cw: threesome, double vaginal, unprotected pinv, poly!prongsfoot x fem!reader, soft morning sex with your boys
wc: 1.0k
kinktober masterlist
You’re warm.
That’s the first thing you notice upon waking. You blink your eyes open slowly, the light of the morning sun drifting in through the bedroom windows and into your retinas. You take a deep breath in, a comforting, musky scent surrounding you.
Well, there’s more than that surrounding you. Two bodies, in fact, have you squished in between them on the bed, limbs entangled around you. Hence, the warmth.
You’re facing Sirius, his face slack with sleep, black ringlets curling at the edges of his face and contrasting the white sheets on the bed. One of his arms is under your neck, the other around your middle, hand placed between your shoulder blades. His lips are parted softly, his chest rising and falling with each breath. You think he looks beautiful.
James is behind you, his knee slotted between your thighs, one palm sprawled against your navel. His nose is pressed into your hair, which means he notices the instant you shift, always a light sleeper.
You feel the pads of his fingers pressing into your skin, his long inhale. He lowers his face to press a slow, open kiss against your neck. Your body warms, and you naturally curl inward a bit, pressing back into him.
“Good morning,” He whispers against your skin. You shiver as the air from his words hits your neck, the skin slick with saliva.
“Good morning,” You whisper back, one of your hands reaching back to grip at his messy, bedhead mop of curls. You can feel him smirk against your neck before his kisses resume, his hand sliding down underneath the waistband of your pajama shorts. You bite your lip, heat starting to pool low in your gut. “James…”
“You’re already so wet, baby…” He pulls back from your neck, lifting himself up on his elbow so he can kiss you properly, his fingers slowly beginning to tease your folds. You can’t help the soft sounds of need that pour from your lips into his own.
“Oi!” Your lips part from James’ at the intrusion, and you have the audacity to smile sheepishly at Sirius as he eyes the two of you with a narrow, sleepy glare. His arm, wedged between your back and James’ stomach, pushes you closer to him. “You two were going to shag without me?”
“Not my fault you were sleeping, Pads.” James teases Sirius with his words just as perfectly as he works you. Sirius seems to take his words as a challenge, narrowing his eyes for just a moment before he surges forward to kiss you, his hand sliding out from between you and James to play with the swell of your breast, his thumb tracing gently over the light bud of your nipple.
Your mind spins, your body already soaring from their attention. Sirius chuckles giddily, seemingly aware of the way your mind and body have officially given into them, lax against their ministrations. Sirius lowers his face to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the now-swollen peak. You cry out, and James whispers low praises into your ear, taking the opportunity to slip two fingers inside you.
It doesn’t take long to prepare you, the two of them knowing exactly how to make you fall apart, almost competing with each other to get you reaching higher and higher.
“Come here, angel…” James lays back on the sheets, lifting you onto his lap. You slide onto him, the stretch of your walls a pleasant burn as you get used to him. One of his hands grips your hip, the other moving up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades to lean you down, encouraging you to kiss him. You do, moaning as his tongue slides against your own.
Sirius strokes himself a few times as he watches your hips bounce on James slowly, a white ring of your desire beginning to build on the base of his cock. Sirius groans lowly, climbing up behind you. He nudges himself against your hole, too, pressing in. His cock slides into you next to James’, all three of you crying out.
“F-Fuck…” You stutter as you try to adjust to the stretch. It’s not the first time you’ve been stretched around both of them, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. “I c-can feel you guys in my throat.”
They both groan, hips jerking and twitching instinctually as you clench around them. You whine, and Sirius’ hands grip your hips with white-knuckles as he slowly begins to move. You can feel your eyes roll back, your toes curling, and you bury your face in James’ neck. The aforementioned man is trembling below you, his jaw slack with pleasure as your slick walls grip him, Sirius’ cock sliding against his own, the friction heavenly. Your fingers dig into James’ arms where you grip his biceps, creating indents in his skin. He doesn’t seem to mind, his own hips jerking up a bit against yours.
The sounds are disgusting in the best way, the wet and loud slapping of skin mixed with the low moans and whines of the three of you. James finishes first with a low groan of Sirius’ name and then yours, and you can feel the warmth of his seed squirt into you, mixing with the slick of your own pleasure and only making things wetter as Sirius keeps rutting into you. James pulls your head down into a kiss as his cock goes limp and he pulls out of you.
You and Sirius follow not long after. His hips slap against your ass as he comes inside you, his sperm mixing with James’, and seeping out of you when he finally pulls out. The two of them begin to kiss all over your skin, everywhere they can reach, caressing you and each other as the three of you come down from your highs.
“I love taking both of you.” You tell them with shaky breaths. They both seem to grin, making eye contact with each other.
“We know, love.” Sirius says with a kiss to the back of your shoulder.
“We can tell.” James agrees, brushing some hair away from your forehead.
synopsis: you spend a sun-soaked day at the beach with james and sirius, james riding the waves while you and sirius soak up the sun. laughter and salty breeze lead to a spontaneous decision: matching tattoos from a quirky tropical shop. but what starts as a sweet memory soon reveals marks that are anything but innocent.
cw: tattoos, impulsive decisions, sun exposure, mild language, playful teasing, light romantic tension, modern au, beach vibes, casual drinking, subtle jealousy, light angst, stubbornness, nudity, suggestive content, alot of flirting.
wc: 4.6k
a/n: for some reason i'm not so proud of this </3 i suck at describing modern au's. masterlist
"Can you please carry the ice box down, Sirius? Or is that too much to ask you on your sacred day off?"
Your voice lifts lazily through the golden heat, melodic with half-hearted irritation, shaded beneath the brim of your wide sunglasses.
You’re standing barefoot in the sand beside the open trunk of your sun-warmed car, one hand clutching a bundle of towels and the other gesturing toward the cooler packed with slushies, cold beers, fruit, and questionable energy bars Sirius had insisted were essential.
Sirius stretches his arms above his head with exaggerated drama, rings catching sunlight as he yawns into the sky. He is shirtless already, black swim trunks riding low on his hips, a silver chain glinting at his collarbone, tattoos dark against his sunkissed skin.
Before he can respond with one of his usual theatrical complaints, a voice calls out from the dunes.
"Oi! Beat you to it!" James’s voice, clear and delighted.
You glance toward the shoreline just in time to see him sprinting ahead barefoot, board already under one arm, curls wind-tossed and wild, the straps of his tank top dangling uselessly from his shoulder.
He’s swapped his shirt and shorts for tight black swim trunks and a grin that belongs in a commercial for suncream and bad decisions. He gives you a wide wave before barreling toward the waves like a boy born from saltwater.
“Oh my god,” you mutter, watching him disappear into the surf. “They’re both ten years old in the bodies of Olympic athletes.”
Sirius smirks and bends to grab the cooler with one hand, lifting it as if it weighs nothing at all. “Lucky for you, one of us still has functional brain cells,” he says, glancing sideways at you. “And he just so happens to look this good shirtless.”
Before you can roll your eyes, he leans in and presses a sun-warm kiss to your lips. The heat of it lingers even as he turns away, heading down the winding path toward the spot you scouted earlier. His shoulders glint under the sun, a walking postcard of trouble.
You sigh, adjust your sunglasses, and gather the rest of your things—towels, speaker, that trashy paperback Sirius is pretending not to be obsessed with—and follow after him.
The beach stretches before you, wide and glittering, heat curling in soft waves above the sand. The water is a vivid blue, the sky cloudless, and your white throw dress flutters around your legs in the breeze as you walk.
The moment you reach your sun-claimed patch of sand, Sirius drops the cooler and collapses backwards into the beach blanket with a content groan.
“This,” he says, dragging his hand across his forehead dramatically, “is where I die. Bury me right here.”
You roll your eyes, crouching to pull out the speaker and your sunscreen. “You can die later. Help me set this up.”
But he doesn’t move.
You uncap the bottle and begin to squeeze a generous line of sunscreen into your palm. You’ve barely started rubbing it into your shoulder when Sirius bolts upright like he’s been electrocuted.
“Wait—let me do that for you.”
You turn toward him slowly, brows raised. “You want to rub lotion on me?”
He’s already halfway to you, his hands outstretched like he’s trying to catch something that might run. “I need to, love.”
You’re about to respond when a shout echoes across the beach.
“Hey!” James’s voice comes from the water, thick with mock outrage. “I called that job, you bastard!”
You lift your sunglasses onto your head and glance toward the sea. James is wading waist-deep in the water now, his surfboard floating behind him, arms up like a referee signaling foul play. His curls are drenched and dripping down his forehead, his expression a blend of betrayal and amusement.
“You snooze, you lose, Prongs,” Sirius yells back over his shoulder, already uncapping the bottle and squeezing some into his palm.
James cups his hands around his mouth. “I was letting the board adjust to the tide!”
“I’m adjusting her to the UV index,” Sirius retorts. Then, turning back to you, he lowers his voice and says, “Let me, I’ll be careful.”
He takes the bottle from your hand before you can reply and gently smooths the lotion across your shoulder with slow, practiced fingers. His palms are warm, and the coolness of the sunscreen is sharp against your heated skin.
You hum without meaning to, head tipping slightly as he starts working down your arm, his thumbs brushing the edge of your bikini strap, lingering just long enough to spark something electric under your ribs.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” you murmur.
He leans in, voice just at your ear. “Isn’t that the point?”
He leans closer, pressing a slow kiss to your sun-warmed shoulder before whispering against your skin.
“Wait until James gets back and sees I haven’t even started on your back yet.”
You’d barely managed to lay back and close your eyes before the interruptions began.
First, it was Sirius flopping down beside you with a dramatic grunt, shaking sand into the curve of your thigh and claiming he was “baking alive” like a baguette in hell.
He draped himself across your blanket with a sigh that bordered on a moan and insisted you had to feel his forehead because he was certain it was radiating at least thirty-nine degrees Celsius.
Then James returned from the water, dripping wet and grinning like he’d just won a bloody trophy. He leaned over you to shake the water from his hair—deliberately—and then dropped a cold kiss to your stomach before announcing he was going back in to “teach Sirius how not to die on a board.”
Then Sirius again, complaining about seaweed and how the ocean felt “personal.”
And then James once more, this time hungry.
By the time thirty minutes had passed, you’d reapplied sunscreen, adjusted your sunglasses three times, and reread the same paragraph of your book eight times without retaining a word.
But then—silence.
A solid stretch of calm. No wet bodies, no interruptions, and no one bothering you.You prop yourself up on your elbows, squint toward the shoreline, and there they are.
Two figures slicing through turquoise water.
James rides the surf like he was born from it. Balanced, easy, utterly at home. He slices through a cresting wave with casual grace, all sun-drenched limbs and steady control. His form is effortless, almost boring in how perfect it is. But of course it is. You’ve heard the stories a dozen times—summer after summer at the Potter beach house, childhoods spent along sunburned coastlines and golden horizons.
And then there’s Sirius…
Sirius, who spent his youth tucked away in a sprawling estate on the French coast, where beaches were seen through stained-glass windows and swimming was something you did in marble pools under watchful eyes.
It’s honestly a miracle he can swim at all.
He’s currently locked in battle with his surfboard, kicking at it like it’s personally offended him. He manages to scramble halfway upright before the wave pitches sideways and tosses him like driftwood. He disappears beneath the foam with a chaotic flail and resurfaces a moment later, sputtering, hair plastered to his face, wearing a look that could curdle seawater.
You bite your lip to stifle a laugh.
“I’m fine!” he yells across the water to no one in particular. “I meant to do that!”
“Sure, baby,” you murmur to yourself as you reach for your sunglasses.
You slip off your dress and leave it folded on the blanket, the sun licking across your skin as the breeze wraps around your bare legs.
Your bikini clings to you like second skin, the ocean calling in soft, salted exhales. On your way down the dunes, you detour to the nearby cart and grab an ice cream—something tropical and colorful, swirled like candyfloss.
By the time you reach the water’s edge, they’ve both noticed you.
James whistles low and begins paddling back immediately, abandoning the next wave in favor of you. Sirius floats lazily now, arms stretched out like a starfish in surrender, but when he sees you, his smile returns full force.
“Well, look at that,” Sirius murmurs as he trudges up the shore, hair soaked, board forgotten somewhere behind him. “I must’ve drowned and gone to heaven.”
“Dramatic,” you say, licking your ice cream. “How’s the surfing career?”
“Promising,” he says dryly, shaking his hair out with a grin. “If the board would just respect me.”
James reaches you and leans down to press a cold kiss to your shoulder, still dripping saltwater. “You look good enough to drink,” he says, voice rough and warm from the sea.
“You always say that,” you murmur.
“Because it’s always true.”
You sit with them on the wet sand, just where the tide reaches and swirls under your legs. The sea is warm around your ankles, and the air is filled with the sound of gentle waves and distant laughter.
Sirius tosses a handful of shells in the air and lets them fall through his fingers like they’re coins and you’re good luck. James rakes his hand through his curls, watching the horizon like he’s memorizing it.
After a little while, James gets up and says he’s going to get drinks.
“I’ll go get some blue slushie,” he announces proudly.
“I’ll take cherry,” Sirius calls after him, brushing wet sand from your thigh and letting his hand linger just a moment longer.
You finish your ice cream slowly as Sirius leans back on his elbows, head tilted toward the sky, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.
The moment James is out of sight, Sirius turns to you, his gaze darkening with something hungry and tender all at once. He cups your face gently, his lips crashing against yours in a fierce, desperate kiss that takes your breath away. His body shifts closer, grinding against you with slow, deliberate pressure.
“You look absolutely beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need.
You bite down softly on his neck, leaving a mark just sharp enough to claim him back, a silent promise written on flesh.
When James returns, he hands out the cups with a flourish and plops down beside you with a pleased sigh.
“Try it, sweetheart,” he says, offering you a sip of his.
It’s disgustingly sweet, chilled to perfection, and leaves your tongue buzzing blue.
James leans close to Sirius and says something low near his ear, and Sirius smirks, eyebrows raised in a way that makes your stomach flutter.
You stand slowly, brushing sand from your thighs. “I’m going to wander through the shops behind us, just a quick look, don’t fall asleep here and get boiled.”
James gently reaches for you and murmurs. “Don’t be long, love.”
You slip away from them and climb the dunes toward the colorful strip of beachfront shops. Strings of tropical flags flap overhead, and a group of kids are playing steel drums on the corner near a shop selling pineapple-themed everything.
You duck into a boutique to browse sunglasses and shell necklaces, half-heartedly scanning racks of boho dresses and coconut-scented oils, but your mind stays fixed on the water. On them.
By the time you return, fifteen minutes later, the tide has rolled higher, and they’re still exactly where you left them, sitting side by side, legs tangled slightly, both of them barefoot and glowing from the sun.
But something’s off.
They both glance at you when you approach. Sirius bites his straw. James grins around his cup. You squint slightly, and then you see it.
Their tongues are… purple.
Not blue.
Not red.
Purple.
You narrow your eyes and slow your steps.
“Interesting,” you say, crossing your arms. “Since when do blue and red mix like that?”
Sirius raises a brow. “Colour theory, love.”
James sips his slushie and doesn’t even try to hide the smile tugging at his lips.
You stare at them.“You two made out without me!”
“You actually made out, while I was gone, to get you two coconut soap and a shark keychain.”
Sirius shrugs. “It was very quick. Barely even a kiss.”
“Barely,” James echoes with a wink. “Just enough to, you know, check something.”
You roll your eyes and drop to your knees in the sand between them, both exasperated and entirely charmed. James tugs you onto his lap, arms wrapping around your waist, and Sirius leans in on your other side, breath warm against your cheek.
You don’t even notice Sirius stop sipping his slushie until his straw goes slack between his lips and he sits bolt upright like he’s just had a vision.
“Oh my god.”
You blink at him, stretched comfortably across James’s lap, still licking the last melted edge of your ice cream cone.
“What now?”
He scrambles to his feet, finger pointed across the sandy boardwalk like he’s seen something holy. “Is that a tattoo shop? That’s a bloody tattoo shop!”
You follow his gaze, squinting through the palm leaves and sunlight.
Sure enough, nestled between a surf rental shack and a place selling coconut shrimp out of a van, there it is: a weathered blue sign that reads Ink’d Tropics, painted in beachy script with palm trees stenciled along the windows.
Inside, you can just barely make out the hum of a needle and a guy behind the desk with a neon green tank top and a bleach-blond mullet.
James shifts beneath you, grinning. “Looks open.”
“No,” you say immediately, sitting up straighter. “Nope. No! You two said we were talking about matching tattoos, talking, as in theoretical. Future tense, not actually dragging me off the beach to brand me with something permanent!”
Sirius argues, practically vibrating with excitement. “Look at it! It’s practically calling to us. Imagine—all three of us getting matching tattoos, a permanent souvenir.”
“You already got a souvenir,” you mutter. “It’s called a purple tongue and betraying me.”
James laughs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We don’t have to do it now,” he says, voice calm, hands warm where they’re resting on your waist. “But come on. You said you were curious that night in March, remember? You said if you ever got a tattoo, it’d be for something that mattered.”
“I said maybe,” you point out, voice climbing just slightly. “I was also tipsy and cuddled between you two on a mattress on the floor.”
“So be tipsy now,” Sirius says with a grin. “I’ll run and get you a piña colada.”
“I’ve never had a tattoo before,” you confess, quieter now, tugging at the hem of your bikini top. “What if I hate it? What if I freak out halfway through and ruin it? What if it hurts too much or it gets infected and my leg falls off?”
“Darling,” Sirius says gently, crouching beside you and taking your face in his hands. “If your leg falls off, James and I will take turns carrying you for the rest of your life.”
“And make a little golden prosthetic,” James adds, nodding solemnly. “With a tattoo on it.”
You snort and try to look away but Sirius leans in close, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.
“You won’t hate it,” Sirius says gently, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone. “Because it wouldn’t be just anything—it’d be us. A little piece of James, a little piece of me. And we’ll do the same.”
You glance at James. He’s already watching you—steady, unwavering. There’s something in his gaze that softens you, like he sees every thread of your hesitation and loves you more for it.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says, his voice low, sincere. “If you say no, we walk away. No pressure, no guilt. It’s your skin, your call. Always.”
Sirius nods beside you, serious for once. “We want this to mean something, not to convince you into it. If you don’t want it, we won’t get them either.”
You bite your lip, looking between them.
“And if I cry?”
James grins. “Then we’ll owe you foot rubs for a week.”
“And unlimited orgasm privileges,” you add, eyes narrowing.
Sirius beams. “Obviously. Non-negotiable.”
You sigh, a smile breaking across your face despite yourself.
“Fine,” you say
You slip your dress back on while they grab their shirts and sandals, and within minutes, you’re walking toward the little beachfront shop, still sticky from sunscreen and sugar, the breeze wrapping around your legs as the scent of saltwater and ink rises in the air.
Sirius is practically skipping ahead, peering into the windows like a child in front of a candy shop.
James keeps your hand in his as you step inside.
The shop is small but clean. The front desk is covered in tattoo portfolios and brightly colored stickers, and the walls are painted seafoam green, scrawled with signatures and framed photos of past clients. It smells faintly of antiseptic and coconut oil.
“Welcome to Ink’d,” the guy at the desk says. “Walk-ins?”
Sirius is already flipping through one of the sample books. “Three of us,” he says. “Matching tattoos, but secret ones. None of us gets to see until we’re done.”
The tattooist laughs. “I like that.”
James leans in beside you, his hand firm around your waist. “Is everything sterile? Do we get private rooms?”
“We run clean here,” the artist replies. “Health check posted. Gloves, disposable needles, everything prepped. Pick your art, we’ll split you up, and I’ll bring mirrors after.”
You drift over to a binder of designs, nerves fluttering just beneath your skin. Sirius is lounging in the corner chair like he owns the place, already pointing at symbols he likes—daggers, constellations, moons.
James stands behind you as you open the book, his hands resting at your hips, chin nudging your shoulder.
“Take your time,” he murmurs.
You flip slowly. Your heart is beating too fast, but eventually, you find them.
You scribble your choice down on the clipboard when your name’s called. James and Sirius are doing the same at opposite corners of the shop, careful not to peek. Sirius looks like he might explode from trying to keep the secret.
You’re ushered to a private back room, bright with natural light and ocean breeze drifting in through a propped-open window. Before the artist enters, both James and Sirius appear at your door.
Sirius presses a slow kiss to your lips, warm and coaxing. His thumb strokes your jaw.
“If you get nervous,” he says softly, “call out for me, and I’ll come straight in. I don’t care if it ruins the surprise.”
James follows, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and kissing your cheek.
“Same goes for me,” he says. “You want a hand to hold, you’ve got two idiots ready to fight over who gets there first.”
You laugh under your breath, a little shaken, but steady.
“I’ll be okay.”
They both linger for another second, gazes heavy with something quiet and full, and then they’re gone.
The session begins.
The pain is sharp at first. But it fades into something steady, something manageable. When the artist finishes, you’re bandaged gently and handed a mirror. Your heart jumps in your chest.
It’s perfect.
You walk out into the main shop again, slightly sore, still high on adrenaline, just in time to see Sirius sauntering out of a different room with a gauze patch taped low on his abdomen—very low. The kind of placement that suggests a tattoo just above his pubic bone.
Your eyebrows shoot up.
“Oh my god,” you say, eyes widening. “Sirius, that is huge! What the hell did you get?”
He grins like a devil and saunters closer, tugging down his waistband just enough to give you a peek of the edge of dark ink and nothing more.
“You’ll find out tonight,” he purrs, voice low.
James emerges behind him, casually adjusting the sleeve of his t-shirt where you can see a similar bandage taped just below the curve of his shoulder.
By the time you step back onto the beach, the sun is beginning its descent—still high enough to bathe everything in gold, but low enough that the shadows stretch long across the sand.
James stretches and heads towards your spot. “Alright, tme to pack up. I want to get back before the light fades.”
You reach for your tote, but Sirius is faster. He snatches it from your hands with a soft glare.
“Absolutely not. You are not carrying a single thing.”
“I’m fine,” you argue.
“Still no.”
James already has the towels and umbrellas folded under one arm. “You were just stabbed repeatedly with a needle. You’re being pampered, end of story.”
“You both got bigger tattoos,” you mutter, but there’s no real fight in your tone.
You roll your eyes, but your heart’s too full to hide the smile stretching across your face. The three of you fall into that soft rhythm again—James quietly efficient, Sirius humming under his breath.
The car ride is filled with low music and lazy touches. James drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting across your thigh, thumb circling idly while Sirius reclines in the back, sunglasses tilted and his feet propped on the center console.
The villa rises from the cliffside like a dream etched in stone—white walls, terracotta roof, and a wide, private pool spilling toward the ocean, its surface catching the sunset like molten gold.
Sirius had insisted on it.
He’d scrolled past dozens of rentals before stopping on this one, declaring it perfect. Too many bedrooms, just enough space for them to adore you in peace. “If I’m going to be hopelessly rich and stupid in love,” he’d said, “then I’m spending it on the people who make it worth it.”
Now, stepping barefoot into the cool marble entry, you understand.
Sea breeze slips through open windows, tugging the white curtains like sails. The air carries salt and hibiscus. Everything smells like summer.
James tosses the keys on the counter and immediately pulls off his shirt again. “I’ll go take a shower, then—”
“Then you’re both going to beg me to show you the tattoo,” you interrupt, dropping your bag onto one of the oversized couches.
“Obviously,” Sirius says from the kitchen, already grabbing three glasses and a bottle of some expensive, fruity liquor he bought earlier. “That’s already scheduled between shower and dinner.”
You press a hand to your lower back, fingers brushing the edge of the bandage there, and smile to yourself.
You wait until the door to the shower shuts behind James, the steam already spilling out from beneath the frame, and Sirius is busy somewhere in the kitchen—muttering to himself about cocktails—before you finally move toward the full-length mirror across the villa bedroom.
The dressing robe you slipped on hangs open loosely. The room is quiet, golden with late afternoon light, soft music from Sirius’s speaker playing something with a slow island beat.
You turn.
Fingers trembling just slightly, you reach behind you and peel the bandage away from your lower back. The adhesive tugs at your skin, tender and warm, but you’re too busy holding your breath to even flinch.
The gauze falls.
You step closer to the mirror, eyes wide, heart caught somewhere between nerves and delight.
The tattoo is... stunning.
Just above the curve of your ass, inked low on the small of your back, is a finely detailed, sensual design—filigree lines and curling waves, a pattern that’s equal parts gothic and tropical, like seafoam woven through ironwork. Hidden within the art—woven in bold, delicate script—are their names.
James & Sirius.
You tilt your hips slightly to admire the angle.
It’s suggestive, unapologetically sexy, and yet—there’s something reverent about it too. You’d wanted to carry them in one place, not split down the middle. One mark, low on your back, where their names would rest when you moved, when you danced, and when you were beneath them (or on top)
The thought makes your breath catch.
Just then, the bathroom door opens with a rush of steam, and James steps out, towel slung low on his hips, hair soaked and curling, skin damp and flushed.
You turn sharply at the sound and freeze.
His chest is bare.
His tattoo is not.
It’s inked over his left pectoral, close to his heart—two small initials, stylized and simple.
Yours and Sirius’s.
Your lips part in a soft gasp.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, stunned. “James.”
He pauses mid-step, catching your eyes, his own gaze warm and steady. “Too much?”
“No,” you breathe. “Not even close. You... it’s—”
You cross the room to him, fingers brushing just beneath the edge of the ink, the way his skin jumps under your touch making your stomach twist.
“You really put us there,” you say, voice thick with something you don’t try to name.
James smiles, that soft, tender kind of smile that only ever belongs to you and Sirius.
“Where else would I put you?”
Before you can answer, a blur of black silk and wild hair breezes in through the open door.
“Did I just hear you squeal—” Sirius cuts off as he sees the tattoo on James’s chest. He blinks, mouth open just a little. “Oh, bloody hell, you actually did it.”
James raises an eyebrow, smug. “Thought you’d appreciate it.”
Sirius doesn’t respond immediately. He just walks straight up to him and cups James’s jaw in both hands before kissing him slow and deep. James kisses him back with a soft groan, hands finding Sirius’s hips, the towel barely holding on between them.
You watch, heart pounding, legs a little weak. There’s always something magnetic about them like this—carefree and close, like the world exists only in the space between their mouths.
Eventually, Sirius pulls back just enough to murmur, “You always one-up me in the soft department.”
“I try,” James says, grinning.
Then Sirius turns to you.
His gaze drops, sharp and hot, catching on the bare skin at your waist.
“Wait—where’s yours, love?”
You don’t say a word.
Instead, you turn around slowly, fingers catching the tie of your robe, and let it fall open just enough to expose your lower back.
Sirius is the first to react.
“Holy fuck, baby.”
His voice is low, rough, torn straight from the throat.
James exhales behind you like he’s been sucker punched.
The silence that follows is thick—too full of awe to be awkward.
Sirius steps forward first, hands already reaching. He ghosts his fingers along the sides of your waist, not quite touching the tattoo yet, almost reverent.
“That’s not one each,” he murmurs. “You... you put us both. You put us together!”
You nod, pulse skittering.
“I wanted it to be one.”
“Right above your ass too,” James says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.
You turn your head slightly. “Too much?”
“Not even close,” he replies instantly.
Sirius is still crouched behind you, fingertips tracing lower now. “Bend over, sweetheart.”
You blink. “What?”
“Please,” he adds, voice velvet-dark now. “I want to see how it looks when you bend.”
Your cheeks burn, but the way he’s looking at you, like you hung the stars low enough for him to reach, undoes you.
You step to the edge of the bed and lean over, bracing your hands against the mattress.
Behind you, both men go absolutely silent.
Then James groans. Sirius lets out something close to a growl.
“Fucking—look at that,” he mutters. “That’s the filthiest, sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m obsessed,” James says. “How did you even think of this? You know how our names will—God.”
You start to turn, but James’s hand settles on your lower back, just above the tattoo, grounding you.
“You really had us written here,” he murmurs. “Right where you arch. Where you move. Where we—” He cuts himself off, breathing deeper. “You’re not getting out of this villa for days.”
Sirius presses a kiss to your hip, open-mouthed and slow.
“I want a picture,” he says. “So I never forget how it looks like this.”
You twist just enough to glance back at them.
“And what if I said no?”
Sirius smirks.
“Then I’d just look at it every time I’m behind you,” he says. “And I’ll be there a lot.”
James kisses your spine, right above the ink, featherlight.
You're still flushed from the discovery of James’s chest tattoo and the reaction to your own when something clicks in your head, something obvious.
You turn to Sirius, who’s now sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt clinging to his back, smug and suspiciously silent.
“Wait,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “We haven’t seen yours.”
Sirius glances up with faux innocence, his dark hair curling damp against his forehead. “Mine?”
“You didn’t show us what you got,” James says, stepping toward him, the towel at his waist still barely hanging on. “You’ve been distracting us. On purpose.”
“I would never,” Sirius says, dramatically clutching his chest.
“Don’t play coy,” you murmur, moving closer, standing right in front of him now. “We all know you’re the least subtle person on this continent.”
Sirius licks his lips. You can see the flicker of nerves behind his teasing smile, and that makes you all the more curious.
You reach for the hem of his shirt.
“Lift your arms.”
With a huff that doesn’t hide the gleam in his eyes, Sirius obeys. You pull the shirt up over his head, exposing long lines of lean muscle, soft golden skin, and—
“Oh my god,” you whisper.
Your breath catches. James lets out a low, stunned laugh behind you.
Right there, sprawled boldly across Sirius’s lower abdomen—starting from one hip bone, arcing above the waistband of his swim shorts, and curling over to the other side—is a massive tattoo of stag antlers.
Black ink, sharp-edged and sprawling, the antlers seem to rise from just above his pelvis like a crown of bone and instinct. They’re dark, elegant, and frankly unmissable.
You blink.
“Are those—James’s antlers?”
James coughs. “That’s... a lot of antler.”
“I told you I went big,” Sirius says, voice a little tight.
“You got a stag tattooed over your... everything.”
“I thought it was symbolic,” he defends, running a hand through his hair.
“Symbolic?” you echo. “Sirius, I literally have to squint to find the start of this thing.”
James whistles low. “That tattoo’s got antlers longer than my surfboard.”
You shake your head, laughing under your breath, still staring at the dramatic expanse of ink that rises just over the sharp line of Sirius’s pelvis. Your fingers twitch at your sides.
“I’m not done,” Sirius says, standing slowly.
You look up, startled. “There’s more?”
He turns.
And there—sprawled at the base of his neck, just where your teeth had sunk into him earlier that day, is a delicate outline of a bite mark. Embedded faintly within the shape, inked like a whisper beneath the skin, are your initials.
Your lips part in astonishment.
“Oh my god, that’s so nasty!”
Sirius grins wickedly over his shoulder. “I thought it deserved to be remembered.”
James is silent. You glance back at him. His mouth is parted, eyes wide, clearly short-circuited.
Sirius turns to face him, spreading his arms out just slightly. “Well? What do you think?”
“I think,” James says slowly, walking forward until he’s standing directly in front of him, “that you’re absolutely insane.”
“And?”
James’s eyes drop.
Then he sinks to his knees in front of Sirius.
Your breath stutters.
Sirius exhales sharply, his hands falling to his sides, barely concealing the tremor that runs through him.
From your angle, the antlers sprawl directly over James’s head, the tips curving just beyond his ears like a crown, like he’s wearing Sirius’s tattoo, like he belongs there.
You press a hand to your mouth.
“Okay,” James murmurs, looking up through his lashes. “Now that’s symbolic.”
Sirius huffs a quiet laugh, breathless. “Told you I commit.”
James’s hands skim Sirius’s thighs. “Let’s test it out then, yeah?”
Let’s just say the night ended with James on his knees and you bent over every possible surface the villa had.
request from @redeyesthicthighs : I was thinking about a fox animagus… maybe a slytherin reader, in England red foxes can be seen as more of a pest & reader using the pest title as a way to get away with shit in her animagus form. maybe the boys don’t know it’s an animagus they are seeing high tailing it out of rooms after some disaster has struck but it’s happened now one too many times to be a coincidence
poly!prongsfoot x animagus!reader who is totally one of them [1.2k words]
CW: implied fem!reader, feeding laxatives to birds (is not cool, do not do this)
“Well,” Lily announced with a sigh as she sat down heavily beside Remus at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, across from James and Sirius, “your little pet was at it again.”
“Now, that’s no way to talk about Pete, Evans.” Sirius chided, causing Peter to nearly choke on the bite he just took as he made to defend himself.
“Not him, you sod.” She grumbled, though Sirius could see the ghost of the smirk she was working hard to fight off. “That pesky little fox you guys love so much.”
At this, both Sirius and James froze, the latter letting his fork fall from mid-air and the former placing his cup of pumpkin juice rather forcefully beside his plate.
“She was back!?” They chorused, causing Remus to snort.
“She? How do you know it’s a she?”
“Just a hunch.” James offered with a shrug whilst Sirius grilled Lily.
“Where? When?”
“Here we go…” Remus muttered.
“The greenhouses. When I got to Herbology, Professor Sprout was chasing it-”
“-her-” James corrected.
“-her out of greenhouse three,” Lily continued, narrowing her eyes at the Head Boy to her Head Girl, “she’d eaten all the shrivelfig fruit, dug up all the knotgrass, and made herself a little nest out of the dittany! It took the whole class period just to help the Professor clean and repot everything.”
And though Sirius could tell Lily was quite perturbed by the whole thing, he couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped his lips. “Okay, that’s the fourth time this week alone.”
“Fourth time, what?” Peter asked then.
Sirius and James shared a smirk before turning back to their friends. “The fox is one of us.” James declared.
“One…of us?” Remus asked slowly, clearly not following.
“She’s a fellow prankster.” Sirius offered simply.
Lily snorted. “I hardly think a fox doing very fox-like things constitutes pranking, boys. They’re known to be pests.”
“You take that back!” James hollered rather suddenly, causing Lily to recoil slightly and Sirius to wrap a comforting arm around his waist in consolation.
“I think this fox is a little more mischievous than typical foxes.” Sirius clarified. “Earlier this week, she could be found in the library stealing nearly finished essays right out of the hands of Mulciber, Avery, and Snape before tossing the torn up parchment into the fire.”
“There’s no way that was accidental.” James stated solemnly. “And after Gilderoy Lockhart was heard bragging in the courtyard that he’d snogged nearly half of the school, the fox chased him in circles before she tripped him, causing him to land right in the fountain!”
“Oh, and you should have seen the look on Filch’s face when he found muddy paw prints all over the Trophy Room, right after he’d given some first year Hufflepuff’s detention for “snickering too loudly” - outside, mind you - and made them clean the entire room without magic.” Sirius continued, still rather indignant on the first years’ behalf.
“Well…ripping parchment, tracking mud, and running around are all typical fox behaviours.” Peter tried, but both Lily and Remus hummed thoughtfully.
“No, no…I think you’re right, James.” Remus offered, looking at James pointedly. “I think you’re absolutely right, she is ‘one of us’.”
Padfoot did his best to hold his breath when he heard movement in the greenhouses, recognizing that the noise wasn't coming from where he’d left James under the invisibility cloak.
Sure enough, after the sounds of snuffling and foliage rustling ceased, a small red fox popped out between two large bushes.
An excited yip left her mouth as she hopped up onto the workbenches, carefully tiptoeing - if foxes could even do such a thing - around everyone’s pots until she made it to McLaggen’s workbench, knocking the pots clean off before they fell with a shatter to the stone floor, terracotta splintering and soil spilling out of them as the fox looked over the edge to appreciate her handiwork.
Padfoot took that moment to step out from his hiding spot, making it almost right under the foxes nose before she happened to notice that she wasn’t alone. She arched her back not unlike a Halloween cat and made some sort of breathy spitting sound before she spun on the spot and made to launch herself off of the table in the opposite direction.
Unfortunately for her, James had been standing on the other side of the bench waiting for her to do just that, catching the fox in a throw blanket from their dorm and wrapping it tightly around her.
“Easy, easy. Oi! You’re fine!” James placated, wrestling with the fumbling ball of linen before arranging it so the foxes body remained snuggly in the blanket but her head poked out. “No biting.”
James flinched at a snap of her jaw, though Padfoot noticed she didn’t even try to reach for the hand that was currently holding the blanket shut which was well within her reach - she didn’t actually want to bite him.
Padfoot shifted back into Sirius and leaned his elbows against the workbench. “You’ve been giving us a run for our money with the mischief.” He commented, causing the fox’s head to whip towards him where her eyes narrowed comically. “I’d say I’m miffed but, I hate lying.”
If foxes could scoff, this one just did.
“The jig is up, L/N.” James whispered, causing the fox to return her attention back to James as she stared at him incredulously, Sirius’ lips twisting into a smirk. James had been hiding under the invisibility cloak with the map as they waited…he’d seen exactly who it was that was sneaking into the greenhouse.
“Don’t worry,” Sirius called over to gain your attention, “your secret is safe with us.” And to punctuate his point, he spun on the spot to turn back into Padfoot to prove that - Remus had been right - you were one of them.
You let out what had to be a sigh as you went no bones in James’ hold - clearly in capitulation - as he released you from your blanketed prison and placed you back onto the workbench.
You melted back into your human form, sitting prettily on the edge of the table with your legs crossed looking casual for all intents and purposes as you looked between James and what was now once again Sirius.
“Why foil my fun just to promise not to tell?” You asked sceptically.
“Oh, you misunderstand, gorgeous,” Sirius drawled, relishing in the way your burning gaze narrowed at his endearment (or for insinuating you’d been wrong about something, Sirius wasn’t sure), “we don’t want to foil your fun at all.”
“We want in.” James explained, a wicked glint in his eye (that never failed to turn Sirius on) as he smiled at you.
And that's how the following day, one could find a fox and large black dog near the Black Lake herding a flock of seagulls - that had just feasted on chips dusted with heavy amounts of fibre - towards a group of unsuspecting fifth years who had just destroyed some first years’ forts built out of branches for a laugh.
Well who’s laughing now?
(James, mostly, from his place at the bridge where he watched the chaos from a safe distance from the eliminating birds.)
a/n: just a cheeky little short thing to let you all know i’m still alive and thank you for 1k followers! i’ve finished uni for the year so i’m planning to come back soon, enjoy this for now 😜
🩶
“Stop it, will you? You’ll wake her up!”
“You’re the one who started on me, don’t even go there.”
“You said-”
“You said-!”
“What’s going on?” your voice cut through the arguing, and it was only then that James and Sirius realised that they had disturbed your sleep with their stupid, childish bickering. James looked a bit sheepish. Sirius looked at James as if it were his fault.
You pushed yourself up into a sitting position on the sofa, stretching out your legs to rest them on the coffee table. You studied both boys. Clearly, they had fallen out about something. James had a face like thunder, and Sirius was stood by the open front door, arms folded, smoking. Neither of them answered your question. That in itself was another alarm bell.
But it meant that you got to play your favourite game.
"Okay, if you won't tell me what's going on," you sighed, as if it were out of your hands. You gestured between James and Sirius, watching as the realisation dawned on each of them in turn. "You know the rules."
James' gaze darkened, and his stormy glare was now accompanied by a viciously childlike pout. Sirius looked equally as displeased, offering you a roll of his eyes- but he took a last, long drag on his cigarette and threw it away. The front door slammed, and he stepped fully back into the room. He was holding himself in a way that sometimes, in the right light, made him look just like his mother. Not that you'd ever tell him that.
"I don't want to." James huffed, and if you didn't know him so well, you'd have said fair enough, we'll try something else. But there was something in his tone of voice that gave him away. There was a little lilt of doubt, and you picked it up straight away. He really was a terrible liar.
"Make up,” you said, and you paused, even though you all knew what was coming next. “Or make out. Because I can’t cope with the sulking.”
James’ gaze roved up and down his best friend’s figure as Sirius stalked towards him.
You crossed one leg over the other. Sirius shot one last glance back at you, and noticed the fact that you were watching: arms folded, one leg crossed over the other, head cocked to the side in anticipation.
By the time Sirius was done studying your body language, James had clearly worked up enough confidence, and tugged him into a kiss as soon as the other boy turned to face him. Their lips met so roughly that it probably hurt, but neither of them seemed to care. They were both pissed off enough to take their anger out on each other- the exact point of the exercise. It was one step down from fighting.
Sirius grabbed James’ face to tug him closer. You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip and watched them as they collapsed in a heap on the sofa, groping and grabbing each other as their mouths moved together aggressively. They were a mess of tongues and teeth, each of them giving out a soft little noise every so often, half-annoyed, half-turned on.
It was on days like this that you thanked your lucky stars for boys like them, who solved their arguments by making out and letting you watch. You stared at them, totally transfixed, for a geed few minutes, watching James and Sirius attack each other until they were totally breathless, and far too connected to stay mad at each other.
Sirius drew back first, and he glanced over at you, taking in how utterly wrecked you looked. Your pupils were blown, your lips were parted and swollen from where you’d been chewing them, and you were squeezing your legs together so tight that it probably hurt.
“I think I feel better now,” James huffed from underneath his friend, and Sirius slid off of the other boy’s lap, going straight for the cigarettes on the table.
You hummed in amusement, leaning over to push a hand through James’ hair. His forehead was hot, flushed from tasting the back of his best mate’s throat, and you were thoroughly aroused by that.
“So you two are friends again?” you asked, looking between them.
“Depends,” said James, and he laughed breathlessly when you shot him a look. “On whether you’re gonna swap out with Sirius and finish what he started.”
Can I get a burger please? “i don’t care how hot is it, i still want to cuddle with both/all of you.” with Poly!prongsfoot 💖 thank you
yay poly!prongsfoot! i'm excited to explore their dynamic!
jolie's summer kickoff
a 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐫 fresh off the grill ⋮ aka a short blurb
contains: poly!prongsfoot x reader, swearing
James has had a rather productive day thus far. He woke up early this morning, cooked himself a big breakfast, went for a run, returned home with iced coffees for his loves, and had a wonderful shower.
You and Sirius, on the other hand, haven’t gotten out of bed yet. And your coffees remain untouched, on opposite nightstands that bracket your shared bed, sitting in puddles of condensation.
You’re lying as far apart as possible. Sirius is on his stomach with half of his limbs hanging off the bed. You’re on the opposite side, constantly sitting up to flip the pillow under your head, chasing the cool side that never seems to exist.
You’re both silently suffering. Trapped in the middle of a heatwave with a dead air conditioner, the only thing keeping you from losing it is the ceiling fan above your bed.
James exits the bathroom, mussing up his drenched hair with a towel. “Still sleeping?” he asks, bemused.
Sirius groans in response. You’re both awake, unable to get back to sleep in this uncomfortable heat as much as you might like to. The most movement you’ve seen from Sirius in the past 20 minutes was when he aggressively shoved every single blanket and extra pillow onto the floor in an overstimulated rage.
You open a single eye to peer at James. “How many times have I told you to scrunch your curls when you dry them?” you murmur. “You’re messing them up.”
James shoots you a guilty smile as he drapes the towel over a chair, raking his hands through his hair as an attempt to give his curls life again.
“Why don’t we wake up?” James asks gently.
“Too hot,” Sirius protests.
James rolls his eyes. You don’t know how the heat doesn’t get to him—it’s unnatural. You and Sirius agree on that front.
The foot of the bed dips as James plops down somewhere between you two. James pats Sirius’ leg. “It’s not that bad.”
Sirius jerks away like he’s been scalded, head snapping up to glare at James, who’s got the eyes of a puppy that’s just been kicked.
“You’re boiling!” Sirius exclaims.
Another thing about James: he runs very hot.
You snort at the exchange between your boyfriends, pressing your leg against his arm before jerking it away.
“Woah! Did you take a hot shower?!”
James grins up at you sheepishly.
“Oh, you’re sick in the head,” Sirius mutters.
“James, you’re going to give yourself a heat stroke,” you say, watching him with a mix of disbelief and concern.
“I’m fine,” he insists as he scoots up the bed until his head is level with the two of yours. “Wait, where are the pillows?” he asks, laying his arm over Sirius’ bare back.
Sirius rolls onto his side immediately, forcing James’ arm to fall off. “Listen, I love you, but don’t you fucking touch me, James.”
James lets out a mischievous laugh, plotting something. Before you can even think about making a run for it, he’s wrangled you both into his sides, his big, stupidly strong arms wrapping around your bodies and locking you in place.
You and Sirius are shouting at him, fighting against his grip as if it burns, both of you recoiling at the way every patch of bare skin clings to his in this heat.
“Are you mad!?” Sirius yelps.
“It’s too hot for this! James!”
“I don’t care how hot it is, I still want to cuddle with both of you!” he declares, laughing manically as he squeezes you both closer, arms flexing against your combined attempts to wriggle free.
hey i'm not too sure if this woild be your thing, would you ever write a james x sirius x reader fic? and if you did could you consider this prompt?¹¹⁴⁾ “the dog, for all his failings, did not do that and i’m taking it personally on his part that you’re trying to claim he did ”
title; broken glasses and happy dogs (poly!prongsfoot x fem!reader)
prompts; “the dog, for all his failings, did not do that and i’m taking it personally on his part that you’re trying to claim he did” — from three hundred assorted dialogue prompts
warnings; established relationship, sirius is a dog joke lol, sirius accidentally breaks a glass + james cleans it up, pure fluff (490 words)
a/n; to say i’m actually so sorry for the amount of time it’s taking me to get to these requests, the uks going through a heatwave and it’s wiping me
one year masterlist | main masterlist
— come celebrate my one year!!
you had been in the living room with Sirius when it happened, his tail wagging with his contentment until he accidentally made a glass fall to the floor.
it shattered loudly, gaining James’ attention from the bedroom with a confused expression.
“woah what happened?”
his eyes flicked between you and Sirius, who’s tail was no longer wagging, his head tilted away as you spoke.
“Sirius knocked a glass”
that made James’ express change, his confusion gone and now replaced with a scepticism.
“the dog, for all his failings, did not do that and i’m taking it personally on his part that you’re trying to claim he did”
James protested, hands resting on his hips as Sirius moved towards him, paws padding against the hardwood floors.
he nestled against James’ jean clad leg, as if siding with James against you on the matter.
“James, i watched him knock it over”
his hands still rested on his hips, sceptical of what you were saying.
“baby would Sirius ever do such a thing?”
you matched his position, hands on your hips and flashing a look of disbelief his way.
Sirius made a noise, all while remaining against James’ leg which made you shake your head.
“i watched him do it James. he just needs to be more careful, or you could put your glass in the sink when you’re finished with it”
his scepticism turned into an apologetic frown, moving towards you and cradling your face in his hands.
before you had the chance to say anything, or Sirius had the chance to protest, James leaned in to kiss you softly.
you only pulled back as Sirius moved between your legs, pawing for either yours or James’ attention away from the kiss.
it made you giggle, one hand on James’ chest while the other scratched between Sirius’ ears. the touch made his tail wag again, slapping against James’ leg with the force of his happiness from your scratches.
“good boy Siri, know you didn’t mean it”
James huffed, a small pout on his lips and his hands trying to pull you back to him, even with Sirius’ incessant slaps against his legs.
you couldn’t help your giggles, untangling from James’ hold to sit on the couch. Sirius followed after you, curling into your side while James moved into the kitchen to grab the brush and dustpan to clean up the glass.
“how did i get left cleaning this up?”
he asked once he swept up the last few shards of glass, carefully disposing of them before coming back to you and Sirius.
“you went and got the brush yourself, besides, Sirius wanted cuddles. can you blame this face?”
to punctuate your words, you carefully held Sirius’ face, a lopsided grin on his face as he looked up at James.
he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief before he chuckled softly, settling into the couch next to you.
