DILF!James Potter, who somehow manages to make every quiet evening in the café you work in feel like the world paused just for him, walks in like he owns the place. Tall, broad, effortlessly magnetic, he has that kind of presence that makes your chest tighten and your brain short-circuit in the worst, most delicious way.
His hand is wrapped around his son’s tiny fingers, guiding Harry gently through the empty tables. The boy looks like a whirlwind passed through, curls sticking up in every direction, glasses sliding down his nose, cheeks rosy with excitement.
They always come during the evenings. It’s almost unfair how gravity shifts in the café becomes the moment they step inside, like the world orbits around them. Or maybe it is just James. He has that kind of presence, warm and grounding, the kind that makes you think fuck, how is a man allowed to be this attractive while ordering ice cream?
And it’s always the same order; one scoop of chocolate in the small blue bowl — Harry’s. You grab it without thinking, muscle memory by now. James only ever gets a coffee, sometimes, on the days he looks a little more tired than usual. But today, it’s just the ice cream.
Your thoughts are absolutely not on the dessert, though. They’re on his hands, his forearms, the way his shirt sleeves are rolled up just enough to show tan skin and veins that have no business looking that good.
James Potter was no ordinary man. Not even close. He was the kind of attractive that made people double-take without meaning to — the kind that made your coworkers go quiet the first time he walked in, whispering behind the counter about the dad with the glasses. He was a single father who co-parented, though you had no idea if he was currently single or not.
Even now, months later, your coworkers still find themselves stealing glances at him whenever he walks in, pretending it’s nothing. The girls by the window don’t even bother hiding it, their eyes openly following him as though he’s a dangling piece of meat.
And yet, despite all that attention, despite the small crowd of silent admirers he unconsciously attracts, he remains simply James Potter; a kind, steady regular who comes in with his son, orders the same chocolate scoop, and smiles at you as though you were just another part of his routine.
Not that it matters. You know you have no chance. He’s at least fifteen years older than you, impossibly out of reach, and far too alluring. He’s just a customer, a devastatingly attractive one whom you absolutely should not be imagining in ways that have nothing to do with ice cream.
You set the bowl in front of Harry, and the kid doesn’t even pretend he’s going to wait. He digs in instantly, the spoon clattering against the ceramic as chocolate smears across his cheek like paint. It pulls a laugh out of you before you can stop it, he’s just impossibly sweet and adorable.
James watches his son with this soft, unguarded tenderness that hits you square in the ribs every single time. Like nothing else in the world exists for him in that moment except making sure Harry doesn’t drop the bowl or fall out of the chair.
And it shouldn’t be allowed — how good he looks like this. How natural. How utterly at ease in a role that would make other men fumble.
He glances up at you, expression gentle, and your heartbeat runs faster. “Come on, Harry,” James says softly. “Say thank you.”
Harry beams at you. “Thank you, miss y/n!”
You crouch slightly to meet his eyes. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
James’ eyes flick up to you, warm and easy. “Thank you, love.”
It isn’t even meant to be flirtatious; you’re sure he tosses that term at anyone without thinking. Yet it hits you straight in the chest, making your poor heart race. His smile is slow and warm, a little too knowing, and you get the unsettling sense that he’s fully aware of the effect he has on you.
He’s probably just being polite, but your brain is far too busy screaming holy fuck to care about logic.
You straighten quickly, because you can feel the heat crawling up your neck. “Of course. I’ll see you both next time.”
Harry waves with sticky hands as they head out. James places a light hand on the door for you as he leaves, something so small yet so fucking irresistible you almost groan.
The door shuts. The evening air slips into the café. They are halfway down the street when you realize you have been staring at the window like an idiot.
You sigh, muttering under your breath as you wipe the counter “Fuck me, he’s too hot.”
The next week drifts by slowly, the kind of slow that makes every shift feel twice as long. By the time evening hits, the cafe’s nearly dead. Only one couple sits near the window, finishing their last bites and murmuring quietly to each other.
You move between tables with a damp cloth, wiping down surfaces and pretending you are not counting the minutes until he walks in. It has become a problem, honestly.
The way you perk up when the door opens is humiliating. You hate how obvious it must be to your coworkers. You cannot help it though. James Potter does something to your brain, something indecent and horribly pathetic.
You’re bent over a table when the bell rings. You straighten immediately. He walks in alone this time, tall and gorgeous in that unfair way, hair mussed like he kept running his hands through it, tie loosened around his neck.
No Harry.
Your heart kicks up.
“Hi, Mr. Potter,” you greet, smoothing your apron even though it’s already perfect.
He takes his usual seat near the corner and gives you a soft smile. “The usual?” you ask gently, hands resting on your hips.
“Yes, please.” He taps his fingertips lightly on the wooden table, a small habit you have memorized without meaning to.
“No little Harry today?” You chuckle softly, though a fucked up part of you is already thinking oh god, it’s just him tonight.
“Oh, no,” he replies. He leans back a little, looking relaxed in a way he rarely gets to be. “He’s sleeping over at his uncle’s place.”
You smile. “Well, when you see him, tell him I said hi. I’ll be right back with your coffee, Mr. Potter.”
It takes barely two minutes to fix it exactly how he likes; rich, dark, a splash of cream. You try not to think about how embarrassing it is that you know his preference by heart, right down to the way he always warms his hands around the mug before taking the first sip. You bring it over and set it in front of him.
“Thank you.” His fingers curl around the cup, voice warm and a little tired, somehow making the simplest words sound devastatingly attractive.
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything else.” You turn to walk away, trying to seem professional even though your body is buzzing with awareness of him.
You barely take three steps before he clears his throat and calls your name.
You stop instantly and look over your shoulder, brows raised.
He sits there with the cup in his hand, cheeks faintly flushed, eyes soft and a bit nervous.
“Excuse me if this is an odd question,” he says, letting out a tiny laugh as if he is embarrassed. “But… when do you leave?”
Your pulse jumps.
“At six,” you answer slowly, stepping a little closer. “May I ask why?”
***
“Oh—fuck…” You gasp, head tilting back while your eyes struggle to stay open. It’s pathetic how desperate you feel watching the way he fills you, thick and deep, every thrust making your stomach tighten.
Your hands slide up your chest, squeezing your breasts because the extra pressure sends sharp, dizzy waves of pleasure straight to your core.
James’ low chuckle vibrates through you. He looks down between your bodies, watching with a hunger that makes your skin burn as his cock disappears inside your soaked, greedy cunt.
One of his hands is planted beside your head for balance, the other gliding over your waist, your stomach, your ribs—touching you like he owns every inch.
“Listen to you,” he mutters, voice rough and amused. “Being so loud when the flat upstairs is probably awake.” His hand tightens suddenly at your hip, dragging you closer so he can bury himself deeper. The shift forces a shocked, breathless cry out of you and your back arches helplessly.
The angle is obscene. You feel every inch of him, and oh god, James Potter is massive.
Your thighs tremble as you try to breathe through it, cunt clenching around him with no shame. James moves his hand slowly up your stomach again, the heat of his palm making your insides twist even tighter.
Then his fingers snap against your cheek in a sharp, unexpected slap.
A stunned cry tears from your throat, the sting blooming across your face as your mouth falls open.
Before you can even catch your breath, James hooks his thumb between your lips, forcing them wider, pressing deep into the soft flesh inside your cheek.
“That gets you going, doesn’t it?” he says, tone thick with dark satisfaction. “Taking it like a filthy little thing who doesn’t know how to behave.”
Your cunt tightens violently around him, betraying you instantly. A broken moan falls out around his thumb, and your hand scrambles down between your legs, fingers circling your clit with frantic, needy pressure.
James laughs, quiet and breathless, biting his bottom lip as he watches you come apart for him. His thrusts get harder, sharper, punishing.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Touching yourself for me like you’re starving for it. Bet you’d love it if someone heard. Bet you want someone to hear how fucking desperate you are.”
You choke on another moan, hips grinding to meet his every push, completely undone.
“It feels… fuck—James, it feels so good—”
A satisfied sound rumbles in his chest, his forehead dropping to yours like he wants to feel every noise you make.
“Yeah?” he whispers, almost proud. “I know it does.”
Heat rushes to your face, your breath catching on a broken sound that absolutely gives you away. You try to rein it back in, but you can’t. Your body keeps chasing him, pushing up into every demanding roll of his hips like you’re starved.
A strangled cry escapes you, and your fingers grip him tighter, shivering as the heat coils tighter in your stomach, spreading outward, dragging every part of you along for the ride.
James’s grin is dark, filthy, like he’s enjoying every helpless, desperate second of it. “That’s it, baby. So fucking good… can you feel it building? Yeah, I know you can.”
Your moans hit new heights, loud, messy, shameless, and James leans closer, his hands roaming over you with total ownership, his mouth pressing against your skin as he whispers, low and hot.
“You feel so fucking perfect,” he growls, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So wet… so tight… how about I fill you up properly? Give you a baby? Make you mine, yeah? Make Harry a big brother?”
Your breath catches, a broken moan tumbling from your lips. “Yes… please… James…”
He chuckles low and dark, tugging your hair lightly to tilt your head back. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, a possessive glint in his eyes. “I’ll fill you up so good,”
Without warning, he flips you over, pressing you down onto the mattress with ease.
pairing: professor!james potter x professor!reader
summary: all the kids at hogwarts can tell that you and professor potter are close, but apparently they're not smart enough to deduct that you've been together for longer than some of them have been in school
wc: 2.5k
cw: fluff, nosy students, it's all pretty domestic, i made reader a greengrass because i didn't want to use 'l/n' but it's not relevant to the story at all lol
“Hold on Professor Potter!” The students standing outside your classroom all perk up at the sound of your voice as Professor Potter walks out of the classroom. He doesn’t pay any of the students attention, but they’re all staring as you walk out to join your fellow Professor, calling out “Can’t teach a defense class without a wand, can you?” Someone giggles as you hold James’s wand out for him, and he chuckles quietly as he takes it from you, spinning it in his fingers for a short moment. “You’d be surprised what I can do, Professor.” He responds, and you raise your eyebrows as he walks away.
Turning your gaze to your students, you easily dismiss their curious gazes as you step by your open door. “Come in.” You easily say, and all of a sudden 25 teenagers are running past you to claim their seats in your classroom. You stay outside for a second longer, watching as James crosses the hallway to enter his classroom. He glances back once, and you smile softly at him before turning towards your classroom, missing the beautiful grin he shoots you.
James smoothes down the front of his shirt before walking into his classroom, and his students turn towards him as he walks between the rows of desks towards his own desk and the blackboard. He takes a seat on his desk, looking at the dozens of eyes that stare at him.
“Why are you late Professor? Busy flirting with a certain transfigurations Professor?” Someone asks, and James promptly ignores the question, though he can’t help the laugh he lets out when someone retorts with “Why would he flirt with Professor McGonagall!?”
“Right, I’m going to let you use today’s lesson as practice for your assessment next week. Make sure you can cast all your spells, if you have any trouble, just come ask. Any questions before I let you loose?”
Five separate hands shoot up at the end of James’s sentence. He nods his head towards a student wearing thick rimmed glasses “Yeah, Thomas?”
Thomas giggles quietly, and James shuts his eyes softly, already predicting the nature of the question. “While we practice our spells, are you going to flirt with Professor Greengrass?”
“Lucas?” James calls out to another student with his hand up, pointedly ignoring Thomas’s question.
“If I’m confident in all my spells for this class but not for transfigurations, could I call Professor Greengrass to help?” Lucas’s desk mate fist bumps him as subtly as he can, but James catches the movement and rolls his eyes, turning around to sit at his chair so the students can’t see the way he smothers his smile when his back is turned to them.
Of course, James isn’t necessarily going to be upset about the students shipping you together. After all, he does like you. A lot. Maybe more than you even know. But this isn’t any of their business, and no matter how much he wants to leave his class to go and continue his conversation with you, he needs to be professional with his students. His students, who are much too young to know what flirting even means.
“Does anyone have a question unrelated to Professor Greengrass?” James asks his class of second years, running a hand down his face when he sees the last three hands drop. “Alright, up you go, let me move the desks.” The students scramble off their seats and James waves his hand to move all the desks aside at once, creating a large space for the students to work with.
James sighs to himself, opening a drawer to begin marking student essays that he had brought down from his office this morning. It’s a relatively slow class, and he’s happy to get the time to mark the last of his fourth years’ essays, who have class with him immediately after the younger ones. He’s not the one to tell his kids when class is over, but they call out to him, asking if they can leave. Someone even says they want to try to rush to the great hall for a snack because they woke up too late for breakfast.
James rushes out of his classroom with his kids, getting on his tiptoes to look for you across the crowd of students in the hallway. A tap on his shoulder startles him, and James laughs at himself when he turns to find you standing right by his side. He nods to his classroom, and the two of you sit on a pair of desks not too far into the room, but just enough to be out of earshot for anyone in the corridor.
“Want to get lunch in Hogsmeade today?” James asks, smiling as he pushes his glasses up his nose. You tilt your head to the side, smiling softly. “Lunch in Hogsmeade? Is there a special occasion I’m not aware of?”
“A lunch date with your husband isn’t special enough?” You grin, pushing yourself off the desk as you look back, taking a quick glimpse to see if James’s students are outside yet. “Just want to spoil my lovely wife.” He continues, and you reach towards him before letting your hand drop by your side. You could kiss him so hard right now. “Lunch in Hogsmeade sounds absolutely divine. Pick me up from my classroom?”
“Of course, darling.”
As you leave his room, a few students perk up, teasingly calling out “Hi Professor Greengrass.” You wonder if the teasing from the students wouldn’t have been so aggressive if they knew you were married to James, but you’re sure the sudden change of your last name would have brought just as many — if not more — questions.
But despite the delicious lunch you have with your husband, and despite getting to walk home with him at the end of the night before meeting your friends, you always end up back at Hogwarts. That’s not to say you don’t love the magical castle – after all, you returned after spending seven years here as kids — but the students always choose to fixate on a certain topic every couple of weeks or so. But it seems that since the beginning of the year, they’ve all been fixated on your relationship with Professor Potter.
Today, it’s two of your seventh years who enter your office too early in the morning, bringing you a warm pastry from the kitchen as an early apology for the assault they’re about to set on you.
“So we saw something really interesting yesterday.” One of your students begins, caressing her long brown hair in one hand as she looks over to her friend.
“Are you planning on elaborating, Freya, or should I guess?” Freya smiles widely, as though you’ve fallen for her bait, and she shrugs. “If you’re not, I’ll take the time to point out that you’re not in uniform.” Freya rolls her eyes and you grin widely as she groans “I don’t have class today though, and I have quidditch practice soon.”
“And the ravenclaw hoodie is technically uniform.” Pipes in Eli, bringing a hand up to play with the silver hoop that hands from his earlobe.
“Anyway, Eli and I were going down to Hogsmeade yesterday, and we saw you and Professor Potter walking together.”
You squint your eyes, leaning back into your chair and crossing one leg over the other as you detail “So you were at Hogsmeade past curfew last night is what I’m hearing?” Though you really don’t care, fully knowing you weren’t in the common room in time for curfew a single day in your last two years at Hogwards, both Freya and Eli have received a detention from you in the past. Yes, it was in third year, and yes it was because they got into a physical fight with each other, but they still aren’t sure how strict you are.
“No, no,” Eli begins, narrowing his eyes as he thinks deeply, finding words to save both him and Freya “It was definitely before curfew, because we were worried about making it back to the common room in time. Barely made it.” Eli and Freya both break into sheepish smiles when you raise your eyebrows, cheeks flexing with the amused smile that makes its way onto your face. “That’s interesting, because I definitely left the castle at 10 o’clock yesterday, starving and only having marked half your papers.”
Eli swallows thickly, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think that’s right.”
Your loud laugh relieves them or any stress they’re still harbouring. “Okay, you saw James and I at Hogsmeade. And?” Freya tilts her head to the side, the sharp lines of her face creating an intimidating picture for you if you weren’t her professor. “And you guys are definitely dating. Right?”
A shake of her head rejects her take. “No, we’re not dating.”
“Are you serious?” Eli asks, dragging a chair out from the closest desk and slumping down on it. “Then why were you guys walking together in Hogsmeade? It’s like you were walking home together or something.”
You smirk, shrugging lightly as you say “I don’t know what’s so odd about me walking home with my husband.” The two students in front of you gasp loudly, and Freya reaches over to put both hands flat on your desk as she stares into your face. “Are you serious!? Oh my god, I knew it - how long!?”
The door to your office slams open and then immediately closed as another person enters the room, and you breathe out a laugh as James enters the room, not caring that two of your students are there. Perhaps he doesn’t care because it’s these particular students who have managed to steal both your hearts, but he walks right over to you as Freya and Eli stare at him with mouths agape.
“You’re married!?” Eli asks James, who waves a hand in dismissal, sitting on your desk and asking “Did you fill out that form- wait you told them?”
“Uh-huh, just now. What about that form?” James blinks quickly, trying to find his words again, but he shakes his head, still stuck onto this topic. “Does that mean you can start going as Professor Potter now? You don’t know how sad it makes me every time I hear someone call you Professor Greengrass.”
Behind James, Eli and Freya shoot each other a wide-eyed stare. Eli runs a hand over one side of his face in an attempt to wipe off the ridiculous smile he’s wearing, but he can’t when you and James are speaking more casually than he’s ever seen before. He’s honoured, because he knows if it were anyone else — if that door weren’t shut — neither you or James would be looking at each other the way you are right now.
Freya doesn’t care about the forms you’re discussing, but she does care about the way James’s eyes so carefully glide over your features, and the pet name he slips into the conversation, so happy to be able to use them. Fuck the professionalism you had chosen over students learning about your relationship because James has always been one to flaunt the fact that you were his.
James hops off your desk, mumbling “I’m gonna do something so crazy.” You don’t have time to furrow your eyebrows before he’s leaning over your desk and pressing his lips to yours and running out of your office, calling out “Good luck on the game, we’re supporting Ravenclaw tonight!” and leaving you to handle the consequences with your students. Freya doesn’t even thank James with how stunned at the news she is. You awkwardly purse your lips as both Eli and Freya’s faces break out into joyful grins.
“Look, I don’t care who in your year group learns about this, but the last thing I need are first years coming into class tomorrow asking questions.” Freya and Eli nod in unison, and you wave a hand in the air to move them on to the next topic.
“I have a thousand questions.” Freya tells you factually, and you laugh as you nod.
“Any chance you can save the questions for Professor Potter?”
“No, we like you more.” Eli says, and you laugh loudly, nodding okay.
“Okay, how long have you dated and how long have you been married for, and who was at your wedding and why weren’t we invited? And-”
“Let her answer those first.” Eli mumbles, eyes widening when you stand up suddenly, grabbing some papers.
“I have class now.” You announce, walking away from them and hoping they don’t realise it’s halfway through the hour. You beeline towards James’s office, breaking into a run when you’re out of your office so you can get as far from Freya and Eli as possible in the shortest amount of time. You don’t knock before entering James’s office, shutting the door behind you and locking it.
He looks up at you from his desk, smiling boyishly as you round his desk and take a seat in his lap. “Why would you do that to me?” You whine, and James places a hand on your thigh, squeezing you softly. “You’re the one who told them, and I didn’t want to deal with the conversation.”
You huff unhappily, but a big hand grips your jaw, pulling your face towards his. You make a small sound when James’s lips land on yours, but he pulls away quickly, muttering “Gosh, those two would have a stroke if they found out we’ve been together since their second year.”
“If you think that’ll give them a stroke, how do you think they’ll react when they find out I’m pregnant?”
James hums, the hand on your thigh trailing up to rest on your stomach. “It won’t be long ‘till you start showing, we’ll just wait and see.” You press your lips to James’s once more, licking your lips as you ask “Can we leave early today? No reason to stay here marking papers until late.”
“May I remind you that you’re the one who insisted on staying here late last night to mark papers?”
“So that’s a yes?” James chuckles, nodding his head, and you kiss his cheek in thank you. “Can I crash here until my next class?” James tightens his arm around your waist, muttering “You better stay here.”
“Okay nice, so I can ask for your opinion on Remus’s birthday gift?”
James nods, closing his bottle of ink and pushing his students’ essays aside to give you a hundred percent of his attention.
“Ask away. I already told Sirius I’d bake the cake.”
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.
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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.
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.
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.
little blurb! lust potion, overstim, james potter x reader
“Ah—s-slow down, honey—” James’s face burned a deep, flushed crimson, his messy hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. His hazel eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion, lashes fluttering as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Can’t, Jamie… it burns,” you whimpered, voice wrecked and desperate. But you didn’t slow. You couldn’t. Your hips slammed down harder, grinding your abused clit against the base of his cock in frantic, sloppy circles, sending sharp electric shocks up your spine. Thick globs of your mixed cum leaked obscenely from your puffy, wrecked pussy with every brutal bounce, coating his balls and the sheets in a slick, filthy mess.
His spent length twitched violently inside your tight, dripping cunt, hypersensitive and aching, yet still rock-hard thanks to the lingering effects of the lust potion. Whoever had slipped it into your drink had clearly never imagined you’d ride him raw all night like this—relentless, insatiable, milking him for every last drop.
Yet here you were still taking him, drop for drop, your greedy pussy clenching and fluttering around his throbbing cock as if you’d never stop.
Your full tits bounced wildly, nipples hard and glistening with sweat, while your pupils were completely blown, eyes black with potion-fueled lust. You looked feral. Possessed. “P-Please… help me. Need it—need your cock so bad, need more—”
James groaned, wrecked and helpless. He’d started the night furious, ready to murder whoever spiked your drink. Now he was just a panting, overused mess, his poor cock red, swollen, and hypersensitive after being milked dry multiple times. He didn’t think he had anything left.
But fuck… he could never deny you.
With a desperate, guttural sound, he thrust up weakly into your sloppy, cum-drenched cunt, the wet squelch loud and obscene as your greedy walls clenched around his thick length. Your eyes rolled back instantly, a broken, slutty moan ripping from your throat.
“Fuck take it,” he rasped, voice hoarse, gripping your hips with trembling hands and forcing you down onto every fat inch. “Fuckin’ milk me dry, honey. Use me till I’ve got nothing left.”
You rode him even harder, pussy fluttering and gushing around his twitching cock, lost in the endless, burning haze of the lust potion.
By the time the potion finally began to fade, James was a boneless, shuddering wreck beneath you his cock spent, voice gone, body covered in sweat and cum, while you collapsed onto his chest, still weakly grinding against him, whimpering for just one more.
summary ━━━ in which you and james are dating, and you’re the only one shocked.
pairing ━━━ james potter x reader
content ━━━ no warnings, fluff, humor, hogwarts!era, bf!james, fem!gryffindor!reader, second person pov, 1.4k words.
You wake up to the familiar sight of James Potter’s sleeping face mushed into your pillow, thick curls falling into his closed eyes as he breathes evenly.
Peering out the tower window, the first signs of light slowly begin rolling into the clouds.
Getting out of bed is no longer a struggle for you.
A few weeks ago, when your best friend had first started sleeping beside you every night—it’d been impossible to escape his arms before he woke up.
Now, you slip out of James’ hold with practiced ease, entering the bathroom to get ready for the day.
You’re staring at your reflection as you brush your teeth when arms suddenly wrap around your waist from behind.
James nuzzles into your neck, pulling you against his chest. “Missed you.” He murmurs, tone warm and heavy with sleep.
You laugh softly, bending down to finish rinsing before straightening out. You lock eyes with him through the mirror.
“It’s been two minutes, Jamie.” You tilt your head in amusement, and his hold only tightens.
“Can you two not do this today? It’s six in the morning.” Marlene interrupts the conversation, glaring at you two through sleep addled eyes.
James’ only response is to hold you even tighter, holding eye contact with the blonde as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek.
“Sorry, Marls, what was that?” He smirks, the menace that he is.
Marlene just scowls, turning around. “You are the most annoying couple I’ve ever met.”
James doesn’t react to her words, but you frown in gentle confusion. Couple?
Before you can question further, your best friend leads you out of the bathroom and back to your wardrobe.
His hands rest on your waist comfortably as he stands behind you, looking at your clothes from over your shoulder.
He points to a brown plaid skirt sitting at the top of your pile. “Tha’s m’favorite skirt on you.” He mumbles, and you raise a brow.
“Really?”
He nods, lazily nosing the line of your jaw. “Mhm. Makes me forget we’re at school.”
You breathe out a soft laugh. “We’re always at school, Jamie. We live here.”
He chuckles with you, before you feel a sharp pinch at your waist.
You let out a soft yelp, pouting up at him as he gently rubs your pinched skin.
“Aww, m’sorry, sweetheart. Was that too sore, yeah?” He mimics your pout, cooing.
A hot flush floods your cheeks before you can stop it and you look away. “That was mean, Jamie.” You mumble.
James turns you around to face him properly, his hands gently cupping each side of your face as he looks down at you. His thumbs gently caress your cheeks.
“Forgive me.” He says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“I don’t even know what you did that for.” You continue pouting, not quite ready to let it go yet.
James smiles, thumb brushing over your cheek once more. “You were being smart with me, honey.”
“Because I am smart.” You retort quickly.
He raises a brow pointedly, and you turn away again. “Be quiet.” You grumble.
“Didn’t say a word, love.” James smiles.
Before you can respond, a pillow suddenly hits him square in the face.
“Oi-”
You turn to look at the other beds and find Mary sitting up and glaring at your best friend.
“What in Merlin’s name was that for, Macdonald!?” He stares at Mary in shock.
To be fair, both Marlene and Lily would be likelier candidates to toss a pillow at James before sweet Mary.
“As Marlene has already said, it is six in the morning. If you are going to continue bothering your girlfriend—go do it in your dorm!”
Mary doesn’t wait for a response, which is fortunate; as both you and James are struck speechless at her outburst.
For two very different reasons, though—something that becomes increasingly clear by the second.
“Can you believe that?” James looks at you with wide eyes.
You nod, mirroring his look. “I know right?”
“She completely snapped!”
“She called me your girlfriend!”
Instantly, you both freeze, blinking at each other in confusion.
Marlene looks up from her corner of the room, Mary sits up again, and Lily rises from the dead like she’d been up the entire time.
All of them are staring at you now, and you furrow your brows.
“…I feel like I’m missing something.”
James steps closer to you, brows also furrowed. “You…” He blinks, “Sweetheart…we’re dating.”
You cross your arms, suddenly feeling a bit defensive. “Would’ve been nice to know the memo.” You mutter, avoiding his eyes, feeling embarrassed.
Your best friend (boyfriend?) lets out an incredulous laugh. “Honey, I- Are you okay? Did you bump your head in the night, love?”
He looks so genuinely concerned—and that, paired with the way the girls are still staring—is starting to make you feel like you’ve lost it.
You huff softly, narrowing your eyes up at him. “No, Jamie, I didn’t bump my head. I’m just struggling to understand how we could possibly be dating!”
His face falls into a look of hurt then, and your eyes widen as you step closer—panicking.
“No, not like that! I just mean-” You sigh in frustration, frowning. “We don’t act like a couple at all!”
Everyone blinks at you again, and your frown deepens. “Why are you all staring at me like that?” You mumble.
Marlene speaks up first. “Darling, he’s in your bed every night.”
You look away, cheeks heating up. “He sleeps easier with someone next to him!”
Lily raises an unimpressed brow. “He could literally write an entire book just listing all the pet names he calls you.”
“He gives everybody nicknames. That’s just how he is!” You defend yourself again.
This time, Mary looks at you like you’re a child learning about magic for the first time again. “His mum calls you her daughter-in-law.”
“She says hi, by the way.” James butts in quietly, a soft smile on his face. “And that she misses you, is expecting you to stay over for at least three days during the next break, and to expect a package from her in the next couple of days.”
Your eyes soften and you melt a little at the thought of Effie. She’d practically been your second mother from the day you and James first became friends.
“Aww, tell her I said thank you! And that I’ll write to her soon, I’ve just been busy with-”
“Focus!” Mary cuts in, and you immediately close your mouth, looking back at her.
It truly is jarring to see sweet Mary so affirmative.
“As I was saying, daughter-in-law?” She raises a brow.
“We’re just close like that! She’s family!” You continue trying to defend yourself.
James finally shakes his head, gently tilting your chin to focus solely on him as he looks at you incredulously.
“Love, I asked you to be my girlfriend.”
You immediately shake your head. “Nuh-uh. I would remember that.”
But James just nods, caressing your cheek. “I did, baby. I said, ‘Sweetheart, will you be my girlfriend?’ and then you said-”
“Jamie, I’ve always been your girlfriend.” You finish his sentence in a soft murmur, now recalling the exact conversation he’s talking about.
The night he started sleeping in your bed.
“See? You remember.” He smiles, and you look up at him in shock.
“…I thought you meant like how Lily, Mary, and Marlene are my girlfriends!” You say, looking completely mortified at your misunderstanding. “And like Sirius is my boy-”
James’ eyes darken and he pulls you closer to his chest, cutting you off with a low growl. “Sirius is not your boyfriend.”
You gently smack his chest, looking up at him reprimandingly. “Not like that, silly!”
James only pulls you closer, nuzzling into your neck and sighing softly before he rests his forehead on your shoulder.
After a few moments, his own begin to shake and you furrow your brows in concern—thinking he’s crying.
“Jamie?” You murmur softly, only to gasp when he suddenly tilts his face up. He’s not crying, you realize—he’s laughing.
And when you lock eyes again, he pulls you into an achingly tender kiss against your lips.
You sigh softly, melting into the embrace as your arms move to loop around his neck.
When he pulls back, he presses his forehead against your own and smiles down at you.
“My silly girl,” he murmurs, pad of his thumb brushing against your bottom lip, “how can you call me that when you, little miss, didn’t even realize we were dating, uh?”
You blush softly, curling into him. “You’re being mean.” You pout. “You’re not allowed to be mean to your girlfriend.”
He laughs softly, raising a brow. “Oh, so you are my girlfriend now, hm?”
And this time, when you smile up at him and say, “Jamie, I’ve always been your girlfriend.”
ok, ok, hear me out, Marauders finding out that Reader has a praise kink???
also do you do emoji anons??🩷
I absolutely can🩷!!! this one is a little bit shorter but i hope you like
James
with james i think praise would be a two way street, he loves praising you and loves to be praised. sex with him sounds like pure worship, a sermon of praise all night long.
james would find this out instantly, the first time you slip into bed together, he was there, singing your praises. it was sweet and soft, much like every time, but the moment he muttered out "you look, so beautiful, fuck." you were putty in his hands, falling apart.
he is telling you how good you feel, how amazing you are, and if he tells you he loves you while inside you, you're done for.
but the same goes for him. if you're saying how good he's making you feel or how perfect he is, he's filling you up until you are full, overflowing. throw in a little "good boy" after riding him and he is rock hard, ready to go another round instantly.
Sirius
ok... as i have said and will say until my last breath, sirius is mean. he is much more into degradation than praise, but that just makes praise from him that much sweeter.
he noticed how much you like praise, so he is sure to praise you a TON during aftercare, but during, he is mixing his degrading remarks with little praises.
sirius is usually fucking you to tears, saying "such a perfect little slut for me, yeah" while making your eyes roll back into your skull.
he calls you a whore or a slut, but he is always sure to add "my little" in front of it, claiming you and taking the edge out of the words, making sure there isn't as much of a sting in his harsh words. and it works.
as he coaxes orgasm after orgasm from you, hes saying something like "come on pretty girl, i know you can do better than that."
Remus
i think remus is the praise KING.
remus notices this quite early on into your relationship and doesn't bring it up, he just silently observes how your breath hitches when he compliments you calling you "pretty girl" and then later using this knowledge in the bedroom, throwing in a little "good girl". he can't help but notice the way your cunt flutters around him.
he is constantly reassuring you, telling you how good you are making him feel, how you're taking him so well.
no matter if he is soft or rough, he is making sure you are praised enough to be cumming on his dick with just his words. his tone of voice depending on the roughness, he is either commanding, saying "use your words like the good girl i know you are." or he is sweet and almost awestruck "fuck, so perfect for me."
i want to write a full fic on this now for poly!marauders
