photogenic
oct 1 ⋆ sex tape / belly bulge
james potter x reader
summary: you and james make a home video ♱ 666
warnings: 18+ mdni, sex tape, belly bulge, praise, p in v, unprotected sex, cum play, fem!reader
kinktober masterlist
note: starting out short and sweet, but it only gets freakier from here ;)
James has one hand splayed across your thigh, keeping your legs spread wide open. With the other, he holds his phone, camera angled between your legs as he drags his thick cock in and out of you. He clicks on the screen to focus on the creamy ring that’s formed at the base of him.
His eyes dart between the image on his phone and the real thing constantly. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been at it, but his phone should surely be hot to the touch by now.
Something about capturing the deed on camera makes James insatiable—it turns him on like nothing else. The videos don’t end up anywhere but his hidden folder, for his and your eyes only. Rewatching the videos always makes for a good time, of course. They’re there anytime he’s apart from you, or when he can get you to sit between his legs, his free hand between your thighs, as you watch together. But it’s mostly the act of recording it that he gets a thrill from. Not to mention, he thinks that you’re the prettiest thing his camera has ever captured.
“You look so good, baby. Hold on—”
He momentarily puts the phone down on your stomach, and sure enough, it’s overheating. His plastic case is hot enough to make you wince.
James grabs a pillow from the top of the bed, wedging it under your hips before he picks the phone up again. He presses his free hand against your abdomen, thumb stretching down to play with your clit as he buries his dick back inside of you.
You let out a sharp cry of pleasure at the new angle, his dick hitting that sweet, spongy patch with every thrust. James moans too. Loudly. Never shy about being vocal for you, especially when the camera is out.
“Fuck, baby, I can feel myself,” he groans. He moves his hand out of the way, and he can see it now, too.
With every thrust, the outline of his cock pokes out from your tummy. It encourages him to piston his hips harder against yours, capturing the obvious bulge with the camera each time he sinks in. He holds his arm a little higher, angling the camera so that he gets your tits bouncing with every thrust in the frame.
You squeal every time, and it almost becomes too much, combined with his thumb still rubbing tight circles against your clit.
“James!” you scream when he pulls all the way out, only to slam back into you.
“Atta girl, show the camera how pretty you look when you cum,” he says, pressing harder with his thumb.
It’s beautiful, James thinks, when you arch your back, fists desperately closing around the sheet underneath you as you cum on his cock. The way you squeeze him nearly drives him over the edge, but he holds off to work you through it.
He pulls out when your muscles stop spasming, just in time to shoot his sticky seed all over your stomach and tits, pumping himself and moaning your name as he cums.
James’s hand leaves his cock to cup one of your tits, tweaking at your nipple and smearing some cum around with his thumb. You make eye contact with him, eyelashes fluttering and lips parted as you pant. He groans at how fucked out and perfect you look.
He lifts his hand higher, cupping your jaw and tugging gently at your lip with his sticky thumb, sliding it into your warm mouth for you to suck clean. He lifts the camera just enough to capture your pretty lips working on his finger.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. A vision,” James sighs dreamily, his cock already hard for you again.
He slowly moves his hips, dragging the head of his cock through your folds until it hooks on your aching hole.
james wants to rot inside you. and you let him *. ⋆ 3k words
part of the hozier series i'm writing with my girlies @twovialsofamortentia @mischievousmoony @prettydaisygirl !
cw: smut. fem!reader. established relationship. morning sex. light choking. spit. praise. degradation. tit focused (kinda). dry humping. piv. unprotected sex. thumb sucking. crying. begging. biting. unhinged/religious devotion. posessive!james. feral!james. overstimulation (he comes so many times i don't think it's possible). cursing. a bit of aftercare. lmk if i missed smth!
a/n: james would NOT survive in the same room as me
you wake up to the sound of birds.
the curtains move gently through the open window, the breeze soft against the bare skin of your arms, and there’s warmth at your back, alive, heavy, hard. his breath is slow on your shoulder. his thigh is tucked between yours and his arm around your waist, anchoring you to him.
james.
he’s still asleep. his cock is already half-hard, thick and insistent pressing on the curve of your ass. you shift slightly and he grunts, his nose nuzzling into your neck.
it’s not a surprise. he always wakes up like this, reaching for you in sleep like instinct.
as if he’ll stop breathing if he can’t touch you. as if he’ll rot without you in his arms.
you stay like that for a while, with the sweat slick warmth of skin on skin wrapping you like a cocoon.
the birds are chirping outside, awoken by the morning light. you see a few of them fly by, one or two even daring to land on the tree just outside the window.
then he speaks, low and raspy from sleep.
“still here,” he murmurs, tightening his hold. “thought you’d slipped away.”
“I never do.”
he exhales, rubbing and nuzzling deeper into your skin. “dreamt of you again.”
you hum. “yeah? what was I doing?”
“crying. moaning. you were… fuck, you were so wet.”
you feel yourself pulse at the sound of it—at the filth in his voice.
“I was inside you,” he says, his fingers slipping beneath your shirt, across your belly, higher. “and I kept thinking… let it kill me.”
his hand finds your chest, and he groans like your body hurts him.
“let me rot here,” he whispers. “right between your tits.”
“james,” you murmur, torn between laughter and a whimper.
“I'm serious,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “gonna build a shrine. right here.” he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “holy ground.”
his thumb flicks lazily over your nipple and he moans like your body is sunrise itself.
“I'm obsessed,” he whispers. “wanna live here. wanna die here.”
you squirm back against him and feel his cock twitch.
“oh, fuck—don’t do that,” he groans. “m’gonna come before we even start.”
“we haven’t started anything,” you tease.
“tell that to my dick,” he mutters. “he’s already giving his last words.”
you giggle, and james finally rolls you onto your back. his eyes are half-lidded, curls messy, and there’s something so beautiful about the lazy way he drapes himself over you, like your body is the only home he’s ever known.
he presses his face into your chest, nose nuzzling your sternum.
“I’m gonna die between your tits,” he murmurs.
“not very romantic,” you say.
“not very negotiable either.”
his lips move lower, tongue dragging over the fabric of your sleep shirt until it soaks through. he sucks gently at your nipple, even through the cotton, and you gasp at the heat.
“take it off,” he mumbles against your skin.
you lift your arms, and he peels the shirt away slowly, eyes trailing down your bare chest with open worship. his lips part. his hands shake.
“fuck me,” he says reverently. “you look carved.”
his mouth finds your nipple again, this time bare, and he groans. he suckles like he needs it to breathe—like this is communion. you whimper, hips shifting under him, and he growls, grinding down just enough for you to feel the thick press of his cock through both your clothes.
his hand slides down your thigh, then back up under the hem of your shorts.
“still have these on?” he asks, voice dark now. “that’s rude. you’re wet, aren’t you?”
you nod.
“words, baby.”
“yes,” you gasp. “I'm wet. for you. always.”
james moans, humping against you harder.
“gonna make you come just like this,” he mutters. “clothes on, tits out, my mouth on you. that’s all I need.”
his hips stutter. he spits directly onto your nipple, then sucks it clean. you cry out. your hands tangle in his curls. he’s rutting now, deliberate, hard, and filthy. the heat of him is overwhelming.
“feel that?” he pants. “that’s what you do to me. every morning. you walk around this house like a fucking dream, and i’m hard from the second i open my eyes. you know how many times I've come just grinding into your ass like this?”
you whine.
“too many,” he says. “and I’d do it a thousand more.”
you can’t think. you can’t breathe. his thigh presses between your legs and your clit rubs against the seam of your panties with every desperate shift of your hips.
you’re so close already.
james is panting against your chest, one hand splayed across your thigh, the other still gripping your breast like he’ll die if he lets go. you’re rutting against each other like animals, still mostly clothed, sweat slicking your skin where it touches.
“you gonna come like this?” he pants. “grinding against my cock like you’re in heat?”
you nod frantically. “i’m close… james, please—”
“yeah? want me to make a mess of you first?” he growls. “want to drip down your thighs before i even fuck you?”
you moan, your body trembling under his, and that’s all it takes—he presses his thigh harder between your legs, your clit catching perfectly against the pressure, and everything shatters.
you come with a gasp, hips jerking, nails digging into his shoulders. your thighs clamp around his leg, riding the wave of it, and james groans like it’s happening to him.
“fucking hell,” he breathes. “you’re so wet. fuck, I’m—shit, I’m—”
he ruts faster, cock twitching in his boxers, and then he’s coming too, his whole body stiffening as he groans into your chest. it’s filthy. raw. a low, desperate sound as he humps through it, grinding his cock against you until he’s trembling.
you lie there for a beat. ruined. his breath stutters against your chest.
“jesus christ,” he says eventually. “that was…”
you tilt your head to look at him. “insane?”
“religious,” he says. “that was sacred.”
you laugh breathlessly.
but james lifts his head, sweat damp at his hairline, eyes dark with something deeper now.
“I’m not done,” he says.
you blink.
“I need to be inside you,” he says, voice hoarse. “like—need it. right now.”
your body pulses at his tone. you nod, breathless.
he peels your shorts and ruined underwear down your thighs and tosses them somewhere behind him. his fingers trail through your folds, and he groans.
“you’re soaked. from just grinding on me. from my thigh and my mouth and my fucking voice.”
he leans down and spits onto your cunt, then rubs it in with his fingers, slow and dirty.
“open up for me,” he says. “let me ruin you properly.”
you reach between you to shove his boxers down. his cock springs free, already hard again, flushed red and leaking.
you whimper. “how the fuck are you—”
“angel,” he says, lining himself up, “I get hard just looking at you. you think coming in my pants could stop me?”
you laugh, barely. because he pushes in, thick and slow, splitting you open inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt.
“oh my—james—”
he groans, head dropping to your shoulder. “fuck, you feel like heaven. like the end of me.”
he starts to move, slow at first, deep and measured. you arch into him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, mouth open in a silent moan.
“gonna fuck you like it’s the last thing I ever do,” he whispers. “gonna leave bruises where my name belongs.”
one hand wraps around your throat, not tight, just holding you, a claim. the other drags up your ribs, over your chest, squeezing your breast until you cry out.
“you’re all mine,” he says, voice wrecked. “you feel that? my cock in you, my hands on you. you let me spit in your mouth, ride my thigh, come in your sleep clothes like you’re made for me.”
you nod. “I am.”
he groans. “say it.”
“i’m made for you. just you.”
his hips snap harder now, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. he spits into your mouth and watches you swallow.
“fuck,” he growls. “that’s it. my good girl. my filthy, perfect girl.”
you whimper beneath him, your second orgasm already building, your body desperate.
“I’m close,” you gasp.
“then come,” he snarls. “come on my cock, baby. show me how wrecked you are.”
you do.
it hits like fire, ripping through you, white-hot and violent. you cry out his name, clawing at his back, and he groans, hips stuttering as you clamp around him.
“shit—gonna come too—fuck—you’re squeezing me like you want to keep me inside.”
“I do,” you pant. “come in me. fill me up.”
he growls, deep and low and possessive. and then he’s gone, emptying himself inside you with a choked, broken moan.
he doesn’t pull out.
instead, he stays there. deep. his chest pressed to yours. both of you heaving.
“let me rot here,” he says again, quieter this time. “right inside you.”
you thread your fingers through his curls and pull him down for a kiss.
“stay,” you whisper.
and he does.
you don’t know how long you lie like that—him still inside you, softening slowly, both of you wrapped around each other like ivy. the room smells like sex. sweat clings to your skin. and james keeps whispering things into your hair that sound more like confessions than dirty talk.
“i’d die like this,” he breathes. “inside you. warm. buried. want my bones to dissolve here.”
“morbid,” you whisper, eyes closed.
“romantic,” he corrects, and presses a kiss to your jaw.
you feel him hardening again.
you open one eye.
“again?”
he shifts slightly, and you moan as his cock thickens inside you.
“course again,” he murmurs. “you think I can stop? after that? after you clenched around me like you were scared I'd leave?”
you whimper. your body’s still trembling. your clit still aches. but he’s kissing down your neck now, gentle, then harder, until his teeth scrape.
“you want to stop?” he asks, breath warm against your collarbone.
you shake your head.
he grins.
“didn’t think so.”
he pulls out slowly, and your body throbs at the loss. but before you can complain, he drags you into his lap, settling you over his thighs so you’re straddling him, your pussy hovering just above his cock.
his hands grab your ass, squeezing once before pulling you down to grind against him.
“you’re gonna ride me,” he says, voice like gravel. “until you can’t see straight.”
your hands grip his shoulders. his cock slides between your folds, not inside yet, just dragging along your slit, teasing your swollen clit.
“look at you,” he whispers. “so fucked out already. you still want more?”
you nod, dazed.
“use your words.”
“I want more.”
“greedy,” he murmurs. “my greedy girl.”
he leans in to suck your tit again, messy and hungry, while his hands guide your hips to grind down on him. it’s torture. wet and hot and not enough.
“beg for it.”
“james—”
“beg.”
you whimper. “please. please let me ride you. i need it. i need to come again. i want your cock so bad it hurts.”
he groans. “fuck—you’re perfect.”
you lift your hips and line him up, then sink down slow. both of you moan, heads falling forward, foreheads touching.
“good girl,” he breathes. “take it. take all of it.”
you start to move, rocking your hips, rolling them in messy circles as his cock presses deep inside you. james is unraveling beneath you, moaning into your skin, biting at your chest.
“god, you feel like sin,” he groans. “warm and tight and mine.”
you start to bounce, each thrust sending sparks through your spine. james loses it—his head falls back, mouth open, chest heaving.
you lean in and bite his neck.
hard.
“fuck—” he chokes. “do that again.”
you do. sinking your teeth into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. he thrusts up into you so hard it punches a moan out of your throat.
he grabs your hips and starts fucking up into you now, using your body like it belongs to him—and it does. you’re both gone. sweaty, loud, feral.
you spit into his mouth this time.
he swallows and groans like it’s air.
“I'm gonna come,” you gasp. “gonna come on your cock, james, oh my god—”
“do it,” he pants. “fucking soak me, baby. make a mess. show me what I do to you.”
you shatter. loud and wet and wild. you don’t even realize you're crying until james is licking tears off your cheeks, moaning praises into your mouth.
and then he comes, biting down on your shoulder, cock pulsing inside you, hips stuttering as he spills deep.
you collapse against his chest, trembling, boneless.
“I’ll never need anyone else,” he whispers. “ever.”
your bodies are tangled and soaked with sweat. the sheets are a mess. you’re not even sure where your shirt ended up, or when exactly james started trembling like he was about to cry.
but you’re still in his lap, his arms wrapped tight around you, cock twitching deep inside your soaked cunt, your heart beating against his chest like a war drum.
and james won’t stop kissing you.
lazy kisses. gentle kisses. desperate, open-mouthed ones that make you dizzy.
“still with me?” he mumbles, eyes glazed but fond. his hands are stroking your hips like he’s grounding himself.
you nod, forehead against his. “are you?”
“no,” he says softly. “i’m fucking gone.”
you laugh, exhausted.
but he shifts beneath you, and suddenly his cock is hard again. still inside you. still pulsing.
“james—”
“i told you,” he breathes, eyes dark and glassy, “i can’t stop.”
your thighs are shaking. your clit is raw. your whole body is too sensitive to move, but the idea of him fucking you again makes your core clench, greedy and ready.
james feels it. “oh, you liked that.”
he grins, devilish and boyish all at once, and then he lifts you up, just a little, until only the tip of his cock remains inside.
then slams you down again.
you scream.
“i know,” he whispers. “sensitive, yeah? but i need it, baby. need to see you come again. need to feel you fluttering around me while i ruin you for the fourth fucking time.”
you moan, overwhelmed and already so far gone that your eyes well with tears.
“aw, don’t cry,” he coos, cupping your cheek. “or do. i like it. you’re pretty when you sob for me.”
his thumb drags over your bottom lip, then shoves into your mouth. you suck on it instinctively.
“fuck,” he breathes. “you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”
you nod, drooling around his thumb.
“that’s my girl.”
he starts thrusting up into you again, slow but punishing. you can’t even move anymore, so he uses his grip on your hips to bounce you, just enough to send lightning through your nerves. your eyes roll back.
“look at you,” he groans. “fucked dumb and still taking it. my perfect little mess.”
you whimper something unintelligible. he kisses your cheek.
“gonna come again?”
“I—I can’t—”
“yes you can,” he growls. “you’re going to. you’re going to soak me again and scream for it. come on, baby, give it to me.”
his fingers rub your clit, and it’s too much.
your orgasm rips through you, high and shrieking and borderline painful—and james moans like it’s his own.
he follows a second later, biting your collarbone, coming inside you one more time as your cunt flutters around him, pulling every drop from his cock.
this time, you really collapse.
fully limp.
james holds you tighter.
“my girl,” he breathes, over and over. “my girl. my girl. mine.”
you’re not sure when you blacked out. not passed out, just gone. drifting. floating somewhere above your own body, high on orgasm and heat and james’s voice murmuring filth into your neck.
you’re still in his lap. still full of him. the sheets beneath you are a disaster. his curls are damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. and his cock is finally soft again, tucked inside you like it belongs there.
neither of you speak for a long while.
james just breathes. kisses your temple. rubs circles into your back like he’s tracing a map he never wants to lose.
you don’t even realize you’re crying until he wipes the tears away with his thumbs.
“too much?” he whispers. his voice is hoarse. wrecked.
you shake your head. “no. never.”
he lets out a long breath and kisses your cheek.
“didn’t mean to fuck you like I’d never see you again,” he murmurs. “but you… you make me crazy.”
you look up at him. his eyes are blown wide, glassy with something that feels like awe.
“you okay?” you ask, barely a whisper.
he nods, then pauses. “no.”
your heart jumps. “no?”
he cups your face like you’re porcelain.
“no, I'm not okay. I'm in love with you. I want to spend every day like this. every night. I want to wake up hard against your ass and go to sleep with your taste in my mouth.”
your throat tightens.
“I want to build a life around your body,” he whispers. “I want to die between your thighs. I want to come inside you so many times that you forget what empty feels like.”
you blink, tears falling again.
he brushes them away gently.
“I meant what I said,” he adds, voice low. “let me rot here. right inside you. let me be the man who never leaves your bed.”
you nod slowly.
“then stay,” you whisper. “forever.”
james smiles, soft and wrecked and completely in love.
“forever isn’t long enough,” he says. “but I’ll try.”
he kisses you then, slow and deep. and even though your body is raw and trembling and ruined, you know he’d take you again if you asked. he’d give you everything. over and over.
SUMMARY: As a bat animagus, you're used to spending time alone: a creature of the night that prefers quiet solitude over the bustle of Hogwarts life. But when one James Potter charges into your life, you start to wonder why you hated daylight so much in the first place.
CW: MDNI 18+, FLUFFFF (James is down so bad), multi-pov, injuries and blood, shy!reader, protective!James, fighting and mentions of reader being bullied, light angst, HEA
AN: bats and deer are known to be close collaborators in the wild, with bats helping keep insects away from the deer, and the deer making it easy for the bats to find food. inspired by “I Hate It Here” from Taylor Swift’s album The Tortured Poets Department.
masterlist
James’ POV
“Pads, what the fuck!” James shifted back into his human form, scrambling to drag Padfoot out of the massive blackberry bushes he’d launched himself into. The run had been quiet, almost peaceful, just the two of them out for a moonlight romp to blow off some steam from the day.
Then, of course, Sirius buggered that right up.
Padfoot yipped and whined, the thorns pulling at his onyx fur, and flopped onto the ground beside it with a dramatic grunt. He quickly shifted back into a disgruntled Sirius, checking over himself for injuries.
“I didn’t know they were like…pointy!” Sirius huffed, relaxing when he realized he only had a few shallow scrapes. “Just wanted a fucking snack—”
“Of course they are—what is that?” A high-pitched clicking sound interrupted them. James crouched down, peering into the thicket of brambles and ripe, midnight purple fruit.
Something tiny and velveteen was trembling in a knot of thorns, it’s squeaks of discomfort barely audible. A wing fluttered out, delicate and leathery, a bead of carmine dripping from a hole pierced clean through the taught flesh.
A wee bat was caught in the brambles.
“Shit,” James cursed, tugging his sweatshirt sleeve down over his hand and shoving his arm socket-deep into the loathsome bush.
“What are you—”
“It’s alright, I’ve got ya’—please don’t bite me, please don’t bite me.” James wrapped his hand as gently as he could around the little bat’s body, feeling it’s heart fluttering rapidly in it’s chest. “Okay, there we go. I’m just gonna—fuck, ow, sodding thorns.” James brought the critter out as carefully as he could, making a concerted effort to keep his fist lax despite the thorns snagging his sleeve and jabbing into his forearm.
Once he had it completely removed from the bush, he slowly uncurled his fingers. The bat lurched upwards, flapping it’s tattered wings once, twice, then plummeted. James dove forward, catching the little thing just before it crashed to the ground, and cradled it safely back to his chest.
“Is that a bat?” Sirius asked, stepping closer.
“Must’ve been eating some fruit,” James muttered to himself, peeking open his fingers to peer at it. It blinked at him, eyes wide and dark as obsidian, the grayish fur of it’s snout stained with blackberry juice. It was trembling terribly, heart going a million miles a minute, and James knew he couldn't just leave it here.
Sirius looked stricken. “Shit, I’m sorry, mate.” he stroked a finger across the wing draped over James’ knuckles and the bat writhed in his hand, clicking disdainfully.
“Should we take it to Hagrid?” James asked, wincing when it’s thumb claw scratched across his inner wrist, uselessly trying to flap the injured appendage. Poor little thing.
“Poppy, probably. Hagrid’ll squish it.”
“Good point. Grab my scarf, will ya’?” Sirius tossed him his scarf from their belongings and James wrapped it as best he could around the creature, effectively immobilizing it, tiny head poking out from the top of the bundle.
“S’kinda cute,” Sirius said, leaning closer.
The bat loosed a vicious hiss, and he recoiled.
“Nevermind, christ.”
As quickly as they could, they hurried to the infirmary, the swaddled bat tucked into the crook of his arm, pressed against his chest.
“Boys! What one earth—” Madam Pomfry rushed to greet them at the door, probably expecting the worst given their history. “What’s that?”
“It got caught in a blackberry bush, tore up it’s wings…” he carefully unfolded the blanket, expecting the bat to try and fly away again, but it seemed to have exhausted itself, lying limply in his hands, breathing hard.
“Oh, dear,” Madam Pomfry tutted, taking the bat from him and setting it onto an examination table. “You poor thing.”
“It’s actually a bat,” Sirius joked, and she swatted him as she rushed past to grab some supplies.
“Have you nothing better to do?” Madam Pomfry bit, returning with a tincture and some stitching supplies.
“You know what, Poppy, I actually do. C’mon James, I bet the kitchens still open—”
“I’m going to stay—if that’s alright,” he said, glancing at Madam Pomfry. “Just to make sure it’s okay.”
“Suit yourself. Stay gorgeous, Pop!” Sirius blew her a kiss before making a swift exit.
Madam Pomfry began cleaning the scratches and tears along it’s wings and soft belly, and James was shocked to see how docile the bat had become. Relaxed even when Madam Pomfry lifted it into her hand to place a clean towel underneath it.
It was rather cute, almost puppy-like as it blinked up at him, nose twitching from the strong scent of the tincture, ears flicking this way and that.
“Dearie, I think it would be best if you changed back,” Madam Pomfry said gently, stroking the bats head.
James looked down at himself, confused. “To a deer?”
Suddenly, there was a flash of magic, one James knew all too well, and then there was a girl sitting where the bat was moments before, his scarf draped around her neck.
He reared back, stunned that not only was the bat an animagus, but an animagus he knew.
“Y/n?” He gawked, and you rolled your eyes.
“Potter,” you replied.
“You-you’re—you’re a bat?”
“And you’re a genius.”
He blinked at you, completely dumbfounded. A bat tracked, he supposed. You were quiet, a loner. He couldn’t remember ever seeing you with more than a friend or two, and you’d never attended a party. Really, he only ever saw you in his afternoon Charms class and in the library in the evenings. You hardly ever spoke, wrapped up in your own world.
He always had the distinct impression that you hated people, and now, staring down the barrel of your glare, he was certain of it. But saints, you were gorgeous. Death glare and all.
It then occurred to him that he’d had his entire hand wrapped around you not even ten minutes prior, and went hot under his collar.
James couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at a loss for words, but here he was, staring slack-jawed like a complete idiot.
“Perhaps you should thank him for saving your from that bush,” Madam Pomfry prodded gently, taking your arm to examine the gashes riddled there.
“Wouldn’t have been an issue if he kept a leash on his dog,” you bit.
James winced, guilt curdling in his stomach even though there was nothing he could have done to stop Sirius. The cuts on your arms looked bad, a deep and angry red, dried blood mixing with the purple stains on your skin.
How could he make this right?
Reader POV
You fought to hold your glare, but the pained look in James’ eye was rapidly unraveling your resolve. Of course it was James fucking Potter that found you. The golden head boy of Gryffindor, in all his infuriatingly handsome and tender-hearted glory, saved your dumbass from crucifixion-by-blackberries.
You’d almost rather be crucified than sit there for another second. The lights in the infirmary were too bright, the space too open, too sterile.
Why couldn’t you have been anywhere else tonight? If you had ever believed in good luck, you certainly wouldn’t believe in it now.
“Thank you, James,” you acquiesced, unable to mask the bitterness in your tone.
James smiled at you despite your tone, because he never stopped fucking smiling. “Thank you for not biting me,” he said, looking down at his palm—still stained with blood. Your blood. Because he had his hand wrapped around you. His giant, deliciously warm hand holding you ever so gently…
“Ow!”
“Sorry, dear. Just a few more,” Madam Pomfry soothed, having made the first stitch while you were distracted. Distracted by James fucking Potter.
You needed to get a grip. Him saving you doesn’t change anything. Sure, you would have been forced to stay there for eternity, or skewer yourself shifting back. But he was still James Potter, the embodiment of everything you despised most.
You hated Hogwarts, hated the crowded halls and musty rooms and catty students. You hated the classes, which either moved too slow or too fast. You hated the professors, with all their snobbery and favoritism.
Thus, you hated James. Because he not only loved the school, but the school loved him back.
Graduation couldn’t come soon enough. No more morning classes, no more roommates, no more James fucking Potter.
James seemed to sense your discomfort, his dark brows drawing together in concern. “Are you alright, though? Really?”
“Fine,” you hissed through gritted teeth, a headache blooming behind your eyes so sharply it rivaled the stitches you were receiving. You squeezed your eyes shut. Merlin, it’s too fucking bright.
You tried desperately to disappear into your mind, that secret garden where it was always midnight, always dark and quiet and safe, and escape for a little while.
“I suppose I’ll leave you to it then,” James said, sounding almost forlorn. Unsure in a way that was so unlike him, it made you open your eyes again. He shuffled on his feet, running a hand through his unruly black hair. “See you in Charms, then?”
You nodded, and he left without another word, glancing back at you a final time before the door swung shut behind him.
“James is a good lad,” Madam Pomfry said, giving you a pointed look. “Would do you well to let him in a little bit.”
You shrugged, and closed your eyes once more.
It wasn’t until you’d been patched up and sent on your way that your realized you still had his scarf wrapped around your neck, the smell of him, sun-dried laundry and cedar, lingering in your nose. You tucked it into the bottom of your trunk, telling yourself you’d take it to the be cleaned tomorrow morning.
The following afternoon…
You were dreading Charms, dragging your feet as you walked down the final corridor. You’d slept most of the day, your schedule being mostly afternoon classes, and the last thing you wanted to do was socialize.
Not that anyone talked to you, but still. Just being around other people was draining. Not to mention, James would be one of those people.
And sure enough, when you made your way into the classroom, you found James sitting next to your usual spot in the back corner, chatting animatedly with his friend Remus. The only one of his friends you found somewhat tolerable.
Of course, every other seat was taken.
James was dressed in his usual Gryffindor attire, a sweater vest and loosely done tie, white sleeves pushed up to show off the thickness of his sun-kissed forearms. Black slacks hugged his toned legs. Really, all of his clothes seemed just a fraction too tight over his Herculean build—saint’s sake you needed to get a hold of yourself. You were not interested in James Potter.
“There you are!” James chirped, and you groaned inwardly. You noticed the other students murmuring to themselves, wondering why James had taken an interest in you of all people, but James seemed oblivious to it. “How are you feeling?” He asked, pulling out your chair for you as you approached.
“I’m fine, a little sore,” you said, dropping into your seat and rummaging through your bag to avoid meeting his eyes.
“Goldenrod helps,” Remus said, giving you sympathetic look. “And chocolate.”
“I’m fine,” you repeated, setting your books on the desk, and Remus shrugged, bidding you both farewell before walking back to the boys usual spot by the sunlit windows. It made your preferred corner look like a cave in comparison.
Flitwick dove into the lecture before James could ask anything else, to your profound relief.
But then—“I brought you these,” James whispered, sliding a tin across the table and under your nose. He seemed almost…nervous? “They’re, ah—they’re blackberry scones.”
Oh, no. You felt your heart swell in real time as you reached for the lid, a current of electricity flying through you when your fingers accidentally grazed his. “Why would you—”
“Ms. y/l/n!” Flitwick scolded. “Pay attention!”
You quickly pushed the tin away, heat scorching your cheeks. “Sorry, sir,” you squeaked, ducking your head back down to your notes. When the lecture resumed, you shot James a rueful glare.
“Sorry.” He grimaced. “They might be rubbish, I’ve never really baked before.”
You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was this real life? James fucking Potter baked you scones? “James, you shouldn’t have—”
“I wanted to, as an apology for last night.”
“You don't have to apologize. I’d rather just forget it, honestly,” you admitted.
“Oh.” A flicker of hurt passed through his expression as he looked down, and you immediately regretted your blunt words.
You really were terrible in these situations, sucking the fun out of the room like a blackhole.
“Well, I’m glad to have properly met you,” he said after a beat, flashing you a toothy smile, dispersing the tension as quickly as it came.
You stared at him, perplexed. Your attitude had rolled off of him like water on a duck’s back. “Uh, thanks,” you said, painfully awkward, and stuck your nose into your book.
James’ POV
His palms were sweating, why the fuck were his palms sweating? And he couldn’t keep his hands out of his hair. And he wanted to keep talking, merlin, he felt like he could talk your ear off, but he held his tongue.
Talking to him seemed like the last thing you wanted to do, so he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to annoy you further.
You practically ran from him when class ended, and now, he was racking his brain for something he could have done to make you dislike him so much while sitting at dinner in the Great Hall.
There was something different about you, a depth in your eyes that piqued his interest. He was so used to people fawning all over him, tripping over themselves to talk to him, but you couldn't care less about who he was.
If anything, you seemed to like him less because of who he was. Which as driving him a little bit mad.
“You reckon he’s still thinking about that bat girl?” Peter muttered to Remus.
“Oh, absolutely. He was up at 5 a.m. baking,” Remus chuckled. “Spent the entirety of Charms today practically drooling all over her.”
“That's pathetic,” Marlene tittered, and it was enough to draw James out of his head.
“Fuck off, ‘Kinnon,” he said, flicking a chip at her.
“What's the obsession, anyways?” Sirius asked, his feet kicked up on the table, twirling his wand in his fingers. “It's not like you smashed her into a thorn bush.”
“No, I believe that was you,” James bit, avoiding the question, an ember of irritation flaring in his chest. He wasn't obsessed. Just…intrigued. “Have you even apologized?”
“To her human face? No,” Sirius said, looking a bit guilty. Then, he stood up on the bench, sweeping his gray eyes across the Great Hall. “I don't see her.”
“She's not here,” James grumbled, sounding more petulant than he probably should.
“She eats in the library,” Lily supplied.
James whirled around to face her. “How do you know that?”
“Because I pay attention to other people, you git.”
“C’mon, then. I have wrongs to right.” Sirius hopped down and grabbed his bag. James was already on his feet.
“You really shouldn't!” Lily called after them, but they were gone, Great Hall doors swinging shut behind them.
As they neared the library, James felt his skin start to heat, palms going clammy as his heart beat faster and faster. When they reached the doors, James nearly changed his mind, almost told Sirius they should just return to the Great Hall and leave you be, but his friend was on a mission.
Sirius pushed open the doors, startling the dozen students milling around at the front. “Any of you lot seen y/n?”
James felt his lungs shrivel in his chest. This was going to go badly, he could feel it.
“Padfoot,” he chastised.
“She's always back by the Forbidden Section,” a Ravenclaw offered.
“Cheers!” Sirius grabbed James by the elbow and dragged him through the crowd that had gathered and towards the Forbidden Section.
James had never felt so conspicuous in his life, and it made his skin crawl with aversion. Normally, he loved nothing more than being the center of attention, but he didn't want you to see him like that.
They rounded a corner, entering the darker, quieter part of the library, and sure enough, there you were. Curled up in an overstuffed armchair under a single, low-burning lantern, a book open in your lap and a scone in your hand.
You brought it to your lips, nibbling on the edge while your eyes drifted over the page, focused intently on whatever you were reading.
James had the strange realization that he'd very much like to be scone right about now, and felt his cheeks warm for the upteenth time that day. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear the image from his mind.
“There she is!” Sirius called, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. Though you quickly masked your surprise with irritation, lips pulling down into an adorable frown.
“Were you looking for me?” You asked, eyes flitting to James before quickly averting.
“We were, doll.” Sirius sauntered up to you, dropping onto his knees in front of your chair. You looked like you couldn’t decide whether to shift and fly away, or kick him in the teeth.
“Sorry to bother you,” James said, leaning against the bookshelf beside you. “Lily said you'd be here.”
“What, um, why exactly were you looking for me?” Your looked back and forth between the two of them, a small furrow forming between your brows, fidgeting in your seat.
“Prongs here was gracious enough to remind me that I hadn't properly apologized for hurting you.” Sirius patted James’ knee. “So, I am sincerely and deeply apologetic for body slamming you into an evil, evil bush.Can you ever forgive my inelegance?”
Your eyes widened, the color of you irises richer, more captivating in the low light.
Fuck, he was staring again.
“It's, uh—it’s okay, Sirius,” you said, glancing up at James again with a look he immediately recognized: help me.
Maybe you didn't hate him so much after all.
“Alright, mutt. You apologized, back off of her,” James said, sticking out his leg to push Sirius back a step. Your eyes melted with gratitude, and James’ heart lost its rhythm, beating slower as something foreign and liquor-sweet flowed through him.
“I vow to be more careful in my pursuit of late-night snacks.” Sirius stood up, crossing his heart.
“Just no snapping bats out of the air, yeah?” You said, a shy little smile lifting the corner of your mouth.
“Never,” Sirius promised, and you nodded.
“How'd the scones come out?” James asked, filling the small gap of silence.
You shot him another grateful look and holy shit, he could get used to that. “You only managed to burn some, so that's good.”
He smirked, thoroughly enjoying this more mischivious side of you. “I blame the ovens,” he said.
“Sure, James,” you chuckled.
He could jump for fucking joy. You laughed at his joke!
“That's impressive, considering it was the ass crack of fucking dawn when he made them,” Sirius teased, flashing him a malicious wink.
You pulled a face, nose scrunched up in faux disgust. “That's way too early.”
“Nocturnal type, hm?” James asked without thinking, mentally smacking himself. Of course you were a night owl, you were a bat for Godric’s sake.
“You could say that,” you giggled. “Most of my classes are later in the day.”
“Then you should study with us tomorrow morning!” Sirius said suddenly, and James groaned, ready to neuter him for being so uncouth. “We're going to meet here after breakfast to study for the Potions exam.”
“Oh, uh—” you started to pick at your nails, loosing your footing in the conversation as quickly as you'd found it.
“No pressure,” James added, seized by the need to alleviate your discomfort. “It’s just going to the four of us, Lily, and Marlene.”
“And Prongs will make more scones!” Sirius waggled his eyebrows.
It's decided; James was going to smother him in his sleep.
“Maybe,” you finally answered, avoiding James’ eye, and his heart sank.
Sirius nodded, apparently satisfied with how this disastrous encounter went. “Lovely. Now, if you'll excuse us, James and I have to, ah, hit the gym…for…Quidditch reasons.”
You raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie, but didn't comment. “Enjoy,” you said, sinking back into your chair and turning your attention back to your book.
James chased a cackling Sirius out of the library. “You're a terrible fucking wingman,” James hissed, smacking him on the back of the head.
“I know, that was god-awful,” Sirius snorted. “But, maybe you'll get to see her tomorrow? So not a complete failure.”
“Or, she’ll never talk to me again because I'm friends with imbeciles that send her to the infirmary!”
“I guess we'll find out!”
“Now, I'm actually taking you to the gym with me as punishment,” James glowered. He needed to work off some of this stagnant energy, too, his mind and body buzzing from that small interaction.
“No! Merlin, please—no!” Sirius cried as James hauled him by the hair down the corridor.
Reader’s POV
You lingered outside the library, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Were you really doing this? You couldn't remember the last time you hung out with more than a few people at a time, let alone in the morning.
But you couldn't deny that at part of you, a miniscule, insignificant part of you that barely garners mentioning, wanted to see James. And with James came his friends.
He'd been kind to you, saved you from certain stabbing, made you apology baked goods, the least you could do is show your face for one morning study session.
There was something about James that was hard to say no to. He was so genuine, so eager. Even you couldn't bring yourself to pop his optimistic bubble, no matter how ambivalent you felt towards most things.
He was making it very difficult to continue despising him.
You could suck it up for one morning to make him happy. And only because he saved you. You owed him. Not because you cared about him, his feelings, or his opinion of you.
Definitely not.
Before you could chicken out, you pushed through the doors and into the library. It was sun-soaked and bustling, energy humming along the walls and marble floors. The chandeliers cast rainbows across the space, brightening the countless rows of books. Dust hung in the air like glitter, and it was almost, almost pretty.
Already, your head was starting to ache.
It didn't take long to find James and his friends, James’ voice carrying across the quiet library.
“She gets headaches if it too bright! Help me or fuck off, Pads,” James said, his voice pitching with distress.
“You need to relax, James. Your stress sweat is stinking up the room,” Marlene teased.
“That is so not helpful,” James bit. “And I smell delightful, thank you very much.”
“Because you practically fumigated the dorm with cologne,” Remus retorted just as you stepped around the corner.
“I did not—y/n!” James nearly toppled off the chair he was standing on, dropping the robes he was trying to pin up over the window.
The whole group swiveled towards you, and your stomach dropped out.
“Morning!” They all chorused.
You managed a small wave. “Good morning,” you mumbled, kicking yourself for agreeing to this. What the hell were you thinking? You didn't belong here.
Then, James was beside you, dropping a brawny arm over your shoulders, the alleged cologne wafting over you like a summer breeze. Verdant and sunny. “I'm so glad you came,” James murmured to you as he lead you to an available spot on the less-sunny side of the table. His bag was sitting in the seat, though his stuff was cluttering the space directly next to it.
He'd saved the spot for you, knowing you'd prefer to be out of the sun.
“Me too,” you found yourself saying, butterflies tickling the underside of your ribs.
That's it, you've officially lost your mind.
James pulled the chair out for you and you sank into it, the shade enveloping you like a cool blanket, and you felt a little more at ease. The group immediately launched into conversation about classes and Quidditch, their ease quickly growing contagious as you worked on your Potions formulas. James was reclined beside you, apparently able to work on his essay while chattering endlessly, and you found yourself chiming in, laughing at his silly quips and lame jokes.
One study session turned into two, then three, then a week passed before you knew it. You'd spend the morning with them, studying in the library or common room, then James would meet up with you for dinner in the library after Quidditch practice, sometimes with Sirius and Remus in tow.
You hadn't given much thought to your new routine, brushing it off as a temporary anomaly, until Saturday morning, when you woke up two hours earlier than usual and realized there would be no studying this morning. A kernel of disappointment lodged in your chest.
You were starting to wonder why you disliked him, any of them, in the first place. They were kind, funny, and more welcoming than ninety percent of the other people you'd met at Hogwarts.
The kernel of disappointed grew into a boulder of guilt, crushing and cold, at the realization. Your comfort was a construct. You'd been so stuck in your own head, in your assumptions, that it hadn't occurred to you that maybe you were wrong. That maybe, way out of your comfort zone, you'd actually love it.
A soft knock sounded against your dorm door. You threw off your covers and wrapped the blanket around yourself before pulling open the door.
You were not expecting to see Lily Evans standing there dressed in shorts and a bikini top, a pair of sunglasses keeping her copper hair out of her face. She had a colorful bag slung over her shoulder.
“Morning, sunshine,” she chirped, smiling at you.
“Oh, uh, hey, Lily. What's up?” You pulled the quilt tighter around yourself. Merlin, Lily was beautiful.
“We're spending the afternoon by the lake and I was wondering if you wanted to join?”
“Who, ah, who’s going to be there?” You asked, tongue thick with anxiety.
“James,” she replied, green eyes glimmering. “And the others too, but who cares about them.”
“Well, I—I don't have a bathing suit—”
Lily pushed past you, dropping her bag onto your bed and rummaging through it before pulling out an adorable black bathing suit. “I had a feeling you'd say that. And before you start—” she held up a finger to shush your protests, “We can make it whatever size you need.”
“Lily—”
“Please? We really want you there. It's been nice having a sane person around,” she said, taking your hands. “And James was too shy to come here and ask himself.”
You snorted. “James Potter? Shy?”
“I know.” Lily nodded solemnly. “He's different with you—good different,” she clarified when your frowned. “He's baking, for Merlin’s sake.”
You giggled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Alright, you win.”
Lily grinned, clapping her hands together. “They're already there, so let's go!”
You quickly changed it the bathing suit and your one pair of shorts, fishing your sunglasses from the very bottom of your trunk.
“Oh, honey,” Lily purred, casting an appreciative eye over you. “He's going to combust.”
Embarrassment burned your cheeks, but deep down, you hoped she was right.
It was a gorgeous day, temperate and blue-skied, a rare, cloudless afternoon in Scotland. It seemed half the school was frolicking around the grounds, piled onto picnic blankets and playing football in the open fields, wildflowers dotting the hillside.
When your reached the edge of the lake, your traitorous eyes immediately found James.
Waist-deep in the blue water and sun-kissed, rippling muscles on display as he splashed around with Peter and Remus, dark hair slicked back and dripping onto his broad shoulders. He was practically glowing, a gilded God among scrawny teenagers, and your mouth went sandy.
Then, he saw you.
If you thought he was glowing before—Lily was right, the poor boy damn near combusted. His face shattered into an enormous smile, his glasses going crooked from the force of it.
“Y/n!” He called loudly enough to alert everyone in the general vicinity, throwing his arms out in surprise.
“Hey, James,” you laughed, giving him a timid wave. It felt like every eye turned to you, burning into your skin like the dazzling sunlight. “I'm just going to go set my stuff down,” you said to Lily, spotting a shady tree just by the water you could retreat to.
The tree was just wide enough to hide you from prying eyes, the shadow of its leaves a balm on your overheated skin. You'd only been outside for five minutes, and already you were floundering. Here you were, hiding away instead of running into the water with Lily, towards the fucking Adonis waiting for you.
“Hey, you.”
You jumped, whirling around to find James standing right behind you, rubbing a towel over his sopping hair. “Oh, uh, hey.” Merlin, he was even more beautiful up close.
“Lily dragged you out, huh?” He wrapped the towel around his waist, leaving his hair even wilder than usual.
“She did,” you replied, desperately trying to keep your eyes from wandering down his torso. “Said you were too much of a pansy to ask me yourself.”
James guffawed, head falling back on his shoulders as he laughed. “That witch,” he chuckled. “You didn't come just to humiliate me, did you?”
You rolled your eyes. “Well, you are the center of the universe.”
“Your universe, ideally.” He flirted, and your stomach flipped, somersaulting with your lungs and leaving you a bit breathless.
Thankfully, a screech from Lily being thrown into the water by Remus saved you from having to formulate a response. You turned at the sound, and your gaze snagged on a group of fifth years ogling James, and glaring daggers at you.
One of the girls shielded her mouth with her hand, muttering something to her friend while her eyes flicked up and down your body, and they burst out laughing.
Anxiety coiled tight in your chest, skin suddenly too tight on your body, the bathing suit suffocating. Everything was too bright, too loud, too open—
“Hey,” James said gently, his hands finding your hips and turning so his body was blocking yours from the girls. “Love, look at me. What's happened?” He bent down, trying to catch your eyes as they bounced around from onlooker to onlooker.
Fuck, everyone was looking.
“Them,” you mumbled, voice pitched an octave higher.
James looked back towards them, brows furrowed, and you made a hiss of protest, grabbing his chin and turning his head back towards you.
“Don't look,” you pleaded, crossing yours arms over your chest to cover yourself.
His confused expression twisted in consternation, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Look at me.”
You couldn't, too focused on the others.
“Don't look at them, look at me,” he said, a little firmer, his grip tightening on your hips. Your eyes flicked up to his, finding them molten, burning, pupils wide and dark. “Do you want to be here with me?” He asked.
Tentatively, you nodded. Unable to lie to him when he was looking at you, holding you, like that.
“I want you here with me too. More than anything.”
“James—”
“If you want to go back to your dorm, I'll take you myself right now,” he promised, voice trodden with sincerity. “We will do whatever you want to do. Just say the word.”
We will. The two words echoed in your mind, as tangible and concrete as your bat sonar. Whatever you decided, whatever you wanted, he was with you.
“I want to stay here,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his eye so he knew you meant it.
“Would you like to swim, or stay here in the shade?”
You hesitated, then— "Swim,” you answered.
He grinned, and one his hands skimmed across your hip towards your stomach. “That's a brave girl,” he cooed, and with a flick of his wrist, he popped the button of your shorts open.
Your mind went gooey as James helped you shimmy your shorts down your legs, letting them drop into a heap at your feet, tingles erupting over your skin in the wake of his hands.
“Brace yourself, sweetheart. Water’s cold,” was his only warning before he scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and charging into the frigid water with you in his arms.
“James!” You shrieked as he spun you, the heat of his body a sharp contrast to the bite of the water reaching your ribs.
“Couldn't let you talk yourself out of it,” he hummed, one of his hands coming up to smooth the hair out of your face. Droplets of water ran down your neck, making you shiver, and his smile widened.
“Just don't throw me,” you warned, failing miserably at sounding stern.
He scoffed. “You're crazy if you think I'm letting you go now, love.”
Then, a giant arc of water came crashing over the both of you, soaking you completely in a blast of cold. James tightened his grip on you, sturdy enough to keep you both upright under the onslaught.
You sputtered and wiped the water from your eyes, cursing, only to find Sirius doubled over laughing.
“Hold that thought,” James said, carefully setting you on your feet, the water reaching your chest. He shot a withering glare at Sirius, and the tattooed boy straightened, eyes glinting with challenge. “You're gonna regret that.” And James lunged, tackling Sirius back into the water with an echoing splash.
You wasted the afternoon in the water, splashing and horseplaying until you were shivering, toes numb and fingers crinkly, cheeks sore from smiling.
James wrapped an arm around your middle from behind, catching you mid-yawn, the setting sun and the cold sapping the last dreggs of your energy. “C’mon, love. Your lips are looking a little blue,” he murmured, resting his chin against your shoulder.
“Why are you looking at my lips?” You chided lightly, turning your head so your nose brushed his cheek.
He chuckled. “Can't help myself.”
You let him coax you out of the water and onto the plush grass, and stretched out on your towel under the tree you scouted earlier, letting the warmth of the sinking sun soak into your chilled skin.
James sat beside you, his back against the tree and legs stretched long. “Never thought I'd see this,” he said, quietly enough you weren't sure if he was speaking to you.
“See what?” You asked, tilting your head back to peer up at him, dappled sunlight kissing his tanned chest.
“You stretched out in the sun like a housecat,” he teased. “Sunshine looks pretty on you.”
Affection curled in your chest, simpering and saccharine. “Thanks, Jamie.” You inched up at bit, resting your head on his lap and letting your eyes flutter closed, basking in the drowsy decadence of it all.
His fingers combed thorough your hair, untangling the knots sewn by the water, and drawing you deeper into oncoming sleep.
“But you look stunning in the moonlight too,” he murmured, fingertip tracing the slope of your nose, the curve of your jaw. “My little night dweller.”
It felt like a dream, sweet and simple and golden, and you couldn't believe how different your life looked with James Potter in it.
“Tell me something awful about you,” you asked, twisting to look up at him.
“Something awful?” He smirked, dropping his arm over your waist, thumb grazing lazily on your skin. “I snore in my sleep. I put too much sugar in my tea. What kind of awful are you after?”
You giggled, shaking your head. “Nevermind.”
“I’d think you'd find plenty awful about me,” he ribbed.
“You'd think,” you hummed, turning your face away so you didn't melt under the radiance in his gaze.
Quickly, you were succumbing to James’ charm, being drawn closer and closer to his gravity, a lonely moon caught in the heavy orbit of the sun.
You felt helpless to it, and that scared you more than anything. You didn't want to need him, to need anybody. It was so much safer to be on your own.
But you weren't sure you wanted safer anymore.
James’ POV
After that day by the lake, James was hooked. Trailing your scent, your energy, your presence like a starving hound. He couldn't get enough of you, and you were kind enough to indulge him. Things hadn't progressed further than they did that day, lingering touches and loaded glances.
Normally, James would dive head first into the deep end, but he found himself wanting to follow your lead. Relishing in the quiet in between moments as much as the more charged ones, content to just be near you, savor you in whatever capacity you'd allow him.
He was just grateful you'd let him in at all. It felt like a gift, a glimpse at something secret and deeply rare, and it was not a blessing he was keen to squander by indulging in his usual hedonistic impulses.
He was happy to tread lightly, to let you step out of the shadows one bit at a time. Patience was never a virtue of his, but for you, he'd find the strength.
A week later, James was late to dinner, Quidditch practice having run well over. Sweat and dirt still clung to him, his training uniform uncomfortable against his balmy skin. But he was fucking starved, the gnawing in his stomach eating away at his mood.
The only thing getting him through was knowing that you'd be there waiting for him. He hadn't seen you at all that day, and it was wearing on him much like the hunger. Leaving him raw and wanting.
He went to push open the doors to the Great Hall at the same moment Lily came dashing out of them.
“Lils?”
“James! What took you so damn long?” She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the Hall. “I was just going to look for you!”
“Practice ran long, saints, Lily—what's up?” He registered the shouting in the next moment, Sirius’ booming voice echoing off the high ceiling. A crowd had gathered at the end of one of the tables, jostling and jeering. Slughorn was in the thick of it, trying to get between Sirius and whoever he was raging at with little success.
Then, James noticed you standing just behind Sirius, Remus hovering protectively at your side. You had a hand pressed to your mouth, the other arm wrapped around your torso. Tears were pooling in your pretty eyes, and the last shred of James’ patience severed.
He knew instantly what had transpired, had heard the mutterings in the hall, the gossip and the merciless chatter. He knew people were talking about the two of you, the Head Boy and Hogwarts' resident recluse, and he knew that it was wearing on you, despite the brave face you put on.
He just never thought anyone would take it this far.
He was across the Hall in a few long strides. He grabbed the bloke Sirius was screaming at by his hood and yanked him backwards, throwing him down onto the ground. “What do we have here?” James snarled, looming over the sniveling rat, his boot placed firmly on the pricks sternum to keep him from scuttling away. “Upsetting my girl, are we?”
“No, no! I, uh—”
“What happened, love?” James asked, looking over his shoulder to you, but you only shook your head, too upset to speak. His rage flared hotter. “Padfoot?” James tried again, turning to Sirius.
“Him and his buddies were crowding her, calling her mute—” Sirius voice broke, splintering with anger. “Asked if her tongue worked at all,” Sirius spat, glaring at the other two boys cowering behind Slughorn.
James turned his attention back to the roach under his boot. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't rip your tongue out and shove it up your ass?”
“Fuck, Potter! It was a joke!” He sputtered.
“Let’s see if it was worth the laugh, then,” James cocked his foot back, kicking the kid sharply once in the side, then again in the kidneys when he curled up to protect his vitals.
Too fucking bad.
James kicked him a third time, pain shooting up his shin from the force, but before he could drop onto him, imagining ripping the fuckers tongue out with his bare hands, breaking his face open under his fists, a pair of arms wrapped around his middle. They pulled back on him with meager strength, trying to tug him away from his groveling victim.
He immediately knew it was you.
“Stop, Jamie. Please stop,” you whimpered, your forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. “It’s done. It’s over.”
His hand rested over yours on his abdomen, his breath coming out in jagged huffs. He hadn't realized he was shaking with rage until he felt your steadiness pressed against him. Trying to hold him together.
“He hurt you,” was all James could think to say, the crimson pulse of anger still throbbing at the edges of his vision. No one fucking hurt you.
“And you hurt him back,” you murmured into his jersey, clinging to him like you were afraid he'd lunge again. Hurting him wasn't enough. He needed to ruin him, throttle him, beat him so badly no one fucked with you ever again— “It's over.”
James drew a deep inhale, trying to focus at your warmth against his back, your willowy fingers clasped under his. “It's over,” James repeated, fixing the perpetrators with a warning glare. “So apologize, and stay the fuck away from her.”
They all nodded, muttering apologies while scooping up their groaning friend and hurrying out of the Great Hall. Only once they were gone did you release him.
James turned to face you, guilt churning in his stomach and an apology on his tongue, but you were already half-way down the aisle, wiping angrily at your cheeks as you stormed out. Leaving James standing there, feeling as filthy inside as he was on the outside.
No, no, no.
He knew he shouldn't. Knew he should let you go, give you space so you both could calm down. But he ran after you anyways.
“Y/n!” He shouted, running out into the hall and catching up to you in a few long strides. “Hey, wait—sweetheart, please—”
“I can't do this James,” you blurted, spinning on your heel to face him, and he staggered to a stop. “I-It's too much.” You shook your head as tears rolled down your cheeks, like you'd come to some sort of decision in your head. “I thought I could, but I can't—I tried, I—I’m sorry.”
His mind was reeling, too cluttered with anger and adrenaline and panic to find the words to make you stay. “Baby, don't go—” He reached for you, but you took a step back, then another. “We can do this—” His fingers brushed your hand the same moment you shifted, rocketing off through an open window, disappearing into the dark night.
“No, y/n! Wait!” He cried, but you were long gone, leaving his heart cleaved in two, his soul hollowed out. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, tugging hard at the roots of his hair. It wasn't enough. “Fuck!” He shouted, his fist connecting with the stone wall and making the nosy portraits scatter. Something cracked in his hand, but he could barely feel it over the agony in his chest.
“Prongs,” Sirius called, he, Lily, and Remus following him out onto the hall.
“I went too far,” James muttered, chest rising and falling rapidly, barely able to breathe through the crushing guilt. The sucking vacuum of emptiness you left behind.
“We all did,” Remus said gently. “Sirius whacked one of them in the head with a dinner plate.”
James loosed a wry chuckle, splintered and uneven, and shook his head. “I fucked this up, pushed her too far.”
None of his friends commented. The pity on their faces was answer enough.
“You can fix it, just—just give her some space,” Lily said, approaching cautiously. Like he was some kind of wild animal.
He stepped back from her, unable to bear their sympathy when he felt so wretched. “I'll see you later,” he muttered, turning on his heel and stalking away.
Reader’s POV
A week later…
Burrowed under your blankets, cocooned in the thick warmth of your own labored breathing, steamy from your countless shed tears.
You couldn't believe you had run off like that, skittish as a hare, spooked at the first sign of trouble. He'd stood up for you, damn near got himself expelled because some dip shits wagged their tongues at you.
But you couldn't escape the cloying tar pit of shame their words opened in your gut—what if they were right? What if all you were to James was a conquest? Another trophy for his display case?
It ate through you, sticky and dark and consuming, worsened by the guilt swimming through like a barbed alligator. Because how could you think that of him? How could you dismiss all you'd learned about his heart over the last few weeks so flippantly?
James wasn't like that, and he surely wouldn't have risked his Head Boy status for a meager hunt already halfway snared. He wouldn't treat someone like a consolation prize.
But…how well did you really know him?
Certainly not enough to expose yourself to the inevitable agony of trying to wrap your arms around the sun. He was James fucking Potter. He was everything. And you were bitter and lonely and lost.
You were better off here, saving all your romanticism for your inner life, rather than waste it on a fantasy.
“Y/n,” one of your roommates called gently, shaking your shoulder through the quilt. “You have some visitors.”
“I don't feel well,” you muttered petulantly.
“That makes two of you,” Sirius said, and your stomach dropped.
Slowly, you inched yourself out of the blanket, squinting at the golden sunlight filtering into the room. The air was decidedly cooler out there than in your little cave, and it stung your tear-scraped cheeks.
Sirius and Remus stood by your bed, the latter looking supremely uncomfortable.
“What do you want?” You asked, scrubbing a hand over your face to clear the cobwebs and crustys.
“Normally we wouldn't, ah, get involved,” Remus began, scratching the back of his head. “But—”
“But James is our best mate, and he's an absolute disaster,” Sirius cut in. “And clearly you aren't fairing much better.”
“So you've come to lecture me?” You bit, stung by his bluntness.
“No,” Remus said, glaring pointedly at Sirius. “We wanted to talk to you because—”
“Because we probably understand what you're feeling better than anyone,” Sirius finished.
You raised an incredulous eyebrow. “That’s presumptuous.”
“Perhaps,” Remus placated. “But we know better than anyone what it's like to be loved by James, and not really understand why.”
Your jaw clenched, a bitchy retort lashing at the backs of your teeth despite the glow his words stoked to life in your chest. James didn't love you. How could he?
Sirius sat on the edge of your bed, yet again completely unperturbed by your attitude. “James can be really fucking naive, and entirely too optimistic. Down right ignorant sometimes if I’m honest—”
“But he's also genuine, and loyal,” Remus interjected. “And it makes you want to, ah, redirect him, if you will.”
“You push him away because you don't think he understands what he's signing himself up for,” Sirius clarified. “Moons and I have done it at least a dozen times each.”
“And how is that relevant to me?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, like that would stop them from seeing into your heart further.
“Maybe it isn't.” Sirius shrugged. “Maybe you actually do think he's a brute and hate him for defending your honor in front of the entire school.”
Ouch.
You shot him a loathsome glare.
“Or maybe you're scared shitless by how loudly he loves, so you bailed to try and protect yourself,” he shot back.
“And to protect him from you,” Remus added.
You shook your head, fresh tears burning behind your eyes. You hated how right they were, and how pathetic it made you feel.
“Look,” Sirius said, softening his voice. “We just wanted to say that it's worth it.”
You looked back up at them, their faces blurred with salt water, as the fight rinsed from your body like grime from a window pane.
Remus offered you a handkerchief. “It's vulnerable, and it's messy, but it's worth it,” Remus said. “He’s worth it.”
Sirius nodded sagely. “You just have to trust him.”
“It's not him I don't trust,” you murmured, ringing the handkerchief in your hands, Remus’ initials staring up at you in delicate silver thread.
Remus gave you a sad, knowing smile. “You have to trust yourself too.”
“Alright, that's quite enough sentimentality for one afternoon,” Sirius said, pushing to his feet and ushering Remus towards the door.
“His first match back is Saturday!” Remus called over his shoulder as Sirius herded him out onto the hall.
“We'll save you a seat,” Sirius said with a wink before closing the door behind him.
Their words echoed in your mind, ringing true despite the countless excuses you'd made over the last few days. Deep down, you knew Remus was right; James was worth it.
But could you love him the way he deserved with all your pessimism and anxiety and thorns?
Would it be so bad to try?
James’ POV
He didn't see you for two weeks after that, besides in Charms, where you kept your head down and refused to look at him. He returned to his usual spot beside Remus, wishing it was your warmth he felt instead of the afternoon sun.
Two weeks he sat in evening detention, staring out the windows and hoping to see your silhouette flutter past the moon. 14 days he was benched from Quidditch for his injured hand, remembering the way your soft skin felt under his rough palm. 336 hours he found himself without words, preferring the silence over pointless chatter. 20160 seconds he spent in his head, where you were still beside him, and you looked at him with fondness instead of fear.
Everyone was buzzing for his first match back on the pitch. But he felt disconnected from it all, like the James Potter they were talking about was someone else entirely.
He didn't want to be that James Potter, he wanted to be your Jamie.
He hoped the feeling would melt away once the match started, flying through the air always did wonders for his mood, but if anything, he felt worse. You weren't there to watch him, so what was the fucking point?
His mood reflected in his play, and so the match went on, and on, and on. In the sixth hour, the sun long ago set, the players were dead in the air, the stands listless. But Quidditch didn't stop until the snitch was caught or enough points were scored that losing team forfeited, and James hadn’t scored a single point.
His hand was aching, sore from disuse, and his captain was screaming at him. Even his friends looked disappointed, slumped against one another in their seats, where they hadn't budged for the entire game.
Something whizzed by, catching his attention. At first he thought it was the snitch, and lifted his hand to signal the Seeker, but then it flew by again. Zipping by like a little shadow.
He nearly fell off his broom when he realized.
You slowed a bit, fluttering around his head, the delicate breeze from your wings ruffling his sweaty hair.
“Hey, you,” he murmured, unable to stop the smile pulling the corners of his mouth. He reached out to touch you when you suddenly banked away, swooping down towards the goals.
You gripped the top of the largest hoop with your little feet, and dangled upside down from it, stretching your wings before wrapping them around yourself, like you were getting comfy.
The Hufflepuff Keeper spotted you and flew a bit closer, curious. James was about to shout for them to leave you alone when you loosed a wrathful hiss, flaring your wings, and the Keeper reared back, screeching about a flying rat.
“Potter!” King shouted at him, and he turned just in time to catch the Quaffle headed his way.
The Keeper was too distracted by you to guard the hoop properly, and James smirked.
“Potter scores ten points for Gryffindor!”
“Another ten for James Potter!”
“That's 50 points for Gryffindor, what a come back!”
The continued scoring seemed to re-energize the game, the crowd on its feet and roaring in approval. James couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed a Quidditch match so much, and it was all because of you.
“And the Seeker catches the snitch! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”
James whooped and cheered with his team, but he was searching the sky for you, his heart so full he thought he might choke on it. It seemed you were gone, though, as he had a feeling you might be, the excitement and cheering too much for your sensitive ears.
He landed heavily on the ground, his muscles exhausted from hours of staying airborne, and straightened to greet the crowd of Gryffindors that were pouring onto the pitch. But as soon as he did, he spotted you racing towards him.
“You did it!” You cried, throwing your arms around his neck as your body collided with his, making him stagger back a step.
His mind short-circuited, struggling to process what was happening. You weren't gone, you were here and wearing his scarf and…hugging him? In front of the entire student body?
Did he fall off his broom and hit his head? Because this had to be a dream.
He dropped his broom to hold you properly, one arm looped around your waist, the other holding your head against his shoulder. He squeezed as tight as his tired muscles could, burying his nose into your neck and drawing a long, greedy inhale.
“Couldn't have done it without you,” he murmured, fighting back the tears of relief pooling behind his eyes. You were here. It wasn't a dream, or a fantasy. You were real, solid and beautiful and trembling in his arms as the crowd cheered, confetti raining over your heads as fireworks popped in the obsidian sky.
You pulled your head back, cheeks streaked with tears and gave him a wobbly little smile. “I'm so proud of you, and I'm sorry for what I said.”
He shushed you with a peck on the cheek, then another on your nose, temple, the corner of your mouth—Merlin, he couldn't stop himself.
“I want to try again,” you said through water-logged giggles, fingers curling the hood of his uniform. “Please, Jamie?”
“Of course,” he said, caving to temptation and pecking your lips. “I’m yours,” he mumbled against your lips, and you grinned, kissing him again. You tasted like nectar and moonlight. Sweeter than any victory. And he let himself indulge, setting you on your feet so he could kiss you harder, deeper, drown in your winsome little sounds as you finally, finally, opened up for him.
The shadow to his sunlight, the moon to his tides, the other half of his heart, safe in his arms at long last.
Hi angel!! I had an idea but no worries if it doesn’t spark inspiration for you :) I love anything you write!!
But I was thinking about a fic where the reader has to go out of town for a business trip or to visit family or something and James is soooo pouty and clingy about it because he’s going to miss her. I love sweet Jamie and you write him so perfectly!!
Thank you sm my love <3
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 vile agendas
James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 544 words
James knows in his brain that he doesn't have to be with you all of the time, but good luck telling that to his heart.
You've neglected packing until the last minute, so your flat is lamplit and darker than it probably ought to be the night before your early morning flight. You move from closet to drawers to suitcase with a pensive pinch to your mouth, the lamplight preserving you in soft, warm amber. Which is a particular sort of cruelty, because it makes you look especially romantic and only makes James' heart all the more twitchy about letting you out of his sight.
"I can't believe you're doing this in front of me," he says.
You turn with a few pairs of balled-up socks, delivering them to the suitcase sitting open next to James on the bed. In the corner of your mouth is something that could be a smile with some coaxing. "You wanted to be in here."
"I want to enjoy my last night with you, not watch you prepare to leave me."
"When do you think I should pack, then?"
"Never." James makes a face, but you only roll your eyes and circle back to the dresser. "But if you must, in secret after I'm asleep."
You make an amused scoffing sound. It turns into a laugh when a ball of socks sails across the room to land in the drawer in front of you again. There's the smile James was waiting for.
"You're unbelievable," you chide, picking the socks up to return them to your suitcase. "If I only get a couple hours of sleep because you made me stay up all night packing, I'm going to be so annoyed with you."
"You could sleep in," James suggests, then grins at your droll look. In truth, he has had whims of taking something from your suitcase that you can't go without and hiding it away so you're forced to stay, or turning off your alarm in the middle of the night so you'll miss your flight, but really he's only teasing you. It has the dual benefits of entertaining you both and conveying the degree to which James will genuinely miss you.
He sighs, flopping around on the bed until he's lying on his stomach watching you with big eyes. "What am I even supposed to do while you're gone?"
James thinks you probably roll your eyes again, only where he can't see. The next time you come back to drop more socks into the suitcase you stop to comb a hand through his hair. "Don't you have plans with Sirius tomorrow?" you ask.
"S'not the same. I'm going to come home to a cold bed."
"I bet he'll stay over if you ask."
"But"—well, that's probably true, actually—"I'll be thinking about how far away you are."
You press your lips together, a mixture of fond and amused. "We'll be okay, James."
He props his chin on a hand, looking poutily into your suitcase. "How many pairs of socks do you need, anyway? Will I ever see you again?"
"I might be overpacking," you admit. "It's only a weekend."
"Ugh. Only?" James throws himself back down with his head in his arms. "That's two whole nights."
I cannot believe people let Snape get the high ground.
How do people casually overlook the fact that Snape spent six entire years of his life telling a kid—who never even got the chance to know his father—that said father was an arrogant douchebag? Like, how do people think that behavior is normal?
Snape, a grown man, spent years trying to convince a grieving, orphaned child that his dead father—who literally died protecting his family—was a terrible person. No compassion for a man who gave his life for his wife and son. No sympathy for a kid who grew up abused, unloved, and completely alone, only learning about his parents through stories told by others.
Instead, Snape chose to rehash his teenage rivalry with James Potter by bullying his son. Imagine being so petty that you can’t move past your high school grudges, even when the other person has been dead for over a decade.
Even the coldest, most detached person would muster some respect for a man who died fighting for good. But Snape? No. He chose to sit on his high horse—ignoring the fact that he was once a Death Eater who only changed sides when his own personal interests were threatened—and still had the audacity to act morally superior to James.
James Potter died a hero. Snape, on the other hand, spent his life tormenting the child of the woman he claimed to love—while refusing to let go of a teenage rivalry and weaponizing it against a traumatized, grieving boy.
I cannot get over how utterly selfish and cruel that is. Snape had no empathy for the dead and no sympathy for the living. And people still try to defend him? Seriously?
mei, if i may request no boundaries bestie james with a reader who can’t sleep so he lets her cockwarm him to help her fall asleep👉🏻👈🏻
this post is 18+, minors dni.
"C'mon," James kisses at your lower lip, 'missing' your cheek by a good two inches, "It'll help, love, really."
"I don't know," You hum nervously, worry stirring in your chest as you contemplate James's offer, "Are you sure that's not- y'know, weird?"
"You think I'm weird?" James scrubs a sleepy fist over his eye, digging a knuckle into the corner to chase away the crust already forming there, "It'll keep you still, warm, and relaxed. It'll probably put you to sleep in minutes."
Your core is throbbing with need. It often does that around James, especially when your nose is tucked into his neck, his musk clouding your senses and fogging up your brain. And the internal pressure might be nice, and he's right, it'd stop you from all of your tossing and turning. But still- cockwarming? It's more than you and James can usually make excuses for.
You two are very touchy with each other. Neither of you really see sex as a big deal- not with each other, at least, and you've never really had real sex with him anyways. You've never had real sex with anyone, and you're content to keep it that way. James fulfills every need you've ever had- a quick orgasm on someone's fingers that aren't your own, a wonder of what it's like to have a mouthful of dick, a warm, wet mouth sucking at your nipples. You've never felt the need to rely on anyone else for any of that, and you're content enough with what he does to never ask for more. This, though, is more. He'll be inside of you, he'll be all the way inside and not just brushing against your slit like he'd done last week before cumming onto your stomach. It's not gonna be sex because he won't be moving, but it'll be a step forwards and your mind is having trouble figuring out how you'll brush this one off as friendly if you accept.
James's fingers are breaching the elastic band of your panties already, teasingly stroking against your leg and back around to your ass. You lean into it all while worrying over this is too serious for the two of you, and he nuzzles his chin against the crown of your head as if sensing your inner turmoil.
"Come on, love. You really think this is gonna change things between us? We've done loads of stuff before."
"This seems like more," You hum worriedly, and he dips his chin down to kiss at your brow.
"We don't have to if you don't want to," James's fingers trail back out from your underwear, leaving you cold and aching. He lands two supportive pats on your ass, "Just thought it might help you sleep."
"No, wait," You rush as he settles back into his own space in bed, no longer crowding yours, "I- I want to. I need-" You clench your thighs, "Just- you promise it won't be weird if we do? We'll still be friends?"
"'Course we will. It won't be weird," He swears, rolling back over to press his weight against you, pinning you to the mattress as he fumbles for his erection in his sleep pants. It's eager to escape the confines of the flannel and James prods two fingers carefully into you slit to test how open you are. They slide in easily, your sex wet from the mere thought of finally having James's cock inside of you.
"Here, love." He hums like he's feeding you, his tip pressing against your slit and finally, finally breaching it, "I- mmf, god, you're- is that okay?"
"It's good," You nod vigorously, feeling the foreign stretch and slight sting of the intrusion as James's cock sinks further into your pussy. It's not a pleasurable sensation on its own, but the fact of the matter is that James's dick is inside you and that thought alone is enough to make you stifle a moan. It doesn't help that you're still breathing in his scent, or that he's laying on top of you, crushing you to the mattress with his weight, or that despite all of this you two are still firmly friends. All of it together makes your head spin and you whine against his throat.
James pants a ragged breath, adjusting you so that you're laying on your sides, though he's still mostly on top of you. It means that he shifts slightly inside of you, his dick twitching, and the feeling is so jarringly blissful that the both of you swear under your breath in unison. He grabs your ass, rougher than when he normally rests his hands there to sleep, and stubbornly smushes his face into his pillow to keep himself quiet.
"There," He grunts, "That's- isn't that better?"
"Mhm," You nod stiffly, "Thanks- goodnight, James."
"Night," He mutters, his voice muffled by the pillow, his fingers greedily gripping at your ass, "Just- try not to move, yeah?"
"I won't," You vow, but as you speak your core clenches of its own accord, and James releases a pained groan into the stuffing of his pillow.
He turns, his lips now pressed against the shell of your ear as he murmurs into it, "You're- uh, you're squeezing me."
"Sorry." You babble, cheeks burning, "I didn't mean to."
"It's okay," He whispers, fingers loosening their grip on your ass to ghost casually up your back, then back down towards your thighs, "It's no big deal. Just go to sleep- you'll feel better once you relax.
And he's right, oddly enough. The further you melt into his embrace, the further you relax yourself around his cock the better you feel. The warmer, the cozier, the more blissful you feel as you drift away in his arms, dragging greedy lungfuls of his scent in from the crook of his neck. You feel him crane his neck to kiss beneath your ear and you don't bother worrying about the way he whispers 'I love you' into your skin, you merely let yourself fall asleep around him, your body and his pressed together as one.
childhood best friend james potter headcanons
james potter x reader; fluff
childhood best friend james potter who you didn't see much of at hogwarts. his elevated social status didn't mean he was embarrassed or "too cool" for you, but it did mean his free time was often occupied. but of course, being who he is, he always ensures the two of you go out to hogsmeade once a month to catch up.
childhood best friend james potter whose parents treated you like their own. you spent more days than you can remember helping euphemia potter bake or sitting down with tea to gossip after you had come back from summer break. effie always invited you over the day you got home, wanting all the details her son never provided. she sent you just as many letters and presents during the school year as she did james. and you would spend late nights discussing academia with fleamont or working on some crazy potion or other. james would often complain about how you spent more time with his parents than him, and they would joke about the two of you getting married, considering you were already part of the family.
childhood best friend james potter who was your first kiss. it was during a fireside game of truth or dare when you were twelve and the two of you erupted into a fit of giggles afterward. you never spoke about it again, but neither of you forgot the electric feeling that surged through you during the moment.
childhood best friend james potter who broke your heart every time he told you about lily evans. you spent years listening to his love-struck rants about the redhead, and you spent an embarrassing amount of time comparing yourself to her. it was subconscious and you couldn't help it, you were so young when james first told you about her. as much as you loved your best friend, you couldn't help but be a little bit relieved at every failed attempt to win her heart.
childhood best friend james potter who had always flirted with you and called you nicknames since you were kids. he had picked up "love" and "sweetheart" from his parents and naturally projected it onto his relationship with you, not seeing the romantic implications until he was older and by that time he was far too used to it to stop.
childhood best friend james potter who got jealous when you and sirius starting getting close. he had initially been thrilled to have his own brother, seeing as he grew up an only child, and it wasn't like the two of you had never met before. but he didn't anticipate that his summer nights once spent whispering secrets and making inside jokes with you would be replaced by group campfires and watching sirius shamelessly flirt with you. lily always seemed to escape his mind when he was with you, except for when he attempted to get you jealous by talking about her, which only backfired.
childhood best friend james potter who kissed you on new year's eve. he proposed it as a joke, but both of you knew that you wanted it more than anything. minutes before midnight he approached you on the terrace of his absurdly large house and asked if you would be his kiss at midnight. he had frowned slightly when you brought up the question of lily, mistaking it for you turning him down, but when you agreed he lit up like the fireworks in the sky. that night he had kissed you with more passion than you had ever experienced before, like he knew he might only have one chance and he wanted to make the most of it. the two of you had just stared at each other afterward, trying to silently communicate your feelings because you were too afraid that the words would ruin your friendship.
childhood best friend james potter who confessed his love for you after he got sick of hearing about the guy you were talking to. it was selfish, but he had spent too long pretending not to love you to care. you had asked him about lily, to which he said that he had never understood the difference between a school crush and a life-long love until now. he isn't the type of person to just admit his feelings and expect you to immediately have him either, he knew he had to earn your love (just as his mother had taught him). so after that night he brought you flowers each day and took you on dates before finally asking you to be his partner with a bouquet and chocolates in hand.
childhood best friend james potter who proposed to you in the same treehouse you had played in together every day as kids. a blanket laid out with food and candles, making it look like just a romantic picnic date until he had got on one knee and begun the most touching speech you have ever heard in your life. he spent the days after parading you around and calling everyone the two of you knew to brag about he fact that he got to be yours for the rest of his life.
childhood best friend james potter who knew you better than anyone and never stopped trying to earn your love, even well after you had begun a family together.
