monserelates

[monserelates]

How readers who don’t reblog like or show any other means of support on fluff pieces feel getting on here and complaining that there is no fluff

The amount of times I see people complaining about how much smut there is, I go onto their blog to see their reposting NOTHING but smut??? 🤨 it’s not exactly clicking…

BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE!! IF YOU WANT IT SO BAD, THEN WRITE IT YOURSELF

+ authors can write WHATEVER they want, smut angst, or fluff. And if they want to write nothing but smut, then let them! Especially when you don’t support their fluff pieces, why would they write it when nobody supports it?

[monserelates]

when ur reading fanfic and one character was cooking and the other comes up to them and they start making out and everyones like starting to take their shirts off and the author STILL hasnt mentioned anyone turning off the stove

[monserelates]

James stares in the mirror every morning and goes “I don’t chase, I attract” like thirty million times only to then go to the great hall and get rejected by his crush for the fifth time this week (it’s Monday)

[monserelates]

"how does one get into marauders?" divine intervention. i dont know how i got here

"can you explain marauders era and the earlier eras fandoms?" i dont even know what i know

[monserelates]

Thank you so so much for the recognition of my work! I really appreciate it 💓

Saiges Favs — HP Fic Recs

I wanted to compile my FAVORITE fics ive saved on this page to spread the love ! (More to be added 🤍)

PLEASE visit, like, and reblog these pages and their works <3 - updated/added july 10th 2025

Harry Potter:

Project Partner // @hollowdeath (“you and harry have been working on a project involving amortentia, the most powerful love potion to exist, and when harry tests your device the night before it's due, he has some rather intense side effects.”) (Warnings: Smut!!! dom!harry, fingering, penetration, breeding) (NSFW) (6k) Slytherin!Harry Potter - Enemies to Lovers // @hollowdeath (“you and harry have been quidditch rivals ever since you've become captain of the gryffindor team. the tension between you two rises until one of you needs bandaged up by the other, leading to you making a discovery about the school's bad boy that leaves you baffled and insanely curious.”) (Warnings: “Smut! Angst // Mentions of Blood // Degadation kink // Sub! Harry x Dom!Reader // Dry Humping”) (NSFW) (7k) Drabble // @snowluvvie (Warnings: Blood // Kissing // Eager Reader) More Than Anything // @rainydayathogwarts (“keeping your relationship a secret is difficult when you just can't stop staring at your boyfriend”) (Warnings: Angst / Fluff / Death Eater family! Reader) (1.1k) Dreaming // @matsdoll (“Harry having a rather…sexual dream about you”) (NSFW) Summer Lovin’ // @rainydayathogwarts (“you decide to visit harry over the summer, playing the classic 'girl next door' so harry's uncle lets you in.”) (SFW) (0.8k) Obsession // @hollowdeath (“harry potter (19) is attending university after hogwarts, and isn't recovering well from the war. completely alone, harry soon grows attached to you, the girl from his potions class. however, his attachment quickly turns to obsession, and harry isn't sure how much longer he can be just friends.”)(Warnings: “smut!!! perverted thoughts/acts, shame, masturbation, stalking, obsession, yearning/pining, intoxication, jealousy, stealing panties, dry humping, cumming in pants, oral sex, overstimulation, penetration, creampie”) (NSFW) (19k+(?)) Attraction // @mysticalx("A certain inexplicable gravity one feels towards the other. It is often subtle and steady.") (0.9k) Flavorful Love // @acvstar ("nothing but harry potter headcanons, but both of you are friends with HEAVY tension. a little thing in the end, like a fic? it’s a bit heated tho!!!" (mentions of sexual content) (SFW) Forget Me,Not // @folklvrsworld ("au where the wizarding world is under a curse where each witch/wizard that turns 18 loses all their memories and have to start a new life. takes place after the second wizarding war.) (SFW)

James Potter:

Splintered In Time // @godricgryffinsnore (“When a spell gone wrong sends you hurtling back to the Marauders era, you find yourself entangled in a life you were never meant to live. Torn between the friendships you left behind and the forbidden love you were never meant to have, you must face the impossible choice: to hold on to a borrowed future or fight for the one slipping through your fingers. But time is never kind to those who dare to rewrite it. And love—love is the most reckless magic of all.”) (Warnings: “Emotional Whiplash // Angst // Snily ending”) (SFW) (10k) 1-100 Series (Eventual james potter x fem!reader; inevitable angst and annoyance as james slowly matures over his time at hogwarts.) (slowburn) (56.3K) Friends with Benefits // @twovialsofamortentia (smut 18+, unprotected sex, oral f receiving, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, casual sex, sub!james Make It Up // @venusmcflytr4p ("Modern AU. When James Potter and his secret girlfriend, who happens to be Remus’s younger sister, go up to his room during a house party, Remus gets overprotective.") (Warnings: Alcohol consumption, dub-con?) (NSFW) Glitch // @wintrsoul ("you had always known that James Potter hated your guts, but one single beeping alarm of his watch told you otherwise.) ( Enemies to lovers) (SFW) Firewhisky & Trouble // @monserelates (" When, at a Gryffindor party, y/n gets a tad bit drunk and some feelings come out") (SFW) The Marauders Map // @starcrossedslytherin ("James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter need help for a special resource for their pranks, so who better to go to than the best charms student Hogwarts has to offer- also the girl James seems to be in love with.) (SFW)

Sirius Black:

The Twin Swap // @adalitas-coffeebreak-corner (“In an attempt to prank your twin brother James, you suddently find yourself in a situation where you can no longer ignore your feelings for your brothers best friend.”) (Warnings: “bodyswapping with hames // excessive yearning”) After Hours // @itsalliny0urhead (“You and Sirius Black have hated each other for years — or at least, that’s what everyone thinks. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, a pureblood and a blood traitor — you were supposed to hate him. And for years, you played the part perfectly. The insults, the hexes, the glares across the Great Hall — it was all easy. But it wasn’t real.”) (SFW)

Remus Lupin:

- soon -

Ron Weasley:

- soon -

Draco Malfoy:

Childhood Lovers // @theodorenmyth (“Draco Malfoy has been hopelessly in love with you for years, and everyone—except you—knows it. After endless pining and relentless teasing from your friends, he finally promises to confess on your birthday.“) (SFW) (3.8k)

Fred Weasley:

Tangled Up With You All Night // @fear-less (“In which, you and fred go to the yule ball and end the night with a bang (almost literally)”) (Warnings: “Fluff // Smutty but not descriptive // Estabilshed relationship // Pretend the opposite gender can go into the dorms”) (SFW) (3.8k) Fire and Ice // @emeritusemeritus (“If it's not too much to ask, could you maybe do a Fred fic with a bit of an insecure reader? As in, she hears some people say nasty things about her (mainly about appearance like weight) and her relationship with Fred, and she distances herself from him until one day she really can't handle staying away from him anymore? Sweet sweet fluff with a bit of making out by the end, maybe?”) (Warnings: Insecure Reader // Self Deprecation // Bullying // Verbal Abuse // implied Sexual References”) (SFW) (2.7k) Party Monster // @lordprettyflackotara (“Warnings: MUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. TW: partying, drug usage (cocaine guys), fred’s ooc sorry not sorry, paranoia, etc. just overall v mature themes. OBVIOUSLY DO NOT DO COCAINE. this has a lot of plot ;)”) (SFW ?) First Love // @swfpoetry (“She fell in love first, he fell harder”) (SFW) Hate and Love // @mssorceressupreme (“in the mission of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow, you and Fred get thrown off-track as his broom breaks, resulting in an overnight detour at a hotel. “) (Warnings: “18+, halfblood!reader, One Bed Trope, enemies to lovers, boner!alert, oral!freceiving, p in v, grumpy x sunshine”) (NSFW) (5.8k) Brains And Bedhead // @godricgryffinsnore ("A playful and passionate look into Fred Weasley’s love for his brilliant girlfriend—where wit meets worship, rambling turns to romance, and being smart has very unexpected consequences.") (Warnings: suggestive content / implied sexual activity, Light smut (no explicit scenes, but strong innuendos) (SFW) (.6k) Another Mans Treasure // @spencersmopbucket ("You're Cormac McLaggen's girlfriend — but Cormac pays more attention to Quidditch than you. Shame, shame.. Fred just can't let you go to waste." (Warnings: NSFW (oral!fem receiving), cheating on partner )

George Weasley:

- soon -

MISC!

- Gryffindor Characters Modern AU (“silly modern! AU head canons of the main gryffindor characters :) pairing: harry, ron, fred, george, ginny and hermione x reader”) (Warnings: “Mentions of substances, Alcohol and weed, mentions sexual acts:”) (SFW)

[monserelates]

[monserelates]

You’re Warm ; James Potter

⇨pairing: f!reader x james potter

⇨summary: Y/N is stubborn, reckless, and totally not sick—no matter what her fever, cracked voice, and hallucinations suggest. James Potter would love to believe her, but unfortunately for her, he knows her better than anyone.

⇨cw: reader is a quidditch player but it’s not that revelant to the plot, mutual pining, crack, idk what else

⇨a/n: lowkey repeating tropes because I just love a good stubborn reader but yeah, hope u enjoy

The portrait hole slammed open with a bang so loud that three second-years nearly jumped out of their skin.

“—BLOODY HELL,” Sirius Black yelled from his perch by the fire. “Is that a banshee? Oh—never mind. It’s just you.”

You marched into the common room, dripping wet from head to toe, hair plastered to your forehead, Quidditch uniform clinging to you like a second skin. Mud was streaked up the backs of your calves, and your broom—dangling in one hand—was trailing leaf bits like a soggy war prize.

“I told you she’d go out flying in that storm,” Lily said, not even looking up from her Transfiguration essay.

“I was hoping she wouldn’t be that dumb,” Marlene added, flipping a page in her notebook. “Clearly I was wrong.”

James looked up from the chess match he was losing to Remus. His eyes flicked over you—sopping uniform, red nose, triumphant grin like you’d just single-handedly won the Quidditch Cup—and then he blinked. “What the hell, Y/N?”

“I was bored,” you said breezily, squelching your way across the rug and dropping your broom with a thud. “And it wasn’t even raining that hard when I started.”

“You look like you swam home.”

“I was training. You wouldn’t understand.” You tossed a look over your shoulder and winked. “Not all of us can be benchwarmers, Potter.”

James’s jaw dropped in fake offense. “Excuse me. I’ve scored more goals than—”

“Than Sirius’s body count?” Marlene quipped.

Sirius, sprawled dramatically across the couch, raised his arms in victory. “Thank you for noticing.”

“I was gonna say than Remus has corrected my essays, but that works too.” James shook his head at you, smiling in that maddeningly fond, exasperated way. “You’re mental.”

“Quidditch players are built different,” you said, peeling off your jersey, that read “L/N” and the number 7 and tossing it onto a nearby armchair with a wet slap.

Peter made a face. “That thing’s alive.”

“I feel alive,” you said, flopping down into the nearest seat and kicking your feet up on the table. “That was the best flying I’ve done all term. Wind’s wicked up there—good practice for winter matches.”

“You’re gonna die of pneumonia,” Remus said calmly, not looking up from his notes. “And then I’ll be stuck tutoring your ghost.”

“I won’t die,” you sniffed, rubbing at your nose. “I’ve got the immune system of a Hippogriff.”

“Really?” Lily drawled. “Because your nose is already turning red.”

You scowled. “It’s from the wind.”

James leaned forward a bit, elbows on his knees. “You sure you’re alright?” His voice was softer now, teasing gone. “You’re sort of…shivering. And you look like you sneezed on a live wire.”

“I’m completely fine, Potter.” You crossed your arms. “Actually, I feel amazing. Invigorated. Glowing, even.”

Sirius snorted. “You’re literally steaming.”

True enough, there was a slight haze rising from your clothes as they began to dry unevenly by the fire. You were very pointedly not looking at James, because he was still watching you too closely and it made your stomach do a weird flipping thing.

“I’d rather drop dead than admit James Potter was right,” you muttered.

“What was that?” he asked, grinning.

“Nothing.”

Lily raised a brow. “Weren’t you supposed to meet with Slughorn for your potion redo?”

You blinked. “Oh…crap.” You glanced at the clock. “I’m already ten minutes late.”

“Go like that,” Marlene smirked. “Maybe he’ll pity you and give you full marks.”

“Yeah,” Sirius added, “tell him you survived a hurricane on a broomstick and your cauldron imploded from bravery.”

“You’re all terrible,” you mumbled, but you were smiling as you dragged yourself upright and trudged toward the dorms, squelching with every step. You paused by the stairs, turned back to face the common room—and met James’s eyes.

They were soft again, the way they sometimes got when he thought you weren’t looking. Like he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but didn’t dare yet.

“I’m fine,” you said again, to no one in particular.

James tilted his head. “Right. Completely fine.”

You gave him your most dramatic eyeroll and disappeared upstairs—ignoring the tiny tickle in your throat that had definitely not been there earlier.

..

You were not sick.

You were…slightly tired. A little flushed, maybe. But that was just from Slughorn’s dungeon being way too warm. Obviously.

“Here,” Lily said, shoving a steaming mug into your hands as you curled into the corner of the couch. “Chamomile with honey. Don’t argue, I already hexed Sirius for mocking your sneeze.”

“I wasn’t mocking,” Sirius said from the other armchair, where he was poking the fire with his wand. “I was imitating. For science.”

“Your science is garbage,” Marlene muttered, tossing a cushion at his head.

“Also,” Dorcas added, “if you sneeze again like that, I will record it. For future blackmail.”

“I’m not sick,” you croaked. Unfortunately, it came out slightly cracked and hoarse—like your voice had been run through a cheese grater.

James, who’d been pretending to read from the seat beside you, slowly lowered his book and looked over. “You sure about that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him over the rim of the mug. “Yes, Potter. I am.”

He held up both hands, mock-innocent. “Alright, alright. Just checking. You look…radiant. Like a freshly boiled tomato.”

“That’s from the blanket,” you sniffed, pulling it tighter around your shoulders. “Marlene made me sit on my hair so I’d stop dripping on the floor.”

“She was leaving a trail,” Marlene said. “Like an overachieving slug.”

“She got mud on the stairs,” Dorcas added. “Lily threatened to charm her socks to scream if she did it again.”

“Okay, rude,” you grumbled, tucking your knees under the blanket. “No one here appreciates a good training session.”

“Rain-soaked death wish,” Remus corrected. “That’s what it was.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius cut in, “but I have to ask—why in the name of Merlin’s soggy pants did you go flying in that weather?”

“Character building,” you said stubbornly.

“It built character into your lungs,” James muttered.

You ignored him, because acknowledging he might be right was not on the agenda. Instead, you turned to Marlene and nudged her with your sock-covered foot. “Tell them I’m fine.”

Marlene blinked at you. “Babe, your nose is redder than Gryffindor’s house colors.”

“I’m fine.” You dramatically took a sip of your tea. It burned your tongue. You tried not to flinch.

Lily, from her perch at the study table, didn’t even look up. “If you fall asleep in the common room tonight again, I swear to Godric I’m levitating you straight into the Hospital Wing myself.”

“I’m not—” You paused. Cough. Cough-cough. Double cough.

James slowly raised an eyebrow. Sirius made the world’s most annoying ah-ah-aaah? sound like a game show buzzer.

“Don’t,” you warned, pointing at him.

He raised his hands. “Just saying. You sound like a howler on its last breath.”

“Stop bullying her,” James said—but he was smirking. “She’s fragile.”

“I’m going to punch all of you,” you muttered, curling further into the blanket. “Except Lily. Lily made tea.”

“And I’d do it again,” Lily said, walking over to plop another cushion under your feet. She fluffed your hair like you were a pet owl. “Because I care. Even if you’re being a stubborn idiot.”

There was a pause.

“I also care,” James said a little too quickly.

All five girls turned to look at him.

Peter snorted. “Subtle.”

James flushed and shoved his face back into his book. “I care in a general Gryffindor-bravery-friends unity way. Shut up, all of you.”

Remus gave him a knowing look. Sirius made kissy noises. James threw a quill at both of them.

You were too tired to react to the chaos this time. The blanket was warm, your tea was working, and the ache in your limbs was…maybe a tiny bit worse than before. But you weren’t going to admit that. Yet.

You leaned your head against the back of the couch and sighed, half-content, half-defeated.

Dorcas grinned at you. “When you wake up dead tomorrow, can I have your broom?”

You stuck your tongue out at her. “Joke’s on you. I’m immortal.”

Your voice cracked again. Everyone laughed.

And somewhere behind the noise, James was still watching you—quietly, from behind his book—his lips twitching into a soft smile every time you tried to pretend you weren’t falling apart.

..

You could not stay in the common room.

The fireplace was too hot, the sofa was too scratchy, and James was too there. Watching you like you were a time bomb in a hoodie.

You waited until everyone had finally drifted to their dorms, until even Sirius had run out of dumb things to say (and that took a while), and then you slipped out.

Slippers, blanket, mug in hand.

Because, yes, maybe your fever had climbed past “mildly dramatic” into “concerning,” but it wasn’t that bad. And you’d be damned if you let everyone keep mothering you like you were three seconds from spontaneous combustion.

You needed air. Space. Solitude. Possibly a quick death.

What you didn’t need was James Potter’s voice echoing after you the moment you opened the portrait hole:

“Oi—where the hell are you going?!”

You jumped, almost sloshed tea onto your foot. “Nowhere!”

James appeared in the archway in his pajama pants and a Gryffindor hoodie, squinting like a sleepy golden retriever who had absolutely not been waiting up.

“You’re sneaking out while sick?” he asked. “Are you…deranged?”

“I’m not sick,” you snapped, immediately following it with a coughing fit so violent it made the Fat Lady flinch in her frame.

James crossed his arms. “Right. Healthy as a Flobberworm.”

“I just need some air!” you said. “The common room was suffocating me.”

“Because you’ve got a fever. That’s what fevers do.”

You turned and started walking. Or…stumbling. Same thing.

James let out a long-suffering groan and followed, muttering to himself the whole way down the stairs: “Unbelievable. Absolutely unhinged. Should’ve just dragged her to Pomfrey. Should’ve let Lily tie her to the bed with a Sticking Charm—”

“I can hear you.”

“Good.”

You reached an empty classroom tucked off the Astronomy corridor, one the prefects usually used for late-night patrol breaks. Moonlight streamed through the high windows, casting a soft blue glow over the desks and your very dramatic blanket situation.

You flopped into the nearest chair. The motion made your head spin.

James hovered by the door, arms crossed again. “You’re going to pass out.”

“Then I’ll do it in peace.”

He sighed. Loudly. “You’re like a sick Victorian poet. What next, tuberculosis and a sad piano solo?”

You glared. “I am fine.”

“You are dying.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Sneezed violently into your blanket.

James sat down across from you, leaned forward on his elbows. “Just take the damn potion, Y/N.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You’re literally sweating in a room that’s colder than Sirius’s commitment issues.”

You sniffed. “I run hot.”

“You run dumb.”

That earned a middle finger. He grinned.

But when he leaned forward again, there was something gentler about it. Quieter. You were already looking away, staring out at the window like maybe the moonlight would save you from your own pride.

James softened. “Hey. Seriously.”

You blinked at him, eyelids heavy.

He hesitated, then said it low, like a secret: “Why won’t you just let me help?”

And that—that was the real problem.

Because if you let James Potter take care of you, it meant you weren’t invincible.

And if you weren’t invincible, you might…slip up. You might say something you couldn’t unsay.

Like how your heart sprinted every time he looked at you for longer than a second.

Like how you were afraid he only cared because he was nice, and not because he liked you back.

You pulled the blanket tighter. “Because I don’t need help.”

James looked at you for a long moment.

Then—“Okay.”

You blinked. “…Okay?”

He stood. Crossed the room. Sat on the floor next to you. His head leaned against your chair, close enough to feel the heat radiating off your legs.

“I won’t give you the potion,” he said lightly. “But if you faint, I’m stealing your broom.”

You laughed, hoarse and unexpected. “Over my dead body.”

“That’s what I’m banking on.”

There was a pause. Just soft moonlight, soft breathing, the stupid sound of your heart in your ears.

You leaned your head on the windowsill. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re insufferable.”

You smiled.

..

There was a shift in the atmosphere the moment you walked into the Great Hall.

You weren’t walking so much as…gliding. Floating? Stumbling slightly to the left. Wrapped in your robe like your life depended on it.

And yet—you looked pleased. Triumphant. As if this was a normal, healthy morning, and you weren’t absolutely radiating fever energy like a human furnace on the verge of combustion.

Sirius saw you first. He choked on his pumpkin juice and immediately slapped James on the shoulder.

“Mate,” he hissed, eyes wide. “Your disaster is here.”

James turned—and promptly dropped his toast.

You were standing there, blinking blearily at them like you’d emerged from a swamp, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly wild.

“Morning,” you rasped, attempting to sit down but completely missing the bench and half-sitting on Sirius’s lap instead.

He let out a squeak. “I didn’t consent to this.”

“Didn’t consent to your face either, but here we are,” you muttered.

James shot out of his seat and helped you off Sirius like you were a toddler learning how chairs worked. “What are you doing here?”

“Eating breakfast,” you said innocently, trying to stab a piece of toast. With a fork.

Marlene, across the table, whispered to Lily, “She’s hallucinating. She thinks she’s at brunch.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “She looks like she got hexed by a fever demon.”

“Guys,” Dorcas said, halfway between laughing and horrified. “She’s glowing.”

“I run warm,” you snapped, face flushed like a tomato in a sauna. You were, in fact, steaming slightly. Like the toast you were now buttering with what appeared to be…jam.

James sat down next to you slowly, like you were a magical creature that might explode.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said carefully. “Or out of Hogwarts. Or alive.”

You waved him off. “I’m fine. Just needed fresh air.”

“You climbed out a window,” Sirius pointed out. “We saw you.”

“Is that why there’s a Lily-shaped shoe print on the ledge outside the girls’ dorm?” Marlene asked.

Lily turned to her. “That’s how I got her back inside last night. She tried to duel the moon, Marlene.”

You scowled. “I wasn’t dueling it. I was politely threatening it.”

James dragged a hand down his face. “Okay. Nope. We’re done.”

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small vial—the potion. He’d clearly been carrying it around all night, just waiting for you to break.

“Here,” he said. “Drink this.”

You glared at it like it had insulted your mother. “I’m not taking your sketchy illegal moonshine.”

“It’s a Pepperup Potion,” he deadpanned. “Remus brewed it. You’ll stop hallucinating about seasonal pastries.”

“I’m not hallucinating.” You pointed a dramatic, trembling finger across the table. “Peter is literally talking to a pear.”

Everyone turned.

Peter paused mid-bite. “It’s a poached apple, actually.”

Sirius: “Why is it talking back?”

Peter: “Because I’m charming.”

“Enough,” James said, fully losing patience now. “Y/N. Drink the potion. Or I swear to Merlin’s soggy underpants, I will pin you to this bench and make Sirius do it for you.”

Sirius looked delighted. “Oh please let me.”

“Touch me and die,” you snapped, then turned back to James with narrowed eyes. “If I take it, do you shut up?”

James held up three fingers. “Scouts’ honor.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

And then, finally, you snatched the vial, downed it in one furious gulp, and immediately started steaming like a kettle.

Everyone stared.

You blinked. “…That was kind of hot.”

“Do not pass out on me now—” James started, catching you just as you swayed dramatically sideways.

Your head thunked softly onto his shoulder. Your breath evened.

“…She’s asleep,” Peter whispered.

“Do you think she’s faking it?” Marlene asked.

“Nope,” James said, adjusting his arm to keep you from sliding. His voice was much softer now. “She just ran out of stubborn.”

Lily smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry. She’ll wake up and deny all of this.”

“Already planning the narrative,” Dorcas said proudly.

James looked down at you—flushed, asleep, mouth slightly open. He shook his head fondly and muttered,

“You’re impossible.”

Sirius leaned in. “But, like…in a hot way, right?”

James threw a muffin at him.

..

You were back to your normal self.

Healthy, glowing (in a non-feverish way), and finally able to walk across the common room without someone offering you tea like a dying Victorian aunt.

Life was good.

Which is why you were smirking like a menace when James Potter flopped onto the couch beside you—hood up, nose red, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like a grumpy toddler.

He sniffled loudly.

“You,” he croaked, “are a biohazard.”

You patted his knee, all sweetness. “Oh, poor baby. Feeling a bit warm?”

James turned his face into the couch cushion. “You infected me. You cursed me.”

“I told you I run hot.”

He groaned. “This is how I die. Not in battle. Not in glory. But in the common room. Surrounded by germs. Betrayed by the girl I—” He stopped. Sniffled. “Betrayed by you.”

You tried not to smile too hard. Failed miserably. “Sirius said you were still in denial this morning. About being sick.”

“I wasn’t sick this morning.” He sneezed violently. “I was in mourning.”

You snorted. “For what?”

“For my immune system. My dignity. My sense of smell.” He sniffled again and slumped into your side. “Also my will to live.”

You hesitated. Then, with a quiet sigh, you pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over both of you.

James blinked. “…Is this an act of mercy?”

“No,” you said, settling in next to him. “Just wanted to remind you what death feels like. Fair is fair.”

He gave a weak laugh, eyes closing as he leaned into your shoulder. “You’re gonna pay for this.”

“You’re literally breathing on me again.”

“Revenge,” he murmured. “Sweet, contagious revenge.”

You rolled your eyes—but you didn’t move away.

..

Madam Pomfrey looked one second away from smacking James Potter with a bedpan.

“Mr. Potter,” she said through gritted teeth, “you are not dying. You have a mild fever and a sore throat.”

James lay dramatically across the infirmary bed like a Victorian child with consumption.

Blankets piled high. Pillow fluffed just right. His arm was flung over his eyes like he was auditioning for a wizard soap opera.

“Tell my mum I fought bravely,” he whispered.

Y/N, sitting at the end of his bed, burst out laughing. “You fought a cold, you absolute goblin.”

James peeked out from beneath his arm. “Don’t mock the weak.”

“You’re not weak,” Lily said flatly from a nearby chair. “You’re annoying.”

“He cried because the potion tasted spicy,” Marlene added.

“It was spicy,” James snapped. “It burned my soul.”

Across the room, the other Marauders were thriving.

Remus was reading calmly, pretending not to laugh.

Peter was drawing tally marks in his journal for every time James coughed dramatically.

Sirius had pulled up a chair like it was theatre night, grinning wide.

“This,” Sirius said, “is the most beautiful reversal of fate I’ve ever seen.”

Dorcas walked in carrying a bowl of soup from the kitchens. She took one look at James and turned right around. “Nope.”

“Dorcas!” James croaked. “Please! Feed me! I’m too weak to hold a spoon—”

“Use your wand, you baby.”

“I can’t!” he wailed. “The magic’s leaving my body—”

“You’re impossible,” Y/N said, nearly in tears from laughter. “I survived two near-death experiences, a fever-fueled moon duel, and a Peter-shaped hallucination. I earned my sick days.”

James opened one eye dramatically. “And I’m suffering in silence.”

“You’ve literally summoned me with the Marauder whistle four times today,” Remus said. “To pass you tissues.”

James sniffled. “Well I can’t be expected to get up, Remus. What if I fall and die?”

Sirius leaned forward. “Be honest, mate. Are you playing this up so Y/N will tuck you in like you did for her?”

James went still.

Everyone turned to Y/N.

Y/N raised one brow. “You wish.”

James flushed and pulled the blanket over his face. “…You’re all monsters.”

“No,” Lily said. “We’re just finally free of your fake moral superiority.”

Y/N smiled sweetly, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. “Rest up, hero. Let me know if you start hallucinating pears.”

“Don’t leave,” James mumbled pitifully. “You make the pain bearable.”

Sirius gagged so hard he fell off his chair.

Marlene started clapping.

Remus didn’t even look up. “Two galleons say he tries to kiss her in the next twenty-four hours.”

Peter nodded. “I’ll double it if she punches him first.”

And as the chaos spiraled and James Potter sank deeper into his blanket nest of shame and melodrama, you stayed.

Grinning. Because now you were the one at his bedside.

And he?

He’d never been more whipped in his life.

[monserelates]

James Potter covered in blood

[monserelates]

THE P.S. SERIES ; James Potter

status: completed

⇨ f! reader x james potter

⇨ summary: You find an old letter James wrote to you during fifth year confessing he loved you but never sent. You're now dating someone else. Chaos ensues.

⇨ wc: 12.6k in total

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4

[monserelates]

P.S. I'm Still Not Over You; James Potter

part 4 of the p.s. series

⇨ f! reader x james potter

⇨ summary: The girls have decided to help you (against your will) with your love story, will their plan turn out or wll destiny have another thing planned for you?

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, lowkey confusing timeline angst, not proofread, Emotional cheating themes, heartbreak, tension, crying, James spiraling, reader torn between two people, longing, and one (okay maybe a few) very old love letters/

⇨ word count: 2.9k

The fire crackles like it knows something you don’t. Which is fitting. Everyone seems to know something you don’t. Or worse—something you do, but can’t bring yourself to say out loud.

“Okay,” Marlene says, arms crossed and eyes dangerous. “We need a timeline, a location, and two distractions. Then we strike.”

Lily frowns. “This isn’t a murder plot.”

“It might as well be,” you mutter from the couch, buried under three textbooks you aren’t reading and a guilt you can’t shake. “It feels like I’m planning to bury someone alive.”

Dorcas throws a sock at you. “Stop being dramatic. You’re not murdering anyone.”

“I’m emotionally decapitating myself,” you say flatly. “That's worse.”

“Sweetheart,” Lily says, folding herself onto the floor beside you, “if you were truly over Potter, you wouldn’t still be carrying around a letter you wrote in fifth year and never sent.”

You stiffen.

Marlene winces. “Too soon?”

“Yes,” you say.

“No,” Dorcas says at the same time.

Lily sighs. “Look, all we’re saying is—it’s eating you up. And him too. Peter told us he barely slept last night.”

“Peter should mind his business,” you mutter, face heating.

“He’s part of the intervention,” Dorcas says cheerfully. “No one gets to be Switzerland in a romantic meltdown of this magnitude.”

Marlene plucks the forgotten letter from where it’s half-tucked into your Arithmancy book. The parchment is worn, corners softened from how many times you’ve opened it. She clears her throat before starting to read in a dramatic-soap-opera accent,

"My Dearest James,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. You’ll never read it. You’re probably laughing with Sirius somewhere, chasing Bludgers or charming your way out of detention.And I’ll keep pretending I don’t--"

You snatch it back before she gets to the end. "Marlene, I will literally jump your ass." “I wrote that before Amos. Before anything. I was stupid.”

“You were in love,” Lily says, gently.

You press your lips together. “And now I’m not sure if I’m allowed to be.”

Silence.

Then Marlene sighs. “I was gonna save this for later, but—James reread his letters too.”

Your heart drops. “What?”

“Peter caught him with the box. The one with the envelopes. Said he’d been staring at the second one for twenty minutes.”

The second one. The one where he let you go.

You don’t say anything.

“Listen,” Lily says quietly. “We know you feel guilty about Amos. And scared. And maybe a little angry that none of this happened when it was supposed to. But life doesn’t happen on time. Love sure as heck doesn’t.”

“I’m not ready,” you admit, voice small. “Not to forgive him. Not to—feel this big again. Not when I was just starting to forget.”

Dorcas leans in. “So don’t forgive him. Don’t do anything, if you don’t want to. But don’t pretend like it didn’t mean anything. To either of you.”

Footsteps sound from the boy’s staircase. The Marauders are descending.

“Here we go,” Lily mutters.

“Act natural,” Dorcas hisses.

“I am natural!” you whisper back, definitely not naturally.

Sirius enters first, talking with Remus about someone hexing the suits of armor into singing Celestina Warbeck. James follows, dragging a hand through his hair, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you.

He stops.

You don’t look away.

You should.

Yeah, you definetly should.

But you don’t.

The air goes still.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t scowl either. Just… watches. Like he’s remembering too.

Sirius is the one to break it. “Alright, why does it feel like something deeply manipulative is happening in this corner of the common room?” He glares at the girls.

“Because it is,” Peter says brightly, earning himself three glares.

James slowly makes his way to the hearth, settling opposite you but saying nothing. Your friends all pretend to do other things, horribly.

“So,” he says finally. “You’re here.”

You blink. “I live here.”

“Right.” He looks away. “Right.”

More silence. More tension.

You think of the letter. Of the way your name looked in his handwriting. Of how he said he didn’t feel good enough. Of how much easier this would be if you didn’t still love him.

But you do.

You hate that you do.

And somehow, the fire keeps crackling, like it’s waiting.

..

Everyone’s still pretending nothing is happening.

The problem is, everything is.

James is now at the far end of the couch, legs stretched out, fingers twitching against his knee like he’s holding back a Quidditch reflex. You’re across from him, trying not to look every time the firelight catches his eyes. (You fail. Twice and counting.)

You’re meant to be reviewing Transfiguration theory. Instead, you’ve read the same sentence five times and still don’t know what a Vanishing Spell’s molecular cost is.

Across the room, Sirius mutters something to Remus and cackles. Remus doesn’t even try to look innocent. Lily shoots them both a death glare. Dorcas is scribbling something into her planner that looks suspiciously like a timeline labeled “J+Y/I.”

You lift your eyes. James lifts his too.

A beat. You both look away.

It’s been like this all week.

After the letters, after the fights, after Amos... You’d thought maybe silence would feel like peace. Instead, it feels like a scream neither of you is ready to release.

“Hey.” His voice startles you.

You glance over. His gaze is gentle now, less tense than earlier, but still wary. Always wary.

“You, um—drop this.” He holds up a parchment. Your parchment.

You freeze.

It’s the edge of the letter you wrote. The one from fifth year. My dearest James...

“Nope!” Marlene snatches it so fast her wrist nearly cracks. “Sorry. That’s—mine. Old homework. Rubbish, really.”

James blinks. “...Right.”

You feel like you might combust. Lily’s hand lands on your shoulder, subtle but grounding.

“So,” Sirius cuts in, dramatically flipping onto his stomach like a cat, “this is cozy. Almost romantic. Firelight. Study books. Long, lingering glances.”

“Sirius,” you and James say at the same time.

He grins. “There it is! The unspoken synchrony.”

Dorcas: “Gross.”

Remus: “It’s like watching a Shakespeare tragedy in slow motion.”

James mutters, “You lot are actual demons.”

You shake your head. “Don’t encourage them.”

Another glance. Longer this time.

He’s still wearing the sweater you like. The one with the worn cuffs, the sleeves too long. You remember falling asleep beside him in that sweater once, years ago, before anything had names.

You look away again.

The silence returns. But it’s not the awful kind. It’s filled with almosts.

And maybe that’s what tonight is. Not a beginning. Not a confrontation. Just... circling.

Too aware. Too afraid. Too much, too soon.

But not nothing.

Definitely not nothing.

..

“Okay,” Lily whispers. “So we plant it. He finds it. We gauge his reaction. Nothing explodes. That’s the plan.”

“I’m sorry,” you blink, “what part of this isn’t emotionally reckless?”

Marlene, lying upside down on her bed, grins. “All of it. That's the point.”

Dorcas holds up your fifth-year letter. The one you never sent. The one Marlene found by accident. The one that begins: “My dearest James, I don’t even know why I’m writing this…”

You almost snatch it back. You don’t.

“This is ridiculous,” you murmur. “What am I even hoping to get out of this? That he reads it and goes, ‘Oh, brilliant, I’ll fall madly in love now, thanks for the stationary’?”

“Maybe not,” Lily says carefully. “But don’t you want to see? Just... see?”

You hesitate.

The parchment is soft now, worn from your hands. You’ve read it so many times the words have lost their shape. But the feeling is still there. Still clinging.

You exhale. “Fine. But we do it my way.”

Later That Night – Common Room

You slip the letter into his Transfiguration textbook. Third page in, just tucked enough that it won’t fall but not so hidden it won’t be found.

The girls watch you like you're defusing a bomb.

“This is going to backfire spectacularly,” you mutter.

“Probably,” Dorcas shrugs, sipping from a stolen pumpkin juice bottle. “But it’ll be spectacular.”

“Where’s Sirius?” Lily asks suddenly.

Marlene: “He’s with Remus. Plotting something ridiculous, probably.”

Too late.

“I KNEW something was up!” Sirius Black appears behind you like a wrathful older brother summoned by the gods of gossip and poorly made choices.

You shriek. “Have you been eavesdropping?”

He places a dramatic hand on his chest. “I’ve been watching. You think I didn’t notice the tragic moon-eyed stares and the sudden ‘accidental’ brushing of hands over breakfast jam jars?”

Remus, following behind him, holds up toast. “She did literally knock the jam into his lap two days ago.”

Sirius points. “Case in point!”

You cover your face with both hands. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he says cheerfully. “You love me. Because I’m the only thing standing between you and public humiliation. Well—besides yourself, obviously.”

He eyes the letter, now pressed in James’s book on the table.

“You sure about this, Y/N?” he asks, softer now. “Because if he hurts you again, I’m hexing him into next Tuesday.”

You smile, wobbly. “I’m not sure about anything.”

Sirius nudges your shoulder. “At least you’re not boring.”

Remus, unusually amused, leans in. “You know, you could just... talk to him.”

Everyone stares at him.

He shrugs. “What? I can be emotionally healthy sometimes.”

Marlene: “You helped Peter throw a dungbomb at his ex last week.”

“Healthy boundaries.”

Lily shakes her head. “Let’s just focus on the drop.”

“Already done,” you say quietly, eyes flicking toward the book. “Now we wait.”

Dorcas sighs dreamily. “I feel like a war general.”

“You are a war general,” Marlene says. “Of feelings.”

You collapse into the couch, nerves starting to settle.

Then the door opens.

James walks in, running a hand through his hair, yawning.

And that’s when it hits you.

The letter’s in there. Waiting. Silent and still and dangerous.

You suddenly feel like you just rewrote the future with a flick of a wrist.

Sirius leans over. “Too late to chicken out?”

You nod, wide-eyed. “Way, way too late.”

James walked back into the common room, yawning, one hand raking through his hair — a picture of casual obliviousness.

And that’s when it hits you.

The letter. It’s in there. Waiting. Silent and still and dangerous.

You suddenly feel like you’ve rewritten the future with a flick of your wand. One moment of insanity — one letter slid between pages — and now you’re staring at the boy you love, wondering if your entire life is about to shift.

Sirius leans over to whisper, “Too late to chicken out?”

You nod, wide-eyed. “Way, way too late.”

James plops onto the couch, textbook already in hand. Your stomach free-falls. He opens the cover.

And just before he can flip the page—

“Mate,” Peter says suddenly, way too loud, “fancy a trip to the kitchens?”

James blinks. “What?”

“I want a tart. Or five. Please come with me. You know I can’t talk to the painting alone.”

James raises an eyebrow. “Can’t believe I’m being emotionally blackmailed by a snack.”

Sirius is already standing. “Actually, sounds like a great idea. I could really use some jelly slugs.”

Remus smirks. “Yeah, some chocolate sounds good.”

James sighs. “Fine. But five minutes. Then I’m studying.”

You don’t exhale until the portrait hole swings closed behind them.

The girls all lean in instantly.

Marlene whispers, “If he finds it tomorrow morning, I give it three hours before he shows up at your door like a Victorian poet.”

Dorcas grins. “Do we think he’ll cry? I’m hoping he cries.”

“Shh,” Lily says suddenly. “Someone’s coming.”

Two boys climb in through the portrait hole. Ravenclaws. Seventh years, probably. Loud. Thoughtless. Not noticing the group of girls curled by the fireplace.

“—I mean, you can’t even blame Diggory,” one of them is saying. “She’s been staring at Potter like she’s in heat since the start of term.”

The other laughs. “Maybe she just likes a challenge. Must suck to go from Diggory to a bloke who won’t touch her.”

You stood so fast your chair nearly tipped.

Marlene grabbed your wrist. “Don’t. Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

But it wasn’t you who stormed back through the portrait hole.

It was James.

His face was a mask of fury, lips thin, fists clenched.

Sirius was right behind him. “James—mate—wait—”

But James didn’t wait.

He crossed the room in three strides, grabbed the first boy by the collar, and slammed him hard against the stone wall.

The entire room gasped.

“Say it again,” James hissed.

“What—?”

“Go on. Say it again. Say something about her.”

The other boy reached for his wand. “Back off, Potter.”

James didn’t even hesitate. He threw the first punch — fast and sharp and full of something he’d been bottling for months.

Okay, hot-- No. Now was not the moment.

Sirius and Remus were suddenly there, dragging him back, shouting. Peter moved to stop the other boy from retaliating. Someone screamed. A prefect ran for a professor.

The boy James hit was on the floor, lip bleeding, swearing furiously.

“You don’t ever talk about her like that,” James snarled, still fighting Sirius’ hold. “You don’t look at her like that. She’s worth ten of you.”

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t breathe.

Somewhere between the firelight and chaos, he looked at you — just for a second. And whatever rage he carried melted into something softer. Sadder. Still burning.

And then he let Sirius drag him toward the stairs, shoulders heaving.

Remus turned back briefly. “Don’t worry. He’s not sorry.”

Lily touched your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

But you didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your throat was tight, your hands shaking. You hadn’t cried all week — not when you broke up with Amos, not when you found the letter, not when your girls conspired to rescue your love story with ink and parchment.

But now, watching James fight the world for you like he was born to do it?

You did.

You cried.

Soft. Quiet. Shattered.

And the letter was still waiting.

..

The fire’s nearly out.

A faint glow flickers over your face as you sit cross-legged on the rug, letter in hand. The one your lovesick, fifth year self wrote. The one you helped plant, then second-guessed so violently you’re now contemplating throwing it straight into the flames.

Your thumb brushes over the parchment's edge. You don’t open it—you know what it says. You wrote it. You helped bait him. And now, after what happened outside the kitchens, it feels cruel.

The words echo again in your head.

"She left Diggory for Potter. What a joke. What a slut."

And then James, practically flying across the hallway. Fists clenched. Fury painted across his face like war.

You flinch at the memory. Not because he scared you—but because it scared you how much it mattered. How fast he ran. How much he cared.

The portrait hole creaks behind you.

You don’t turn. You' already know it’s him.'re to immersed in your own thoughts to notice.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there in the dark, probably unsure if he should even come closer.

Finally, James says, “You’re still up.”

You hum. “So are you.”

A beat. He walks toward you, then sits beside you on the floor, not too close, not too far. His hands rest on his knees. His knuckles are bruised.

You eye them. “You alright?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t hit him as hard as I wanted.”

You snort, despite yourself. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Silence wraps around you both for a moment. Not hostile. Not heavy. Just… hesitant.

James swallows. “I didn’t do it for the drama, you know. I didn’t do it so you'd see.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t even realize what they were saying until—” He cuts himself off. “I didn’t like hearing them talk about you like that.”

You finally look at him.

“I didn’t like watching you believe them.”

That makes your chest tighten.

James shifts, glancing at the parchment in your hands. “Is that it?”

You nod.

He gestures to it. “You’re gonna burn it?”

“I thought about it.”

“Why?”

You laugh under your breath, bitter. “Because it’s pathetic.”

He looks at you like you’ve just stabbed him. “It’s not.”

You raise a brow. “You haven’t even read it.”

“Don’t need to.”

You blink. “What?”

“I don’t need to read it to know it’s not pathetic if it came from you.”

You exhale shakily.

James leans back on his elbows, looking up at the dying firelight painting shadows across the ceiling.

“I messed everything up,” he says. “I waited too long, and, as much as it hurt, I watched you fall in love with someone else."

“I wrote a letter too, James.” you say quietly.

“I know that now.”

Another silence. This one hurts more. This one tastes like every moment you could’ve had but didn’t.

James sits up. “Can I ask something?”

You nod.

“If I told you… that I never stopped meaning what I wrote in those letters. That every day since fifth year has been me trying to pretend I didn’t care too much—”

You hold your breath.

“—would you hate me?”

You shake your head. “No.”

He looks at you then, full-on. “Would you still love me?”

It comes out barely a whisper: “I never stopped.”

The letter crumples in your lap.

James reaches for your hand, slowly, like you might bolt. When your fingers meet, it’s soft. Familiar.

Not desperate. Just real.

He presses his forehead to yours. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your eyes close. “Me neither.”

And for the first time since fifth year, everything feels still.

Not perfect. Not fixed.

But finally, finally honest.

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[monserelates]

TETHERED ; James Potter

Part V of the Series Dumb Decisions

⇨ summary: James and Y/N keep ignoring eachother. Will they finally sor tit out? or will they just let it linger, once again?

⇨ warnings/notes: apologetic james, use of y/n, curse words, minor inconsistencies ?),mild angst, broken bond, stubborn!reader, denial, mutual pining, platonic marauders x reader shared sensations, platonic friendships, magnetic bond effects, chaotic Marauders, idk what elsee

⇨ word count: 2.9k

It’s cold for May.

You’re outside, half-shivering under your cloak, arms tucked around your knees as the wind rolls off the lake in slow, spiteful bursts. The stone wall you’re sitting on is rough beneath you. The sky’s a pale, cloudless blue, but it might as well be grey.

You came out here to be alone. Naturally, that meant half of Gryffindor followed.

They’re scattered on the grass and benches nearby, sprawled out with textbooks and half-finished essays and half-hearted jokes. It’s an accidental gathering—a lazy Sunday kind of quiet—but there’s tension thick in the space between you and him. Like smoke that never quite clears.

Sirius is lying flat on his back, arms crossed behind his head, letting the sun hit his face. Remus is reading, obviously, legs crossed like he’s meditating instead of just trying to block out the awkward. Peter is chewing on his quill, trying to look casual, and failing.

Lily’s beside you on the wall, head tilted toward her parchment, though her eyes keep flicking up toward James. Dorcas and Marlene are sharing a Chocolate Frog and watching the chaos with matching unimpressed expressions.

James has tried talking to you, but every time you look at him you can't help but wanting to crawl into a ditch.

He’s sitting on the grass near Remus, trying to look relaxed, but he keeps drumming his fingers on his knee. Every once in a while, he glances your way—just once, just barely—and then looks away so fast you wonder if you imagined it.

You didn’t.

The others are pretending not to notice. Badly.

“So,” Marlene drawls, stretching her legs out dramatically, “anyone else miss the days when people just hexed each other instead of ignoring each other to death?”

Sirius snorts.

“Speak for yourself, McKinnon. I’ve missed a hex or two to the face. Clears the sinuses.”

Remus doesn’t look up.

“She’s talking about them, Pads.”

There it is.

No one says your name. No one says his. But suddenly, the wind isn’t the only thing cold.

Lily shifts beside you. You can feel her wanting to say something. She doesn’t.

Dorcas pops the last bit of the Chocolate Frog in her mouth.

“We should start a pool. Who caves first. Ten Galleons on the dramatic one.”

“Which one’s that?” Peter asks.

“Exactly.”

You pull your cloak tighter. You don’t say anything.

James is still drumming. Tap. Tap. Tap. Like maybe if he keeps moving, he won’t have to feel the silence. Or the space between you.

Or the fact that now that the bond is gone, there’s nothing forcing you together. Nothing making you share thoughts, or dreams, or warmth in the middle of the night. There’s no more magic. Just the awkward, heavy ache of what’s left behind.

“You know,” Sirius finally says, pushing himself up on his elbows, “it’s kind of funny. You two were insufferable when you were bonded. Now you’re just insufferable separately.”

James throws a twig at him. It doesn’t help.

Okay, now you really want to crawl into a ditch.

Marlene turns her gaze on you. It’s sharp, but not unkind.

“You can keep pretending nothing happened, love. Doesn’t make it true.”

You stare straight ahead. At the lake. At the shimmer of sun on water. Anywhere but him.

“It wasn’t the bond,” Lily says softly.

You blink. “What?”

She finally looks at you fully. Calm. Honest. Lily.

“Whatever you’re trying to convince yourself. That it was just magic. That it didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t the bond. That was just the excuse.”

And across the circle, like you’re tethered by more than magic, James says—quietly, almost to himself—

“I thought it’d go away when it broke.”

You look up. Meet his eyes for the first time in days.

He looks wrecked. Not in the tired, casual, Quidditch-practice way. In the way that says I broke something I can’t fix.

“It didn’t,” he adds, voice barely above the wind. “It didn’t go away.”

No one says anything. Even Sirius shuts up.

The silence between you hums. Different this time. Not dead. Not broken.

Waiting.

You clear your throat, "Um... so, I just remembered I had to meet um- Mary, to help her with a Transfiguration exam?" You said, even though it came out more like a question. "So.. I'll see you guys later." You offered them a warm smile and ignored James' gaze on you.

As you leave, Sirius sighs. "For Merlin's sake, this is embelating to watch."

"Excruciating, Padfoot, Excruciating." Remus corrects.

..

You should’ve known McGonagall would choose violence today.

You walk into Transfiguration ten minutes early, quill behind your ear, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach’s been in a weird knot since the lake. Since him. Since that look. Since those words.

It didn’t go away.

You sit beside Lily like always. James is on the opposite end of the room, slouched beside Sirius, sketching absently on the edge of his notes.

The lesson is fast—McGonagall isn’t in the mood to coddle anyone. She gives a sharp explanation about conjuration under magical stress and then turns to the class like a general issuing orders.

“Pair up. You’ll be working on cross-wand synchronization. The spell won’t work if you’re not in sync. Choose wisely—your mark depends on it.”

Half the room starts scrambling. You reach for Lily’s arm automatically, but she’s already standing—moving toward Dorcas.

And then McGonagall says your name.

“Miss Y/L/N, you’ll be working with Potter.”

The air leaves your lungs.

What. The. Fuck.

You freeze. Your neck turns before your body does. James is already standing. Not smug. Not even surprised. Just… resigned. He looks at McGonagall like he’s considering asking for someone else, but he doesn’t.

You want to. But your legs move anyway.

The room fades to a distant blur as you step toward him. He gives you a small nod like it’s all fine. It’s not fine.

You take your place beside him. Wands out. Eyes anywhere but each other.

“Remember,” McGonagall says, arms folded, “this spell is nearly impossible unless you’re attuned to one another. Communicate. Adjust. And don’t explode anything. Again.”

She walks away.

You and James are left in a bubble of silence.

Your fingers brush your wand. His jaw is tight.

“We should probably—” “I’ll start—”

You speak at the same time. Of course you do. You both go quiet again.

He gives you a tiny, crooked smile. “Still in sync, I guess.”

You glare at him. “Don’t.”

He straightens. The smile drops. “Right. Sorry.”

You aim your wand at the target. It’s a simple transfiguration: two charms fired in perfect sequence, meant to turn a stone into a living flower. But it only works if you move as one.

You breathe. Try to clear your mind.

“On three,” you mutter.

He nods. “One. Two—”

The spell hits too early. Off-beat. The stone rattles, glows blue, and then explodes into dust.

You take a step back, coughing, waving away the smoke.

“Brilliant,” you snap. “Great work.”

“You rushed it,” he fires back.

“No. You did.”

“You weren’t even looking at me!”

“Why would I?”

Your voices are getting louder. Students are turning. McGonagall is watching from across the room.

James exhales harshly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean for it to happen that way, alright?”

You cross your arms. “The kiss or whatever the fuck that was at the common room?”

He winces like you struck him. “I was drunk.”

“So was I. And I still managed not to shatter someone.”

He’s silent.

The stone resets. Neither of you moves.

“You used to talk to me,” he says finally, voice low. “Even when we hated each other. You still talked to me.”

You clench your jaw. “We weren’t pretending back then.”

He flinches. “I wasn’t pretending.”

Silence.

Heavy. Choking.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. You can feel your magic buzzing at your fingertips, wild and unbalanced. The way it used to when he was too close. When the bond got too loud.

But now there’s nothing magical between you. No forced connection. No spell pushing you together.

Just this. Whatever this is.

You turn toward the stone again. Raise your wand.

“One more time.”

He nods. Raises his too.

“One. Two. Three.”

This time, the spell is perfect.

the moment the flower blooms on the stone, soft and luminous and fucking perfect — you feel your lungs stop working.

You don’t say anything. You just whisper, “Excuse me,” like it’s a spell, like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart. And you walk out. Fast. Too fast. Like if you don’t leave, you’ll unravel right there.

You don’t hear your friends call after you. You don’t see Lily lurch to step forward. You only hear him.

“Y/N—”

You keep going.

Through the courtyard, through the dusk-streaked corridors, down into the gardens where it’s quiet and shadowed and sharp. Where no one can see you fall apart.

But he follows. Of course he does.

“Y/N, stop—please just—stop.”

You do.

Not for him. For yourself. Because your knees feel like they might give out otherwise.

You spin around, chest heaving.

“Why are you here?”

Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own. It’s raw. Cracked open. Echoing off the stone like something broken.

James slows. There’s panic in his eyes. Not panic like "Oh no she’s mad." Panic like 'I think I’ve ruined everything I love.'

“Because you left.”

“Yeah, I tend to do that after being brutally emotionally disemboweled by someone I trusted.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” you say, voice sharper now. “Don’t do the I didn’t mean to thing. You did mean it, or you wouldn’t have let it happen.”

He flinches. And good. He should.

“I told you I didn’t want to lose you,” he says.

You laugh, hollow. “You keep saying that. Like it changes the fact that you did.”

He’s quiet again.

“I didn’t think the bond was real,” he says finally.

“And I didn’t think you’d ever want it to be.”

You turn around slowly. He’s standing there in the doorway, backlit by moonlight and something inside you snaps — like all this time, all this distance, all the pretending not to care was just waiting for this moment to fall apart.

“You kissed another girl, James.”

“I know.”

“And then you looked at me like I was insane for caring.”

“I was insane. I was—” He drags a hand through his hair. “I was terrified. I thought if I kissed you, and it meant something, and it wasn’t the bond— then I’d lose you anyway. I thought you’d see me for what I am and walk away.”

“So you walked away first.”

He closes his eyes like it physically hurts to hear.

“You used to make me feel like the magic wasn’t the only thing that made me worth something.”

Your breath catches.

“But after you kissed her,” you say, voice breaking, “I stopped believing you.”

He looks up. His eyes are glassy.

“I didn’t kiss her because I wanted her.”

“Then why?”

“Because I couldn’t let myself want you.”

Silence again. This time it aches.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he continues, “to feel like the only reason someone wants you is because of something you can’t control. To wonder if it’s just magic. To wonder if you’re enough when the bond is gone.”

“I do know what that feels like,” you whisper. “I’ve been wondering the same thing about you.”

His breath shudders out.

And then—

He says it. Quiet. Devastated. Raw.

“I see you everywhere.”

Your heart stops.

“You’re not in the tower and I still hear your laugh. I sit at breakfast and I still look for your hands. I write notes to myself and they still start with your name. I see you, and I miss you, and I love you and I am so—”

He chokes.

“—so fucking sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

You’re crying now. Silently. The kind that hurts worse than screaming.

“You think I broke you?” he says, stepping forward. “You broke me first. That day we dueled. That moment the bond hit. I looked at you and felt like I’d never be able to go back to who I was before you.”

His voice is shaking now.

“I would give anything for you to look at me like that again. Like I wasn’t a mistake.”

You're not a mistake, James, for Godric’s sake. But if I didn’t love you, it would be a lot easier.”

He doesn’t move.

“But I do,” you say. “And I hate that I do. Because you make it so hard— with your perfect, disheveled, brown hair, and your stupid hazel eyes that always look at me like I’m something you almost deserve but not quite, and your laugh that makes everything feel lighter even when I don’t want it to.”

Your voice cracks and you don’t care.

“You act like you don’t care and then you do, and then you run away, and you make me feel like I’m going insane because I can’t tell what’s you and what’s fear and what’s just... bullshit, James.”

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“You talk like you’re terrified of ruining things,” you say, taking a step closer. “But you already did. And I still want you.”

His breath catches.

“I want you in ways I don’t know how to not want you. And I hate it. I hate how you crawl under my skin. I hate how I see you in every hallway, every page I try to read, every second I spend trying to forget you.”

You're shaking now, not from anger but from the weight of it.

“I hate that you made me believe in something,” you whisper. “And then kissed someone else just to prove to yourself that it wasn’t real.”

James looks like he might fall apart. His eyes are wide and glassy and so, so full of everything he never said.

“And I still love you,” you whisper. “Merlin help me, I do.”

There’s silence — the kind that feels sacred. And then—

He steps forward.

“Do you know what kills me?” he says, voice wrecked. “It’s not that I broke the bond. It’s that I didn’t need it to feel you.”

“I felt you in every spell I cast. Every time I closed my eyes. Every time I tried to move on.”

He reaches up, almost like he wants to touch you, but stops short.

“You say I make it hard to love me?” he whispers. “You made it impossible not to.”

His voice breaks.

“And now all I want is a way to make it up to you. To make you believe it wasn’t just magic. That it was me. It was always me.”

You stand there, the space between you thick with everything you've both said, and everything that still hangs in the air like static.

And maybe you don’t fall into his arms.

Maybe you don’t kiss him.

Maybe you just breathe.

Because for once, the truth is out. And sometimes love isn’t a spell. It’s the aftermath.

“If I told you I’d wait,” he whispers, “would that be enough?”

You shake your head, tears burning down your cheeks.

“I don’t want you to wait.”

“Then what do you want?”

Your voice cracks.

“I want it to not hurt.”

You both stand there. Under soft glass. Under stars. Under the weight of everything unsaid.

And maybe this isn’t a happy ending. But it’s the truth. And sometimes that’s the most magic there is.

...

They come back separately.

You first — red-eyed but composed, hair a little windblown, but chin high like you dared someone to ask. James follows ten minutes later, looking like he fought a tree and lost.

The common room goes silent when you walk in. Everyone stares. Someone drops a Chocolate Frog.

And then—

“So… are we calling that closure or a reunion?” Sirius asks, from the couch, flipping a galleon. “Because I need to know if I owe Lily money.”

“You owe me,” Lily says, without looking up from her book. “I said they'd sort it out before exams.”

“I said they’d make out again before exams,” Marlene points out, sipping from a Butterbeer bottle. “Slight distinction.”

“I said they'd explode into magical flames and die tragically,” Dorcas mutters. “So I’d say I’m already out.”

“I just hoped they’d stop making our study sessions actively painful,” Remus adds, dryly. “Honestly, this is a win for all of us.”

“I made a chart,” Peter says proudly, holding it up. It’s chaotic. There are three separate columns labeled “Will They,” “Won’t They,” and “Dear God Please Just Talk.”

“You had a chart?” you ask, blinking.

“There were rounds,” Sirius adds. “Weekly meetings. Montague handled odds.”

“Professor Flitwick caught us once,” Lily says. “He gave me five sickles to put on ‘first kiss in the Astronomy Tower.’”

“McGonagall asked me last week if you two had finally sorted it,” Remus says. “She said— and I quote— ‘this has dragged on longer than the last Triwizard Tournament.’”

You stare at them.

Then—

“I hated all of you,” you say.

“You still do,” James mumbles beside you.

There’s a pause.

Then Lily grins and scoots over on the couch. “Right. Sit down. Tell us everything.”

“Slowly,” Marlene adds. “And with dramatic pauses.”

“Also someone owes me ten galleons,” Sirius mutters.

In the corner of the staff lounge later that night, McGonagall sips her tea and mutters,

“About time.”

Beside her, Professor Slughorn sighs dreamily,

“Ah, young love. I knew it’d take root.”

a/n: TYSM FOR SUPPORTING ME AND THIS SERIES, IT WAS SO SOSSO MUCH FUN TO WRITE, remember requests are always open!!

taglist:

@strlightfilms

@glittervame

@ifilwtmfc

@theblindhag

@vxyselectric

@spirit-of-a-b1tch

@shushbruv

@glennussy

@mp-littlebit

@fiowerbeds

@trulyyoursniki

@ifilwtmfc

@minghaossv

@kind4luck

@hoeformarauders

@prongs-moon

@j2warren

@urfunnyvalentin3

@klobug287

[monserelates]

Thank you so so so much for the support!!

mina's marauders fic recs

for the second quarter of 2025 - before anyone says anything, i know most of these recs are from my muts, but that's just because i'm not exposed to their work. so if anyone has good blogs to check out, please share them!!

bloodmoon, part 2 - remus lupin, by @aetherraeyes

For whatever reason, Remus couldn’t bear the idea of even being in the same room as you. His body had been telling him why, but clearly he needed it spelt out for him.

does it hurt a lot - james potter, by @ticifics

His blue eyes shine behind crooked glasses, an angelic smile plastered on his lips, as if he weren’t the one responsible for the state you’re in now. As if he hadn’t been there, just a few hours ago, with his hot breath against your skin, his hands firmly gripping your waist while the world crumbled around you.

hit me where it hurts the most - sirius black, by @agreeewrites

As the eldest daughter of the Rowle family and twin to the notorious Thorfinn Rowle, you are expected to embody elegance and perfection within the exclusive world of pureblood aristocracy. Yet, you can’t seem to avoid clashing with Sirius Black, the disgraced heir of the ancient and noble House of Black. One fateful New Year’s Eve, Rabastan Lestrange, a suitor your parents dream of, finally takes notice of you, offering the promise of security and prestige. But that same night, your simmering hatred for Sirius ignites into something far more dangerous. Now, you’re faced with a devastating choice: the safety of a life bound by duty, or the

the way i see you - remus lupin, by @g1rld1ary

you're an artist, but you never let any of your friends see your work. they finally attend one of your exhibits and see your feelings on paper

warm - james potter, by @wintrsoul

your friends never understood why you were still hanging out with James despite your split up, or which the three times your friends had questioned the reality of your relationship with James, and the one time they didn't.

bothersome - james potter, by @g1rld1ary

you and james can't help but bother each other whenever you sit together in class

tell me you will believe me, pt 2 - marauders, by @colouredbyd

Your visions as a Seer used to be harmless—until they turned dark. Now, you find yourself caught between protecting the people you love and the terrifying truth only you can see. and - After your vision reveals the traitor, you’re caught between clinging to what once was and the heartbreak that follows. The people you love are trying to hold you together—but healing only comes when you let yourself feel the pain first.

we will be okay // pt. 2 - marauders, by @colouredbyd

After days of silence, you’re attacked and left broken. Only then do the Marauders realize what they’ve done. Their apologies remind you that, even in darkness, you're not alone. and - After your attack, you pull away, wounds still aching beneath fragile skin. But love finds you again, gentle and patient, slipping through the cracks you thought would never heal. Happiness blooms slowly, fragile and fierce, proof that even after ruin, there can still be light.

rumour has it // undeniably and secretly yours // say it loud - james potter, by @kjhbsies

James Potter is in a secret relationship with Y/N, but things spiral when someone mistakes Regulus Black for Y/N’s boyfriend and spreads the rumor around Hogwarts. How far will he go before he can’t take it anymore?

the boy is mine - poly!wolfstar, by @colouredbyd

you’re quiet by nature, content in the background—until someone pushes too far. When a girl flirts with Remus, something shifts. With one kiss and a quiet claim, you remind everyone exactly who he ( and Sirius) belong to.

hear me howling - remus lupin, by @ghostedgwen

Obsessed with magical creatures and late-night snacks, you accidentally discover Remus Lupin's furry problem, so you begin leaving him gifts and treats to ease your guilt. Only, he knows it's you and it's a seemingly endless waltz around the truth for your entirety at Hogwarts.

the photo in his wallet - sirius black, by @godricgryffinsnore

When a picture of his girl falls out of Sirius Black’s wallet, Remus and James seize the opportunity of a lifetime—and Sirius? Well, he doesn’t go down without screaming. And you? You grab the perfect opportunity to tease the shit out of him.

loving is easy - remus lupin, by @dismalflo

Being friends with idiots is hard. how long will it take them to realise you and Remus are dating? or a series of events where you become progressively more obvious.

i hate you, i’m sure \\ pt.2 \\ pt. 3 - sirius black, by @dismalflo

For years, you’ve hated Sirius. But when Regulus and James make an announcement, tempers flare until you reach your breaking point.

p.s i still love you \\ p.s do you still love me \\ p.s he still can’t know - james potter, by @monserelates

You find an old letter James wrote to you during fifth year confessing he loved you but never sent. You're now dating someone else. Chaos ensues.

“I kiss rougher than y/n does” - sirius black, by @ddejavvu

introducing your child to the marauders - sirius black, by @ellecdc

the trap - sirius black, by @ellecdc

27 kisses with rosekiller - rosekiller, by @ervotica

don’t you like me too, sirius? - sirius black, by @hirayalore

this fic - remus lupin, by @ellecdc

first i love you - sirius black, by @moonstruckme

[monserelates]

whenever there’s no new fics under my favorite x reader tags, an angel loses its wings

[monserelates]

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory

[monserelates]

Me looking for fan fictions but instead I get flashed by sex bot ads under the same tag

[monserelates]

when reading smut and y/n says “daddy”

[monserelates]

Drunk Confessions ; James Potter

“Drunk words are sober thoughts” they said.

pairing: f!reader x james potter

summary: Y/N and James Potter have been in love with eachother since 3rd year and it’s common knowledge to anyone except them. But what happens when James gets a tad bit too drunk on a party?

warnings/notes: fluff fluff fluff, idiots in love, use of y/n, girlhood, marauders banter, alcohol consumption, idk what elsee

a/n: oh my god in genuinely so mad it literally erased the WHOLE STORY AND I HAD TO REWRITE IT WHST TJE FUCK hope you enjoy anyway chat 🙏🏻

The sky over the Quidditch pitch is an angry gray, rumbling low and threatening, but it doesn’t stop the crowd from roaring like a stadium on fire. Rain drizzles steadily, soaking scarves and robes, but no one seems to care. Every eye is locked on the blur of red and blue circling high above the pitch, faster and faster—bludgers whizzing past, players shouting, the wind slicing through the stands like a knife.

You’re at the front of the Gryffindor section, heart thudding so hard you can barely hear the chant thundering around you:

“POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!”

There’s no mistaking him.

Even from here, you can see the wild mess of black hair, the scarlet robes plastered to his skin from the rain, the glint of determination in his hazel eyes as he leans into the dive of his life.

James Potter looks like a firework seconds before it explodes.

And then—he catches it.

One hand, mid-air, golden wings trapped in his palm.

The pitch erupts.

Gryffindors launch to their feet like they’ve been stunned. Red and gold streamers shoot from somewhere above, and someone behind you yells so loudly they lose their voice on the spot. You don’t realize you’re screaming, too, until your throat burns.

The sound of celebration rises like a tidal wave—but your eyes don’t leave him. Not even for a second.

He’s grinning, eyes wide, hair dripping, arm still raised with the Snitch clenched between his fingers—and then he’s looking straight at you.

And your breath catches.

⸻

In the professor’s box…

“There it is,” McGonagall murmurs, a little smug.

Slughorn groans and drops three Galleons into her hand. “Every bloody time.”

Sprout passes Flitwick a folded bit of parchment with something scrawled on it—probably a prediction. “I had them getting together before the end of the match.”

“Too optimistic,” Flitwick says. “He’ll probably declare his love by Christmas. Or next century.”

Kettleburn frowns at the field through his rain-splattered spectacles. “Are we still talking about the Quidditch score?”

“No,” McGonagall says flatly. “We’re talking about Potter and Y/L/N. The will-they-won’t-they of the bloody decade.”

⸻

Back on the pitch, James doesn’t even acknowledge the rest of his team dogpiling each other in celebration.

He doesn’t stop to gloat, or bow, or wave at the crowd like he usually does.

He runs straight toward you.

Through the mud, through the noise, through everything—and you’re barely down the stairs when he barrels into you, arms wrapping around you, lifting you off your feet like you weigh nothing.

“Did you see that?!” he shouts, voice buzzing with adrenaline and disbelief.

You can’t stop smiling. You’re soaked to the skin, freezing, and buzzing like you’ve been hit with a cheering charm. “James, that was insane! That dive—I thought you were going to die!”

“I would’ve died dramatically!” he declares, spinning you in a ridiculous circle, his laugh echoing against your ear. “And you would’ve said I looked brilliant doing it.”

“You did look brilliant.”

He pulls back just far enough to see your face, his hands still on your waist, warm even through the rain. His grin falters just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so seriously.

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do.”

“Say it again.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re laughing. “You’re brilliant, James.”

“Again.”

“James—”

“One more for luck, come on.”

You swat his arm, and he catches your wrist and swings it gently between you two like you’re seven years old again on the playground.

⸻

Somewhere a few feet away, Sirius Black is groaning dramatically into his hands.

“This is torture. This is literally slow-burn hell.”

“They’re going to kill me with this,” Peter mutters, wrapping his scarf tighter around his head to muffle the scene in front of him.

Remus crosses his arms and sighs. “They’re standing in the rain. Holding each other. Making heart eyes. And neither of them has any idea.”

“Tell me again why we’re not legally allowed to interfere?” Sirius asks.

Remus shrugs. “I think it falls under cruel and unusual punishment if we force them to kiss before they figure it out.”

⸻

You, meanwhile, are still standing there with James, the rain now falling in soft silver sheets around you.

He’s grinning, breathless, flushed from the cold and the win and something else—something softer.

“You’re my lucky charm, you know that?”

“Is that why you always play better when I’m watching?”

“Exactly,” he says, not even pretending it’s a joke.

Your heart stumbles.

But before you can say anything, before you can even breathe, Sirius whistles from the sidelines.

“Oi! Lover boy! Save the swooning for the afterparty!”

James flips him off cheerfully and takes your hand.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go get absolutely wrecked.”

You let him drag you off the field, hand in hand, heart still thudding against your ribs like a snitch trying to escape.

You don’t know it yet, but that’s the moment every professor marks on their mental betting sheet as the beginning of the end for your denial.

..

The Gryffindor common room looks like a postcard from chaos.

Laughter ricochets off the walls. Firewhisky sloshes dangerously close to priceless magical tapestries. Red and gold streamers dangle from floating lanterns, and the Fat Lady is two notes into an off-key drinking song from her frame before someone silences her with a silencing charm (she keeps singing anyway).

You’re curled up on the couch now, legs tucked beneath you, cheeks flushed from the heat and the firewhisky and maybe the fact that James Potter has just collapsed beside you like he belongs there.

(He does. But don’t say that out loud.)

His head lands against your shoulder with a groan. “Merlin, I can’t feel my spine.”

You snort into your butterbeer. “You just won a full-on war match. What’d you expect?”

“A parade. Chocolate. You serenading me.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re delusional.”

He lifts his head slightly, just enough to glance up at you with that lazy, lopsided grin. “Delusion looks good on me, though, yeah?”

He’s too close. Not in a bad way. Just in a dangerous way. His face is warm, hair still damp from rain, and his cheeks are flushed a little from drink and laughter and you.

He bumps your shoulder lightly. “You haven’t told me yet.”

“Told you what?”

“That I was brilliant.”

You stare at him.

He stares back. Wide, innocent eyes. He’s not even joking.

“I literally told you that on the pitch—”

“I know. Say it again.”

“James—”

“One more time. For my ego. It’s fragile. Ask Remus.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours,” he says brightly, and then immediately frowns at himself. “Wait, no. Not like— I meant, like—your ridiculous. As in. You own me. Platonically. Friendly-like.”

Your face burns.

He blinks at you, like his brain is just catching up to his mouth. “Unless you don’t want that? The—uh. Friendly ownership?”

You open your mouth. Then close it.

Then open it again, because he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room. And it’s maddening. And wonderful. And unfair.

“James,” you say, voice a little softer, “You’re always brilliant. Match or not.”

His entire face lights up. Like a sunrise, like a Patronus, like you just gave him a love potion by accident. His grin is all teeth, all joy, like he just heard something he didn’t even know he needed.

“Well,” he says, blinking hard. “Now I definitely need you to say it again.”

You groan and drop your head into his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“Say it with more affection next time.”

You don’t move. It’s warm here. You’re tucked against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he’s just—letting you. His hand comes up instinctively, curling over your knee like you’ve sat like this a hundred times before. Like this is just what you do.

You’re both quiet for a beat.

Then—

James shifts, speaking into your hair, barely above the music.

“You looked really pretty today.”

You freeze.

“What?”

“After the match. Or during. Or always.” He says it like he’s thinking it out in real time. “In the rain. With your hair all messed up and your voice all loud. It was really distracting. I nearly flew into a goalpost.”

You pull back to look at him, heart beating a little too loud in your ears.

His smile wobbles, almost shy now. “It’s not fair, you know. How you make it so hard to focus.”

You’re about to say something—what, you’re not sure—when Sirius crashes down onto the couch beside you both, dramatically sprawled like a dying Victorian maiden.

“Will you two just kiss already?!”

You and James spring apart like you’ve been hit with a Stunning Spell. Your knees knock. The blanket slips off your lap. James nearly falls off the couch. Your face is on fire.

“Sirius!” you hiss.

Remus appears behind him, dragging him by the collar. “Sorry, sorry, he’s had four drinks and zero impulse control.”

“I’m right, though!” Sirius yells as he’s hauled away. “This has been a seven-year buildup! You’re killing me!”

James is still staring at the spot where you were just curled into his side, like he’s unsure if it happened or if he dreamed it.

You clear your throat. “Anyway. Butterbeer?”

“Please,” he says hoarsely.

You both stand awkwardly, side by side.

Neither of you says what you’re thinking.

Neither of you notices the way you mirror each other’s nervous gestures.

Neither of you knows that the whole common room is quietly taking mental bets now.

You just walk toward the drinks table—shoulder brushing shoulder, cheeks pink, trying very hard not to fall in love again in front of everyone.

Too late.

..

It’s been, maybe, thirty minutes since you last talked to James — maybe less — and he’s now reached the level of intoxication where he’s bouncing from couch to floor to table like a golden retriever stuck in a Quidditch locker room. A loud golden retriever.

And you, unfortunately, are the center of his universe.

“Y/N,” he’s saying to a poor first-year who clearly only came over for crisps. “Y/N Y/L/N is a genius. A gift to magical academia. She’s rewriting the rules. Have you read her last essay on spell layering? I read it for fun. I highlighted things. I made notes. NOTES.”

The first-year bolts.

Across the room, Sirius groans. “He’s reached stage four.”

Remus raises a brow. “Already?”

“He’s talking about her footnotes again.”

You, meanwhile, are curled into a chair with Lily and Dorcas, sipping from a butterbeer and watching this trainwreck in motion.

“I didn’t even do anything,” you murmur, wide-eyed.

Dorcas snorts. “That’s the problem.”

James turns next to Marlene, wild-eyed and swaying like a tree in a hurricane. “She’s going to change the world, Mar. I’m just some twat with a broom, but she’s—she’s like a wand-core in human form. Powerful. Regal. Glowy.”

“Glowy,” Sirius repeats, deadpan.

“She deserves her own holiday,” James says gravely. “With no homework. And themed pastries.”

Peter, lying starfish-style on the floor, just mutters, “You said that already.”

James ignores him.

“Moony,” he says suddenly, stumbling over. “Did you know she reads magical theory books for fun?”

“I did, yeah,” Remus says calmly. “She’s in our study group.”

James gasps. “You’ve studied with her?! In real life?!”

“Every Tuesday.”

“Why wasn’t I invited?”

“You were.”

“I WAS?!”

Sirius kicks Remus under the table. “Don’t answer that. He’ll cry.”

James wipes his face. “No, no, I’m fine.”

“I would pay to be in a group with her,” James continues, wildly unaware. “Like actual Galleons. Maybe my Firebolt.”

“You’d trade your broom for study rights?” Sirius asks.

“I’d trade my dignity,” James replies, deadly serious.

“You already have,” Peter mumbles.

“Okay but she’s just so incredibly amazi-”

Sirius sighs so loudly his soul escapes for a second. “Mate, please, for the love of Merlin—take a breath.”

“I can’t!” James cries, hand on his heart. “She just talked to me, Sirius. She said I looked brilliant out there. Brilliant. She said it. Out loud. With her mouth. To me.”

He’s swaying. There’s a butterbeer bottle dangling from one hand and a crumpled bit of parchment in the other — no one knows where it came from, or what it says. He keeps trying to read it dramatically, but it’s blank.

He lurches toward Lily now, grabbing her shoulders with too much emotion for someone this off-balance. “Evans. Lily. You’re smart. You get it. Tell me she’s the most magnificent human being to ever live.”

Lily looks him dead in the eye. “She’s alright.”

James’s jaw drops. “Alright?! You take that back right now.”

Dorcas cackles. “Lily, you’re going to send him into cardiac arrest.”

“I just think Marlene’s got better cheekbones—”

“HOW DARE—”

James starts climbing the arm of the couch like it’s a podium. His butterbeer spills onto Sirius’s leg.

“I would die for her,” he declares to the room, fully ignoring Sirius screaming “MY TROUSERS, JAMES!”

“I would go to Azkaban for her!”

“I think you’d go to Azkaban for knocking over that table,” Peter says mildly.

“I would invent new spells for her! Emotional ones! With poetry built in!”

“You don’t even remember the counter-hex for hiccoughing,” Remus mutters.

“I’d learn!” James insists. “For her? I’d learn anything. Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Goblin dialects—anything.”

Marlene sips from her cup, eyeing him like a science experiment. “Should we be worried he’s going to propose tonight?”

“No, no,” James says quickly. “Not tonight. I have to make it special. You only get one first proposal. I’ll probably need a broomstick and a dragon.”

A pause.

“Maybe two dragons.”

“James,” Sirius says slowly, like speaking to a spooked Hippogriff. “You do know she’s still here, yeah? At this party?”

James freezes.

“What.”

“She hasn’t left,” Remus adds. “She’s literally by the fireplace.”

He turns slowly.

Y/N is laughing again — head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut — and it hits him all over again like a rogue Bludger.

He turns back to them, hand over his mouth. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“I have to tell her she’s amazing.”

“NO!” all four of them yell at once.

Sirius grabs him by the collar. “You already did! At least five times! Just now! You were very loud!”

“I was?!”

“James,” Remus says gently. “If you tell her again tonight, she’ll never take you seriously ever again.”

James frowns, gaze flickering. “But she’s just so—look at her. How is a person allowed to be that capable and that pretty? At the same time?! While breathing?! It’s not fair.”

“Neither is this hangover you’re about to have,” Peter mumbles.

You’re across the room, sitting with Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene near the fireplace, laughing at something. Your head’s thrown back, hand curled over your stomach, cheeks flushed from drink and heat and happiness.

James sees this.

And promptly gasps.

Loudly.

“Did—did you see that?” he whispers furiously to no one in particular, swatting at Sirius’s arm.

“See what?” Sirius blinks.

“She just—” James gestures vaguely in her direction. “She laughed. Like a—like a goddess. Like something out of a romance novel. Did you see that?!”

Remus raises an eyebrow, sipping from his butterbeer. “James, she’s laughed like that since First Year.”

“Yes,” James says, grabbing Sirius’s face. “But this time it was at my joke.”

“It wasn’t,” Peter pipes up from the floor. “She was laughing at Marlene.”

James doesn’t hear him. He’s too busy sinking deeper into the cushions, clutching a half-empty bottle and sighing like someone just recited a Shakespearean sonnet into his soul.

Sirius grabs him. “Alright, Casanova, let’s sit back down before you give McGonagall a reason to revoke your Prefect badge.”

James collapses onto the couch but doesn’t stop talking. He’s now mumbling into a throw pillow.

“She’s so smart. Her brain is like—like a Pensieve made of diamonds. And her eyes? Unfair. Illegal. Should require a license.”

You bury your face in your hands.

“Don’t look at me,” you groan. “Don’t even look at me.”

Dorcas leans into your side, grinning. “You’re not embarrassed. You’re thriving.”

“I’m combusting.”

Across the room, Lily narrows her eyes. “Okay. Who gave him the last bottle?”

Dorcas smirks. “He nicked it from Peter when he was doing that thing with the singing frog.”

“Oh no,” Marlene says, already turning to watch.

“Oh yes,” Sirius says gleefully, patting James on the back like he’s winding up a toy.

“Did I ever tell you,” James says, swaying forward with the glass raised like a toast, “that in Third Year, Y/N got an Outstanding on that bloody Transfiguration essay—without extra credit? And then she apologized for ‘only’ getting one foot over the minimum length. Like some sort of modest academic angel.”

“You have,” says Remus, dryly. “Twice a month. Every month. Since Third Year.”

“She’s just so…” James trails off, blinking at nothing, trying to summon language that doesn’t exist. “She’s like… if the library came to life and had really nice hands.”

“Poetic,” Peter murmurs.

James leans his head against the back of the couch, watching her from across the room like she’s the only star in the sky.

“And her handwriting,” he slurs, dreamy and devastating. “She dots her i’s with perfect little circles. Not hearts, thank Merlin, she’s not insufferable. But like. The neatest circles you’ve ever seen. I’d kill to be one of her i’s.”

Remus spits out his drink.

Sirius is laughing so hard he has to bend over.

“Mate,” he wheezes. “You are so far gone you’re about to become a sonnet.”

James frowns, eyes still locked on her. “She deserves one.”

“Write her one, then,” Remus says, exasperated.

James shrugs. “Couldn’t do her justice.”

Across the room, you start to stand up, clearly preparing to come over. James perks up immediately, nearly launching off the couch, except Sirius holds him down with one hand.

“She’s coming this way,” James whisper-shouts, scrambling to fix his hair and elbow Remus in the ribs. “Do I look tragic? In a romantic, yearning sort of way?”

“You look like you just got hit by a flying book,” Peter says.

“That’s very her-coded,” James whispers urgently. “She’ll love it.”

Y/N appears in front of them, hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. “Are you drunk?”

“Depends,” James says brightly. “Are you real or did I dream you up in Charms class again?”

You blink. “What?”

“What.”

Everyone freezes.

Lily, from across the room, covers her face. “Oh my god.”

Dorcas kicks Marlene under the table. “We’re witnessing a historical event.”

“James,” you say slowly. “You dreamed about me in Charms class?”

James’s face goes bright pink. He blinks. “No.”

“James.”

“…Yes.”

Remus drops his head into his hands. Sirius is making a strangled keening sound beside him.

You don’t say anything for a second. Just stare.

James, meanwhile, is staring up at you with the dumbest, dreamiest smile in all of wizard history. “Y’know, you have the best laugh I’ve ever heard. Like music. Not like bagpipes. Like—like harps. But funny.”

You press your hand to your face. “James, you’re sloshed.”

“But still honest!” he says, raising a finger. “And if I die tonight, which is a real possibility—someone needs to tell you. You’re absolutely—stunning. And terrifying. And the best person I’ve ever met.”

You go very still.

“You deserve everything,” James says, serious now. “Every top mark. Every bloody award. And—and someone who worships the ground you walk on.”

Sirius points dramatically at James. “Like this guy, for example!”

James waves weakly. “Hi.”

You stare at him.

Then you shake your head with a disbelieving smile, cheeks burning.

“I’m getting you water,” you mutter, turning on your heel.

As you walk away, Sirius leans in. “Well?”

James is still smiling like an idiot.

“I love her,” he mumbles.

“You think?” Remus says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Across the room, James looks up like he’s just spotted a unicorn.

“There she is,” he whispers reverently, eyes locked on you. “Look at her. Laughing. Being intelligent. Breathing air.”

He turns to the boys. “I’m going to tell her she’s amazing again.”

“No, you are not,” Sirius says, throwing an arm across him.

“You already did,” Remus adds.

“You said you’d invent spells with poetry built in,” Peter says, eyes closed. “That’s enough vulnerability for one night.”

“But I didn’t even tell her about the way her nose crinkles when she’s annoyed,” James insists, distressed.

“YES, YOU DID,” the entire group yells at once.

James flops dramatically back onto the couch, gaze still on you, hand pressed to his heart.

“I hope I never get used to it,” he mumbles.

“To what?” Sirius asks, too tired for this.

“Her. Being… her.”

Silence.

Then:

“That’s it,” Lily whispers to you. “I’m putting a Galleon down that he confesses within the week.”

You snort. “He’s not going to remember any of this.”

“Oh, he will,” Remus says, already conjuring a camera. “Because we’re going to make him.”

..

James is soft in the firelight.

Slouched on your lap, staring at you with those dreamy eyes while you run your hands through his hair. His eyes are glassy, smile sleepy. There’s an empty butterbeer bottle rolling somewhere near his foot.

You think he might fall asleep mid-sentence, right until he says it:

“I’m in love with you.”

No teasing. No grin.

Just the truth — dropped into your lap like a glass heart he doesn’t think you’ll keep.

You stare at him. Everything in you flickering, still, glowing.

And maybe he’s tipsy, and it’s way too late, and maybe you’ve spent years convincing yourself not to say anything — but your mouth opens before your doubt can shut it.

“I’ve been in love with you since third year.”

James turns to you fully now, dazed.

“You have?”

You nod, heart thudding so hard it nearly knocks you over. “You—” your voice catches, and then it softens, wavers at the edges. “You helped me carry six books back from the library. I was too proud to ask anyone. You didn’t even say anything. Just took half of them out of my arms like it was nothing.”

He blinks. “You’re telling me I won your heart with library logistics?”

You laugh — really laugh — the kind that curls into your cheeks. “It wasn’t just that. It was the way you smiled at me like I already mattered. I think I’ve been trying to catch up with that moment ever since.”

James stares at you like you just rearranged the stars.

And then you add, softer, thumb brushing along his knuckles:

“You’ll probably forget this tomorrow.”

He shakes his head so hard his curls flop. “No. Not this. Not you.”

“You said that last time you got drunk.”

“Yeah, but that was about pineapple on pizza, which is totally so wrong by the way, and this is about you, and you’re my favorite person in the world.”

You blink, throat tightening.

He exhales like the truth has been sitting on his chest for years. “You make everything better just by existing. Like—I look at you and forget what I was mad about. Or scared about. You just—calm the chaos.”

You nudge his knee with yours, voice watery. “You’re drunk and romantic and a little bit sappy.”

He nods solemnly. “And I still know you’re the girl I want to marry.”

Then, quieter:

“Kiss me tomorrow, okay? Just to make sure it wasn’t a dream.”

You smile, curling closer to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Only if you remember the third year library incident.”

“Deal.”

He tucks his head into your shoulder.

And in the dying firelight, with the castle quiet around you and the taste of unsaid things still sweet in the air, you let yourself believe it.

Tomorrow, he’ll remember.

Because love like this doesn’t get drunk. It waits.

..

James wakes up like a man reborn.

Which is to say: violently, dramatically, with a sharp inhale and a jolt upright that knocks his glasses off the nightstand and sends his pillow flying to the floor.

He blinks at the ceiling, hair sticking up in twelve different directions.

And then—

“OH MY GOD.”

The sound echoes through the boys’ dormitory like a spell misfired. Peter lets out a strangled yelp and rolls off his bed with a thud. Sirius groans, dragging a pillow over his face.

Remus, who’s reading some poetry book, even with a hangover, doesn’t look up.

“Unless Dumbledore’s tap-dancing at the foot of your bed, I swear to Merlin, James—”

“SHE LOVES ME.”

Silence.

Absolute, stunned, not-this-early silence.

Peter pokes his head up from behind his blankets. “Who? The librarian?”

“Y/N!” James yells, launching himself out of bed and spinning like he’s in a Disney film. “Y/N loves me. She told me. Last night. Right here.” He points aggressively at his chest. “In the heart zone.”

Sirius groans louder. “It’s too early for this level of optimism.”

“She’s loved me since third year!” James says, nearly tripping on his own shoe in excitement. “Third! Year!”

“You’re shouting,” Remus says, very dry. “Please don’t shout.”

“I REMEMBER EVERYTHING!” James howls with glee, climbing onto Sirius’s bed. “She said I make her feel calm. I make her feel calm! I am a human soothing draught!”

Sirius whacks him with a pillow. “You’re a human disaster!”

James falls dramatically to the floor, arms spread wide like he’s been shot. “A loved disaster!”

Peter squints. “Wait, are you sure this wasn’t a hallucination?”

“Hallucinations don’t tuck their heads into your shoulder and promise to kiss you in the morning.”

Sirius sits up at that. “Wait. Did you kiss?”

“No,” James says reverently, like it’s sacred. “We’re saving it.”

Sirius throws himself back down. “Merlin, just kill me.”

“I’m going to marry her,” James says suddenly, with the confidence of a man who can barely tie his tie in the morning.

Remus finally puts his book down. “Maybe eat breakfast first.”

“I’m going to buy her breakfast. Then marry her.”

Peter groans into his hands. “I hope she knows what she’s signed up for.”

“She does,” James says, dreamy, like the thought of you just rewrote his entire brain chemistry. “She’s perfect. Life is perfect. Life is great.”

And then he sprints to the bathroom singing something that vaguely sounds like a love song but might also be the Gryffindor Quidditch chant.

The Marauders exchange a look.

Sirius sighs, rubbing his temples. “You know what the worst part is?”

Remus raises an eyebrow.

“He’s not wrong.”

..

You find him by the lake.

He’s sitting under that same tree you always gravitate toward when the castle feels too full — hair still messy from sleep, tie loose, legs stretched out like he’s been waiting all morning. Because he has.

When he sees you, his face lights up like the bloody sun.

“You came.”

“I figured you’d be here,” you say, soft.

He grins. “Course I am. This is where I first realized I was doomed.”

You blink. “What?”

“Third year,” he says, sitting up straighter. “I watched you lug about twenty kilos of books up the hill after the library kicked us out. I tried to help, and you gave me that look — the one that’s all, ‘I’m fine, but I’ll murder you if you tell me I’m not.’”

You can’t help laughing. “Sounds like me.”

“You dropped a book on my foot,” he says fondly. “A heavy one. Arithmancy.”

“I remember.”

“And I remember thinking—” his voice dips lower, gentler, “—that I wanted to carry your books forever. Even if you hexed me for it.”

Something warm stirs in your chest.

You sit beside him in the grass, close enough that your knees brush. The lake glitters beside you like it knows this is a moment worth shining for.

“Did you really remember everything from last night?” you ask, quieter now.

He nods immediately. “Every word. You said you loved me since third year. That I make you calm. That I smiled at you like you already mattered.”

Your breath hitches.

“You do matter,” he says. “Always have.”

There’s no one around. Just the wind and the water and him looking at you like you hung the constellations he memorized for Astronomy.

You lean in.

“You asked me to kiss you, remember?”

“I said to do it if I meant it,” he murmurs.

“So I will.”

And then you kiss him.

It’s not a firework — it’s a sunrise. Soft. Certain. Familiar in all the ways a first kiss shouldn’t be, but is, because you’ve loved him for so long you’ve practically memorized him.

He exhales into it, like he’s been holding his breath for three years straight.

You pull back just slightly, resting your forehead against his, both of you smiling too hard to speak.

“You’re not dreaming,” you whisper.

His voice is just as quiet, just as real. “No. I’m finally awake.”

You link your pinky with his — that’s all it takes.

“Let’s go back,” you say. “We’ve got Charms in ten.”

James smirks. “I’ve already won.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I got the girl who dropped an Arithmancy book on my foot.”

You laugh, shaking your head, and he grabs your hand properly this time as you both head back toward the castle — together, finally, ridiculously, completely in love.

..

Up on the Astronomy Tower, half-hidden by a stone balustrade, six faces are squished into a far-too-small window view, watching the scene unfold by the lake.

When you and James finally kiss, Sirius lets out an unholy screech.

“YESSSSS! FINALLY! THE ENEMIES-TO-BEST-FRIENDS-TO-SOULMATES PIPELINE IS REAL!”

Marlene punches the air so hard she almost falls off the ledge. “WE CALLED IT. WE CALLED IT IN SECOND BLOODY YEAR.”

Dorcas screams into her scarf. “Do you know how long I’ve had to listen to Y/N say ‘It’s not like that with James’ while doodling his name in her notes?!”

Remus smiles, smug and knowing. “Took them long enough.”

Peter nods solemnly. “I would like financial compensation for emotional damages.”

Lily is beaming, arms crossed, looking like the proudest mum of two tragically slow children. “I’ve had a toast prepared for this day since Fifth Year.”

Sirius wipes an imaginary tear. “They kissed like they’ve been in love since third year.”

“They have been in love since third year,” Lily, Dorcas, Marlene, and Remus chorus at once.

“Oi!” James shouts from below, turning around with you still tucked under his arm. “We can see you, you know!”

Sirius immediately cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “WE DON’T CARE! GET MARRIED!”

“NAME YOUR FIRSTBORN AFTER ME,” Dorcas adds.

Remus chuckles. “Get ready for uncle Moony!”

Meanwhile, in the staff lounge, Flitwick glances out the window and gasps so loud he almost falls off his stack of books.

“They did it! They finally kissed!”

McGonagall doesn’t even look up from her tea. “About bloody time.”

Sprout pulls out a dusty betting chart from under her gardening apron. “Alright, who had post-Quidditch-match, lakeside, mid-June?”

Slughorn sighs dramatically and tosses a Galleon into her palm. “I said Hogsmeade weekend. Close, but no cigar.”

Kettleburn peeks over his newspaper. “Still talking about the students?”

“Yes,” they all say in unison.

Flitwick smiles fondly. “They were always going to find each other.”

McGonagall watches you and James walk back toward the castle, hands clasped, smiling like you’ve just cracked the code to the universe.

“They just needed a few years. And a few footnotes.”

THE END

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it—twice—, please reblog and give feedback! / requests are open!

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