuckle, sliding his hand to your back, fingers moving in lazy, absent-minded circles.

Remus only laughs, shaking his head, while Sirius looks scandalized—utterly betrayed on his boyfriend’s behalf.

“I like Rem’s knitwear, Trouble,” Sirius says, fixing you with a glare that would be more effective if his cheeks weren’t flushed from the drinks. “And I’d be very careful, or I’ll convince him to stop knitting your presents. Then all you’ll get are boring gift cards.” He nods solemnly, clearly impressed with his own threat.

You gasp dramatically, hand to your chest like he’s wounded you. “You wouldn’t.”

Sirius just giggles in response—giggles, which is never a good sign—so you turn to Remus, eyes wide, appealing.

“You wouldn’t let him, would you? You’ll still knit me things, Rem?”

Remus chuckles, shaking his head with a smile that promises yes, always.

That’s when you notice James has gone quiet. You turn toward him, curious, and catch the way he’s watching you. Soft eyes. That funny little smile he only wears when he thinks no one’s looking.

“You okay?” you ask, voice gentling with concern.

The question seems to pull him out of whatever haze he was in. His grin returns, bright and easy, like it never left.

“I’m great, angel.” He leans in, dropping his voice so only you can hear. “If Moony stopped knitting for you... I’d learn how to.”

You blink at him. “You? Knitting?”

He nods solemnly, one hand still warm against your back, and raises the other as if swearing an oath. “I’d do it for you. Even if it meant stabbing myself with the needles every five minutes. That’s how committed I am.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself. “You’re so dramatic.”

You’re laughing, and your cheeks are warm, and James is still looking at you like you’ve hung the stars, but you brush it off like you always do.

Because this is what you and James do. Banter, teasing, little smiles no one else gets—your own language that you’ve been speaking fluently for years. It’s not new. It doesn’t mean anything.

He nudges your knee with his own, still grinning like he’s won something. Like your laugh is enough.

And maybe it is. Maybe it always has been.

But then Lily shoots you another look across the table, all smug eyebrows and that annoying “I told you so” glint in her eye, and it hits you again like it always does—this sudden awareness of how everyone else sees you. You and James. As if it’s already written somewhere, carved into the stars or tucked between the pages of your shared history.

You take a sip of the strawberry-whatever to stall, trying not to frown. Because the truth is, you know how this looks from the outside. All the little things he does, the way you lean into him without thinking, the endless inside jokes—it paints a picture. A certain type of story.

Because he’s James. And you’re... you.

And no matter how many times Sirius winks or Mary raises a knowing brow or Lily insists you're in love, you don’t think there’s a universe where you and James actually get together. Not really.

You’re best friends. That’s it.

And maybe there’s something sacred in that. Something worth protecting.

Besides—he doesn’t fancy you. Not like that. And you certainly don’t fancy him. No matter how charming he is. Or how warm his laugh makes you feel. Or how he always saves you the last piece of your favourite treats even when he pretends he won’t. Or how he’s looking at you now like he’d burn down the world just to keep you smiling.

No. You don’t fancy each other. That would be... messy. Complicated. The end of everything easy and good between you.

And James Potter may be a lot of things, but he’s not your ending.

He’s your always.

So you take another sip of the mocktail he gave you and bump his shoulder with your own, like nothing ever passed through your mind. He bumps you back, that lazy smirk still on his lips.

-

The pub starts to empty in waves, voices thinning out as people stumble toward coat racks and lingering goodbyes. You're nestled deeper into the booth than you realized, lulled by warmth and easy laughter and the comfort of being surrounded by your people.

Eventually, someone suggests calling it. Mary’s already halfway into her coat, Sirius is trying to coax Remus into stealing pint glasses for their flat and Lily kisses you on the cheek with a meaningful look before grabbing Marlene’s arm and disappearing toward the door in a burst of cold air and laughter.

And James?

James is exactly where he’s been all night—at your side, elbow brushing yours every time he moves. When you pull your coat on, he reaches over without thinking and helps tug the hood into place for you.

“You ready?” he asks, and it’s easy, familiar.

“Yeah. Thanks for driving.” You smile, a little sleepy now that the buzz is fading.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Wouldn’t trust anyone else to make sure you get home.”

-

The drive is quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable. Music hums low through the speakers—something you’ve heard a million times over, something James mumbles along to under his breath when he thinks you’re not listening. He’s one of those annoyingly good drivers too. One hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely between the seats, fingers drumming to the beat.

You glance over once and catch him mid-yawn, eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins at the road.

“Wanna come in?” you hear yourself ask when he pulls up in front of your place, your voice softer than you expect. “Just for a bit? I might put on a film.”

James looks at you, searching your face for something. Whatever he finds, it makes him smile gentler than before. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”

You flick on the lights when you step inside, and it’s like muscle memory from there: shoes off, jacket thrown over the arm of the sofa, kettle filled. James leans against your kitchen counter like he belongs there. And he kind of does. There’s a mug he always uses in your cupboard. A hoodie of his in your laundry pile.

“What are we watching?” he asks, already padding into your living room, socked feet silent on the floorboards.

“Something easy,” you say. “Something we’ve seen before so I don’t actually have to pay attention.”

James shoots you a grin over his shoulder. “That for me or for you?”

You ignore the question, toss him the remote. “Dealer’s choice.”

You end up on opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled somewhere in the middle because it’s late and it’s cold and this is what you do. It’s not new.

The movie starts playing, dim blue light casting soft shadows across his face. You watch it for a while—or try to—but your thoughts start running at a mile a minute instead.

You try to focus on the movie. Really, you do. But all you can hear is Lily’s voice echoing in your head: “Just admit it already—you like each other.”

It’s not just her. It’s everyone.

Sirius, with his loud, theatrical gasps every time James passes you a drink. Marlene muttering “just kiss already” under her breath like it’s an inside joke. Even Remus, who’s supposed to be the voice of reason, always quirking a brow when James tosses an arm around your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Which it is. It’s normal. It doesn’t mean anything.

But now? Now it’s stuck in your head. Every glance, every smile, every stupid joke he laughs too hard at—it’s all tinged with the weight of everyone else's expectations.

You lean your head back on the cushion and sigh.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” James asks, voice soft and scratchy with tiredness.

You glance at him. His eyes are still on the TV, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he already knows you’re spiraling.

You hesitate, then sit up a little. “Can I ask you something?”

His gaze flicks to you instantly. “Course.”

“Do you ever get… tired of everyone thinking we’re in love?”

James lets out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “All the fucking time.”

You nod, almost relieved. “Right? It’s like—just because we’re close doesn’t mean we’re secretly pining.”

“Exactly!” James says, animated now, like he’s been waiting for someone to validate this. “Like, we literally watched Sirius throw himself at Rem for years and no one said shit, but I pass you a drink and suddenly it’s like—‘When’s the wedding, James?’”

You snort, finally smiling. “It’s exhausting.”

“Truly.”

Silence falls again, but it’s different now. 

“I just…” you start, voice quieter. “I wish there was a way to prove it, you know? That we don’t fancy each other. That this—” you gesture vaguely between the two of you “—this is just friendship.”

James raises a brow, half-amused. “You want, like… a presentation?”

You giggle. “Maybe.”

“Bullet points and everything?”

“‘All the reasons James Potter is categorically not in love with me.’”

“‘Exhibit A: the time I ate her last slice of pizza.’”

“‘Exhibit B: he never laughs at my best jokes.’”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

Another beat passes. You look at each other.

There’s a flicker in James’ eyes—just a spark of something you can’t name—and it hits you, sudden and sharp, how close you are. His knee is still pressed against yours. His fingers are brushing your ankle like it’s nothing. Like it always has been.

You lick your lips. Heart hammering. And then—

“…We should kiss.”

James blinks. “What?”

You’re not even sure where the words came from. They just slipped out. But now that they’re here, they feel oddly right. Inevitable.

You swallow. “We should kiss. Just once. To prove there’s nothing there.”

He stares at you, stunned into silence.

You rush to explain. “I mean—everyone keeps saying there is. And maybe if we just… did it, and it was awkward or bad or whatever, we could tell them and they’d drop it. They’d finally stop acting like we’re in some secret relationship.”

James is still staring, mouth slightly open.

You flush, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s stupid, forget it—”

“I’ll do it,” he says suddenly.

Your breath catches. “You will?”

He nods, slowly, like he’s still catching up with himself. “Yeah. If it’ll prove a point.”

You try to ignore the way your pulse spikes. “Right. Okay.”

With the room still mostly shrouded in darkness, it's difficult to make out the features of his face clearly. He shifts closer to you whilst manoeuvring your legs to settle beside you properly. There's little time to recognise the shift in his gaze as it pins to your lips before he's grinning and speaking again.

“What happens when you fall in love with me because of this?”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “Your ego’s fucking massive Potter, I’ll be fine.” you say, gently slapping his arm. “Not sure about you though.” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head at you, acting like you're the biggest nuisance in the world.

“Come on then.” you say, impatiently. James sighs, then nods, before he's raising a hand to cup your jaw. His touch is gentle, like he's holding something fragile, priceless. And then he's leaning in so slowly, allowing you the time to pull away in case you’d been joking.

You let your eyes fall shut, expecting his kiss as your hand drifts to rest on his knee. You don’t notice the faint hitch in his breath at your touch—it’s so subtle, it nearly slips past you. The kiss comes and goes in a heartbeat, a fleeting, chaste peck that barely brushes your lips. When his hand pulls away and he clears his throat, your eyes open. He doesn’t say a word.

Despite the fact you should feel happy that you felt nothing, there's a strange twisting feeling in your stomach. Like when you startle awake after dreaming that you're falling. Then it comes to you, that kiss wasn’t a real one it can’t prove anything. 

“That wasn’t a proper kiss, James.” you say while looking down at your hands, not wanting to face him.

“You’re right.” you look up to see his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and you're startled by the sudden fascination with his mouth. 

“You have to kiss me like you’d kiss someone you're in love with.”

James’ gaze drops to your lips and stays pinned there as he’s silent, thinking. 

“I can do that… I think.” 

“Come on then.” you joke as you take a deeper breath in.

James exhales, slow and steady, but you can see it, the way his fingers twitch slightly, like he’s restraining something. Like there’s a weight behind your words neither of you wants to name just yet.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice quieter now, with none of that usual cocky lilt. It’s careful. Measured. He’s giving you one last out.

You nod. “It’s just a kiss.”

But it’s not. You both know that. It hasn’t been just a kiss since the moment you suggested it.

Still, you say it anyway, because it’s easier to pretend it’s simple.

James shifts closer, knees brushing yours again, the space between you shrinking by the second. His hand finds your jaw again but this time his thumb lingers at your cheekbone, the pad of it brushing soft circles that make your heart lurch. There’s something almost reverent in his touch now, like he’s memorising every inch of you.

When he leans in this time, it’s slower. Like he’s moving through water. Like the world around you doesn’t matter anymore.

And when he finally kisses you, it’s nothing like the first time.

It’s not hesitant or performative or brief. It’s warm and aching and real.

James kisses you like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it. Like this isn’t about proving anything or making a point—it’s about you. About this.

His lips are soft and sure against yours, and when your hand slips up to grip the front of his jumper, he deepens the kiss with a low hum in the back of his throat, like he’s been holding that sound in for too long.

One of his hands slips down to your hip, shifting you closer, settling you on his lap. You go willingly, knees digging into the sofa at either side of his thighs as he tilts his head back to reach you better. Completely lost in each other, forgetting, you’re sure your lips will soon turn numb.

Your hands drift upward to settle around his neck and lightly tug the hair at the nape of his neck. James pulls you closer by the waist, chests flush and his mouth remains probing and searching on your own.

There’s the feeling of a smile in the kiss but you can’t tell who’s it is. You’ve fallen into a steady rhythm, easy and sweet, but when a noise is pulled from his throat you freeze, pulling away. 

Looking down at him your face sits somewhere between concern and confusion. James stares right back at you panting, but otherwise seemingly unaffected.

“Forgive a man for getting distracted, angel.” he defends, like it's all your fault. 

You know you should move away from him now. Really, you know. But there's a strange standoff happening where neither of you look away and neither of you move. Until you do. 

It's hard to tell who moves in first, but the other reciprocates and you’re kissing again. James kisses you like a man starved. It's feverish and intense. It's everything. 

You can’t help but grab hold of his hair, curls silky and soft through your fingers, giving them the slightest tug experimentally. It makes James shamelessly grind up against you. Nails digging lightly into the back of his neck, you gasp when his mouth leaves yours properly and latches onto your neck, lost in the bliss of it all, you grind down against him.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” His breath sounds strained. “can’t take it—“ His murmur is a rumble against your skin. You flush at the idea that he can’t contain himself because of this. Because of you. 

When he pulls away, finished ravishing your neck, you come back down to earth, scrambling to remove yourself from his lap. His hair is messy, messier than usual, from your touch and his lips are red and kiss bitten. 

You look to the far corner before you speak, unable to look at him now. 

“... I guess we’ve proved we don’t fancy each other, then.” 

You’re a liar and you know you are.

-

It’s been two days since the kiss. Two long, excruciating days where you haven’t spoken to James once. Not a text. Not a call.

You’ve replayed that night over and over in your head, hoping it would start to blur around the edges, lose its sharpness. But it hasn’t. If anything, it’s crystal clear—every touch, every sound, every look he gave you. And worst of all? You don’t even regret it.

You’re halfway through nursing a lukewarm coffee at the back corner of a café when Sirius slides into the seat across from you like he owns the place, all leather jacket and smug grin.

“Oi,” he says, tugging your cup toward himself and taking a sip without asking. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

You blink, startled. “Us?

As if summoned, Remus appears beside him, calm and neat in that way that makes you feel even more frazzled by comparison. “She’s definitely been avoiding James,” he says, not unkindly, as he slides into the seat beside Sirius.

Sirius throws an arm around Remus’ shoulders with dramatic flair. “And thus—by extension—the rest of us, tragically caught in the crossfire of whatever the hell is going on.”

You frown. “Nothing is going on.”

Sirius lets out a loud, derisive snort. “Right. Tell that to James, who has been moping around the flat.”

“I’m serious,” you say quickly.

Remus raises an eyebrow. “So are we.”

You roll your eyes. “Come on. He’s not moping.”

Sirius levels you with a look, all theatrics dropped. “He didn’t even yell at me for eating his last bag of crisps yesterday. He just sighed. Who even does that?”

Your heart sinks, but you try not to let it show. “He’s probably just… tired. He drove me home from the pub that night, maybe he’s still catching up on sleep.”

Sirius and Remus share a look.

Remus tilts his head. “That’s the night it started, you know.”

“I told you,” Sirius says, grinning now like he’s cracked a case. “Something happened in that car. Or after. Did you two fight?”

“No,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “Nothing happened.”

Sirius narrows his eyes at you. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“I’m not lying,” you lie.

Remus leans in, voice quieter now, more careful. “We’re not trying to corner you. Just… we’re worried. About both of you.”

You take a long sip of your coffee, trying to buy time, but it’s cold and bitter and doesn’t help at all. You stare into the cup like it holds the answers. It doesn’t.

Sirius softens, which is somehow worse. “Look, we’re not asking for details. Just—maybe talk to him?”

You sigh. “I don’t know what I’d even say.”

“Try the truth,” Remus offers gently.

The truth is a mess, though. The truth is a blur of lips and hands and breathless gasps. It’s James’ eyes on yours in the dark, his fingers brushing your cheek like he was afraid you’d vanish. It’s the way you didn’t sleep that night, couldn’t sleep, because your skin still remembered the shape of his touch.

And the worst part? The worst part is you know what you felt wasn’t one-sided.

Sirius glances at his watch. “If you don’t call him, I’m sending him to your flat.” He threatens, leaving no room for argument.

-

You don’t call him.

You want to—God, you want to. You’ve picked up your phone half a dozen times just to stare at his name, thumb hovering over the call button like it’s going to electrocute you. But every time, something stops you. Some awful cocktail of fear and guilt and what-if. What if it was a mistake? What if he regrets it? What if he doesn’t, and you’re the one who ruins everything?

So you don’t call. You sit with the silence and let it suffocate you.

It's nearly midnight when there's a knock at your door.

Your heart jumps into your throat. For a second, you think about ignoring it, pretending you’re asleep, but you already know who it is.

You open the door anyway.

James is standing there, hoodie thrown on as if he’d left in a rush, curls messy and damp like he’d just run his hands through them a thousand times on the way over. His eyes flick across your face like he’s checking to make sure you’re real. Like he didn’t quite believe you’d actually answer.

He looks tired.

You swallow. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoes, voice low.

There's a silence. Tense. Tight. It stretches between you like a rubber band pulled too far.

“I wasn’t gonna come,” he says eventually, shifting on his feet. “Told myself you’d call. That I’d give you space.” He pauses. “But I waited. And waited. And you didn’t.”

Your chest aches.

“I know,” you say, barely above a whisper. “I just… I couldn’t.”

James steps past you without asking. You don’t stop him.

He makes his way into your flat like he always has- it’s muscle memory. Like he belongs here. And God, maybe he does.

“I’ve been losing my mind,” he says suddenly, turning to face you. “I thought we were okay and then it’s like you disappeared. No texts. No calls. Like it didn’t mean anything.”

“It wasn't supposed to mean anything, James.” you snap.

He flinches, like you’ve slapped him. You immediately regret it.

“I didn’t mean—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You didn’t mean for it to mean anything,” he says, voice low. “But it did.”

You exhale shakily, crossing your arms like they can shield you from this. “We said it was just a kiss. To prove a point.”

“Yeah, well, that didn’t work,” he says, stepping closer. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”

You glance away, blinking too quickly. “That’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” he agrees. “It’s not fair that I kissed you and everything changed and you’re acting like it didn’t.”

You hate this. Hate how right he is. Hate how vulnerable he looks standing in your living room like he’s afraid to breathe too hard and scare you off.

Your voice is quiet. “I didn’t know what to say.”

He’s quiet a beat. Then:

“Say anything.”

You hesitate. Your throat feels too tight. But then you force yourself to look at him, to see him.

“I love you,” you say. “And I don’t care if it’s wrong, I just do.”

James exhales, a slow, shaky breath like he’s been waiting for this—like he wasn’t sure he’d ever get it. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeat, firmer now. “I love you and I’ve been trying not to. Because I thought it would ruin everything.”

He steps forward, hands gentle as they come to rest at your waist. “I’ve always loved you, I think.”

It breaks something open in your chest. This is real. This is terrifying. This is everything.

“But what if we mess it up?” you ask, voice trembling.

James gives you a soft, crooked smile—the one that’s always undone you. “Then we mess it up. Together.”

You laugh, a watery, disbelieving thing, before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in.

And when he kisses you this time, it’s not tentative or desperate. It’s steady. Sure. Like he knows you’re his.

Like he always has.

masterlist <3

[moonstruckme]

hi mae! wondering if you feel like writing anything for fireman!james? i've been thinking about him lately......maybe something where reader has a fire at her apartment, some angst and comfort if you feel like it. thanks for considering, hope you're having a great day/night!

Thanks for requesting angel! Hope you're having a great day/night as well <3

cw: animal in distress

a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas

firefighter!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

By the time James’ team finishes the primary search, there are fourteen residents on the street in front of the block of flats. All were out by the time James got here with the second truck, so his search went quickly, locating the original source of the fire—a dishcloth thrown on a hob that hadn’t cooled when the flat’s tenant went out, which then spread to the entire building. He tears off his mask and looks around for where he might be needed. 

Most of the victims are already getting treatment, sitting on the sidewalk across from the blaze under a twilight sky, having pulse oximeters clipped to their fingers and being given oxygen in a few cases. It’s mostly calm, but—there. James catches sight of Frank trying to corral a victim who’s seemingly refusing treatment, and he beelines in that direction. 

James’ timing couldn’t be better. He approaches just as you break away from Frank, and you’re—god, you must have been one of the last out, you’re staggering, dizzy from smoke inhalation. You stagger right into James’ arms. 

“You’re okay,” he placates you swiftly, catching you around your waist. “You’re alright.” 

You make a choked sound and try to get free. 

James’ can’t let you go. You’re trying to run towards the fire, which is, you know, a bad plan. He tries to convey this as Frank approaches with oxygen for you. “We’re getting things under control. Okay? The best thing you can do is—” 

You shake your head, keeping Frank from putting a mask on you. Tears stream from your eyes, either from fright or irritation from the smoke. Probably both, actually. “I have to—” Your voice is a hoarse wreckage. “I need—” 

“What, lovely?” asks James while Frank continues trying to place the mask on your face. James could probably hold you still, weak as you are, but he’d rather not have to. 

“My cat—” Your voice breaks on a cough, your breath wheezing as you fight to get something out.

James’ own breathing falters. “Your cat? It’s inside?” 

You nod, coughing. 

“Which unit?” 

You point, and that’s enough. James gives you over to Frank, hardly taking a second to hope that his friend has you in a secure grip before jogging back across the street. He puts his mask on as he goes, shoving his hands into his gloves.

The fire is noisy. The team is working to put it out at the source, but in this part of the building it’s still finding new kindling, roaring its eagerness as it licks at the ceilings. The flat you pointed to is thick with smoke. James moves from room to room, checking under furniture, inside of closets, around corners. He has the half-desperate urge to tsk for your cat, though that won’t likely work, and clad in gear as he is it would probably seem vaguely haunting. 

He goes through the flat more than once. As he’s standing from peering underneath your bed for the third time (which seems the most likely hiding place to him) James notices a lump under the covers. He thinks he can be excused for perhaps not being the most gentle in his haste to unveil the hiding place. Your cat disagrees. 

James is glad for the thick material of his suit and gloves as the thing comes out shrieking and scratching. He’s impressed by its determination to tear into him despite how exhausted the poor thing must be—proven a moment later when it manages to find the space inside James’ sleeve where his wrist is exposed. Oh well, no rose without its thorns and all that. 

“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” he mumbles, bundling the creature close to his chest as he leaves the room. 

In the stairwell, the smoke is less thick, a sign that they’re getting the blaze under control on at least the ground floor. James passes a few members of his unit on his way out of the building (answering more than one exclamation of “Where was that hiding?” with a shrug) and goes outside to look for you. 

He doesn’t have to look for long. Frank seems to have finally managed to cajole you into sitting down and putting on an oxygen mask, but at James’ emergence you make a broken shout and tear free all over again, sprinting across the street. This time, Frank is too caught offguard to stop you. 

James is glad he doesn’t. You barrel right into James, take his cargo into your arms (James has a momentary panic that you’re about to get torn to ribbons, but apparently your cat only has it out for him), and crumple, sobbing, to the pavement. 

James’ heart throbs painfully as you press wet little kisses into smoky fur, a string of raspy endearments tumbling from between your lips. Your cat must be feeling similarly, because James has never seen an animal fresh out of a trauma situation submit to loving so complaisantly. 

“It’s okay.” James crouches beside you. He puts a hand to your back as Frank crosses the street to you, looking a mix of exasperated and relieved, with his equipment. “It’s a good sign that it’s still conscious, but you both need oxygen after inhaling all that smoke. Let us help, okay?” 

You’re much more cooperative now than you were earlier. You let James hold an oxygen mask to your face while Frank prepares a smaller one for your cat, another sob escaping you when he affixes it to the creature’s tiny snout. The cat doesn’t offer much more resistance than recoiling slightly, and you coo, petting down its fur soothingly. 

“I know,” you edge away from the mask to say. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

James feels this isn’t the best use of your air, seeing as your cat is unlikely to understand you, but he sympathizes with the need to apologize for a perceived failing when someone or something was depending on you. He also knows you aren’t talking to him, but he feels the need to reassure you anyway. “It’s going to be fine.” 

You whimper softly. “Where was she?” you ask. James notes that you seem better than you were; your voice is still hoarse, but you’re no longer coughing. “I was trying to find her, but I—I couldn’t.” 

“She made herself a rather good little hiding spot in the bed,” he tells you. 

Your eyes well all over again. “Idiot,” you murmur, petting your cat lovingly. You look at James. “Thank you so much.” 

He smiles and puts the mask back to your face. “I’m just glad everyone’s alright. She made me work for it, though.” He uses his spare hand to push up his sleeve, showing off the thin scratches on his wrist. 

You back away from the mask again with a quiet “Oh” that contains more compassion than James thinks is really due (but he’ll take it). “I’m sorry. She’s really sweet, she was probably just scared. I’m sure she appreciates it.” 

James chuckles and suppresses a comment about how you’re two peas in a pod. 

“I would have been scared too,” he agrees. “Listen, can you do me a favor? Keep the mask on for a while. I think Frank’s gonna have a stroke if you don’t.” 

You look at Frank, contrition coloring your expression. “Sorry,” you tell him. 

Frank huffs a laugh. “It’s fine—just, yeah. Please.” 

You wipe under your eyes and sit still so that James can hold the mask to your face again. The fire quiets a decibel at a time behind him. Looking at you, with your watery, happy eyes and your cat cradled lovingly in your lap, James feels good about tonight. 

He offers you a smile, and even with the oxygen mask on, even weak as you are, you return it.

[starxreads5]

"You called, i came" James Potter x reader

Summary: two months after a not so nice break-up, you call James. Why? You finally get the courage to tell him you're pregnant with his baby.

English isn't my first language! Not proofread.

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For the first time i wrote something in one sitting 🫠 while writing this i had some sort of famous footballer James in mind, i guess? Idk haha

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James' phone rings in the middle of his afternoon football practice with Peter. He glances over his shoulder at Remus and Sirius, lazily spread out on the bench, basking in the scorching, summer sun. All sweaty and hot, he trudges towards the place where Remus reads – or at least was reading until James's phone didn't start ringing loudly in his short's pocket, pulling his attention away from the story.

"Who's calling?" He asks, wiping his sweaty forehead with his shirt, as Remus puts the book aside and fishes James' phone out of his pocket.

Remus' eyes widen, hilariously so, as he sees the contact name. He freezes, his eyes focused on the phone's screen, his hand pausing mid movement in Sirius' hair. Sirius grumbles, but Remus doesn't resume caressing his hair. James' eyebrows furrow at his friend's weird reaction.

"Remus?"

"It's Y/N." Remus chokes out, finally looking up at James. Sirius, a moment ago so blisfully unaware of everything happening around him, also perks up. Peter joins them with a football ball in his hands and his brows furrowed in confusion.

"What's going on?" Peters asks, but no one answers.

James takes the phone from Remus' hand, more forcefully than he intended. He stares at the screen for a moment, his finger hoovering over the buttons, the red and the green one, before pressing accept. He puts the device to his ear.

All he hears on the other end is your irregular breathing and quiet hiccuping, as well as rustling of something, most likely tissues.

"Y/N?" He asks quietly. His voice wavers.

Your words make his blood run cold. "I'm pregnant, James."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Two months earlier

"Honey, I'm home!" James's cheerful, just a bit tired, voice reaches your ears, but you don't move from your spot by the sink, remaining still, with water still dripping down your arms and dishes drying on the rack.

James's excitement doesn't waver as he makes his way to the kitchen where he hopes to find you. He doesn't mind his sweaty sport clothes or the mud mixed with grass blades on his calves. He's just happy his team won. Also, a bit tipsy from the outing with his teammates after the game.

"Baby, are you here?" He asks, peeking into the room.

First, he notices you. Then, his attention – slowly, like in a movie – drifts to the table. Candles are still burning, the anniversary gift you made yourself still awaits for him. Dinner you prepared has long gone cold and your wine glass is empty – his, on the other hand, is full. Untouched.

Because he wasn't here.

It all dawns at him at once.

He missed your anniversary.

James clears his throat. "Honey..."

"Enjoyed your evening with boys?" You ask and James recoils at your snarky tone. You grab the tea towel and start drying off your arms.

"I...honey..." James tries and fails to explain himself. He runs his hand through his hair, fixes his askew glasses. His brain's working overtime, trying to come up with something sensible.

You turn around. Your face is dry – you've cried enough earlier, all while he was out with his teammates. "Every damn time, James."

His eyes widen. "...what?"

"You've been missing our dates for three months." You say flatly. "And for what? For games and interviews. All this bullshit."

James doesn't want to admit it hurts to hear you speak like this. He loves playing. He loves giving interviews. Were you never happy for him?

"Listen..." He tries again. Hopelessness is written all over his face.

"No, James. You listen. I understand you got famous. I really do. And despite it all, I'm happy for you." You smile, but it's a bitter smile. "But I'm tired. I don't think I'm strong enough to be a football star's girlfriend."

It's fair to say that James is speechless. And terrified. Quite frankly, he feels like his whole world is falling apart. And maybe it is.

"I've packed my things. I'll move out tomorrow." You add.

"Love..." James drops on his knees in front of you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his head resting on your belly. "Don't leave me. I'll be better. I'll stop giving so many interviews and playing so much. I'll be good. For you."

You shake your head. Tears fill your eyes again, so you blink them away – you don't want to cry in front of him, to show him how much it hurts you to do this. But you have to – for your well-being. And for his too. He needs to sort his priorities out.

So slowly that James almost gets hopeful again, you unwrap his hands from your waist and step aside. He tries to block your way, touch you, do anything to prevent you from leaving, but you don't let him.

You leave the kitchen with a heavy heart. Heavier than ever before.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Now

The knocking on the door is loud in your otherwise quiet flat. You drag yourself out of your bed, wobble once before regaining your balance, and make your way to the hall. Your hands shake as you grab the handle and slowly open the door.

The sight of James, of the worry on his face, makes your eyes well up with tears.

"Oh, honey..." James murmurs, gathering you into his arms without any further questions. His heart aches as you start crying. "Shh, it's okay."

"I'm sorry for giving up on us." You mumble into his chest. You don't even know if he has heard you.

James shakes his head even though you can't see it.

"No. It was all my fault. I messed up." James admits. "But I'm gonna fix it."

"James..."

"Shh. Let's go sit down, yeah?"

James keeps your hand in his as you go to the living room. He sits down on the couch and you lie down, resting your head on his lap. James starts caressing your hair and you finally, after a very long week of worrying and being tense, relax.

"How far along?" James asks quietly as he runs his fingers through a particularly tangled part of your hair. You sigh.

"Ten weeks, so third month."

James hums in acknowledgement. You close your eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of what has happened in the past three months. James notices it, but doesn't really know what to do with this. He feels overwhelmed, too – and mad at himself for not trying harder when he still had the chance.

"So..." James hesitates for a moment. "You were already pregnant when you...broke up with me."

"Mhm. But I was just three weeks pregnant."

For the lack of better answer, James hums again. Your hand finds his. He squeezes your fingers reassuringly.

He prompts. "When did you find out?"

"A month ago."

James' heart sinks. You've known for so long and you didn't tell him? He understands it, at least he thinks he does, but it doesn't make it any easier to stomach. He wishes he knew, that he was there earlier to help you.

James decides to ask. "Why haven't you call me earlier?"

"Would you've come if I had?"

James is quick to answer.

"Of course. I got you pregnant, Y/N. I'm his or hers...dad. I wouldn't just leave you like that."

Despite all the grudges and hard feelings between you, you trust him. James has never been cruel or vicious – you know he would have come if you only had called.

But that's water under the bridge now.

What is important now is what next. What are you going to do with your pregnancy, with your child.

You break the silence. "James?"

James perks up at the sound of your voice. His hand, which was previously in your hair, has wandered down to your cheek, now mindlessly circling your skin. "Yeah?"

"I missed you." You confess.

James' gulp is very audible in the quiet room. His breathing speeds up, just a little, and so does yours. You feel tense and uncomfortable, like you've said something wrong or completely immoral – or maybe it's just your hormones acting up.

Silence stretches for a moment longer before James finally answers.

"I missed you, too, honey." It's accompanied by a gentle squeeze of his hand and you can feel yourself relax. James is careful and a bit unsure as he asks. "What are we going to do now?"

"Can we try again?"

"I'd like that." James says, weirdly vulnerable. A wave of love for him washes over you. "I'm sorry for being a shitty partner."

You whisper. "I'm sorry for leaving."

"You had every right to leave, Y/N." James says seriously.

"Or maybe i should've fought harder. I don't know, Jamie. Does it really matter?"

"I guess it doesn't." James murmurs. His hand is now on your collarbone, drawing random patterns on your skin. "But I'll be better. For you and for him. Or her."

You nod. "I don't doubt that, James."

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Masterlist ☆