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#the marauders fanfic
wingedhallows · 1 month
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cause you're kinda cute; james potter
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pairing: james potter x reader | 0.7k words plot: you're kinda scary and james has a crush on you, paper birds which are hard to control aren't helping either prompt: "you don't scare me. then why's your heart beating so fast? cause you're kinda cute." authors note: i tried something fluffy for once, hope you like it, have a good weekend, y'all :)
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The simmering and slight whispers in Slughorn's classroom were the only thing audible, a cold breeze which glided past your cheeks made you sigh. It was mid July and unbearably hot in Hogwarts.
The worst thing was that teachers, especially Slughorn, didn’t approve of improper uniforms. You were allowed to wear shorts, even short sleeve shirts but the robes had to stay, safety reasons he had said. You were sure that he secretly enjoyed seeing you all suffer.
“I’ll drop dead soon, it’s sooo hot in here” Isolde, your friend, muttered as she wiped her forehead with her arm. You were hot, yes, but Isolde had to bear the heat with a head full of black thick curls.
“I told you to put your mane up.” Diana snickered, her ash white hair in a bun on top of her head. You stirred your pot and took another look at the book, something didn’t seem right. Why was Isolde’s whitish and yours almost green?
“It’s not that simple, Diana.” Isolde bit back, her mouth in a thin line. “Just ‘cause you have a fist full of hair.” Diana’s mouth opened in shock as she smacked her friend's shoulder.
“Why is yours like that and mine’s like this?” You asked, leaning over Isolde’s cauldron, eyebrows in a frown.
“Cause you’re kinda shit at potions, hun.” She patted your shoulder and gave you a fake pout.
“But I really need this grade.” You grumbled as you stared at your greenish liquid. Slughorn wouldn’t even be surprised, you thought. “I know, I know." Isolde whispered and dropped something you didn’t know into your cauldron.
“Why don’t you ask for help?” Diana spoke, eyes fixed on her book. “Help? From who?” Diana gave you a small smile.
“You heard Slughorn before, Potter’s a genius at potions.” Your eyes widened as you shook your head. “No fucking way, Potter’s a nightmare.” Isolde’s mouth twitched into a smile as nudged you.
“That’s not what I heard two nights ago.”
Your eyes closed as you turned to your cauldron, you had played truth or dare spiked with Veritaserum. You had blabbered about how hot James Potter and his friends were and how much you would give for him to do certain things to you.
“Shut up, Diana.” You grumbled. 
A second later a paper bird stumbled over your head onto your book, flapping its wings as it unfolded.
10 Prettiest Girls 
Y/N L/N - slytherin, scary :(
Aurora Kent - boring
Lily Evans - snivellus' friend
Narcissa Black - cousin, not cool
Marlene McKinnon
Diana Hunt - slytherin, airhead
Isolde O’Neil - mean also slytherin
Alice Fortscue
Mary McDonald
Florence Williams - slytherin
You couldn’t believe what you held in your hands. Your eyes widened as you looked over it again. You were number one, wow, but you’re scary?
Slowly you turned around, paper in your hand. Sirius and Peter stared at you with wide eyes as you noticed what had happened. This paper wasn’t supposed to fall into your hands, it was supposed to fly over your head into James’ and Remus’ hands.
With your face cold as ice you walked over to them, their eyes still wide. Remus took a step back.
“Y/N, hi.” He spoke, much higher than usual. You slammed the paper down on James’ table, careful enough to not disturb Slughorn, who was busy in his cabinet.
“This-This-”I’m scary?” You said, mouth in a grin. His eyes widened as they switched between the paper and your face multiple times.
“What?” He tried but you let a small chuckle slip. You took a step around the table, closer than needed. James fell back onto his chair, faces inches apart.
“Do I scare you, James?” His lips formed into a grin and he put his hand on the table, to steady himself, you guessed.
“You don’t scare me, Y/N.” You crossed your arms and now smiled at him, your braids fell over your shoulders, almost hitting the boy in front of you in the face as you bent down a tad. Your lips hovered over his ear, his neck tensed
“Then why’s your heart beating so fast?” He hung his head as a chuckle left his form, he placed his hands on his thighs before looking at you again.
“Cause you’re kinda cute.” You threw your head back as a giggle, barely audible, escaped you. Your hand found his chin, lifting his face.
“Right back at ‘ya.” He smiled and gave you another smile.
“And since we’re already here, you might want to cross that, Diana’s much smarter than she lets on.” He nods and takes the pen Remus holds out for him. 
With a hand to his forehead he smiles at you, a pinkish tint on his apple cheeks. 
“Yes ma’am.”
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luveline · 1 year
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𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫
one | two
Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.
bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
You're in the process of ruining your pyjama bottoms with willow charcoal when your father dies. 
The charcoal is fragile, unhoused, and it snaps with too much pressure. An uneven half falls between the sheets of your sketchbook, marring the artwork it rolls over indiscriminately. 
You sigh without thinking and rub your tired eyes, spreading a line of smudgy black under your brow. Squinting, you peek at the portrait you'd been drawing. A young woman with deep, dark skin, her cheek shaded by the leaves of a sycamore tree. The branches arc over her skin in shadowed lines, sunlight dappling illustrated by sparse triangles of the white paper underneath. 
It had been an okay sketch. The snapped charcoal distracts from what you'd originally set out to do — a dynamic, revealing portrait — and instead replaces it with a more abstract feel. 
You sigh again, this time with a melodrama you'd only ever feel comfortable displaying alone. Thankfully, that's the case more often than not. You live by yourself, no partner, no pets, nobody around to see you drop your sketchbook onto the floor beside your bed, kick out your feet toward the rug, and moan. Your socks slide against the hardwood. You kick them like a child as you slip down the side of the bed, shirt caught behind you, soft middle exposed. 
You swear to yourself quietly, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. 
A sharp trilling sound chimes. On the nightstand, your phone vibrates hard, and the water in the glass next to it crests against the sides like tiny shockwaves. 
You pull it into your lap and stare at the number. It goes to voicemail, and then it rings again. Again, again, and again.
You consider turning your phone off. Five phone calls and counting indicates an emergency, but every cell begs to avoid whatever it is on the other side. 
You can't avoid everything, no matter how much you want to. You answer the phone. 
"Hello," you greet.
The muffled echo of a cheerful voice responds.
"Yeah, that's me… Okay. Yeah, now is fine."
More chattering. Less cheerful, diplomatic.
"My father?" you ask.
You are told two impossible truths. 
"Oh," you say. The walls spin. "Right." 
"I hate flying," Sirius mutters.
James hums, noncommittal. 
"You know, my good looks are wasted if we end up lost in the middle of the Atlantic ocean."
"It's not the middle of the Atlantic ocean," Remus says, sounding about as interested in Sirius' whining as James is currently. "It's an arm." 
"It's the fucking English channel," James says. It's barely the ocean. "How much do you reckon a pair of in flight headphones will cost?" 
Sirius, despite his anxiety, has the bandwidth to appreciate James' bad mood. "What crawled up your arse?"  
James sinks down into his seat, knees immediately pressed into the hard plastic of the chair in front, back aching and head heavy from a lack of rest he won't make up anytime soon. 
"He's agitated," Remus says. 
"Helpful, Moony. Super helpful."
"Fuck yourself, then," Remus says, pulling his sleep mask over his eyes and plugging in his earbuds.
The tannoy dings. The seatbelt light flashes. 
A flight attendant raises his voice from the start of the aisle. "If everybody could take their seats and buckle in, we'll be taking off in less than two minutes. Please turn all electronics to aeroplane mode. Thanks so much."  
"Is your phone off?" Sirius asks. 
"No, I actually want us to drown in the channel, but thanks for asking." 
A dark shock of curls lands against his shoulder. Sirius drapes himself unabashedly across James lap, hand on his friend's thigh, ankle crossing over ankle. Genovian through and through, Sirius doles out affection wantonly, smelling ridiculously nice as he does: a heady smell like browned sugar and citrus blossoms coalescing tickles the inside of James' nose. 
"Are you still cranky that you got demoted?" Sirius asks, smooth tones pitched into bubbly baby talk. 
"I didn't get demoted," James argues. 
James had, in fact, been demoted. 
"No, of course not. You've fallen from third guard to the Royal Prince of Genovia, may he rest in peace, to glorified babysitter of said Prince's illegitimate, forgotten child. Sounds the same to me." 
"Then we agree," James says, wanting to close his eyes. 
He'd pretend to sleep if he thought Sirius would believe it. Growing up together erases any semblance of privacy. Sirius knows James as James knows Sirius, and as they know Remus. Remus likely knows them all better than he'd ever admit, the youngest of the trio and the smartest, most perceptive man James has ever met. 
Sirius isn't perceptive, he's vigilant. He can read even the smallest signs of unrest, and it makes him uneasy. There will likely always be a shadow cast over him from a rough childhood, and while James is in a god awful mood, he reaches out to alleviate Sirius' anxiety. 
"I'm fine," James assures him, "just tired." Not mad at you goes unsaid. 
"It won't be as bad as you're thinking." 
"I'm fine. I'm not worried. Didn't sleep last night, and," —he grins as Sirius clasps his arm, their seats shaking underneath them, the plane beginning its race across tarmac— "some scrawny git is squeezing fuck out of my arm." 
Sirius flinches away from him. "You're annoying." 
James presses his shoe up to the side of Sirius' and leans back in his chair, wincing at the rattling carriage as they take off, and again when he remembers where they're going. You wait in London, though nobody in the task force assigned to your assimilation or the advisement team could come to explain how you'd ended up there. Your Genovian citizenship is unacknowledged on your passport, your birth certificate, even, and as far as Lily had been able to suss, you have little understanding of who you are. 
"She sounded tired, mostly," Lily had said when pressed for details about the new princess' personality. "In shock. Slightly disbelieving, but could you believe it?" 
Lily, James'... friend, and work colleague at a stretch, is an ambassador for the UK and full-time genovian resident. Along with a handful of other representatives and officials, she’d been responsible for opening the talks between Genovia and yourself. That is to say, she'd broken the news. 
Surprise! Your dad just died! Double surprise, you're a princess. And, no pressure or anything, but we kind of need you to come back to Genovia to maintain the royal lineage before your grandmother abdicates the throne (unwillingly). 
"Did you mention the tiara?" he'd asked Lily. The Princess' diadem, a master craftsmanship of silver-gold with a diamond the size of an apple. 
"Weirdly, Potter, I didn’t mention the jewellery." 
He supposes there hadn't been time to weasel that tidbit in between condolences and recruitment. 
You haven't promised anything in ways of returning to Genova or taking up the mantle. James understands. If he were in your shoes, he likely would've laughed down the line and blocked the number. You’d shown incredible promise as a future leader, agreeing to meet with Lily and her team at the Genovian embassy. Then, a day later, they'd modified the plan and asked if you'd be okay meeting somewhere more private. 
You'd said yes. 
As someone who may be very involved in your bodily safety in the near future, James thinks you're an idiot. Somebody calls you, claiming that you're a princess, though nobody has ever bothered telling you this before because you were never heir apparent, and that they'll tell you more should you deign to meet with them in a place with meagre surveillance, and you say yes to this?
How you've survived as long as you have is a mystery. 
He hopes you won't make his job difficult. Isn't that what everyone hopes? He feels guilty for judging you without meeting you, promising in his head to be nicer to you in actuality. You're probably grieving and definitely confused. He shouldn't be worrying about his job. 
Redetermined, James lets the anxiety of his new assignment water down. 
Sirius is thinking along the same lines: how easy will you make his particular occupation. "Bets are on. Scruffy or sweet?" 
"Huh?" James asks, pretending he doesn't understand in hopes of rectifying Sirius' attitude. 
"Slovenly or love-nly?" 
"I'm sure she's fine." 
"You should hope so, you'll be looking at the back of her head for a while." 
James rolls his eyes. 
"I'll manage, pretty or not." 
His confidence draws Sirius' curiosity. "How're you so sure?" Sirius asks, chin-lifted, light eyes narrowed in bemusement. His expression dances with the surety of somebody well-raised. He could wear a potato sack and his regal air would endeavour, deep-seeded and neat like the trim stitching of his expensive clothes. 
"Look at my face right now. Do I seem affected?" 
Sirius laughs much too loudly at the implication. "Don't act like I'm not handsome, Prongs." 
"Years of practice." James schools his features into an unaffected mask. "Uggos have no effect on me." 
"How else would you look in the mirror?" Sirius drawls. 
When Remus wakes afterward, he finds they haven't quite killed each other, though James has threatened it twice. With one hand, Black.
"Far are we?" he asks. 
Sleep has made little difference to him. He’s the kind of fatigued that can't be improved with an afternoon nap, and the kind of unwell that can't be fixed. Medicated, diminished, but never fully healed. He rolls his neck and makes three separate, unfortunate sounds, stretching his tight hands out flat over his thighs. 
"Landing any minute now is my guess," Sirius answers. "How are you feeling?" 
He waves his hand around, tired eyes locking onto James' lasting frown. "Sorry for leaving you alone with him." 
Sirius gasps his indignation. The three of them all smile in tandem, James in a rush to add to the joke. 
"You should be, fucker, I don't care how sick you are. You're sick in the mind if you think it's acceptable to-" 
"You're sick for acting like I'm some misbehaved child you've been pandering to. You're bullies, and as soon as we're in the airport I'm ditching you both in favour of a Great British Burger King." 
"One," James says, still smiling widely, "I have your per diem, so unless you brought your wallet, you're sunk." Sirius frowns. "Two, I'd love it if you would repeat that little moniker you gave me a minute before he woke up. Seriously. Shed some light on the real bully." 
Sirius pulls his sunglasses from his jacket pocket and places them over the bridge of his nose delicately. "Unnecessary." 
"I wouldn't mind Burger King," Remus says. 
"We have to be quick," James says. 
Sirius is so incensed he actually spits a bit as he scathes, "You fuckers. I want food and it's lorded over my head, but Moons wants something and your only limitation is how fast he can eat it?" 
He's not truly as angry as he appears. He's joking, and he's fallen into a familiarity that can only come with years of ragging on one another relentlessly. Still  Remus pats his tight shoulder and smiles.
"I'm a slow chewer." 
"He's a slow chewer, Sirius. Have some compassion." 
“How fast could he chew missing a few teeth, I wonder?” Sirius asks.
James gasps, delighted at his friend's casual threat. Remus does a better job at hiding his amusement, tamping back a smile as he reaches over the armrest between their seats and slapping a hand into Sirius’ seatbelt. The mechanism unlatches, the ‘Fasten Your Seatbelts’ sign flashes, and a shaming beeping sound rings overhead. 
Sirius squeaks. 
What do you wear to meet a British ambassador? A Genovian ambassador? Any sort of diplomat? You aren't too sure what an ambassador even is, only that every word Lily Evans has said to you sounds shockingly official. 
"Your citizenship has been reinstated whether you choose to move forward or not. We want to stress that you have choices," Lily says. Call me Lily, please. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to." 
"We also want to stress," says Emmeline, the Genovian ambassador, "that your presence in Genovia is greatly desired. For the funeral." 
"The funeral," you say softly. 
"It will be a… very, very big event. We don't have to talk about all of the logistics now. Or ever, if you're not interested." 
Emmeline clears her throat. "The family would appreciate it." 
The family. The royal family. The Queen of Genovia, your grandmother, and her… unfortunate younger sister, who's behaviour (according to the Internet) has been less than ideal. Her sisters son, who might take the throne if you refuse it. Or, so you've come to understand. 
All this lineage and politics has been hard to navigate by yourself, though rest assured, you've been assigned two personal assistants of a sort. One for appearances of the physical, and one for appearances of the mind. 
A stylist and a tutor. 
"And a bodyguard," Lily says, "your safety is the most important thing." 
You grip the end of your dress in your hands and squeeze the skirts tightly. Safety? You'd rather not embarrass yourself by asking. 
"We actually want you to meet them now," Emmeline says. 
"Whenever they show up," Lily adds. She sounds embarrassed but unsurprised, like this has happened before. 
There's a small silence. You pull your bag into your lap and squeeze it, hoping it hides the curve of your stomach. You aren't sure what you're supposed to wear to occasions like this, and so you'd worn the nicest thing you owned, a pretty, simplistic dress ruched under the chest, and a cardigan overtop. 
You catch yourself frowning and quirk your lips up into a practised smile. Gentle, amicable, the kind you'd offer a passing stranger. 
"Well," Lily says, filling the awkwardness, "I'm sure they'll come around soon. Maybe we should talk about inheritance." 
"Legally, you're entitled to an inheritance. You could think of it like a pension, an allowance you'd be given from the age of eighteen. You've already passed that, and so you'll be given the years upto, and then the rest in annual increments," Emmeline says. "There's a team of people who can and will explain it better at a later date, or whenever you want to discuss it, once you've agreed to a paternity test." 
"A paternity test?" you ask. 
You feel rather useless. All you've done is ask for explanations since you sat down, your head a spinning mill. Information goes around and around with no time to sink in. 
Emmeline opens her mouth to continue and is interrupted by three sharp knocks. 
"Come in," Lily calls. She turns her gaze to you, orange hair moving over her shoulder in a silken sheet, and raises her eyebrows. 
You don't know what it means. 
First to enter the room is a modestly dressed man with straight, sandy hair. It's long enough to peek out from under his ears, where it curls. He steps into the light, illuminating a shock of shiny scars clawed over the bridge of his nose and teasing up into one thick eyebrow. 
"Sorry," he says, not quietly but certainly not loudly. "We had trouble finding the room." 
Behind him immediately stands a man with dark hair to his shoulders, white but tanned. He wears slacks, in which a shirt has been tucked on one side and not the other, a purposeful dishevelment. 
"And the building," adds the second. 
Last to enter is the biggest of the three. You'd hazard a guess that he's six foot or taller, not the tallest of his companions but the most imposing, with a monotone outfit of pristine blacks that he fills too well, his shirt clinging to the muscle underneath it. His skin is a warm brown that soaks up the big light overhead and shines golden, his hair black and thick, laying in mussed ringlets stroked back from his face. 
He is the most handsome person you've ever seen in real life. It startles you. Worse, when he meets your eyes. 
You smile carefully. He smiles back. 
Lily stands to gesture toward each man in turn. The first, "Remus Lupin," she says, "your tutor on all things Genovia." The second, "Sirius Black, stylist and your guide on media presence." 
The third. 
"James Potter," Lily says, not looking at him. "Bodyguard. James will be with you for the foreseeable future, even if you decide on– Well. You should get to know one another, at any rate." You must wear your worries on your face, as she continues, "You're in safe hands. James was third in command in the protection of His Highness." 
"Hello," you say. 
Sirius' eyes widen in tandem with his smile. "Hello." 
"It's nice to meet you. We're sorry for your loss," Remus says.
"No," you say, head tilted toward your shoulder as you frown at James sympathetically, "I should be sorry, you actually knew him. I can't imagine how this feels for you." 
"Thank you. But don't be," James says. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Princess."
You look to Emmeline, almost like you're waiting for her to correct him. 
She smiles at you hopefully. "Shall we talk arrangements for your departure?" 
James is trying not to look at you too much, though if he is he can write it off as purely protective. You're sitting in your seat like you're worried about touching a seat mate who doesn't exist, arms wrapped around your middle and face pointed to the floor. 
"I'll rent a car," he says. 
You curl into yourself a little more. "What for?" 
"It's much safer." 
"I don't want you to– I mean, you aren't a chauffer." 
"I'm not." He bends at the knees to speak directly to you. "There are seven other people on this bus. One is elderly. Three are younger than sixteen. All seven could potentially harm you." 
You look to the left without turning your head, toward the sound of young laughter. He'd bet money on your thoughts. Even the children?
"The driver could have an aneurysm. He could be paid off. He could be carrying a concealed weapon." James smiles at you placatingly. "Understand? If I drive, the potential danger goes down to one." 
"Me?" 
"No. Me." He tries very hard not to wink and look like a dickhead. "But I'm not going to hurt you. Not really my perogative." 
"Oh, good." 
James recall what Lily had said, rightfully. You and James will be in each other's company for the foreseeable future, and while he has a job to do, there's room for friendliness. Sort of. 
He splits his attention between you and the front of the bus, where a small family carts a pushchair. 
"What do you do?" he asks. 
He knows you attend classes for a degree equivalent at your local college. He knows you're a waitress. He knows you moved to central London when you were very young, and that your estranged mother had been the cause of all this confusion. He asks you because he wants to know how you'll frame it. In your own eyes, what is your life?
"I'm a waitress." 
He nods. "Local?" 
"Mm. At a pub called The Morgan." 
"You have a shift today?" 
"Not today. I took the day off." You stand up and click the STOP call button on the rail James is holding. Your arm brushes against his. "It's this stop." 
James trails behind you, off of the bus and straight into a busy street. 
"How far is it to your house?" he asks, loud to be heard over the hubbub and the roadworks. 
"Not long. Are you okay to walk?"
James finds himself oddly charmed by your question. "I'm just fine." 
You squeeze through the crowded pavements lining the street, folded in, keeping your arms close, and you apologise every time you touch someone, even if it's the other person's fault. James keeps close to your back, moving to your side when he worries you might sprain your neck trying to check that you're following. He had some height on you, which is a good thing for security purposes — he can see uninterrupted over the top of your head when he stands this close. 
The day is cool, the last dregs of an end of summer heat lingering in the air and encouraged by so many bodies in one place. James wonders if you're too warm, dressed as you are in tights, but the thought fades when you trip. 
James grabs the top of your arm, fingers sliding between your arm and your chest. Closer than he wants to be, crueller than he means to be as he keeps you steady. 
To his surprise, you laugh. A really nice sound, sudden but sweet. 
"Sorry, Princess," he says. 
"You saved me," you say, a hint of breathlessness in your tone. "Thank you. My flat's in the next building over." 
"Brilliant." His bag is fucking heavy, a weight between his shoulders that aches when he lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the sun as it sets. You've got a long, long night ahead of doing nothing. "What's your address?" 
You tell it to him. "Why?" 
"For the rest of your security detail." 
He slows as you come to the main door of your building. It's quieter here, the loudest sounds a symphony of barking dogs, car engines revving, and the jangle of your keys as you unlock the door and bump it with your hip. 
"More people?" you ask. "Is that really necessary?" 
"You always do that?" 
"It gets stuck," you explain. 
He hums. "It's necessary. The media's been paid handsomely to keep our operation to themselves for now, but there's always pressure to be the first to break a story." 
"And I'm the story?" you ask, nodding toward the stairs in the centre of the room. 
He steps over a bundle of scattered letters. The building is mostly clean, but mail bulges from cubbies, and an old mattress has been left propped against a wall. 
"You're the story," he says, head up to analyse the atrium. There's a skylight spotted with green moss above. 
You take the stairs up to the first floor, where your flat is the first he comes across. That increases your risk of a break in, rapists or robbers. He asks you to wait at the door while he clears each room, knowing it's an unecessary precaution but taking it anyway. It's not worth saving the half a minute it costs on the off-chance you've been infiltrated. 
He snorts at his own train of thought and returns to you, where you're sliding a special locking mechanism between the door latch and the frame. You shake the lock. 
"Did you get that recently?" 
You look up at him and smile. "Since I moved in. I'm first on the floor. Don't want to get murdered in my sleep." 
"Good girl," he says absentmindedly, crossing the room to secure your window. 
He moves into your room again and secures the larger window over your bed. Then, because he's awful and curious, he catalogues your things. 
"You're an artist," he says, head listed toward the doorway. 
You stop by the dresser, hastily stuffing clothes left aside back into the top drawer. "Not– not really." 
The room is a crammed collection of things. It's clear you've attempted to keep it clean. You were doomed to fail, an outpouring of your heart stuffed into a matchbox; books, sketchbooks, notebooks are stacked against the leftmost wall between your bed and your dresser, while paints and pencils take up two thirds of your desk. A small sketchbook rests closed in the mess of your unmade bed, dark bed sheets disrupted by a pair of white pyjamas discarded at the end. Soot or something similar stains the fabric. 
He averts his gaze from your dirty hamper and faces you. 
"At 8PM, one of my team will swap duty with me. His name is Frank, and I've worked with him before, but if you aren't comfortable with anything he does while I'm not working, you can tell me. If I do something that makes you uncomfortable, you can tell Lily. You can tell me, of course," he amends. "I can take the couch." 
"You sleep at eight?" 
"I sleep at nine." 
"You don't mind sleeping on the couch?"
"Not at all." 
You walk to your dresser and pull open the bottom drawer. Inside is a layer of linens, and you pull them out neatly. 
"You don't have to, uh, put on a show for me," you say with a wince. 
"Sorry?" 
"I'm not a princess. I'm not the princess." 
"You don't think so?" 
You look sweet, kneeling on the floor, hair in pretty disarray from the walk home. You move it out of your face and offer a folded square to him with both hands. 
"It's a misunderstanding. But…" You take a pillowcase into your hand and stand up, closing the drawer with your ankle. "Even if I were, I don't think you need to be so formal, you know?" 
You move past him, a wave of nice smells.
"It's my job." 
Again, you surprise him by laughing, climbing on top of your unmade sheets to grab one of your pillows. "Right," you say, stripping it of its pillowcase and shaking it into a new one. The tip of your tongue makes a brief appearance as you plump up the corners. 
You climb off of the bed. "Here," you say, taking the sheet he's holding to press the pillow into his hands. 
"Oh," he says, looking down at the pillowcase. It's covered in small pink flowers. "I don't need this." 
"My settee isn't comfortable." 
"Half of my job is being able to sleep anywhere." 
You smile at him. His words don't discourage you, and he stands in the doorway between your bedroom and your living room as you lay down an old quilt over the settee and tuck a sheet around it and under the sofa cushions. 
"I know it's strange, but you could take my bed, if you wanted to. You're so tall, I don't think-"
James cuts you off, not unkindly. "Thank you, but I couldn't." He lets the side of his chest rest against the doorway, arms crossed. Your back is straight, tense with anxiety. "I have something for you." 
You blink at him. "For me?" 
He grins, his first proper smile all day, and pulls his bag onto the freshly made settee to unzip the front compartment. He pulls out a small jewellery box, pulling the lid off to hold between his arm and chest. 
The tennis bracelet inside is thin but strong, made up of gold-silver links with sapphire-coloured gemstone. He assumes them to be real sapphire or something similar, like blue-hued ruby. 
"This is a panic button." 
You seem more anxious than when he'd pulled out the box. 
"Don't worry about losing it. I'm sure the Genovian coffers will recover." 
"It's not that. Do you think it will fit?" you ask. 
He hadn't thought about it. Luckily, Mary had. 
"There are spare links hidden under the velvet." 
James puts the box on your coffee table and clicks the links into place, handling the bracelet with less care than he ought to. Firmly snapped into place, he offers the lengthened bracelet to you unlatched. 
"Here," he says, pointing toward one link in particular. "If you squeeze this tightly, the heat sensor will alert me."
"It won't feel the heat of my wrist?" 
"It will. It's sophisticated, it'll disregard anything that isn't a sudden spike. That's your panic button. You squeeze that–" He pinches it in demonstration. The small radio clipped discreetly to his shoulder starts to beep, a circling alarm. He removes his fingers from the bracelet and it stops. "Okay?" 
"I haven't even passed the paternity test yet." 
"My being here indicates that you're of special interest. We don't know if you're the Princess for certain, and neither do the newspapers. You're still in danger either way." 
You press your lips together and hold out your wrist. 
James steps close to you, enough to see details and lines he's missed. The longer he stays in your company, the more endeared he is to your shy smile, and your kindness, and he thinks you're the type of person who's outsides reflect the insides. You smile. 
Either side of your wrist glows with heat as he drapes the bracelet over your skin and clicks it closed, wary of pinching you. 
The room is quiet. The clock over your small kitchen table ticks. 
"There," James murmurs, taking back his hands. 
"Thank you." 
He disregards it completely. "No worries." 
His informality gets you, and you smile, your own first and proper smile since you'd been introduced. 
By the time Frank arrives for turnover, James is confident that his assignment to your protection won't be nearly as awful as he'd thought. You'd insisted on making him something to eat, which he'd been sincerely grateful for, as a man can't run on Burger King alone, and then you'd practically showered him in an awkward but entirely genuine hospitality, offering your bathroom and all its contents, every blanket you owned, the TV remote, and a tin of biscuits. 
He introduces you to Frank, and for an hour you make yourself busy in the kitchen, cleaning dishes you'd refused his help with and wiping down the counters. 
He senses your unease at being outnumbered in your own home. Unfortunately, there isn't much he can do to make you feel better, besides appoint Frank to door duty and try to offer some words of comfort. 
James tries not to look as imposing as he feels, clearing his throat to draw your attention as you leave the kitchenette.
"Listen," he says softly, a mirror of you now that you're both changed into lounge clothes and damp-haired from the shower, "I want to reassure you— I'm here to protect you from any and every threat. I know this is unconventional, but I promise to do my best to make this easy for you." 
You look down at your trainer socks. "Sorry." 
"Can you do me a favour?" 
"Yeah, of course," you say, raising your chin. 
"No more apologies. This is hard, and I know that, you don't have to say sorry for anything. I'll promise you whatever you need me to if that will make you feel more comfortable."
Princess or no princess, you're confused, and you're unhappy in your own home. James wouldn't want that for anybody. 
"Do you think someone's going to kill me?" you ask. 
James softens. "No. Nobody is going to kill you." His smile melds slowly to mischief, dark lashes kissing in the corners of his eyes as he squints. "I'm a brilliant bodyguard, okay? Don't doubt my skills. And Frank's alright." 
You laugh under your breath, relieved. "I'm not doubting your skills." 
"Good. I'm not just a pretty face, Princess." 
You sober at the title. The flicker of camaraderie between you fizzles, and you shake it off. 
"Can I get you anything?" you ask. 
He hopes that in a month, or a year, when you're living the high life in Genovia with a hundred serfs and lavish goods beyond your wildest dreams, you'll keep your earnest smile, and your good heart. He's seen exactly what court politics can do to timid young women like you.
"No," he says, matching your volume, "nothing."
"Okay. You can wake me if you need anything." 
He absolutely won't. "Thank you... Goodnight." 
"Goodnight."
You disappear behind your bedroom door. James lays down over the small sofa, alarm set for a dry-eyed 4:30AM, and listens to your flat as it cools. You close the blinds, sharpen a pencil, and for a period of time, he's lulled by the mild shushing of a pencil over paper. 
He falls asleep. He must. A silence settles, thick and uninterrupted as poured molasses. 
A splintering crash pulls him back to consciousness, and every nerve-ending sings as a weight falls to the floor. A thump sounds from behind your closed door. James practically leaps over the settee's arm to your door, Frank hot on his heels. 
He throws open the door, braced for impact.
You aren't anywhere to be seen. 
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
thanks for reading!! i hope you enjoyed this first part, and if you did and you have the time please consider reblogging, it makes a difference! plus i'd love to know what u think or what you'd love to see in future<3
the fics title is adapted from a line in piedra del sol by octavio paz
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cosmal · 1 year
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN 😘💋💋💋💋
cake 🍰 - sleepy kisses/cuddles with james <3
sleepy
summary you james makeout. whilst being a little tired.
content james potter x fem!reader
note thank u baby i love u
You still have your dress on when James tugs you into his bed. The silk rides up your thighs when he pulls you over his lap and lays back against the headboard. You really want to tug at his curls. You have all night.
"Never let Marlene convince me to do shots ever again," James mumbles as you work at his tie. He tilts his head up as you struggle with the knot. He yawns, smelling of fresh spearmint gum and alcohol. "They give me the hiccups." You know. He'd hiccuped the entire Uber ride home.
You finally get the tie off his head and mess his hair as you go. His top button has been undone since he left the pub. "If I remember," you run your fingers through his hair and listen to him sigh, "it was your idea," you say before you lean in to press your mouth to his neck.
You feel him shiver underneath you, the jump in his fingers as he pulls you closer by the hips. One day you expect your flesh to be moulded to fit his hands with the amount of time he keeps them there.
You tuck your face into his neck and keep it there, pleased with the sounds you pull from him. Lazy with your mouth, wet and hot kisses against his dark skin. Spending special time on the beauty marks you have memorised.
"It wasn't," he argues, voice light as air. You feel your ego swell. "It wasn't my idea- Christ, you're an angel."
You pull your lips from his reddening skin with a little pop, scraping your teeth until he breaks out into goosebumps. "I've wanted to do that all night," you admit, the last remnants of sheepishness gone now that you're alone with him in his bed. You expect James to use it against you eventually.
"Why didn't you?" he asks with another squeeze.
"In Sirius's front room?" The barest hint of your shy giggles has James smiling. All hooded eyes, a crush of eyelashes that you envy, and pretty teeth just peeking from his wet lips.
"It's never stopped him from getting it on with Remus," he says like it's a reasonable argument.
"It's his house," you sigh.
"So?"
You don't tell him it's mostly because the thought of kissing him like you are right now, around other people, makes your skin catch on fire. You can imagine it now - your face in his neck and his hands up the skirt of your dress until you can see the lace of your underwear. You much prefer it in the comfort of his flat. Without the wolf-whistling on Sirius's part.
You know James loves it like this too. Loves to get you all dizzy with it. Lazy hugs and even worse kisses. He's addicted to you like this.
You lean back in and James accepts it with a little too much tired giddiness. A low rumble of contentment deep from his chest. "Where did you learn that?'' he asks, breathing in through his nose deeply as your nose bumps the column of his throat.
"I have," you mumble, too busy under his jaw when he tilts his head upwards, "I have the best teacher."
"Fuck, baby," James stammers, voice all husky. You melt into a little puddle at the sound of it.
He scoots you both down the bed with you against his chest. "You keep kissing me like that, sweetheart, I'm gonna fall asleep."
You don't have time to argue. To tell him that's exactly what you were going for. He kisses you. Even worse than you were, and you mean that in the best way possible. Kisses that take away the little breath you have left, all shallow and desperate to keep yourself from passing out with your lips pressed to his.
You think he knows this. He whines and tries to keep your head up with his fingers under your jaw. It turns a little sloppy, his nose bumps yours and his hands turn soft at your sides.
It's not until your dress rides up some more do you remember you still haven't changed. "James," you pant. He hums. Too content with kissing your cheeks. "James, we need to get changed."
"Can't," he mumbles, ducking his head until it falls into your neck and his curls tickle your face, "can't, wanna keep kissing you. Until we fall asleep?"
"We can't baby," you giggle. All high-pitched and airy. "You're in your slacks. And a belt."
"I'll survive," he grumbles.
"Your hips won't, honey," you say and brush his hair behind his ear, scratching the skin there lightly. You realise you aren't helping. "C'mon, I'm in my nice dress. I need to put on my pyjamas."
James, extremely reluctantly, and without a few mumbled expletives, gets up from his bed. He drags you blindly with him over to the dresser.
"This is all Marlene's fault," he whines, hands in his boxer drawer, "I'm never shotting again."
"You gotta stay away from that sambuca, babe," you say with a hint of smartassery.
"I was gonna rock your world tonight," he says, stripping. You watch his muscles flex and try to keep yourself upright while putting your sleep shorts on. "But I think I'm gonna fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow."
You laugh animatedly, despite him being the funniest person you know, yawning into the back of your hand. "Rock my world in the morning, Jamie?"
"And the afternoon."
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msmoony7 · 24 days
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just wrote a summary for the jegulus & wolfstar fic im writing and let me just say it EATS.
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inkymoon16 · 6 months
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Matchmaking
My masterlist
Summary:
Remus Lupin x Reader
The only empty seat on the train is with Sirius, James, Lily and their friends. Since it's a full moon Remus is not on the train. But they think you two would be a good match...
Naturally you were in a rush. You flew through the magical barrier at Platform 9 ¾ and went careening around the corner with your luggage almost falling off the cart. Parents waved goodbye to their children through tear filled eyes but you pushed through the throng of the crowd. You unloaded your things to a train conductor and boarded the train, slightly out of breath. 
Boarding the train always made you a little bit downcast because there was no one to wave goodbye to. When your parents died in a car accident, your aunt whisked you away to an orphanage. Alone and cold, your world changed for the better the day you got the Hogwarts letter in the mail. One of the headmasters at the school was the same as you, a witch. 
You searched the train for an empty seat but as you passed full compartment after full compartment your heart sank. There wasn’t a seat to be found. You didn’t really make friends your first year so there was no one to rely on to save you an empty spot. 
The first thing you heard was their laughter that drifted into the hallway. You peered through the glass windows to see an empty seat. Now faced with actually inserting yourself into a group of people your skin broke into a cold sweat. You must have stalled for a couple seconds too long because a girl with flame red hair and pale skin opened the compartment doors for you and waved you in.
“The train is so packed today! We have an open seat if you want to sit with us though.” She said. You awkwardly shuffled in, sitting down next to a boy with black hair and an impish smile. “I’m Lily by the way. This is James, Sirius, Marlene, Peter, and Mary.” 
“Hi, I’m Y/N.”
“What year are you?” Sirius inquired.
“Second year.”
They all broke out into a smile. “Yeah, us too.” 
As comfortable conversation broke out among the compartment you found you had a lot in common with the rest of the group. It was very easy to sit among them and their company was good fun. They seemed to like you. 
At dinner that night they invited you to sit with them which gave you hope for new friends. They were a raucous group, with little care for the rules. They laughed loud, talked with their mouths full, and poked fun at each other. But they all clearly cared deeply for each other. 
“Hey, I think Y/N will get along really well with Moony. They’re both so quiet.” James said. You gave an awkward smile at the mention of being quiet. You hated being referred to as quiet. Somehow that word had such a negative connotation that you just couldn’t stand. 
Lily looked over at you. “You’re right. But something tells me that Y/N isn’t that quiet.” She smiled at you, as if reading your thoughts.
“Who’s… Moony?” You asked. 
“Only our best friend!” Sirius boomed. “His family is still on holiday traipsing some sort of mystical mountains saving animals or some other ridiculous bullshit.” 
“He’ll be returning tomorrow though. We’re throwing a party in his honor just because. You should come to Gryffindor tower. Our parties are somewhat legendary.” James said, puffing his chest with a pompous flair. 
“Yeah, I’d love to.” You responded, smiling a real smile for the first time in what felt like ages. 
As you walked through the drafty castle halls towards the Gryffindor common room you couldn’t help but let your imagination wander about “Moony”. You had kept to yourself last year and you really hadn’t seen this group of people before. You’d seen Lily in the library often which made you feel drawn to her. They all agreed that you’d like Moony so maybe this could lead to a good friendship. Hopefully he was attractive. 
They had given you the password at dinner last night so you entered the Gryffindor tower with ease. The common room was crowded with lots of people. It was loud, but not raucous yet. You spotted Lily’s red hair from across the room and made your way over. The common room was cozy despite its massive size. Spiral staircases led their way up to the dorms. 
“Glad to see you here!” Lily said genuinely. 
James and Sirius join your company and you all chat about your first day of classes. Their easy joking manner made conversation flow effortlessly. Your eyes roamed the common room, looking at all the people that had come to this party. 
Sirius caught you marveling at all the people. “See I told ya. Legends.”
You laughed at his comment. “Who’s that?” Across the room, near the record player stood a mysterious looking boy. He had light colored hair and a mousy look to his face. He was attractive in a studious way. 
James followed your gaze. “Oh him? That’s Moony!” He grinned. “I knew it. I’ve never been wrong in my life. Knew ya’d like him.”
You blushed, embarrassed. They ushered you over to him and James gave him a slap on the back. 
“Remus, this is my dear friend Y/N.”
So his real name wasn’t Moony. You wondered where he got that nickname from. 
You gave a shy smile. “Hey, I’m Y/N.” 
You two talked the entire night, the conversation never falling silent. James and Sirius were right, you guys had a lot in common. He was a very sweet boy and had a smart insight to many topics you talked about. 
The thing you shared the most with Remus was your taste in music. You discovered that you both shared a love for your favorite singer, David Bowie. He put on his favorite record and Bowie boomed across the entire common room. It was awesome. 
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ageofstarkey · 7 months
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untitled snippet: band!marauders x new-to-the-band!reader
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summary: You're James Potter's little sister and he asks you to join his band. Remus Lupin, the Marauders’ moody bassist, makes you regret agreeing.
content: bassist remus x singer/guitarist reader, potter!reader, "enemies" to lovers, mature content (alcohol, tobacco, and drug use, swearing, etc…)
note: hi so i've never posted any of my writing on here, but i recently started fleshing out this marauders band au in my free time, so i wanted to post a snippet to see if anyone like...actually would be interested in reading it if i were to write a Proper Fic™️
wc: 0.8k ish
✩✩✩✩✩
On one particularly late night, after a particularly infuriating comment from Remus, you snap. You stand up before he’s even finished speaking, letting your banged up acoustic clatter unceremoniously to the floor. Truth be told – you hardly even processed what he said, so irritated by the goddamn way he said it.
“Y’know what?” You’re overtired and practically seething, a half-smoked cigarette trembling between your fingers. “I’m fucking done. With all of this.” You toss your cigarette into the over-stuffed ashtray on the table, paying no mind to the way it bounces and falls, still smouldering, to the wooden surface below. “And honestly? It’s a real goddamn shame because I think you guys have something special. And I think we’d be really damn good together if he -” You jab a shaking finger towards Remus, who looked rather unmoved. “- wasn’t so fucking self-absorbed.”
James tries to defuse the situation, but you’re storming out of the room before he can finish a sentence, intently ignoring him on your way to the front door. You slam it harder than you mean to, shakily inhaling as you step into the chilly midnight air. With a trembling hand, you reach for the cigarettes in your pocket, sliding one hastily from the box. You feel the familiar sting of tears in your eyes, silently berating yourself for being so sensitive as they roll down your reddened cheeks.
Minutes have passed, and you’re halfway through your second fag when you hear the familiar creak of the front door opening behind you. With a soft sniff, you wipe hastily at the lingering tears on your cheeks. You look quickly over your shoulder, hoping for James and sighing quietly when you see Remus standing just beyond the doorframe. His hands are tucked coolly into the pockets of his jeans, and he stares at you unflinchingly.
You turn back around, taking a long drag from your cigarette before stubbing it out on the damp concrete. “If you’ve come out here to offer your two cents on my lyrics, I’m really not interested.” Your voice is clipped and steady when you speak, despite how badly you want to scream and shout in his stupid arrogant face.
His converse scuff lazily against the ground as he takes a few careful steps towards you. Your eyes remain intently trained on your boots, back firmly facing Remus and the house. “I didn’t come out here to talk about your songs, Y/N.” His voice is soft and your heart pangs strangely in your chest. You don’t say a word. He takes two more steps. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to apologize?”
You scuff the toe of your boot against the ground with a scoff. “Not really.”
“I didn’t think so.” Remus laughs softly, and you swear you can hear the smirk on his face. It’s infuriating how amusing he seems to find the whole situation. He takes another step, and suddenly you can feel his tall figure looming behind you. You want to turn around – you want to say something, but you can’t bring yourself to move a muscle. “Whether you believe me or not, I am sorry. I’ve been a proper arse and…” He trails off, evidently searching for his next words. Your heart thumps anxiously in the silence. “You haven’t done anything to deserve it. So I’m sorry.”
His words are followed by a long stretch of silence where neither of you speak. You open your mouth once, twice, trying to offer a response, but you come up short both times. Remus eventually speaks, his shoes scuffing against the damp ground as he takes a step back. “I’m not trying to change your mind or anything, but for what it’s worth, I think we’d be really damn good together too.” His voice is low, steady, and effortlessly confident. Without another word, he leaves, and you don’t dare breathe until you hear the front door shut behind him.
When you finally find the strength to stand, you walk home with your thoughts racing a million miles a second. Needless to say – you’re back at the Marauders house the very next morning. James – who’d been calling you all night, smiles with wide eyes when you walk into the living room behind Sirius. His shoulders drop in relief, and you almost feel guilty for intently ignoring each and every one of his calls.
Remus, in a surprising turn of events, is the first to speak. He’s sprawled lazily on the couch, a ring clad hand resting on his upper thigh. There’s a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and he wears a knowing smirk that makes you want to cuss him out. “Not giving up on us yet, hm?”
His stare doesn’t falter when your eyes find his, and you hate how quickly you look away with warm pink cheeks. “Don’t make me regret it, Lupin.”
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apoetsworld · 2 years
Text
James: Hey im ready! You wanna get lunch? Regulus: Oh…sorry I already ate lunch with Pandora, what do you want? James:
James: Loyalty
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elliewlums · 1 year
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star shaped eyeliner
content warnings: fem!reader, pure fluff, chatty!reader, kissing, making out towards the end, r does sirius’ makeup
just a silly little affectionate thought i had about sirius. enjoy<3 @mad-elia thought u might enjoy this
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“and then james said that i sounded like a prat! but i think he deserved it, honestly,” you ramble. sirius’ cold hands knead the soft fat of your hips and thighs where you’re settled in his lap with a makeup brush to his eyes. you smoke the dark liner into his waterline as you chat happily and he works his digits beneath the hem of your joggers until they reside in the waistband of your underwear.
the sofa whines as you shuffle, the divot where you both tend to sit only sinking lower. you know it’ll break soon, but you’re both too comfortable to care.
“he said that?” is his response; his brows knit unhappily at the prospect of his best friend speaking ill of you. you smooth the creases in his pallid skin with your thumb and tilt his head to keep working on the makeup. sirius pushes against your grip on his face and worms his way closer for a kiss. your chest burns white hot with a residual ache of love for him. so of course you oblige and peck him chastely, head pushed at a funny angle to avoid bumping noses. you’re chatting again before he has time to work another out of you.
“i mean… i am a prat sometimes, but so is james! and remus agreed with me.” sirius laughs. “what?” you ask.
“you’re sweet,” he says plainly. “my chatty girl.”
your body breaks into a flush, hot with affection. you can’t find it in yourself to answer, too occupied with hiding your expression, a dead giveaway to how much he’s flustered you with one sentence.
you swivel to reach for an eyeliner pen to replace your brush. your brows dip as you tell him, “stay still.”
“yes, pup.”
your tongue lolls out of the side of your mouth as you begin to draw an array of stars underneath his eye, only the faint scratching of ink against skin to be heard. when you’re finished, you all but shout triumphantly; you quite unceremoniously thrust a mirror into his lithe hands and grin. he humours you, gazes at his own reflection. his lips immediately and swiftly pull back to reveal gleaming canines.
“pup, this is amazing!” he says, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. you warm at his praise.
“you think so?”
“oh, yeah. you’ve got to do this all the time, i look so hot.”
“you’re always hot, idiot,” you giggle, too endeared to worry about the ego boost you’ve planted upon him. he leans for another kiss.
“fine, hotter than usual. smokin’.” he wiggles his eyebrows.
“prat,” you say, though he knows you mean no insult.
“i’m not the prat, you are. remember?”
he gets a slap to the chest for that comment. you pout, lips full of air that he pushes out with a real kiss, working your mouth open with his tongue. you melt as he scrubs a rough hand across your back and coaxes you closer.
you can’t find it in yourself to be cross anymore.
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jamesunderwater · 9 months
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Limited Vocabulary
based on the @jilymicrofics prompt, urge. word count: 2,625. NSFW.
They’d been lucky to make it out in one piece—though one could argue that James was hardly in one piece, exactly, with a deep gash through his forearm and cuts from debris peppering his face. Lily had been on the other side of the pub, battling with two masked death eaters simultaneously, heart pounding, desperately trying not to think about James on the other side of the building. Last she’d seen, he was fighting off an attack from both sides, but was managing very well considering. If he hadn’t been such a talented spellcaster Lily would have been more worried, but she’d been in enough battles with him to know that James could hold his own against two opponents with fairly little effort. She, on the other hand, gifted as she was, didn’t excel nearly as well at dueling, and needed to keep her mind on the present moment in order to not be blasted across the room…or worse. Every time they were in a battle it was clear that their adversaries were much more interested in ending her life than they were anyone else’s, especially if her partner was a pureblood. This fact had resulted in many fights between her and her friends, especially James, Sirius, and Marlene, all of whom felt it was their responsibility to focus on defending her in a fight. She’d finally convinced them to focus on their own battles by emphasizing that if they died for her benefit, she’d never forgive them. And they were all much more likely to make it out alive if they kept focused on their own fight.
Which is why she’d been being a hypocrite as she worried over James in the middle of sending a hex toward one of her assailants, meanwhile ducking a spell from the other. She’d just begun to gain some focus back when a loud crash echoed across the room, and in the moment she turned to see what had happened, a spell from one of her opponents flew past her head, missing her by inches. She didn’t care—across the room from her lay James, crumpled just beyond a large pile of rubble. She darted to him, ducking spells while throwing her own, aware that it was now four against one, aware that she was probably moments away from both of their deaths. When she made it to James’s side, a brief thought crossed her mind that the fates must have some stake in keeping them alive. In the next breath, she was apparating them to the safe house they’d been assigned in case of emergency, which had already been protected by wards to keep them from being followed. 
James was still unconscious when they appeared on the floor of the dark living room. Lily felt his chest for a heartbeat, the rise and fall of it assuring her enough to take a breath. She lit the sconces in the room with a flick of her wand, ignited the fireplace beside them with another, and then got to work. She’d been apprenticing as a healer for nearly a year when the war took a turn for the worse, and it was no longer safe for her to be out in public. But in that time she’d learned enough to be one of the most useful members of the Order, at least when it came to tending the wounded. By the time James awoke, she’d fully healed the cuts on his face, and his arm was tightly wrapped. It would be sore for a day or two, but would mend fine. 
“What…?” He looked around, groggy, until his eyes landed on hers in the firelight. “Are you alright?” His voice pitched up in worry, and James sat up against the cushions of the couch, placing an arm on hers. 
She laughed at him, her throat suddenly tight. “I’m fine, obviously—I’m the one sitting up, aren’t I?”
He didn’t seem to find this funny, only breathing out a sigh of relief. He looked around the room, taking in that they were safe now. “You got us out?”
She nodded, and swallowed hard as he stared at her. She’d never gotten used to the way he looked at her, with such admiration, with such love and tenderness. They’d been through so much together now, and yet nothing had happened beyond those looks. She never fully understood why, except that the war kept everyone so scared that the idea of letting oneself feel anything hopeful and good felt unnatural, or somehow unkind to those who they’d lost. Marlene had told her that she deserved happiness even in the darkness, that they all did, but somehow reaching for it felt impossible, scarier than being in battle against multiple death eaters. She could hardly stand to lose the love she already had—the idea of having anymore, and risking losing it too…it didn’t feel like a bridge she was ready to cross.
Read the rest on AO3.
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rosekiller-addict · 3 months
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Hey everyone! So I am planning to write a little Rosekiller Oneshot/short fic and I was hoping you guys could help me title it!!
DESCRIPTION:
Evans dead and there is nothing Barty could do to fix that. But oh he wish he could.
And the more Barty looks back on the past, he starts to notice more and more instances in which Evan could be saved if not for Barty's existance.
(basically Barty realizes that he is the reason for Evans death. this will be written in Bartys POV so it will be biased based on his thoughts so who knows if it is Barty's fault or not)
ALSO: this fic is based on the song Gans Media Retro Games (or the idea came from that) so keep that in mind.
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dingusfreakhxrrington · 7 months
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Don’t Fall for the Death Eater
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pairing: james potter x regulus black
summary: if there was one thing james potter was not supposed to do, it was fall for a death eater. especially when said aforementioned death eater was his best friend’s little brother. oh boy, was sirius going to murder him.
warnings: swearing, pining, james is an idiot in love, canon divergent, angst, fluff, mentions of abuse and family trauma, walburga is a shit mother, mentions of death, mentions of murder, strong feelings of guilt, mature, perspective changes (switches between james and reggie)
word count: 4.5k
chapters: 01, more coming soon
a/n: this got a lot darker than i was planning, oops. it also was supposed to be a oneshot but got looonng so here we are
read on ao3 here | masterlist
friendly reminder that comments and reblogs are just as (if not more than) important as likes!
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Sirius was going to kill him.
That was the only logical course of events James could see in front of him. He was going to die and at the hands of his best friend no less.
Well, maybe he was overreacting a little. Sirius would only kill him if he found out, after all. So, he’d just have to keep it a secret. That should be easy enough. Yeah, he’ll just not mention it to him. Or anyone, for that matter. Nope, not at all. He won’t even think about it.
Think about what? Nothing. Nothing suspicious going on here. He hadn’t done anything that could result in any unrelenting fury from anyone, especially not Sirius Black. No, not at all.
When he realised trying not to think about it only made him think about it more, he groaned and tugged on his dark curls as though it would pull the thoughts right out of his head. Then, he flopped backwards onto his bed, allowing his torso to hang down over the edge so that the tips of his hairs just about touched the floor.
Who am I kidding? Sirius is going to kill me.
He hadn’t actually done anything, exactly. Not yet, at least.
Regulus didn’t even like him. If anything, he despised him. James Potter, the scoundrel who had stolen his brother.
Merlin, it’s so stupid.
He wasn’t going to think about it. If he didn’t think about it then this weird new feeling in the centre of his chest would go away and things would go back to normal.
It was hard not to think about it, though.
Regulus had just looked so good in his new Quidditch uniform this year. His smaller frame had broadened just a little, filling the uniform out in a way it hadn’t the year before. His features, too, had grown sharper. The perfect visage of elegance. His hair had lengthened over the summer, although it was still not as long as his brother’s, and often found itself falling over his beautiful grey eyes.
James had been having these festering feelings since sometime in their fourth year. He didn’t know why at the time. He still wasn’t really sure now. All he did know was that for whatever ridiculous reason, he wanted Regulus Black. He wanted to be with the younger brother of his best friend, who was certainly going to kill him the very second he found out.
He was screwed. Positively and utterly screwed.
Not because Sirius cared much for the well-being of his brother, mind you. Well, at least he didn’t want people to think he cared much for him anymore. They were on opposing sides, after all.
Sirius hated his family. Almost the whole lot of them. Regulus was sort of stuck in this weird other plane within Sirius’ mind. On one hand, Sirius loved his little brother more than anything. On the other, he detested him as much as the rest of his nasty, conniving relatives.
Sirius would call James a fool if he knew. For falling for his brother. For falling for a Slytherin. For falling for a Death Eater. That’s what he was, after all. At least, Sirius was sure. By now Regulus would have cemented his place by the Dark Lord’s side, as were his parents’ expectations of him.
Nonetheless, thoughts of unspeakable things swam around in James’ head when it came to the boy.
How could he be a Death Eater? James may not have known him all that well but he knew Regulus wasn’t a bad person. Sure, he could be quite standoffish and had a tendency to look down on others thanks to his stupid ‘most ancient and noble house of Black brainwashing’, as Sirius had called it, but he wasn’t a murderer.
James groaned again then and sat back up, cursing himself for not being able to dispel the younger Black from his mind.
Then, he began to pace. Up and down, up and down, up and down. If he paced any more he’d leave a smoky trail behind on the carpet.
“Fuck.”
“What’s got your knickers in a twist? Is it Evans again? You know she isn’t interested, mate.”
James nearly jumped out of his skin the moment he heard the very voice he was trying to avoid. Thankfully, Sirius had only just entered the room and hadn’t been standing there for the entirety of his minor crisis. Although James wasn’t sure he’d have even noticed if he had been quiet enough but thankfully Sirius Black was anything but quiet.
“I know, I know. It’s nothing, really. Just stressed about the exams, that’s all.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. He really was stressed about their impending NEWTs.
Sirius raised a sceptical eyebrow as he looked at James. "Exams, huh? Prongs, I've seen you face a Hungarian Horntail with less anxiety than you've got right now.”
James released a half-hearted chuckle, unable to fully mask his unease. He always had been easy to read. Always wore his heart on his sleeve. Still, that didn’t mean he could tell Sirius what was really on his mind. "Alright, you caught me. It's not just the exams. It's... other stuff too."
“The war?”
Taking no time in latching onto the topic of war to mask his feelings and worries about Regulus, James hummed, “Yeah. It’s just… things are getting worse out there, you know?”
“Trust me, I know. They’re recruiting kids now. Kids. I mean, I know they’re Slytherin and their parents are Death Eaters and all but they’re still children. Kids younger than us are being conscripted into their ranks and made murderers. If I hadn’t run away when I did…”
And there it was. Sirius was worried about him too, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
“But you did,” James moved to sit beside his friend and rubbed a reassuring hand across his back, “You got out while you still could. As for Regulus, well, we don’t know for sure that he’s joined them yet.”
Sirius only flopped down onto his back, his eyes fixing on the ceiling above him as though he could see the image of his brother consorting with the Dark Lord right then and there. “Of course he has. He was already sitting in on their secret meetings before I left. He’s the perfect son I would never be. He’ll be working for them before you know it. Murdering people too. Just like our parents.”
James didn’t know what to say to that. Nor did he know what to do with the pit it created in the depths of his stomach. Regulus Black. Death Eater. Murderer.
Regulus Black was a lot of things. He was arrogant, entitled, intelligent, loyal, stubborn, too proud for his own good, and quite possibly as tormented by his family situation as Sirius was. He was all those things and more. But he was not a murderer. James was certain of that.
"The thing is," James began, "although Regulus might be stuck in a difficult situation, we can't jump to conclusions about what decisions he will make."
Sirius sat back up to look at James with a mixture of frustration and sadness in his eyes. "You always try to find the good in people, even when it's not there."
“Maybe,” James replied with a half-smile, “but when it comes down to it, I’m sure he’ll make the right choice. You’ve had your ups and downs but he’s still your brother, Pads. You were close once and I’m sure he’s more like you than you’d think.”
Sirius sighed, his expression conflicted. "It's not that simple, Prongs."
"I know it's not," James conceded, "but do you really want to condemn him without giving him a chance? Surely you’ve seen the change in him recently? He’s been bumping heads with other Slytherins and I’ve caught him looking over at our table in the great hall more than once. What if he’s silently calling out for help? What if he’s drowning just like you were and is just waiting for someone to pull him back to the surface?"
“There you go with your fucking metaphors again. You know, they don’t make you look any less like an idiot, Prongs.” Sirius got up then and began to pace the room, his own thoughts running in circles.
He knew his brother. Or, he did once. And he wanted more than anything to think there was hope for him but he’d given up that hope the day he left home. The day his parents turned their wands on their own son and Regulus — good, little, perfect Regulus Black — stood there and did nothing about it.
Silence settled between them, heavy with the weight of the world. Eventually, Sirius stood still, his fingers threading through his hair. "You really think there's hope for him?"
"I think there's hope for everyone," James replied, his gaze steady on his friend. "Regulus might surprise us. And if he doesn't, well, at least we gave him that chance."
Sirius studied James for a moment, regarding him with a contemplative eye. "You're too damn noble for your own good, you know that?"
James grinned, a spark of his usual, easy-going self returning. "Comes with being a Gryffindor, I suppose."
Sirius snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and it comes with being you."
The tension between them began to ease but still, Sirius had more questions. “Why the sudden interest in Regulus now anyway?”
James felt his heart skip a beat as he realised he needed to devise a convincing excuse to hide the true reason behind his concern. To try and hide his fluster, he leaned back on his elbows to appear as casual as possible.
“Well, he’s your brother and you've always been stubborn as hell, but I've seen the way you talk about him, the way you've never fully cut him out. It's like you're protecting something, even if you won't admit it.”
A guarded look crossed Sirius' features as he retorted, "You're reading too much into it." But there was a hint of vulnerability beneath his words.
James shrugged. “Maybe I am but if anyone knows what he’s going through it’s you. You’ve been there, you’ve faced the same expectations from your parents. Maybe he’s just too afraid to take the same path you did. Maybe he thinks he can protect you by staying with them?”
Sirius' expression softened and he glanced away, lost in thought. After a moment, he sighed. “I still think you’re grasping at straws but I know what you’re doing so thanks… for trying to make me feel better about it. I just don’t have the same confidence in people as you do. I never have. I’ve been let down one too many times already.”
Little did James know, he had hit the nail pretty much right on its head. Sirius just didn’t want to admit the possibility because he was too afraid of being let down again.
Regulus still remembered the day Sirius left home. In fact, that night played over and over in his mind every second of every day.
It wasn’t the first time their mother had turned her wand on him but it was the first time she’d ever stooped so low as to use an unforgivable curse on her own blood.
“Get out, Regulus.” Is what his mother had said with her wand pressed firmly to her eldest son’s throat. She didn’t once cast a look his way as she was far too occupied with the beginning of the punishment she was preparing to inflict on Sirius for stepping out of line once again.
Sirius, however, had looked at him. His eyes were stern, as though he was trying to show no fear, but Regulus could see through it now. He wasn’t that little boy who needed protecting from his strong big brother. In fact, he knew the very fear Sirius was feeling. It was a part of him too.
“Don’t look at him,” Walburga tapped the side of her son’s face with her wand, directing his full attention back to her, “Look at me you pitiable excuse for a son. This is the last time you disgrace our family name. You're nothing but a stain on the Black family honour.”
He could still see the fear in Sirius’ eyes. He could hear the sharp hatred and contempt in his mother’s voice.
“Regulus. Get. Out.”
Although he felt frozen in place, his legs began to move on their own and soon he was on the other side of the door, leaning against it with a heavy heart the moment it clicked shut behind him. His entire body flinched when he heard his mother shrill, “Crucio!”
Once again he found he couldn’t move. If he did, that would have been to leave Sirius entirely and he couldn’t do that. He just couldn’t. So, he forced himself to stand there and listen to his brother’s screams.
Regulus' fists clenched at his sides, holding tightly onto his own wand as though he would ever dare to open that door and stop his mother. It was what he had wanted to do more than anything. Sirius had always tried his best to protect him from their parent’s wrath, even after they stopped talking to one another, so why couldn’t he work up the courage to do the same?
He was a coward. He knew that and he couldn't bear it. He wished he could turn back time, confront his mother, and shield his brother from her malevolent cruelty as he had done for him their entire lives. But he knew he was powerless against her, trapped in the thick web of expectations and deep-rooted fear.
Regulus would always remember that day. He would always remember the terrified look in Sirius' eyes and the disdain in his mother’s. Despite their differences, he and Sirius were two sides of the same coin. They both yearned to break free from the toxic grasp of their family's dark legacy.
Every second felt like an eternity as Regulus leaned against the icy cold door. The silence that followed was almost as chilling as the screams that had preceded it.
Sirius was gone that very night.
Regulus sent owls. A plethora of them, in fact. He never received a reply. That was how he knew Sirius blamed him in part for that night. Or, at the very least, resented him for not stepping in. Regulus couldn’t blame him.
Still, he was desperate to know that Sirius was okay. That he was safe. Well, as safe as he could be after refusing to join the Dark Lord, experiencing a punishment worse than any he had before, and running away from home to finally leave it all behind.
That was why he sent an owl to James. Where else would Sirius have gone, after all?
Unlike his best friend, James took only a day to respond to the younger Black brother. It was a short letter but still, it helped put Regulus somewhat at ease.
Dear Regulus,
He is safe. You needn’t worry, we will look after him here. He just needs some space, give him time.
Sincerely, James Potter
Hearing those words meant he could breathe again. Sirius was safe and he was being looked after by people who loved him, truly loved him, and that was all that mattered. He had made it out, he was free.
Of course, Dumbledore had come to the Nobel House of Black personally to ensure the youngest son was well. His parents were quick to brush off what had happened with Sirius as a fleeting tantrum and overreaction.
When the headmaster asked Regulus directly if he was okay, everything in him threatened to crumble. He could have said then and there that he wanted to leave too. That he didn’t feel safe in his own home. That he didn’t want to go through what Sirius had.
“I… I’m quite well, Professor. You know Sirius, he has always had a flare for dramatics. It was just an argument, that is all.”
He was a coward.
The headmaster hummed. “Is that so? Well, I am glad you seem to be well, Regulus. Just remember if there is ever anything you wish to tell me, you can do so without concern. I can protect you.”
The young boy only stood taller as he looked the headmaster in the eye. “I am quite safe here, with my family, Professor.”
Always the perfect son. Perfect little Regulus Black making his family proud.
Seeing Sirius at school after only made it hurt all the more and, as each day passed by, he pushed away everyone who had ever shown any sign that they cared for him. He couldn’t protect Sirius but, by keeping everyone else at arm’s length, maybe he could protect them.
Over a year had passed since then. Sirius was close to graduating and Regulus, well, he had in fact become the very thing he hated most. When the same question was asked of him, to swear loyalty to the Dark Lord, he wasn’t as brave as Sirius. He had taken the dark mark, much to his parent’s pleasure.
Of all his family, Narcissa was the only one who showed any sign of knowing what it was he was going through. While everyone else made toasts and celebrated the joining of the youngest Black into their ranks, his cousin came to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Only when they met eyes did he realise he wasn't the only one. She too had been longing for a different life but she had found a way to live with the hand she had been dealt and somehow he would have to too.
And then the day came when he was instructed to kill.
He looked down his wand at the young wizard who cowered at his feet. He was a student, he came to realise. A third year whom he himself had seen many times around the castle. Now the young boy wept on the ground at the bodies of his dead parents.
“Kill him, Regulus! Do it!” Bellatrix cackled as she skipped around the room, knocking over family portraits as she taunted the child.
In his hesitation, she grew impatient and sighed before crying out, “Avada Kedavra!”
That was the moment his façade began to crumble. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes before spilling out over his cheeks as his wand arm fell to his side.
The boy was barely younger than himself. A life snuffed out as though it had meant nothing.
His cousin wrapped an arm around him then, leaning lazily against him as she admired the destruction before her. “Oh come on, Reggie. They’re traitors. They’re nothing.”
Regulus felt a sickening churn in the pit of his stomach as he stared at the lifeless body before him. It was then that he realised he couldn’t blindly follow along any further. He wouldn’t kill for them. He couldn’t.
“Get off of me!”, he shoved Bellatrix away, breaking her grip on him, but this only seemed to fuel her twisted glee.
It sickened him. She sickened him.
It was finally time for him to follow in his brother’s footsteps. To get away from it all.
Without another thought, he disapparated and left behind the horror before him.
When he materialised, he was surprised to find himself standing outside the three broomsticks. He had taken himself as close to Hogwarts as he could manage, knowing it was the only place he would be safe from his family’s wrath.
He was almost frantic as he pushed the doors open and hurried inside out of the cold, leaving the winter snow behind him.
With his entry, the pub went almost silent. His wand was still firm in his hand, his face still soaked in tears. He shook where he stood, eyes wide as he looked around for a familiar face. For anyone.
Then came the sound of chair legs scraping across the floor and his heart raced as he locked eyes with James Potter, the last person he would have expected to encounter.
“Regulus?”
And then he began to walk over and the distant chatter grew loud once again as the rest of the pub’s customers went about their business once again.
James' voice held a concerned note that was foreign to Regulus. He had expected judgement, perhaps even disdain, from someone like James. After all, it was no secret that he supposedly shared the same purist beliefs as his family. But the look in James’ eyes held something else entirely. Genuine concern, a flicker of empathy that Regulus couldn't comprehend.
"Regulus?" he asked again as he approached, his voice grounding, "Are you alright?"
His defences were still up, his instincts telling him they would be coming for him soon. That the next wizard to fall at the hands of the Death Eaters would be one of their own. A true traitor.
His only chest tightened, and he struggled to find words.
"Why do you care?" Finally, he spoke, his words sharp and bitter. In his world, compassion was a scarce commodity, and genuine concern from anyone, especially someone like James, was a foreign concept.
James’ face softened further, if that were even possible, and although he wanted to wrap Regulus in his arms then and there, he forced himself to give him space. “Because something is clearly wrong. What happened? Was it your family? Did they hurt you?”
Under any normal circumstances, he would have grown angry hearing those words. He didn’t want or need James’ pity. But right now, his warm voice and gentle words were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.
His grip on his wand slackened slightly, his fingers trembling. He couldn’t even look James in the eye as a lump continued to form at the back of his throat, emerging with the emotions welling up that he had suppressed for so long.
He really had given up on himself. No one else cared about him, after all. Not even his brother, who had left him all alone with the monsters they called parents at barely fifteen years old.
"I... I can't talk about it," Regulus admitted in a hushed tone, his voice betraying the storm within him. He knew if he told James what had happened the kindness he was showing him now would turn to hate. He would go to Azkaban for what he had done and a part of him knew that he deserved it.
"That's okay," James replied gently, stepping closer. "You don't have to. Come on, let's head back to the castle, yeah?"
Regulus' eyes stung with unshed tears, the weight of his guilt threatening to consume him. He looked down, unable to understand why his brother’s closest friend would care at all for him. His kindness was unexpected and confusing, yet strangely comforting.
As James reached out, placing a hand on Regulus' shoulder, the younger boy flinched away, and James couldn’t help but feel the strong ache in his heart. Sirius had been in much the same condition when he ran away, a frightened little thing seeming almost beyond repair.
Hours passed and still, they sat in silence. James had snuck Regulus into the Gryffindor common room and up to their room, although he knew his friends would not be so happy about that fact when they came back.
With the war getting worse and his parents having taken such a pivotal stance, he and Sirius had been instructed to remain at the castle this Christmas. Peter had gone home to his parents and was likely having a wonderful, snowy celebration with them as they took the opportunity to pretend just for a couple of weeks that the war was but a distant memory. Remus, however, had also been asked to remain at the castle. Not that he minded, he had always much preferred Christmas when he was with his friends.
James knew he was going to have to tell a professor about Regulus’ arrival. At the very least to give them some warning that his parents might come looking for him. It could wait for now, though. At least until Sirius and Remus returned and dragged Regulus to McGonagall kicking and screaming.
With a sigh, James cleared his throat, his brows furrowed in concern. "Regulus," he began, "I might not know what's wrong, and I know we're not exactly on good terms, but I'm here for you. You don't have to go through whatever this is alone."
His heart raced as he looked into Regulus' eyes, a secret longing hidden behind his words. The very eyes that looked back into his, however, were cold and icy. Deep down in the depths of their grey ocean, James could just about see the pain that resided underneath.
Without a word, Regulus stood up from where he had been sitting on Jame’s bed and began to head for the door.
“Where are you going?”
"Does it really matter?" Regulus replied, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to echo the turmoil within him, “You don’t really care anyway.” His words hung in the air, a bitter truth that he couldn't hold back any longer.
James wasn’t surprised when he felt his heart clenched at Regulus' words. The pain of their truth hit him like a punch to the chest. He had never given Regulus a reason to think he cared, not once, but he had cared all along.
“You're wrong. I might not have shown it before, but I do care. I care about what happens to you, about what's hurting you." His voice cracked slightly, revealing the vulnerability he had tried to keep hidden for so long.
Regulus turned to face James and finally saw the sincerity that was etched across James' features. Even though he had no real reason to, he was so desperate for a friend that he thought he might just be able to believe what James was saying.
His voice wavered, the edges of his resolve crumbling. "You have a funny way of showing it."
James took another step closer, closing the distance between them. "I know I haven’t been there for you in the past. I’m Sirius’ best friend, after all, and it isn’t like the two of you get along, but I do care about you. Sirius does too, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. I’ve tried to talk to you over the years, tried to get the two of you to reconnect, but all you’ve ever done is push me away.”
Regulus crossed his arms over his chest as though he were trying to close himself off or scared that James would be able to see right through him.
“I want to be here for you now, if you'll let me.
Regulus hesitated, his gaze shifting between James' eyes as if seeking the truth behind his words. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he let out a sigh, the weight on his shoulders seeming to lessen just a fraction.
"Fine," he murmured, almost reluctantly. "But don't expect me to suddenly start trusting you."
James managed a small, genuine smile. "Fair enough. We can start with small steps. Like telling the professors you’re here, maybe?"
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wingedhallows · 2 months
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you don't know shit ; the marauders
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pairing: the marauders (+ lily x reader ; platonic ) | 1.6k words plot: Things had changed over the summer, you had changed. Why didn't you speak to them & why did you look more dead than alive? prompt: “you don’t know shit about what happened to me.” authors note: i just love angsty shit :)
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Spending the summer at home was hard, horrible even. All your friends decided to spend their summer together, at James Potter's house. You couldn’t join, not when your parents were fanatic purebloods with a grip so hard it bruised, literally.
Sirius had managed to run away, to flee from his parents' iron grip. You admired him for his bravery, but in all honesty, you were a coward, right?
Did enduring it all, pushing through every insult and curse make you strong or weak? You didn’t quite know. The train came to a halt, the whistle reminding every student to get off.
You had avoided them, your friends. You’d usually walk past the Hufflepuffs to the wagon the Gryffindors inhapitated but this year you didn’t. The Slytherin wagon seemed more comfortable, quieter than their wagon. Just to avoid their questions, their worry.
With your bag around your shoulder you exited the train, a heavy feeling on your chest. You could feel it, the way they stared at you.
You looked him in the eyes, Sirius. No smile graced your face this year, there was just nothing to smile about. Your mother had made sure that you’d remember that.
“Y/N, where were yo-” he stopped talking as you walked past them, not giving them the time of day.
“What the fuck.” You heard Sirius say as James rushed after you. “Hey, Y/N.” He caught your shoulder, a confused look on his face.
“Didn’t you see-”I did.” You paused before turning around. “Let go of me, Potter.” You spat, the cold look on your face was painful. You wanted nothing more than to jump into their arms, to give them the warm smiles they deserved.
You ripped your shoulder out of his grip and stalked off, tears threatening to spill. You were sorry, so sorry it hurt.
“Y/N!” Remus yelled after you, but you were too far ahead, thankfully. You would’ve turned around otherwise.
-
Breakfast the next day was weird, you sat at your house’s table, the Slytherins. Nobody talked to you, you had sat at the Gryffindor table the past six years for all they knew.
The boys stared your way, watched how you didn’t eat. The way your eyes looked lifeless and you hadn’t touched your cup once.
It made them sick.
“She’s not eating.” Sirius said, bread in his hand. James leaned over looking over the heads of his friends.
“Is she even breathing?” he paused, taking a sip from his cup.
“She looks dead.” Lily sighed, her head whipped around to look at you.
“She’s skinnier. What did they do to her?” Remus looked over his shoulder as well, the sight of you, how broken you seemed hurt him. It was devastating to see you like this.
The food made you sick and without another thought you stood, determined to get away from it, from them.
Their eyes were on you, you could feel it. Your eyes found James’, against your will because the look in his hurt more than the crucio curse your mother had sent your way when you arrived back home this summer.
Your heart began to pound as you caught a glimpse of them making their way over to you. Your feet began to walk faster, to get away. “Y/N!” You could hear Lily but you didn’t stop walking. You cut the corner, your shoulder almost hitting the brick wall in the process. "Y/N!" Stop!” Sirius's loud voice stopped you in your tracks, your breath hitched as your eyes widened.
“Just, stop.” he spoke quieter, a hand already on your shoulder. You took a breath, eyes closing in defeat before you turned around, face in the cold mask you were just so familiar with.
“What?” you spoke, voice almost too quiet to hear. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you.
“What the fuck do you mean, what?”
You looked away, anywhere but his face. “Did you need anything?” A sigh escaped you and James pushed forwards.
“Are you kidding me? You’ve been avoiding us like the plague since we came back.” You crossed your arms and nodded.
“What is wrong?” Remus said, a hand outstretched to grab your arm, you flinched away. “Nothing.” 
Sirius scoffed. “You can’t fool us.” he shook his head.
“Something happened to you back home, tell us.” he tried. A cuckle escaped you, face in a frown.
“You don’t know shit about what happened to me.”
Lily took a step toward you, your herbology book in hand. You took it without saying anything. “How could we, you won’t talk to us.”
“I’m busy.” You paused and took a step back.
“Astronomy Tower, 8pm.” Was all you gave them before you took off. Lily tried to reach for you but you were too fast.
-
There they stood, 8 pm sharp. “She’s not coming.” Moony spoke, elbows on the railing. Lily sighed and sat down next to Sirius who had just lit his next fag. “Just wait.” He spoke, breathing out the smoke. “It’s not been five minutes yet.” He said, shoulder leant on the brick wall behind him.
The door squeaked and their heads whipped around, you could feel their stares. With a smooth movement, you swooped your own pack of cigarettes from your pocket. Sirius had sprung to his feet, his lighter almost lit. You were faster and lit the stick on your own. “I got it.” you almost whispered before he retreated with a frown on his face.
“So, you gon’ talk now?” James threw your way, impatiently. “God, James.” Lily spat and stood next to you.
“What? It’s the truth, she’s been avoiding us, not wanting to be around us. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.” He directed towards you, you sighed and took another drag of your cigarette.
“I will.” You said as you pushed your hand through your hair, desperately begging your heart to stop pounding.
You reached for your wand which was tucked in your right boot and took a breath before you called off the concealment charm and within a second the atmosphere on top of the astronomy tower changed.
Your friends now saw what you saw every day.
What the mirror showed you every time your laid your eyes upon it.
The scars of the objects your mother had sent your way in a fit of anger, the bruises of charms and hexes your father had used when you spoke back and the twitch of your eye, your lips of the many crucio curses you had to endure when you defended your friends.
“Oh my god.” Remus whispered, you took another drag of your cigarette. Your left eye still stung, it was probably blue too. You lifted your head, now looking at them.
“That’s why I couldn't talk to you.” You stomped on the done cigarette and sighed.
“I’m not as brave as you, Sirius.” Tears stung at your eyes, your chest tight.
“My parents are just like yours, selfish, hateful, awful people.” You paused and turned around, staring down the tower. The view was as beautiful as it had been the first time you looked down it. Absolutely breathtaking.
“I can’t seem to leave them, though.” Lily’s hand was on your shoulder now. “I’m too weak.” You let the tears fall, your clammy cold hands wiped at your nose.
“You’re not weak, Y/N.” Sirius spoke, no next to you, his elbow rested on the railing as well. “For all I know, you’re one of the bravest people I know.” 
You stared at him now, your eye twitched again. You could feel it now, the pain, all over again.
“I’m not-”To take all of that, whatever your parents did to you and still stand here.” Lily’s hand rubbed your back as you tried to hold back the sob.
“You’re not at all weak, Y/N.”
Remus stood next to Sirius, his elbow on his friend's shoulder. A sad smile formed on his lips as he wiped the tears.
“We’ll take care of those.” He waved at the scars. “I’ve had my fare share of those myself.” he tried, a weak chuckle escaped your lips. An attempt to lighten the mood.
“There she is.” James grinned. “A smile suits you better.” You punched his shoulder softly and he chuckled at you.
“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” Lily waved you off, an arm now around your shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, love.” Sirius threw in.
“You’re not going back there, though. I hope you know that.” Sirius spoke.
“You could stay with us, I’m sure mom wouldn’t mind now that Pads is stayin’ with us anyway.” James smiled at you and you tried to give him a small smile yourself.
“Or with us, I’m sure my parents wouldn’t mind if I explained.” Lily spoke as she rubbed your shoulder.
“You’re not alone in this.” Remus spoke, a hand on your cheek to wipe the tears.
“We hold together, no matter what.” Sirius said, a hand stroked your hair as he gave you a small smile.
“I love you, all of you.” You spoke, a new fag in your mouth now.
“You’re more than friends” You paused and lit the stick.
“You’re my family.”
James barked out a laugh and took a sip from the bottle he brought up here.
“To family then.” You chuckled and nodded. “To family, cause my own sucks.” Sirius nodded and took a drag from his fag as well.
“This family only.”
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luveline · 1 year
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wb baby blurb for remus taking care of clingy/needy drunk reader who just keeps babbling compliments and praise to remus
"I don't think you should go out with Marlene again," Remus jokes.
You smile at him. Your eyes are shiny with some of Marlene's eyeshadow pen, a glossy looking pink that shines iridescent when you move. He wipes at the smudge of it travelling to your cheek.
"I know why you think that," you say, voice heavy with the weight of your intoxication, "but I should. Here's why you should let me–"
He cuts off what is likely a very long list with a quick kiss. "Dove, I'm not going to stop you."
You glow at his fondness. "Oh."
"Yeah, oh. When have I ever stopped you from doing what you want to do? Like when you insisted you could double the pumpernickel recipe, and we were eating bread four times a day for the week."
"That was nice bread, handsome, you know it was. You loved it."
He frames your face with both hands. Your head shifts in his lap, and your eyes widen ever so slightly, lashes fluttering.
"Ooh, you're handsome," you say, like it's a revelation. "You're lovely, look at..." Your hand presses clumsily to his cheek, fingertips unafraid as they ride the ridge of his worst scar. "Look at you."
He can't stand that, can't stand being looked at like he's something worth looking at, but when it's you. He can accept it, even if he doesn't believe it.
"My handsome boyfriend," you say, you're still going, you're tracing over his face like you have a hundred times before.
"My drunken fool," he mumbles.
"You have such a nice face. You have these pretty things," you say, pulling the skin under his eyes, "and this nose. You have the best nose ever. Ever ever." Your lips are shining with maybe spit or maybe lip gloss. He presses the pad of his thumb to it to wipe it away.
"Thank you, dovey," he says.
You deserve over the two peaks of his top lip. "For what? Ohhh, you are so hinting for a kiss." You slam your eyes shut, screwed too tight. "Okay, I'm ready. Please."
Your 'please' is what gets him. He strokes your cheeks. "You're sure you're ready?" he asks, entertaining your melodrama.
"Triple sure."
"Okay. Hang on to your seat," he says.
You twist your hand into his t-shirt. He leans over your, tilting his head and torso to one side to align your faces, and his lips ghost against yours. You lift yourself off of his knee to encourage a firmer press, and he holds your head carefully in place. He tries to make it as Prince Charming as possible, all the gentleness and magic of your very first.
You sigh against him. He knows he's managed it.
"Handsome and a really good kisser," you praise, awed.
He has to hide his smile in your cheek.
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cosmal · 11 months
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cake — send me in a character and a prompt and i’ll write you a blurb!
sirius black + showering together for the first time? maybe?? you’re definitely super shy and he softens you up with compliments and washes your hair (and he lets you was his)
suds
summary you and sirius have your first shower togehter
content sirius black x fem!reader
note mal ur so real for this
You stand behind the curtain to Sirius's shower, still in your underwear. He waits on the other side, warming up the water for you. He'd been fine with being the first to get undressed and you really appreciate him for it.
You've been naked around each other enough times for you not to be as nervous as you'd been the first time. You've never showered with him and you're thankful you're doing it before you take it further eventually.
"You coming, baby?" he asks gently, just loud enough so he's heard over the splash of water.
You blink, eyes heavy, head even worse. Despite the nerves, you really want to get under the warm water. You take off your bra and step out of your undies and feel a little better seeing yours piled up next to his boxers. Yours blue next to his grey. It's strangely calming.
You nudge the curtain with your shoulder, hands too busy crossed over your chest, folded in on yourself when Sirius opens it up to let you in.
"Darling," Sirius says, more than elated to see you. He keeps it hidden, voice soft and gentle. He can't hide it entirely too well with his little smile and sparkling eyes. "C'mere," he says, arms open and glittery, "you'll get all cold."
Sirius ushers you under the stream and not once has he stopped looking at your face. It relaxes you more than it should and you feel almost bad about it. Sirius is allowed to look at you, you like it when he does because he always looks like he's about to crumble. You don't make it easier with your hands tucked under your armpits, but you think Sirius knows you'd rather him not look down. He knows how to pace things.
Sirius is the most patient person you know and you love him for it.
"Sorry, I took so long," you say despite yourself. You share the stream with him, almost chest to chest. Your arm nudges his chest and you almost want to apologise but you can hear his response already.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says as he touches your shoulder. His fingers drip water in places that are still half dry and you shiver. He touches you as soft as you'd expect, maybe worse. Gentle fingers against gooseflesh skin.
There's a silence. Only running water and your breathing. Sirius's feet as they squeak against the tile below the both of you when he moves. You stay still and really don't know what to say. How much does someone's shower routine change when you have to reach around the other person's hip to grab your soap? Should you ask him to move?
"Sirius," you say. You're so close you wouldn't be surprised if he felt it against his dewy cheek. "I'm so nervous."
His bottom lips juts out and despite yourself, you want to kiss it. All slippery, kind kisses that feel warmer than the water. "It's okay. You're okay."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be," you apologise.
"It's just me, yeah?" he says. You watch the water that sprays on his shoulder as it pushes his hair down and into his collarbone. He's so pretty and you're entirely silly.
You reach out to touch him and are hesitant with it. Your hand stops before you reach him.
"You can touch me lovely." You hate that he knows what you're thinking, and you hate yourself more for thinking it in the first place. You're not assuming, you shouldn't be, Sirius has his own boundaries. But, he's your boyfriend - you can touch him. Especially in the shower. It leaves no room for modesty.
"Yeah," you say, a little breathless, a lot giddy.
You reach out and trace his tattoos. Down the stem of a pretty, inky flower - the points of a group of stars. Sirius grabs you by the hips as you do so and it startles you how much you like it. How much you want him to pull you closer.
He tucks his head down to watch you with the prettiest smile he's ever given you. He's enraptured. It melts his silly little heart to watch himself make you so calm.
"Can I wash your hair, baby?" he asks, selfishly he might add.
You look back at him, embarrassed at your glossed-over eyes and the nibbled lip you'd tucked between your teeth. "Would you want to do that?"
Sirius seems like he's been burned. His eyes widen and he squeezes you harder by the hips. "Of course, I would," he laughs.
You reach up and hold him by the cheeks. Water rushes down your hands and your elbows into heavier streams that point towards your thighs. "Can I wash yours first?" you ask and push it behind his ears in soaked strands.
"Yeah?" he says, more excited than you're expecting.
You stare into his eyes, soft blue until it bleeds out into a sparkling grey that makes you feel weak. His heavy eyelashes that clump up under the water that drips from his hair. "Yeah," you smile.
He grins back, much worse than yours, and reaches down for your shampoo to hand to you. "Be gentle, yeah?"
You roll your eyes and squeeze a bunch into your open palm. He stares at you as you work it through his hair and you squirm under his gaze. You know he's aware of his effect on you. He smiles and has to bite it back. You stare at his scalp and pretend you're too busy to look him in the eye.
"Stop staring at me," you say, shy laughter hot in your throat.
He leans his cheek on your arm where you've got it next to his head. "I don't think I will," he smiles, the chub of his cheek slips against your skin as he goes.
"Stop," you say and don't mean It
"No," he says seriously. "No, I'll only stop when you stop being so fucking gorgeous."
"Sirius."
"Really," he laughs now.
"No."
"You're fucking amazing." He's so genuine about it, you wish you weren't trapped in your tiny studio apartment shower.
"Tilt your head back," you say instead of what you want to. Something like Sirius, if you don't stop I'm going to pass out right here in the shower.
"Beautiful."
You tilt his head under the water before he can wax poetic any longer. He laughs and his mouth fills with water. He splutters and scrunches his eyes shut, face bright with boyish glee. You think he might spit it out at you but he lets it dribble out and down his chin - much to your delight. It's daunting how pretty he looks as he does it. Suddy face and hair in his eyes.
"All right," he says, pushing his hair from his face. "Turn around, it's my go."
"Be gentle, please, Sirius," you say, and tilt your head up.
Sirius groans from the back of his throat. "God, honey, when you say it like that, I'd be an ass not to, huh?"
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msmoony7 · 25 days
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help me with my fic!!
im thinking about writing a marauders fic about a student studying abroad at hogwarts from ilvermorny. would you be more inclined to read it if it was jegulus, wolfstar, or my own creation with one of the characters? feel free to reply with ur thoughts as well, especially if you're interested in an own creation!!
poll part 2
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moonlightonmyscars · 2 days
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You’re Gonna Go Far, Ch. 2
Summary: Sirius gets a tour of the Potters house and a glimpse at what it’s like to be a part of their family.
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