marauders/harry potter fans who "don't agree with jk rowling" are like if people loved the leopard mascot for the leopards eating peoples faces party so they wore all the merch and drew art of the mascot and talked about the leopard mascot all the time but don't worry! they don't support the leopards eating peoples faces party! they're just completely indistinguishable from people who do because they both love the leopard mascot and make loving the leopard mascot 99% of their personality, "why do people feel unsafe around me when i very clearly don't support the leopards eating peoples faces party?" says the person in the leopards eating peoples faces party merch (don't worry they bought it second hand so the leopards eating peoples faces party don't get any money from them)
the moment was silly really, both of you being giggly and playful. you were on top of james, both stripped of your clothes, down to your underwear, in the middle of a heated makeout session. you couldn't help the slight movement of your hips on his, feeling him hard beneath you. you were grinding down just enough to elicit a deep and breathy moan from james.
"oh sorry," you said, breaking to catch your breath. you thought for a moment, deciding to lean into the playful mood. "it's just, i couldn't feel it, it's just so small." you giggled.
james's brows shot up and he smirked up at you. "oh yeah?" he replied and before you knew it you were flipped in an instant, the room spinning as james pinned you beneath him. with the positions now reversed, he ripped your panties from your body, shoving his boxers down and lining himself up with your enterance. you were taken off guard, gasping as he slid himself through your folds and coated himself in your arousal.
"you wanna take that back?" james asked. you hesitated for a second, and james took this as his sign to slam into you, the stretch burning so good. he instantly found his mark as he hit your g-spot over and over again, not taking his time, not giving you time to catch up.
your back arched and you cried out, dragging your nails down jame's back in response. james hooked your legs over his arms, pistoning in and out of you at a rapid speed. nothing but james's name and pornagraphic moans fell from your lips, filling the room along with the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your ass.
he was clearly proving you wrong, joke or not. reaching spots inside you that you didn’t even know were there.
“j-jaaamess!” you cried as he hit that spot deep inside you, making your eyes roll back.
“i’m gonna ask you again,” he said, tone lowering an octave, husky and seductive. “you wanna take that back?” he punctuated each word with a harsh thrust into you, your poor pussy being abused for your earlier mistake in thinking he would take the joke.
“yes, yes-fuck,” you sobbed, “i didn’t mean it!”
james’s smug face lowered to yours, stopping a hairs width away. “yeah,” he said, pausing his thrusts to gently place a quick kiss to your lips, “that’s what i thought.”
Sirius
sirius had added a messily written 'condoms' onto your grocery list which allowed for the perfect opportunity to mess with him.
"condoms?" you asked, standing in the doorway to your bedroom and waving the grocery list.
sirius chuckled, half naked with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh out of the shower. "yeah, we used the last of them last night." he stated, throwing a wink in the mix.
"oh, ok well," you paused, stepping into the room, "what size? medium?"
sirius raised a brow and scoffed. "medium?'' he repeated back to you. you tried your absolute best not to crack, not to give up the joke just yet. "do you think i have a medium dick, sweetheart?"
you glanced down to where the towel covered him, as if you had x-ray vision and shrugged. "i mean, its average."
sirius's jaw dropped, he too looked down, envisioning what was beneath the towel. "average!?"
you gave him a teasing pout, "oh, baby," you cooed, "its ok. the big ones scare me anyway." with that you couldn't help the smirk that creeped on your face.
before you knew it, you were on your knees in front of sirius, towel long forgotten, dick shoved down your throat. it was a joke, but you were wrong, dead wrong, sirius was definitely not medium.
you could feel his size in the way your jaw ached to accommodate him, in the way you constricted around his mushroom tip that he was forcing down your throat over and over. tears fell openly down your cheeks at the burn.
"oh baby,” he mocked, “whats a matter?" he looked down at you, giving you a faux pout as he forced you to take more of him. your hands flew to his thighs, nails digging in and making sirius hiss in reply. "what happened? you were so feisty a moment ago. cat got your tongue?"
he pulled back slightly, not all the way, just enough for you to gasp down some air. gagging and coughing, you looked up at him through your tear damp lashes, silently pleading for him to ease up.
"you wanna take what you said back?" he asked, a bite to his tone.
you nodded your head the best you could with his hand gripping your hair and his cock shoved down your throat.
"good," he hummed, "then lets keep that mouth full so nothing stupid comes out of it again, yeah?"
Remus
you were feeling a bit more on the brave side today, otherwise you would have never said it, never tested him like this.
he was already fucking you, manhandling you from position to position. his trusts were precise and calculated, each one a pleasureful assault on your cervix.
he flipped you, on your hands and knees now as he adjusted, lining up with your entrance again before plunging in.
it took everything in you not to moan out at the sensation, biting your tongue as you waited until he bottomed out before asking, "is it in yet?"
remus paused for a moment, everything still and tension in the air. he laughed behind you. to be fair, he probably did find it funny, but he couldn't let you get away with that, couldn't let a comment like that slide.
that's how you find yourself on the ground, facing your floor length mirror in the corner of your bedroom, chest pressed to the ground and hips being held by remus fucking into your already abused cunt. you had a perfect view of him railing you, watching with lust blown eyes as his dick split you in half.
"r-remmy," you whined out, feeling your walls clench around him.
"nah," he panted "don't 'remmy' me." he drove himself into you harder as if to prove his point. "you did this to yourself."
you fisted the fluffy rug beneath you, gripping the fabric to ground yourself to something as you felt your orgasm fast approaching.
remus grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you up, your back meeting his chest as he continued. he forced you to look down at where the two of you connected, seeing the prominent bulge in your lower tummy as he pounded into you over and over.
you moaned at the sight, at the feeling, at everything.
"look at that," he said into your ear, his breathing ragged and strained from the workout he was getting, "theres your fuckin' proof its in, yeah?"
this has been sitting in my drafts for so long and i need to put something out for y'all so, please accept this as a peace offering while i work on sugar sweet and the tattoo pt 2
I love the idea of Peter just being the person who puts up with non of the rest of themselves shit
Remus (that time of the month, amber eyes, half growling): GO AWAY!
Peter (still in a dressing gown looking like a tired mum): Now listen here Remus John Lupin, you get your arse out that bathroom and pack your bag or so help me god.
Remus: ...
Remus: *mumbling, but does it*
Peter: Thank you Remus.
Sirius (in his weekly tantrum): I can't go to Charms! My hair! My face! I hate everything! I-
Peter: *gives a look*
Sirius: I...
Peter: Put your shoes on.
Sirius: ...
Sirius: Okay.
James (him and Sirius had a over dramatic argument over nothing): *huff*
Peter (reading the prophet): ...
James: *huffs louder*
Peter: ...
James: *huf-*
Peter: Christ almighty James huff one more time and I'll stick this newspaper up your arse. Neither of you even remember what you where arguing over. Just hug it out already.
synopsis: james is flabbergasted when you ask him if he wishes he was athletic - or in which you ragebait your fiancé.
cw: modern au, james is a hockey player, reader and james are engaged, crack and fluff. masterlist
“James, do you ever wish you were athletic?” you ask, sprawled across the bed, scrolling through your phone while he’s trying to unwind before sleep. Your boredom has turned mischievous, and you want to see just how far you can push him.
James spins around so fast it’s like you hit a switch. His eyebrows shoot up, and his jaw tightens. “What do you mean, baby? I am athletic.”
“No, Jamie,” you say, sitting up just a little, tone teasing. “I mean actually athletic. Like… competitive-level, serious endurance, could-handle-anything athletic. Wouldn’t it make you… happier if you were?”
He blinks, confused at first, then indignation spreads across his face like wildfire. “If? Have you seen me on the ice? I’m literally athletic. Professional-grade. That’s why I can score, block, skate, and—”
“Yeah, yeah,” you interrupt, smirking, “you’re athletic in that way where you sprint five seconds and call it a warm-up. Or, you know, lift your textbooks like dumbbells and call it strength training. Real athletic? That’s a whole different league, isn’t it?”
James sits up straighter, the veins in his neck showing. “Real athletic? I am real athletic! I’m peak condition! I train, I skate, I—do you know how fast I can get across the rink? Faster than half the guys on my team!”
You tilt your head, holding back a laugh.
His fists clench on the mattress. “This is outrageous. You’re questioning my athleticism? Me, James Potter, fastest, strongest, most coordinated hockey player this country has ever seen?”
“Oh, I’m questioning it,” you say, mock serious, pointing at him. “And frankly, I think you’d be happier if you had, like, actual Olympic-level stamina. You’d finally understand what exhaustion feels like, Jamie.”
He throws himself back on the bed, groaning dramatically. “Exhaustion? I’m exhausted right now from having to deal with you, miss sass-and-snark. That’s hardcore athleticism, thank you very much.”
You laugh, leaning over to poke him in the ribs. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that while I run circles around you.”
He sits up abruptly again, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll have you know I can sprint, skate, and bench-press my own weight simultaneously. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
You laugh out loud now, shaking your head. “Jamie, I’m not questioning it, I’m just saying… maybe you could be even better?”
“Even better?!” He stops and turns his head towards you, looking like you’ve personally attacked his soul.
“I am the best! I have speed, agility, stamina! I can dodge defenders, throw perfect passes, score goals… and I still have enough energy to carry you after practice and deal with you! How much more athletic do you need me to be?”
You grin, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I mean… maybe someone who doesn’t huff and puff just from standing up too fast?”
James freezes. “Huff and puff? When do I even huff and puff?!”
You can’t hold it in anymore and laugh outright. “Exactly! So why are you offended? I was just asking if you wished you were athletic. Nothing insulting.”
“No, no, no,” he says, hands flailing in mock outrage. “You’re insinuating that I’m not! That I’m not a professional hockey player! Mind you, because of my athleticism, we live in this big house, and you have this even bigger rock sitting on your finger!” He points at your engagement ring with exaggerated pride.
You lie back, nonchalant, trying not to crack up at how easily riled up he is. Internally, you’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe. Finally, with a small huff, you lay flat on the bed and mutter, “Okay, fine. Sorry, you’re athletic, James.”
He beams, chest puffed up like a peacock. “Thank you! I am athletic!”
A quiet settles over the room. You turn around slowly to face him, eyes glinting with mischief. “Hey, James… can I ask another question?”
He narrows his eyes, suspicious. “What now?”
“Do you ever… wish you were taller?”
That is all it takes. James shoots upright from the bed, eyes blazing, and sits forward like a man betrayed.
“Take that back, right now, woman! I am six foot two! Do you hear me? Six foot two! How dare you suggest otherwise!”
