#James Potter fanfiction

[ikkyfics]

What We Never Said

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: James, your best friend forever, always the one who laughed with you and protected you from everything, now the center of the chaos your heart had become. That night had been sweet and devastating, his touches seeming to etch themselves into your skin. But the morning after had been confusing, full of silences and diverted glances. And now, what were you? You didn’t know anymore.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, muggle au, no use of y/n, pre relationship, pregnancy, a little misunderstanding

A/N: It had been so soooo long since I had done anything with James, so I was inspired after reading endorphin-morphine by my beloved @gingerteafairy <33

Masterlist

The night was oppressively silent, except for the constant sound of the fine rain tapping against the windows. The apartment was bathed in a cozy dimness, lit only by a faint light in the living room. You had been there for hours, sitting on the sofa with your knees drawn up to your chest, your eyes fixed on an undefined point on the wall. But your mind wasn’t present. It wandered, stuck on the same painful memory—the one from that night.

It was like an open wound you didn’t know how to heal. James, your best friend forever, always the one who laughed with you and protected you from everything, now the center of the chaos your heart had become. That night had been sweet and devastating, his touches seeming to etch themselves into your skin. There was a tenderness there you would never forget, an intensity that overflowed with both desire and affection. But the morning after had been confusing, full of silences and diverted glances. And now, what were you? You didn’t know anymore.

The sound of knocks on the door shattered your thoughts into pieces. They came fast and urgent, a sequence that left no room for doubt. You froze, your heart pounding too hard. Then another series of knocks. More insistent. “Please,” his voice, a bit breathless, came from the other side. “Please, open.”

James.

Your whole body reacted before your mind could think. You went to the door and opened it. There he was—soaked to the bone, his black hair sticking to his forehead, his glasses fogged with rain. He looked both exhausted and agitated, his shoulders slumped under the weight of something he couldn’t say. But what broke you was the look he gave you. As if he were looking for something to confirm what he feared.

“Can I come in?” The question came out almost hesitantly, different from any James you knew.

You just nodded and stepped aside. He entered, and the sound of his wet shoes against the floor echoed through the room. The silence was suffocating, but you could feel his eyes on you, observing every detail. When he closed the door and turned, he was standing in the middle of the room, drenched and restless.

He tried to say something, but his voice faltered on the first attempt. “Are you okay?” he asked, and there was something almost desperate in the words.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to smile, pretend everything was fine. But there was a weight in your chest that wouldn’t allow lies. “I’m... trying,” you answered in a soft tone. And it was the truest thing you could offer.

James’s gaze didn’t waver. His blue eyes behind the glasses seemed desperate to understand something you weren’t sure how to explain. He studied you with an intensity that made everything even harder—not just as the friend he had always been, but with a new, unsettling attention.

You looked away, unable to bear the weight of it for another second. The tension between you two was suffocating, as if you were both trying to play at normalcy that didn’t belong in this moment. James, the same James who had always been a storm of energy and teasing, was there, silent, almost hesitant.

“I... I could make tea,” you said, your voice fragile. “You should warm up before you catch a cold.”

He nodded slowly, as if he wanted to say something else but respected the space you were desperate to create. “Okay.”

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes landing on his wet shoulders and the way his drenched hair clung to his forehead. “You should change too. There’s a change of clothes here…”

James blinked, surprised. “From the last time I—”

“Yes.” You hurried to turn your back on him, unable to handle the memory of that night, so full of laughter and camaraderie before everything had changed. You went to the kitchen, your hands trembling as you grabbed the kettle.

James didn’t say anything else. He knew where your clothes were and went to get them from the bedroom while you prepared the tea. The water boiled, and you focused all your attention on small movements—the sound of the porcelain, the soft lavender scent in the air. But even then, there was no real escape. The memory of that night kept coming back. The way his fingers seemed to know exactly where to touch, the warmth of his lips against your skin. It had been tender and painfully intimate, and thinking about it now was agonizing enough to steal your breath away.

James came back to the kitchen, wearing a clean t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair still messy but no longer dripping. He seemed more physically at ease, but the tension in his eyes hadn’t lessened in the slightest.

You placed the cups on the table and sat down in front of him. The table seemed too big for the silence between you, as if it were impossible to cross it. He held the cup, but didn’t drink immediately. He just looked at you, as if searching for the right words.

“Are you... eating properly?” The question came out hesitantly, and he seemed to hate his own voice for saying it.

Your stomach churned. “Yes. I’m fine.” But the truth was different. There was a part of you in a constant state of panic, fighting to ignore the little signs your mind created. You forced yourself not to look at your own stomach, as if the simple gesture could betray your thoughts.

“You don’t look well,” James replied, and there was such raw anguish in his voice that you felt an urge to run away.

“James, let’s not do this now.”

“Lily told me.”

His words sliced through the air like a blade, and you froze. Everything around you seemed to dissolve into white noise—the sound of the wind outside, the steam rising from the tea cups. Only those few words echoed in your mind, unbearably loud.

Lily had promised. But of course, this was bigger than any promise. Because she cared about James just as much as she cared about you, and at some point, her concern must have overflowed.

You tried to push the memory away, but it came anyway. The night you went to Lily’s house, your eyes swollen from crying. The way your hands trembled as you told her, through tears and sobs, that you might be pregnant. How you had been caught off guard, the overwhelming fear that took over you.

“Hey.” James’ voice was closer now, gentle and full of urgency. You didn’t even notice when he kneeled in front of you, his hands searching for yours. But you kept your fingers tightly clasped in your lap, stiff. You didn’t trust yourself to touch him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his blue eyes searching yours. There was no anger there—just fear and a deep pain that seemed to mirror yours.

“Because… because I didn’t know what to do.” Your voice was hoarse, as if each word were a battle. “I still don’t know.”

James lowered his head for a moment, breathing deeply as if gathering all the courage he had. Then, when he looked up at you, there was something in his eyes you couldn’t immediately identify—determination, yes, but also a desperate vulnerability that made him almost unrecognizable.

“Then let me do something,” he said softly.

Before you could answer, he slid his hand into the pocket of his sweatshirt and, with a hesitant gesture, pulled out a small blue velvet box. Your heart stopped for a moment. Because you knew that box. He had mentioned it before—a family heirloom that belonged to his mother. And now, it was there, in his hands, open before you.

Inside, there was a simple, but flawless ring. A delicate, timeless gold band.

“Marry me,” James asked, with an almost painful softness. He was still on his knees, only inches from you, but it felt like there was an abyss between you two.

You couldn’t breathe. The same phrase you had imagined countless times, in so many dreams, in so many different scenarios—and now, finally spoken aloud.

But nothing was as it should have been.

You felt a tearing pain rip through your chest. Because, in your dreams, he asked because he loved you. Because you were best friends who had found each other in the midst of everything. Not like this. Not with an unexpected pregnancy as the backdrop, not with the weight of duty suffocating the moment.

“James... no.” Your voice broke, barely audible.

He blinked, confusion turning his face into something devastated. “What?”

“I can’t,” you replied, not daring to look at him. “I can’t do this.”

“Why?” The word came out laden with pain, almost disbelieving. “If it’s because of the baby, I want to be here. I want—”

“It’s not that.” Your throat tightened so much it felt impossible to continue. “I don’t want you to do this out of obligation.”

James stood still, as though you had taken the ground from under him. He slowly closed the box, but didn’t stand. He stayed kneeling there, staring at you with eyes now filled with pain he couldn’t hide.

“Is that what you think of me?” He murmured, his voice rough.

You stood up, the instinct to flee overtaking you. “Please, James. Let’s just... forget this, okay?”

But before you could take another step, you felt his hands around your arms, gentle but firm enough to prevent your escape. “Forget? You want me to pretend I don’t love you?”

The whole world stopped.

“Don’t say that,” you begged, your voice barely a whisper.

“Why not?” He moved closer, and when you tried to turn your face away, James gently held your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Say you don’t feel anything for me. Look into my eyes and tell me I’m wrong.”

You tried. You really tried. But there was something in his gaze—so much truth, so much love that seemed unbearable—and the words got stuck in your throat.

“Say it, and I’ll leave,” James promised, his fingers gliding gently over your skin, as if he could ease the pain hanging in the air between you two. “But if it’s not true... let me fight for us.”

A tear fell down your cheek, followed by another. You were trembling now, and his touch felt both comforting and unbearable.

James saw the pain in your eyes and, without hesitation, pulled you into his arms. The strength of his embrace was both firm and protective, as though he was trying to hold all the broken parts of you together and prevent them from shattering. And there, with his warmth enveloping every part of your being, you collapsed.

The tears came like a flood, sobs you could no longer contain ripping through your throat. Your face was buried in his chest, your fingers clutching his shirt as if you feared he would disappear if you let go. He didn’t say anything immediately—just held you tighter, his hands gently sliding over your back, his lips pressing against your forehead in a silent kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, his voice so full of regret that it made your heart ache even more. “I’m sorry for everything, for not coming after you sooner. For not saying...”

He paused for a moment, his breath uneven as if he were struggling to maintain his composure.

“For not saying that I love you.”

You froze, your sobs quieting, but the weight of his words still hung in the air.

“I’ve always loved you,” James continued, his tone firm despite the tremor in his voice. “From the beginning. And I was an idiot for never making that clear. For hurting you, for not realizing what you were going through. I should’ve been with you all along.”

His hands loosened their grip on his shirt, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Because every word he spoke seemed to slowly dissolve the fear and pain you had carried over the past days—but it also brought a vulnerability you hadn’t expected.

James leaned back just slightly, enough to look at you. His eyes were full of unshed tears, concern and love clear as day.

“You are everything to me,” he said softly, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “And no matter what happens, I want to be by your side. In every moment, through every difficulty. Even if there wasn’t a baby. I just want... you.”

More tears filled your eyes, but now, they were different. They were tears of relief. Of hope. You couldn’t speak, but James seemed to understand anyway. He tilted his forehead to gently touch yours, his eyes closed as his noses brushed in an intimate, tender gesture.

“Let me stay,” he whispered. “Let me take care of you. Let me love you the way I should’ve all along.”

For a long moment, you just stood there, absorbing every word, every touch, every beat of his heart against yours. And then, slowly, you nodded.

“Yes.” Your voice came out weak, but full of an emotion that felt almost impossible to contain. “Yes, James.”

The smile that formed on his lips was a mixture of relief and pure love, and before you could say anything more, James pulled you into a soft kiss. It wasn’t desperate or impulsive—it was a kiss full of promises, of everything he hadn’t been able to say before.

And when his lips left yours, he hugged you again, tighter than before. As if he never intended to let go.

[jacquitries]

In This Life and The Next Pt. 2 | J.P.

You have finally found each other again—after time was rewritten, after fate tore you apart and left only memories in its wake. But the world does not make it easy. You are twenty years younger than James. His friends do not understand. And worse—he does not know the truth of what you have become.

(Ask and ye shall receive!!! Part 2 of In This Life and The Next. You can read the first part here)

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

You are twenty years younger than him. The world does not let you forget it.

The ones who love James do not let him forget it, either.

Sirius is the first to confront him. "This is a joke, right?" he says, but there’s no humor in his voice. "You? In love? Since when?"

James’ jaw tightens. "Since now."

Sirius scoffs, shaking his head. "No. No, you don’t get to say that like it makes sense. You—James Potter—have never truly been in love. Never. Not once. And now you expect me to believe that after all these years, after everything, you suddenly are? And with her?" He gestures sharply. "She’s a kid, James. A friend of Harry’s. You’re supposed to be an Auror, not some lovesick fool chasing after something that shouldn’t even be a thought."

James exhales sharply, his patience thinning. If only they knew. If only they could remember. He has spent years, a lifetime, wandering through a world without you. He remembers what it felt like to live with the absence of you, to search for something that no longer existed. And now, now that he has you again, they expect him to simply let it go?

"She’s not a kid. She’s a grown woman who knows what she wants. And so do I."

Remus folds his arms, his expression unreadable but his words measured. "It’s not just the age gap, James. It’s you. You’ve never done this before. You’ve never cared like this. How do you know it’s real? How do you know you’re not just grasping at something because it’s there? Because she looks at you like you matter?"

James clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms. They don’t understand. How could they? In their minds, he has always been the same James Potter—the reckless one, the unshakable one, the man who never let his heart rule him. They have no memory of the weight he has carried, the loss that haunted him in another life. If they did, they would not question him now.

James swallows down the words that threaten to spill, the truth clawing at his throat. If only they knew. If only they could remember. He has spent a lifetime without you already—a life that felt hollow, incomplete. And now, faced with their skepticism, he cannot tell them. He cannot let them know the weight he carries, the second chance he has been given. So instead, he clenches his fists and exhales sharply. "I know exactly what this means. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t."

Lily’s voice is calm, but there’s something sharp in her eyes. "James, I believe that you believe that. But you’ve never had to navigate love before. You don’t know what it’s like to build something with another person, to make compromises, to think about what the future actually looks like with them. She’s still figuring herself out. And whether or not you mean to, you have all the power in this. That’s what scares us."

Power. James swallows. He knows it’s true. He is older, more experienced, established in his life while yours is just beginning. But it does not change the fact that he knows you. That he has known you beyond what time would allow them to comprehend. If only they remembered—if only they could recall what it had been like when you were all equals, standing together in a life now lost.

Sirius lets out a hollow laugh. "And what? You think you’re going to settle down? Get married? Have kids? Since when have you ever wanted that, James? You’ve never cared about things like this before. And now you expect us to believe that’s changed? That you even know what you're doing?"

James stares at them, heart pounding. He has never known love like this before, true, but not because he was incapable of it. It had simply never found him—until you. Until fate twisted its cruel hand and gave him a second chance that no one else in this room could begin to fathom.

Then, Harry speaks. "It’s weird," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "Really weird." He looks James in the eye. "But I trust you. And I trust her. And if this is what you both want, then I won’t stand in your way."

Sirius throws up his hands in frustration, but Remus only sighs. The argument does not end cleanly. It lingers, unspoken, in the spaces between their words, in the way James feels their stares long after they leave the room.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Time passes in stolen moments.

James doesn’t talk about the argument, but he feels its weight in the way his friends look at him, in the silence that lingers whenever your name comes up. He should care more. Maybe, once, he would have. But then you arrive at his doorstep, eyes alight with something he can’t name, and none of it matters.

You fill his space with laughter, with warmth, with something he’s never had before. The best days are the ones where you curl up beside him on his sofa, your presence so natural it’s as if you’ve always belonged there. He memorizes every detail—the way your fingers trace patterns against his wrist, the way your smile softens when you think no one is looking. But there is something else, too. A shadow behind your gaze, a hesitation when you think he isn’t paying attention.

James notices.

He tells himself he won’t push, that you’ll tell him when you’re ready. But the unease festers. It builds in the quiet spaces between your visits, in the way you linger at the door as if there’s something you want to say but can’t. He wants to believe that whatever is haunting you will pass, that you will let him in.

But the days slip through his fingers like sand, and James cannot shake the feeling that something is slipping away before he’s even had the chance to hold it.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The room is suffocating.

The air is thick with the scent of burning wax and damp stone, the flickering torch light casting shadows that stretch unnaturally across the walls. Hooded figures stand in a circle, their silent presence more terrifying than words could ever be. You kneel at the center of it all, the cold seeping into your bones, your heartbeat a frantic drum in your chest.

And then, the searing pain.

It spreads like fire, like something crawling beneath your skin, binding itself to you in ways you cannot undo. Your breath catches, but you do not scream. You will not give them the satisfaction. This was forced upon you, but you will not break. You refuse.

When it is done, when the brand is settled and the pain turns from burning to aching, you dare to lift your gaze. And that’s when you see him.

Evan Rosier.

His grip tightens around your wrist—not harsh, but firm, grounding. His eyes, sharp and searching, flicker with something close to disbelief. "I didn’t think you’d go this way," he murmurs, his voice low, controlled, but you can hear the crack beneath it. This isn’t just surprise—it’s something deeper, something dangerously close to betrayal.

You search his face, the one so familiar and yet so different from the boy you once knew in another lifetime. He doesn’t remember. He never could. And yet—

"Neither did I," you say, and the words are both a lie and the closest thing to the truth.

A moment passes, stretched thin between you. The ceremony moves on without pause, the murmurs of approval from the surrounding figures fading into the background. But Evan does not move. His fingers tighten for just a second before loosening, before glancing over his shoulder as if ensuring no one is listening.

He exhales sharply. "Then I’ll protect you." A pause. A breath. "As much as I can."

It is not a promise, but it feels like one.

He knows as well as you do—safety is a fleeting thing in times like these. But in this moment, it is enough to believe in the lie.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

You stand before Dumbledore, hands clasped tightly at your sides, the weight of what you are about to say pressing down on you like lead. You have rehearsed this moment, crafted every word with precision, but under his gaze, they threaten to crumble.

"I want to work for you," you say, voice steady despite the storm inside you. "As a spy."

Dumbledore does not move, does not react. His office, usually brimming with quiet magic, is unbearably still. The ticking of an ancient clock fills the silence between you.

"I was inducted tonight," you continue, forcing your voice to remain even. "The Dark Lord believes I am his. I can make use of that. I can get you information, give you insight no one else can."

Still, he says nothing. His silence is not judgment—it is something worse. Consideration.

"I know what this will take," you press on. "I know what will be asked of me, and I accept it. But if I do this, I need to know that you will use what I give you. That it won’t be wasted."

Finally, Dumbledore leans forward, interlacing his fingers. "Do you understand what you are offering?" His voice is quiet, measured, but there is something heavy beneath it. "What this will cost you?"

You exhale slowly. "I do. And I am still here."

For a long moment, he only watches you. Then, at last, he nods. It is not approval, nor is it relief. It is inevitable.

You close your eyes for just a second, the weight of his actions settling over you like a heavy cloak. And then, before you can stop yourself, you speak again. "Severus."

Dumbledore’s gaze sharpens slightly, though his expression remains unreadable.

"I know he walks the same path I do," you continue, your voice quieter now. "He may not say it, but I see it in the way he looks at me. He knows what I am doing. What I have to do. Because he’s doing it too, isn’t he?"

Dumbledore does not confirm. But he does not deny it either. And that is answer enough.

You exhale slowly. "He doesn’t want me there," you say, half to yourself. "He thinks I’ll make a mistake, that I don’t understand what I’ve gotten myself into. But I do. I know what this means. I know the cost." And that is answer enough.

"Severus is a man of many loyalties," he says at last. "As are you. It is best to remember that."

A beat of silence. Then another.

At last, Dumbledore exhales, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he opens them again, there is no warmth, no reassurance. Only quiet resignation. "If you must walk this path," he says, voice laced with something almost sorrowful, "then walk it carefully."

The words settle over you like a heavy cloak, suffocating in their finality. He does not question. He does not argue. He accepts.

And somehow, that is worse.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

James does not know. He cannot know.

You live two lives, separate yet inescapably intertwined. In Hogsmeade, you let James hold you, let his hands linger as if they can keep you here, grounded in the warmth of The Three Broomsticks and stolen moments. But you are never truly present. Because when you are not with him, you are somewhere else entirely.

Hogwarts is your sanctuary. The Vanishing Cabinet is your escape.

In the dead of night, you slip through its doors, stepping from the stone corridors of the castle into the heart of a war no one suspects you fight. On the other side, Evan is waiting. The others are waiting. And you play your role as if it is the only thing keeping you alive.

Evan Rosier is your tether to yourself, though neither of you speak of it. He walks beside you in the dark, his wand always the first to strike, his magic landing before yours can hesitate. He makes sure your hands remain clean, though you both know that blood clings to you anyway.

Snape sees it too. He watches you from the edges, his dark gaze knowing, waiting.

"Rosier cannot protect you forever," he murmurs one evening, his words measured, precise. "The Dark Lord will want proof. And when that moment comes, no one else will be able to take your place."

You say nothing, but Snape does not need your answer. He already knows the truth. So do you.

And yet, Evan does not falter. When a man kneels before you, pleading, it is Evan who moves first. When the Dark Lord calls your name, it is Evan who steps forward, ensuring his curse lands before yours can. He does not speak of it later. He does not need to. You both understand what is left unsaid.

One night, after another mission where he has taken the worst of it, Evan exhales sharply, shaking his head. "You need to start playing the part," he murmurs. "I can’t keep doing this forever."

You meet his gaze, searching. "Then why do you?"

He hesitates, something unspoken lingering between you. Then, slowly, he reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch is careful, deliberate.

"Because someone has to."

The lie between you is thin, stretched too tight. One day, it will snap.

James is beginning to notice the cracks. His hands linger just a little too long when he holds yours. His fingers brush against your wrist absentmindedly, so close to the mark hidden beneath your sleeve. His eyes linger when you speak, as if memorizing, as if searching for something he can no longer name.

"Are you happy?" he asks once, quiet, uncertain.

You smile, effortless and hollow. "Of course I am."

James presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. But even he cannot protect you from this.

The war is closing in. And you are running out of time.

Your life is an illusion, carefully constructed and meticulously upheld. The Dark Mark still burns on your skin, a phantom weight, a silent promise. You tell yourself it is necessary. That deception is survival. But Evan knows better.

He watches you, always. His eyes find you in the firelight, filled with something unspoken. Not pity. Not quite. Something heavier. Protective.

One evening, when the weight of it presses too hard against your ribs, you find yourself standing before Dumbledore, Snape at his side. The room is dim, candlelight flickering over stacks of parchment and maps of battle lines drawn in ink. You do not sit. You do not need to.

"They’re moving against the Ministry," you say, voice quieter than it should be. "Not now, but soon. It will be sudden. They expect the Aurors to be too scattered to react."

Dumbledore steeples his fingers, his expression unreadable. "Do you know when?"

You shake your head. "Not yet. But we'll find out."

Snape exhales through his nose, his gaze sharp as he studies you. "You risk too much."

"So do you."

A pause stretches between you, weighted with something neither of you will name.

Dumbledore nods, his voice softer now. "You have done well. But be careful. If they begin to suspect..."

"They won’t." You force the words out. "They can’t."

And then, because you cannot linger, because you cannot allow yourself to feel safe, you turn and leave, the door closing behind you like the snap of a trap.

Later that night, Evan finds you by the fire. He doesn’t speak when you sit beside him, doesn’t ask you to explain the tension in your shoulders or the way your hands shake. He only leans back, silent, waiting.

"The Dark Lord won’t look away forever," Evan finally says. "I can’t keep stepping in. Sooner or later, you’ll have to do it yourself."

You swallow hard. "I know."

Evan studies you for a long moment, then exhales. "You’re not ready."

It isn’t an accusation. It’s the truth.

For a fleeting second, you think of another life, another Evan—one who did not survive the first war. You wonder if, somehow, some part of him remembers. If that is why he looks at you this way. Why he refuses to let you fall.

"I’ll be ready when I have to be," you say, though the words taste like ash.

Evan exhales. "I’ll make sure of it."

The promise is unspoken, but it is there.

You step through the Vanishing Cabinet in the dead of night, slipping between realities, moving from student to soldier, from Hogwarts to the Dark Lord’s side, from safety to war.

And then, you return. Your uniform crisp, your books neatly stacked, your hands steady as they turn pages in the library. No one suspects.

No one except James.

He does not know what, not yet, but he knows something is wrong. And James Potter has never been one to ignore a mystery.

"You disappear sometimes," he says one day, fingers brushing yours over the table in The Three Broomsticks. "I send letters, and you don’t answer. Where do you go?"

You smile, tilting your head in playful amusement. "You make me sound far more interesting than I actually am."

But James only watches you, gaze unwavering. "You’ve always been interesting. But now, you’re hiding something."

You lift his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, as if that will be enough to make him forget. "Don’t be silly, James. I’m exactly where I should be."

For now.

But even the best illusions eventually unravel. And James has always been too sharp not to see the cracks.

The war does not wait for love. And soon, there will be nothing left to hide behind.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

James Potter has been hunting them for weeks.

A high-profile case—one that has consumed his every waking moment, led by whispers and half-truths, tracking the movements of Death Eaters embedded deep within the Dark Lord’s ranks. It has been long hours, sleepless nights, strategy meetings with the Order, every piece of information bringing him closer to tonight.

This was meant to be a takedown. A decisive blow.

Instead, it becomes something else entirely.

The battle is chaos.

Spells collide midair, flashes of green and red illuminating the vast, shadowed hall. The sounds of dueling wizards, the crackling energy of magic tearing through walls, the heavy weight of destruction—it is almost too much. The air is thick with smoke, dust rising from shattered stone, the metallic scent of blood lingering at the edges of his senses.

And then, he sees you.

It is a moment frozen in time.

His expression is unreadable at first—shock, disbelief, a refusal to accept what he is seeing. Your mask does not hide you from him. Nothing ever could.

You do not falter. You do not stop. You throw yourself into the fray, fighting with the others, knowing you must play your part. But James does not look away. He weaves through the battlefield, ignoring the shouts of his allies, dodging spells with reckless abandon, eyes locked onto you.

“James! Focus!” someone shouts, but he doesn’t hear them.

He is coming toward you, wand raised—not to kill, but to reach you. And you cannot let that happen.

You twist away, hurling spells in every direction, striking down just enough enemies to maintain your cover while ensuring the Order is not overwhelmed. You aim just off-center, just wide enough to miss vital points, just close enough that no one questions your loyalty.

But James—James does not stop. He pushes forward, breaking through the fight as if nothing else matters. His allies call his name, but he is deaf to them. He is moving toward you with single-minded determination, and in his distraction, he does not see it.

The spell streaks toward him, bright and deadly.

Your body moves before your mind catches up.

A curse leaves your wand, striking him—hard enough to throw him to the ground, hard enough to make it seem real, but just enough to keep him alive.

Pain flickers across his face as he crumples, his hand instinctively clutching at the wound. His eyes find yours, searching, questioning, but you do not let yourself linger.

Evan is there in an instant. A flick of his wrist. A flash of green. The only other witness collapses lifeless to the floor.

“You have to leave,” Evan says, his voice low but firm. “Now. Before they suspect.”

You hesitate, just for a second, but James is still watching you, dazed, confused, betrayed.

You turn away.

You disappear with the others, leaving James behind, wounded but alive.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Later, in the quiet of the safe house, Evan finds you.

He does not speak at first. He watches you, eyes darker than usual, his usual smirk absent.

“You saved him.”

It is not a question. It is not an accusation.

You exhale. “I had to.”

He nods slowly, the weight of understanding settling between you. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Relief floods through you. Evan has always been pragmatic, but this—this is trust. Not blind, not naive, but deliberate.

“I don’t care what side you’re on,” he continues. “But you need to be more careful. There are too many eyes watching.”

You know he is right. You have made your choice, and there is no returning to Hogwarts now. The illusion is shattered.

You step forward, hesitating only a moment before wrapping your arms around him. It is not desperate, not a plea—just gratitude. He stiffens for half a second before exhaling, his hands settling lightly against your back. It is almost familiar, almost like before, almost like the past life he does not remember.

Almost.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

James wakes to whispers.

He is recovering, the ache of the battle still fresh in his bones, but the worst wound is not the one left by your spell. It is the one in his chest, the one carved by the sight of you standing among them.

“She made her choice,” they tell him. “You have to let her go.”

The words scrape against something raw inside him. He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t argue. He simply stares at the ceiling, replaying it over and over—the way you moved, the way you fought, the moment your wand turned against him.

He should let you go.

He should. He knows he should.

But then Harry steps forward, quiet and sure, and says, “She’s never loved anyone like she loves you. There must be a reason.”

James turns his head, studies his godson, the quiet confidence in his stance. There is no hesitation in Harry’s voice. No doubt. Just conviction, clear as day.

James exhales, the weight in his chest unbearable. “She—” His voice falters, cracks under the weight of it. “She looked at me, Harry. And then she still walked away.”

Harry’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Maybe she had to.”

James closes his eyes. There is a war in his head, clashing between logic and feeling, between what he knows and what he refuses to accept. The others have already made up their minds. Sirius, Remus, Lily—they tell him it’s over. That she has made her choice. That he has to move forward.

James is not sure he knows how.

“She wouldn’t have done it unless she had no other choice,” Harry says. “You know that. You know her.”

James presses his hands to his face, inhaling shakily. It should be simple. Black and white. Enemy and ally. Betrayal and loyalty. But nothing about this has ever been simple.

When he speaks again, his voice is raw, a quiet promise forged in something far stronger than certainty.

“We must find her.”

Harry nods.

They will find you.

They will bring you back.

[etclouie]

congrats on 1k! for your event could i get the prompt below with james potter please

“Would you just shut up and kiss me already?”

˚୨୧⋆｡ — title; post game kisses (james potter x fem!reader)

˚୨୧⋆｡ — prompt/s; “would you just shut up and kiss me already?” — from fluffy prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ — warnings; established relationship, james talking about winning quidditch and reader wanting him to shush (for a kiss), that’s it tho (329 words)

˚୨୧⋆｡ — a/n; trying to get to all my reqs i promise 

— celebrate 1k with me?

James had made his way to your dorm after the Quidditch game, Gryffindor winning—but he’d rather celebrate with you, or rather talk the ear off you about your win. 

you stood between his legs while he sat on the edge of your bed, your fingers combing through his sweat dampened hair while his hands roamed across your sides. 

his tyrant about the match had been non stop since the second he got off his broom, which you usually didn’t mind—but god did you want to kiss him. 

“Jamie”

you called, his talking stopping for all of two seconds before he continued again. his hands had squeezed your hips in acknowledgment, but you couldn’t help but sigh. 

the way he spoke about the games always intrigued you though, so you always gave him a little leeway. 

“did you see me out there love?”

he asked with a proud look across his face, which made you laugh before nodding. 

you thought he’d finally gave up on giving you a rundown of the match, despite having been there too, but he began to talk about the other team and their plays. 

“Jamie”

you called again, tugging at his hair before you spoke again. 

“would you just shut up and kiss me already?”

he noticed the frown on your face and tugged you down into his lap, his lips pressing to yours quicker than you’d expected. 

his lips stayed against yours, stealing kiss after kiss until you pulled away from him with a giggle. 

“you should’ve just kissed me”

he told, his arms going around your waist and his wrists crossing at the small of your back. 

you shook your head though, brushing his hair out of his face as you spoke. 

“you’re cute when you ramble on about Quidditch though”

his lips curled into a smile, before he leaned in to catch your lips in another kiss, whispering out against your lips after a minute. 

“better when i’m kissing you”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[sunflowersonatas]

i can't take my eyes off you: drabble

james potter x f!reader / FLUFFFF, extreme pining

a/n: so... this started as being based off / taken from / inspired by / a continuation of (?) (idk anymore) one specific line my recent oneshot, with all my love, because i just couldn't. stop. writing it. for that reason i do recommend reading that one first for max understanding, but it should also be easy to read this as a standalone. Essentially it's recounting many love notes James wrote for her while they were in school, before they were dating, but never gave her until now. I really really loved writing the letters and little extra scraps at the end so this is essentially just more of that hehe hope you enjoy it!! xoxo sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 625

I’m very busy in class today. (I’m lying, I’m watching you twirl your quill and thinking about how unfairly pretty you are.) -Yours, whether you know it or not.

i can imagine him bored in class writing this, completely zoned out, transfixed by you. more accurately--- your lips. your quill is still spinning absentmindedly, but you look up at the right moment and catch his gaze. he's sitting right next to you, which happens a lot. he's looking right at you, which also happens a lot. he's very attentive.

you would give him a little look in response to his stare, clearly as bored by this class as he is. and only then does he snap out of it, blinking, dazed. high just from thinking of you.

and then he'd lean over and scribble this down on a corner of his parchment and tear it off, meaning to give it to you with his whole heart and soul. and he'd hold it in his hand, then his pocket, for what felt like ages. like a lead weight in his pocket, dragging him down into the cold ground.

and he would wait long enough until class would be over, and still the thought of going up to you and giving it to you, watching you read it, watching your expression. he couldn't handle it.

and he'd think, it's alright, i'll give it to her tomorrow. for now, i'll toss it in the box for safekeeping.

probably two inches at the bottom of the box (his you box) is dense with these little scraps. you could bunch them up in your hands and throw them like confetti. each one of them is a time he came so close--- going so far to scrawl his feelings out, messily and not very eloquently, but still taking the time. and in the end, they never did find their recipient. until now.

of the ones you do pick out to read, your most endearing notes are his most embarrassing ones. for some of them, he remembers the day: "yeah, this one, we were in the library, i put the note on top of your book, thought there was no way you could possibly miss it. and when you needed your book, you just handed the note back over to me, here you go, jamie! weren't making it easy for me, love."

some of the really affectionate and heartfelt ones, you pick out and stick onto your mirror for a daily affirmations, as much as he grumbles about how embarrassing it is, and how he was only a kid, really! you think it's sweet.

you put up one of the ones where he tried to confess how pretty he thought you are. a funny one just to make you smile. one to make you think of him, and always remember how incredibly lucky you are to have such a patient man who waited for you, all that time.

♡

You just sighed in frustration at your essay, and I think it might have been the most attractive thing I’ve ever witnessed. -Completely in love with you. Idiot. (me idiot not you idiot)

♡

There���s something I want to say, but I think if I write it down, it’ll be too real. Can we talk later? Alone? -James

♡

You know, if you ever need me, just say the word. No matter when, no matter why. Always here for you. -Your loving James

♡

If he makes you laugh again, I might actually lose my mind. Come back to me. -you know

♡

When you read this, you'll be awake, obviously. You fell asleep on the couch, I didn't want to bother you. You're a pretty sleeper. Not in a weird way. -James (not a creep)

♡

-☀️🌻

my current series Too Good To Be Fake (james potter fake dating!)

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𓂃༯ 💌 Dear Breakdown,

I love you and you're the worst, I love how you wove your words and made the story so compelling, I love how James couldn't bear to leave her alone in her tears, and I love how her pain wasn't erased even if it was eased just slightly, but you're the worst for tearing through my heart the way you did. The ending with her walking away was heartbreakingly fitting, but what would James have done if she hadn't hidden and walked away? If she had decided to be cruel with her tears, knowing that while her mask of strength had already broken for him, she could still make him watch how deeply his best friend, her brother, had hurt her - I say being cruel with her tears because i feel like that's the only reason she would've stayed. To make him watch her pain, maybe to relay it to her brother and let them feel guilty for leaving her and Reg behind without even a word of farewell, not to try and convince him to come back but to make them know the hurt he'd caused by going - but i'd love to know how you think it would've happened if she had chosen to stay <33

Lots of love,

-🩷(P.S. i hope this is the sorta thing you meant for the Dear Fic. reqs <33)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ breakdown

that's exactly what i meant ♡ tysm for requesting doll ‹𝟹

nav. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀2k celebration. ⠀

oh, love, if she had stayed—if she had let herself be cruel—james would have learned what grief looked like when it had nowhere to go.

if she had stayed, she wouldn’t have begged him not to look at her. no, she would’ve made sure he did. would’ve tilted her chin up just enough, let her tears catch in the dim light so he had to watch them fall. she would’ve let the silence stretch between them, thick and suffocating, until james shifted under the weight of it. because james, for all his confidence, for all his james potter-ness, was not built for silence like this.

"do you know what it's like, potter?" she would have whispered, voice jagged, raw. "to have someone rip out your heart and not even look back?"

james wouldn't have known what to say. because no, he didn't know. didn't know the kind of love that was knotted into blood and obligation and years of shared survival. he didn't know what it meant to be left behind by someone who swore they’d always be there.

she would have laughed then—low, broken, wrong—and wiped at her face with sharp, angry movements. "tell him," she would have said, voice quieter now. "tell him i hope it was worth it. tell him—" her breath would have hitched, and she would have dug her nails into her palm, refusing to break. "tell him i hope he never has to know what this feels like."

and james, stupid, golden-hearted james, would have wanted to tell her he was sorry. but she wouldn't have let him. wouldn't have let him fix something that couldn't be fixed. fix something he shouldn't have to fix.

instead, she would have smiled and then she’d turn, walking away just like sirius had.

and oh, oh, he would have told sirius. because how could he not?

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[luveline]

hi hii jade! Was wondering if you could do something sweet and fluffy w poly!marauders where reader wakes up in a very cozy and giggly mood 🤭 just some warm domestic love hehe

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k

Someone is kissing his waist. Sirius squirms in his dozing, not expecting it as those kisses travel up his naked chest. Your laugh is breathy and soft as you kiss his shoulder, your weight strewn across his side and arm, your hand finding his cheek. 

Your fingers feel inhuman in the best way, like an angel. They spread across his face and neck as you hold him in place and kiss the skin where his neck meets his shoulder. “I love you…” you whisper, the ‘you’ turning long and slow like honey slipping down his front. “I wish you didn’t sleep so much.” 

You kiss him again, and with that you’re out of bed. Out of the room before Sirius has time to gather his wits, but he does gather them, because he needs more of whatever that was. 

What sort of sweetheart kisses somebody with such gentleness thinking they won’t remember? To press affection into him with want of nothing in return. He doesn’t even bother getting dressed, just scrubs at his sleep-swollen face and fishes the crusties from his eyes as he descends the stairs, numb-legged. 

James is grabbing you by the hips, helping you up onto the counter. His curls bounce at the back of his neck. “What’s gotten into you?” he asks. 

“Love, for sure.” 

“I can see that. Eggs? Omelette?” 

“Jamie, you can make anything. Actually, let me make you something–”

James pushes you further onto the top. “That’s okay, I’m cooking. I want to cook.” 

Sirius isn’t insecure, exactly. He feels he’s quite handsome when he attempts to be, and he knows you like him whether he’s trying or not, but he doesn’t know if you want to be interrupted, either of you, and it’s his private agony to wonder what to do. Then you spot him over James’ shoulder and your eyes practically sparkle. 

“Siri…” you sing-song, melodic as he crosses the kitchen linoleum to be with you and James. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” 

Sirius touches James’ elbow with love but swoops in on you. “Did you wake me?” he asks, kissing your cheek, his arms working behind you to hold you as his lips travel downward. He isn’t half as sweet as you were, too busy trying to squeeze your torso against his and mould you into a perfect fit against him and under his arm to really think about what he’s doing. 

“She did it to me, too.” 

Sirius pulls your face into his neck and turns to James with a grin. “And Remus?” 

“He was already awake. But she kissed him and did that thing where her eyes somehow look bigger and shiny and he had to go for a walk.” 

“He didn’t have to go for a walk,” you mumble from Sirius’ neck. “He always walks on Saturday mornings. He’s just getting some herbs from the greenhouse.” 

The back door opens on cue. Remus reappears with an aura about him much like yours, dropping the cut herbs on the cutting board, and stopping just shy of everyone to smile. “Did she do it to you, as well?” he asks. 

James squeezes Remus’ face in his hand, a quick thank you for the herbs that has the latter turning pink. 

“She waylaid me with kisses like a common whore.” 

“Sirius,” James says scornfully. 

“Me being the whore,” Sirius says. You laugh into his neck, seemingly with no inclination to leave the circle of his arms. “Will I ever see your face again?” he asks. 

“It’s cozy here. I wish we’d stayed in bed.” 

“We can go back.” 

“After breakfast,” James says, popping an egg on the edge of the frying pan, breaking the shell one handed as he gives the sizzling oil a shake. 

Remus not so subtly crosses the last of the space to slot himself between your right thigh and the counter. Sirius has the urge to cup his cheek as James had done —Remus has an extremely holdable face— but is distracted by your nose nuzzling the line of his throat. 

“I love you,” you say. 

Doesn’t matter who you’re talking to. All three boys melt. 

“I’d like to do some really weird things to you,” Sirius says. 

“Me too,” James agrees. “But we do need breakfast first.” 

“No one is doing anything weird to me, it’s the weekend.” You beam as Remus laughs, seemingly your intention. 

Sirius backs away to a polite but still close proximity. He isn’t selfish; being in a ‘strange’ relationship like this one is a lot of reading cues, and a lot of just plain old climbing into people's laps when you want them, because nobody can truly read minds. Yet Sirius can see that you’re in the sort of mood where everything you touch turns to gold and all the boys want a piece of you, and who is he to get in the way of that? 

Well, he’s your boyfriend. He takes a kiss before he delegates himself to being herb-chopper, stealing glances of you from the corner of his eye. 

You tease a strand of Remus’ hair behind his ear. 

“Weird stuff is for weekdays only,” you’re murmuring. “What I want today is the real romantic stuff.” 

“Then you can have it,” Remus murmurs back. 

Sirius will happily be doing very romantic things to both of you after his omelette. James, too, if he’s so inclined. 

[santaasi]

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am.  Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering. 

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,�� Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now. 

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love,   It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try.   Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart.   Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard.   I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose.   I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you.   Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure.   How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.  

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you.   I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you.   Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you.   Forever yours,   Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3                                

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

[ddejavvu]

bff james w no boundaries — his main love language is physical touch and that includes biting,, like 😭 you’ll just be minding ur own business n he’ll bite your shoulder or anywhere really.

hope ur doing well angel. ❤️

"Here, Remus," You offer up a spoon of blueberry tart to the teenage werewolf, unphased by now at the closeness of your friends. Perhaps at eleven you'd be worried about swapping cooties when sharing spoons, but now you're only worried about plumping Remus's gaunt frame up again before the next full moon.

You extend the spoon towards Remus but in doing so you have to bypass James who's sitting beside you on the bench. You'd expected him to fake a lunge for the sweet, but when he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into what's in front of him it happens to be the flesh of your arm.

"Hey-ow!" You yelp, and despite your word choice, it doesn't really hurt. It's more of a grasp than it is a bite, just enough force to pin your arm between James's infuriatingly perfect teeth.

"Prongs," Sirius's face screws up in what you're sure is a mix of embarrassment and confusion at his friend's behavior, but perhaps there's a slight possibility of fear there, too. Fear that James has become a cannibal and the boy with the bed next to his will suffer tonight.

"That's good." James retracts his bite as quickly as he'd dished it out, smacking his lips like there'd been something swallowed and enjoyed, "That's good arm."

"You're a freak." Remus drawls, finally taking the tart from your spoon and letting the flavors wash over his tongue, "Pads and I are supposed to be the biters. Deer are just supposed to run away from everything."

"That's not true." James defends his animagus with a passion while Sirius snickers across the table, "Deer fight with their antlers. Sometimes deer fight so hard that their antlers come off. And deer do bite sometimes, thank you very much."

"Only during mating season." Sirius references the copious research they'd each done into their animal counterparts, "Don't steal another page from the dog book and start humping her leg, Prongs."

"It is not my mating season!" James exclaims, just a bit too loud for the social setting you're in. Your cheeks are blazing but thankfully James is making a fool of himself enough that no one is studying you. "I'm simply overcome with the urge to sink my teeth into people when I'm feeling particularly fond of them. Y/N's making sure Moony's stomach isn't flatter than his ribcage, and I appreciate that. Only a good woman shares her blueberry tart. Hence," He grins, more of a baring of his teeth than a smile, "I bite."

He leans down to take a chunk out of your shoulder this time, and you feel the sharp-but-gentle pricking of his teeth even through three layers of clothing.

You have the time and the power to raise your shoulder and clock James in the teeth with your bone. But you refrain, and perhaps that's why Sirius finally latches onto you instead of James.

"Careful, darling." He warns, his own canines glinting in the candlelight above, "Deer can go rabid. I'd make sure you're not contaminated with his saliva if I were you."

"Too late." James grumbles around the meat of your shoulder, raising his head quicker than you can react to lick a fat, wet stripe across your face, "I'm not rabid, Pads. But I can see why you dogs do the licking thing. It's not bad."

"Yes it is." You decide, smearing away his sticky spit with the sleeve of your button-up, feeling the phantom sensation of his teeth on your skin, "And if you do it again I'll bite you back."

"Kinky, you two." Sirius kicks you beneath the table, a wicked grin on his face, "Remus, I think we should take our meal elsewhere. Prongs and Y/N are about to start necking right in front of the pastries, and that's not the glaze I prefer on my donuts."

[rainydayathogwarts]

1 boyfriend, 3 perverts - Remus Lupin (poly!marauders)

Summary: Your bf loves giving you head... especially when he's high, and doesn't mind having friends around. 2.5k wc - read pt. 2 here - pt 3 Wrote this instead of studying for my exams that start tmr...

The wooden floor was cold under your feet, blanketed by the chilly air that filled the dorms at this time of the year. You tip toed over to where you left your slippers by the mirror, clenching your jaw as you opened the door to your dorm, careful not to wake your peacefully slumbering roommates. Once outside, you let out a breath you didn't realise you'd been holding, making your way down the stairs leading to the common room.

Luckily, most of the Gryffindors were already in their dorms, tired after a long few days of exams, so no one could see you, nearly half naked, warily creeping up the boys' dormitory staircase. The hallway is dark, but you can hear the muffled noises behind doors of dorm-mates joking around, or arguing. You stop in front of the right door, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before taking it out again, shaking your head to make your hair fall back into its natural state. Peeking down at your outfit, you nod in reassurance. Wearing small sleep shorts that barely covered your ass and a low cut tank top that didn't make an effort in hiding your perky nipples, you were sure that Remus would pounce on you the second he saw you.

Knocking on the door twice, you look around the hallway to make sure no one catches you in the wrong place. The dorm is eerily quiet when Peter opens the door to the dorm, and he looks visibly relieved when he sees it's you, his shoulders dropping in ease. "It's only y/n, lads." He states, stepping to the side to let you in, and a ruckus of noise fills the room once more as you walk inside, the other three boys clearly just as relieved as he was. They're all sat at the big window nook, window open behind them, cigarette wrappers littering the seats around them, clearly in the middle of a smoke sess. "Sweetheart!" Exclaims Remus from where he is sat, as you approach him, wrapping both arms over his shoulders in a loose hug.

Remus passes the cigarette he holds over to Sirius, letting both arms wrap around you, landing on the back of your bare thighs, just under your ass. He tugs you slightly closer to him, tilting his head up for you to bend down, pressing your lips down to his in a kiss. Remus kisses you hungrily, his hands trailing upwards to press your torso as close to him as he can, opening his mouth slightly so his tongue meets yours as you kiss, making you gasp in shock. You put a hand on his chest, pushing him away from you, eyes wide in surprise at his desperation. His lips tasted of weed and lemon drops, an explanation to his excitement.

"Remmy." You say lovingly, dropping your head down to press kisses onto his naked neck. Remus pushes your hips back slightly, and he spins you around in his arms, shoving you down so you're sat on his laps, and you finally acknowledge the two other boys, engrossed in conversation as though they hadn't even noticed your affectionate exchange. "Hey boys." You greet, accepting the cigarette Sirius hands you when they turn their attention to you. Taking a drag of the cigarette, you move your head to the side, allowing Remus to push your hair back, littering sloppy kisses onto your soft skin, making a trail of saliva down to your tank top's neckline, which barely covers the top of your tits, as Sirius begins to catch you up on their story.

One of Remus' hands comes up to cup one of your breasts, toying with it in his hand, and you briefly wonder just how long they've been smoking for. You jerk away from your boyfriend when his teeth graze the side of your neck teasingly. His grip around your waist tightens, and he pushes you down on his laps back into place, pressing your cunt down on his growing erection. Remus only separates himself from your neck to take a drag of the cigarette hanging between your index and middle finger before he gets back to business, ignoring the boys who begin teasing him.

Eventually, when Sirius drowsily says "Rem here can't go 10 minutes without bringing up how he needs to have you close to him, so I'm not surprised that he's all over you." Remus, still unbothered and worshiping your body, retorts with "Well I'm allowed to miss my girlfriend. At least I'm not the bloke who jerks off to photos of his best mate's girl." The room goes completely silent, with the exception of squelching noises Remus' wet kisses make on your skin. Your jaw goes slack, and you observe the looks on your boyfriend's three best friends' faces, noticing their gaping mouths and rosy cheeks. You almost don't believe your boyfriend, but the looks on his mates' faces say otherwise.

Your hand trails up to grip your boyfriend's short hair, trying to gently tug him away from you for a moment, as you rotate on his laps to face him as best you can. He obliges, looking up at your awaiting gaze with red eyes, a clear sign of how high he is. "Remus, what?" A sleeve covered hand comes up to wipe the saliva off his swollen pink lips. "You didn't know? These three perverts have had a massive crush on you since we got together. Always look extra close when we kiss, or when I touch your body the way no guy should in front of his best mates. To be fair, I only do it because I noticed the photo of you on your knees for me disappeared. Was my favourite photo of you too." His hand comes up to stroke your cheek as he says that last sentence, bringing your face closer to his to kiss you again.

You moan into the kiss, hands coming up to grip his jumper, completely unaware of the growing tents in the other boys' trousers, or the guilty looks on their faces, unaware that they had been caught by the big bad wolf. A string of saliva connects your lips when you pull away from the kiss, and Remus adds "But they're my best mates, I don't mind sharing with them a little." And with that, Remus' hands snake under your thighs, lifting you up gently, and placing you on the spot next to him on the big window nook. "Lay back down for me." You obey his words, still very much confused, head conveniently landing on Peter's laps, acting as a pillow for you. Remus climbs over you to continue placing kisses from where he left off, hands gripping the bottom of your shirt to effortlessly pull it over your head, your bare tits exposed to the group of boys.

You arch your back, the cool summer air sticking to the coats of saliva on your torso, and you take the time to look at the two boys observing you. Both Sirius and James have a hand over the tent in their trousers, palming their growing erections at the sight of you being pleasured by their best mate. At the tap on your hips, your gaze trails back down to your boyfriend, whose fingers grip your revealing sleeping shorts. You lift your hips up, eyes trailing back up to the boy looking down at you, and you smile up at him.

Remus, completely undisturbed by the attention you're paying his friends, pulls your panties off, throwing them in James' general direction as he spreads your knees open, lowering himself onto your cunt. He inhales deeply, his enhanced senses nearly causing his eyes to roll back in pleasure, before he finally buries himself into your cunt, disrupting the moment you shared with Peter, a loud moan cutting off whatever he was telling you. A hand immediately comes to grip Remus' chestnut hair, and your legs fall open even more, letting him suck at your clit and nip the areas around your thighs, surely leaving hickeys on your skin.

Remus's nose nudges at your clit, his tongue poking in and out of your hole, before he switches his attention, sucking aggressively on your sensitive nub, and dragging a finger up your slit, teasing your entrance with it. You gasp in pleasure, shutting your eyes close and bucking your hips up into your boyfriend's face. However, you don't have time to enjoy the feeling before it's taken away from you. "No!" You yell, shooting upwards and barely missing Peter's face when Remus completely removes contact with your pussy, only a hand on your thigh acting as any form of contact between your bodies. "Pete," Remus starts, causing the blonde boy's head to snap towards your boyfriend, an expression of absolute fear on his face.

"Don't let her close her eyes." He finishes, before plunging right back into your pussy, making your thighs squeeze around his head in pleasure. Peter puts his hands on your shoulders, helping you lay back down again, and you pant, looking off to the side to distract yourself from closing your eyes in pleasure. James has your panties wrapped around his hand, palming his dick over his sweatpants, and Sirius sits next to him, joggers unashamedly pulled down just enough for his dick to spring out, jerking himself off in long strokes. You gasp, back arching when Remus plunges two fingers inside your cunt, thrusting them into you quickly while his mouth works on stimulating your clit.

"Oh Rem!" You moan, digging your head back into Peter's laps, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. "Y/n... Y/n?" Peter mutters, unsure of what to do. "Y/n open your eyes." He tries again, to no avail. Remus lifts his head up, fingers still thrusting into you, and reaches up with his free hand to pinch your nipple, twisting it harshly. "Fuck!" You yelp, eyes snapping back open to make eye contact with your boyfriend. "When Pete tells you to open your eyes, you listen!" He instructs, slowing his hand's movements, waiting for a response. "Okay, fuck! Please Remus!" You beg, grinding your hips on his hand desperately, tears building up in your eyes. "Now what do you say you Pete?" He asks, his hand speeding up again. "'M sorry Pete." You sniffle, looking up at him. "Good girl." Says Remus, grinning when he feels your pussy clench at the praise.

"It's okay, y/n" Replies Pete, eyes going wide when you chase for his hand, pulling it on your body, and moving his fingers to grip your tit. "Shit!" He curses, looking at your possessive boyfriend. "Remus, is this- is this okay?" He asks fearfully, sighing when your boyfriend glances up, nodding. "Whatever my girl wants to do, she can do." Remus mutters against your pussy, focusing on your pleasure once more. A groan pulls your attention away from Pete, who begins massaging your tit, pinching your nipple slightly, and your cunt clenches in pleasure again. Your gaze lands on James, who is roughly palming himself, too shy to properly take care of himself like Sirius next to him. "Oh God" You moan, eyes fixated on his frustrated face, eyebrows furrowed and tears forming in his eyes. "Jamie." His head immediately snaps to you. "Come closer." And the boy obeys, dragging a chair right next to you.

You wipe a stray tear falling down his cheek, and reach out to the top of his sweatpants, pathetically trying to pull them down, hips bucking up at the sudden overstimulation on your clit. James helps you, pulling them down just enough for his cock to be exposed to you, angrily slapping his bare torso. The tip of his cock is red and leaking pre-cum, and you immediately start rubbing it, moaning the second James cries out in pleasure, thighs squeezing around your boyfriend's head, working hard to make you cum. You spread James' pre-cum down his dick and to the base of his cock, squeezing him near his balls before starting to stroke his length. His hips buck up into your hand, and you're suddenly reminded of the hand massaging your tit, looking up at Peter, who is completely engrossed in your body. Your eyebrows furrow and you feel the knot in your belly tightening, but something is missing.

You suddenly feel frustrated at the neglect of your second tit, and look for Sirius's eyes in the room, already locked on you. You look back down at your tits, hoping Sirius gets the message, and it seems he does, scurrying over to you, and kneeling on the floor next to the window nook, hand still glued to his cock. Boldly, his free hand reaches up to your tit, and he leans forward to wrap his lips around your perk nipple. You cry out as he begins sucking on it, your fist around James' cock tightening unawarely, causing him to gasp. Remus adds a third finger to your cunt, still sucking on your clit and you're done for, crying out his name loudly as you cum around his fingers and mouth, orgasm nearly causing you to black out. You're aware of the other two boys crying out too, closely followed by Remus, whose vibrations go up your pussy, making you gasp, letting go of James' cock to grip Remus' hair tightly, pulling his face closer to your cunt.

Remus' fingers slow down on your cunt, and he eventually pulls them out, tongue lapping at your pussy to clean you up, while you beg him to stop. "Fuck, baby-Rem can't!" James and Sirius shoot each other incredulous looks, panting to catch their breaths: they weren't expecting the night to come to this. When Remus finally pulls away from you, he leans over you, arms wrapping around your back to help you sit up, and you ogle at him, and the wet patch in his trousers, giggling slightly. "So we all finished except poor Peter?" You guess, looking back at the boy who sheepishly nods, cheeks tinted red. "Well-" You begin to suggest, only to be interrupted by your boyfriend. "No, I'm absolutely not done with you yet. You can take care of Peter when we're done, if he doesn't get to it first." He states, arms wrapping around your waist and effortlessly picking you.

You can hear Sirius cackle, and Peter groan whilst Remus walks the short steps to his four poster bed, dropping you on his mattress before pulling the curtains closed, and throwing his jumper off, leaving his torso in all its naked glory. "Muffliato or no?" He asks you, leaning down to press a soft kiss on your lips. Just as you begin to say the answer, you hear three yells of "No!" coming from outside the curtains.

"Pervs!" Your boyfriend yells out, though he obeys with a grin, shimmying out of his trousers.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Telling James, “I don’t think I’ll be able to pay the mortgage this month, baby,” with a sad pout and a frown and James looks up from his bowl of stew more than confused.

“I pay the mortgage, angel. So that’s fine.”

He goes back to eating like it’s nothing but you huff and have to bite the inside of your cheek to hide a smile.

“But if I can’t pay the mortgage, I won’t be able to pay the water bill either, Jamie. M’sorry.”

James sets his bowl down, scratches his head and tugs you closer across the sofa.

“I love you, so much,” he kisses your cheek and your temple. “But you’ve never paid a bill since we’ve been together. I don’t think I’d like to start that four years into our marriage, sweet girl.”

You break then, James peppering your face with kisses when you giggle. “It’s a trend on the internet right now.” You explain and James scoffs and pulls you flush in his lap.

“And do the men get upset?”

You shake your head, “Seems like they’ve cloned you and sent you to women who deserve a real man.”

You stroke James’ face through his blush and even reach for his bowl for him.

“They’ll never be as good as the real deal though.” He flexes his bicep and puffs his chest, clearly just a show to make you laugh- which it does.

You shake your head, kissing the corner of his mouth as he holds a bite out to you.

“Nope,” you say, taking a bite lest your husband feel offended.

“Say, should we go to that shop you like? The one with the pretty dresses?”

You shake your head, James ignores that. “Yeah, reckon we can get you something for date night.”

His eyebrows dance and you laugh, laying your head on his shoulder as he finishes his lunch.

[kquil]

JAMES POTTER | BOUDOIR PHOTOSHOOT

sum. : you have your bridesmaids show James, your, now, husband, polaroid samples from your boudoir photoshoot on your wedding night while you enjoy his reactions from afar

quick note : boudoir is a photography style showcasing sensual, romantic and even erotic images of the subject person. It showcases and celebrates the person's beauty and sexuality.

tags. : marrying james potter ; fluff ; kinda spicy ; you have the best bridesmaids ; inspired by a tiktok ; james is the perfect man for you ; wedding day! ; james loves your body ; no mentions of specific body type; james can't wait for his wedding 'night' ; shy reader shows her wild side~

length : 2k

navi. | more james potter

In preparation for your wedding day, you participated in a boudoir photoshoot. You were marrying the man of your dreams, the most perfect man for you, James Potter. It was your way of expressing your love, to show him how confident and beautiful he made you feel. Not a day goes by without him whispering an affectionate ‘I love you’ into your ear or expressing how beautiful he finds you despite the imperfections you nitpick along the lines of your body. He doesn’t let your toxic, self-deprecating thoughts linger for long; he loves every beautiful inch of you and he’s not afraid to show it, especially when you make love together. He loves you unconditionally and makes you want for nothing more in life. With him, you’re always content. 

This was a thank you to him for loving you so wholeheartedly and to showcase the beauty you were able to find in yourself because of him. You worked with your bridesmaids to pick out the perfect set of lingerie to wear for the photo shoot and had the most amazing photographer guiding you throughout. She was the perfect balance of encouragement, support and positive energy. And she was so respectful too. You were always the shy type so the beginning was quite wobbly but you eventually found your flow and it ended on such a high note. As promised, she created a beautiful photo album of the pictures you approved and made small Polaroid samples of the ones you wanted your bridesmaids to ambush James with on your wedding night. 

The shoot was weeks ago and now you were on the evening of your Wedding day. Everyone was dancing around, having a fun time, James’ close friends were a good level of tipsy with several of the guests congregating around the wedding live-painter to admire her work. It wasn’t ready yet but you made sure to check on her and keep her well-fed throughout the night; she was a guest too and was doing something incredible for your wedding, it was the least you could do. 

You fondly eye James as he dances with your family, a bright smile on his face. You still remember walking down the aisle, smiling at him as he wipes at his eyes, sniffling wetly at the sight of you but he was grinning the entire time. Neither of you has stopped smiling the whole day, you believe. It really was the perfect wedding.     

“Are you ready, Mrs Potter?” Lily whispers teasingly, trying to suppress a giggle as she flattens a Polaroid sample of your boudoir shoot to her chest. Your other bridesmaids, Marlene, Mary, Dorcas and Alice have also come to surround you, mischievous grins on their faces as they each tightly hold onto a Polaroid sample, making sure that it wouldn’t be seen by anyone but the intended target by holding it close to their chests. 

Biting your lip, you temper a wide grin and nod. They squeal and turn to one another with a buzz in their veins, “Just like we planned ladies,” Alice giggles before they all nod and split up with Marlene heading straight for James. You don’t know what photo any of the girls have but Lily informed you that they formed an order from least to most scandalous. It was devious but a good plan. You move to stand in view of James so you can see his reaction to each photo from afar, the girls also hold up their phones to record his reaction from up close so they can send you the video later on. 

James was dancing along happily, not having drunk a single drop of alcohol as he wanted to savour every moment of his wedding ceremony. He wanted to remember everything! He was also pretty sure he didn’t need alcohol to feel drunk, the electric feeling in the air was all he needed to fly high above the clouds. He’s never been so happy his entire life; he married the woman of his dreams and she let him give her his last name. He feels complete. And he was still riding that high when Marlene came up to him with a Cheshire grin on her face. 

“Yohooo~ Jamsiekins!” James rolls his eyes but smiles at her nonetheless.

“Yes, McKinnon?” a small bolt of worry flashes through him, “Is my wife okay?”

“She’s perfect! She actually wanted me to give you a present~” James raises a brow and tries to look for you in the crowd but is unsuccessful when Marlene steps closer, her phone raised and flips the Polaroid that was pressed to her chest at him. He gives it a brief glance, barely registering the image before going slackjawed and doing a double take. The second time, he looks at it longer and with wide eyes, wanting to imprint the entire image into his brain. 

“So beautiful…” James trails off, staring longingly at the image of you in a see-through nightgown leaning against the windowsill with your hair beautifully done and your beauty on show under the gentle sun. He stutters in place when Marlene flips the Polaroid again. He looks at her like a hurt puppy, “Is th-that for me? C-can I keep it?” He reaches for the Polaroid and thankfully, Marlene surrenders it without a fuss. He grins and kisses the photo before tucking it into his blazer's breast pocket, “Thank you~” 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Potter,” Marlene salutes him with two fingers before marching off to pull Sirius away from the buffet table and onto the dance floor. James chuckles at her antics before looking through the crowds until he meets your shy eyes. His gaze softens with affection at your bashful demeanour and he sets out a clear path towards you. 

But he’s stopped by Alice who has another Polaroid and also has her phone raised. She, too, shows him the Polaroid of you, this time laid across a bed and sweetly looking into the camera at your side with a hidden smile, a lacy, see-through slip dress draping over your figure. His eyes linger on the curve of your spine and the perfect roundness of your butt. He can make out the small, lacy set you wear underneath and he swears he’s found heaven on earth. His hands immediately go up to cover the Polaroid from both sides as he bites his bottom lip to suppress a feral scream. 

“God, I’m so lucky…” he looks up at Alice from behind the camera, which perfectly captures the lovestruck look in his eyes and the soft blush on his cheeks, “That’s my wife…she’s my wife” he sounds breathless and giddy, making Alice laugh before surrendering the Polaroid. She sends you the video of James before looking for Frank and silently wishing the rest of the girls luck. 

James quickly puts Alice’s polaroid into his breast pocket too and returns on his path to you. But he barely makes it two steps forward before Lily ambushes him with another Polaroid and a phone to his face. He wants to smile like a madman but his dropped jaw makes it too difficult. He immediately snatches the photo and cradles it preciously, admiring your beauty once more. You’re scandalously raising your nightgown to showcase your cute, lace panties, a matching garter belt and thigh highs as you innocently look at the camera with glossy, smiling lips. 

“Ho-ly. Shit…” he swallows hard and begins to pant like an animal in heat, “Oh my– fuck!” he holds the Polaroid to his chest with reddening cheeks and wild eyes. He sags comically, dramatically showing how he’s close to collapsing on the spot. He’s seeing an entirely new side of you, not that he’s complaining, he just wasn’t prepared. A feral, primitive instinct builds up from within him. He desperately fights it and the urge to savagely take you in front of everyone, “She’s trying to kill me! This isn’t fair! She’s so sexy!” Lily giggles maniacally at him and pats his shoulder as if to wish him luck and James both dreads and is excited about what may come next. 

He’s soon stopped by Dorcas. This time his brows fly up to his hair line and he forgets to breathe. His hands instinctively shield the photo as he bends down to observe the small image so closely his nose touches the film. He pulls back and releases a heavy breath before leaning in again with the same shocked but appreciative look on his flushed face.

“Woah!” he looks around frantically as if he’s doing something he isn’t supposed to do and looks at the picture of you for a third time, trying hard not to groan at the tightening in his trousers. The image is of you from behind, draped over a decorative vintage sofa with your ass in the air, there’s no see-through nightgown, only a red lacy number with a garter belt and thigh highs. He berates himself for the dirty scene that flashes in his mind; he’s perfectly positioned behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he grinds his— 

“Keep it in your pants,” Dorcas laughs at him as she walks away, her phone still raised at him. 

“You’re not making it very easy for me!” James huffs in mock anger, hastily pocketing his fourth Polaroid that night.

When Mary comes up to him with the same routine, James doesn’t know whether he groans from suppressed excitement or dread at making a fool of himself in front of you for a fifth time. He knows you're watching him and seeing his reactions closely from the videos the girls were taking. And, although he wants to be a gentleman, you’ve always gotten such a big reaction from him over the littlest things, it’s only natural he gets worked up over scandalous images of you too. 

This photo of you was the most scandalous and immediately stole James’ breath away. It’s a top-down view of you on a bed with half-lidded eyes, your bra unclasped and in the process of slipping off if it weren’t for your arm coming across your chest to stop it. The position, however, only further accentuates your cleavage and his eyes linger on the delicious sight for an embarrassingly long time. Your other hand reaches down and fingers just beneath your panty line, a suggestive action he desperately wants you to recreate for him in private later. You looked ripe and ready to be eaten alive and James would gladly jump at the opportunity. It’s the perfect snapshot of you just before he devours you whole. The photo has him reaching to unbuckle his belt but he resists and snatches it up instead, panting like a dog with a wild glint in his hazel eyes. “This better be the last one of my wife or else I’m punching a wall,” Mary shakes her head at him with a laugh, “it’s not funny! I’m going crazy!”

With a wink, Mary confirms that it’s the last one and tilts her head in your direction. Without wasting another second, James rushes to you, his beautiful bride, dressed in white. It was the best day of his life but he wants it to hurry up and be over already so he can finally have you to himself. All polaroids are tucked safely into his inner blazer pocket as he wraps you up in his arms and buries his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I’m going mad over you, love,” he voices with a hidden growl to his voice, kissing and sucking at your exposed skin, whilst desperately breathing in the fragrance of you. You’ve never seen him so… animalistic before but it lights a fire inside you that you happily fall into.

“Wait until you see the whole album~” Your comment has him shooting up, away from your neck and leaning into your face. The feral look in his eyes is unmistakable as he whispers against your lips. 

“There’s an entire album of you looking like that?” 

“Yes~ And it’s all for you~” James almost faints on the spot. 

navi. | more james potter

a/n : for those curious, this is the tiktok it was inspired by hehe~ this was a little nsfw but i hope you darlings enjoyed!

[piistolstar]

LIKE A GODDESS

⧼ warnings :: smut, hair pulling, service top!james, cunnilingus, whipped!james

pairing :: james potter x fem!reader

exams. so many exams, you were slaving over and studying for weeks. all day every day, it’s all your poor boyfriend saw you do. it nearly stressed him out as much as it did you, not knowing how to help and make it easier. despite the times you reassured him that him being there helped.

but finally, it’s all done. and tonight you can finally rest peacefully, laying in james’ bed, spooning him without a worry in the world. james shifts, turning his body around to look at you. "are you okay?" you bite your lip in thought, letting your hand go to his hair.

"i’m better," you sigh, twirling his hair between your fingers. "but i still feel a little on edge'." james huffs out a breath, not knowing what else to say. you hear him hum when you tug his hair slightly, causing a smirk to rise on your lips. you tug a little harsher and you feel his hand come up to yours.

"stop that," he whines into your neck, attempting to pull your hand away.

"that's not how you repay me." you joke back, recalling the reward he had promised you after all of your hard work. you kissed his cheek before letting go of his hair and there's a bit of silence before he's shuffling off the bed. you hear him maneuver himself to your side before turning the lamp on.

you gape at the sight before you, your pretty boyfriend on his knees. looking up at you, hands inching towards you. "is this better?" you shift so your lower half is off the bed and your right above him. his hands find purchase on your thighs and he looks up at you hesitantly.

"you know..." his hands travel further until they're at your waist. "i really should reward you." he shrugs and one hand goes to tug at the waistband of your pajama pants. "you did so well on your exams."

you just watch as he marvels over you, taking in every bit of you like it's the first time he's seen you. "you’re so beautiful." with your permission he tugs your pants off, “like a goddess.” he kisses up and down your legs before finding his way to your stomach. “i want to worship you.”

he nudges you so your back hits the mattress, slow, messy kisses trailing up your abdomen. "let me make you feel better?” you let out a breath and nod your head, his gaze focused on you before he presses his lips against yours, a kiss that's both gentle and passionate at the same time. he brings one hand to your chin, and another to your cheek to caress the side of your face as he deepens the kiss. you can feel how nervous he was, making all the decisions.

he lets out a soft groan, as an arm slips around your waist and pulls you closer, moaning against your lips. he presses his thigh between your legs, satisfied at the noises of pleasure you let out. james smiles into the kiss and pushes his body further into you. his hands run along your sides, feeling the warmth of your body, appreciating every part of you.

he slowly tilts your head to the side and his lips begin to trail kisses down to your neck, leaving nips and bites along your collarbone. his hands slide down to the sides of your thighs and he grips them. his lips keep their focus on leaving marks all over your neck, his hips grinding down on your leg.

"what if someone sees those?" you tauntingly ask him. he pulls away from your skin with red cheeks. he hesitates, letting his hands go up and down your body slowly.

"let them," he shrugs nervously. "i don't care, i want to worship you. i'll be happy if they know." you stare at him for a moment before threading your fingers through his hair. you dip your head down to his neck, littering butterfly kisses on his skin.

a soft groan slips from his lips but it's quickly covered up with a breathless laugh. the feeling of your soft lips against his skin is just so good. he closes his eyes and hums, leaning back to brush his nose gently against yours. his thumbs rub your hips, as he looks at you intently, his gaze taking in everything about you.

he's so infatuated with you, completely at your mercy. his hands slide underneath your top, caressing your skin. he pushes the fabric up a little higher as he presses a heated kiss to your lips. his hands travel higher and higher until his breath catches in his throat.

his face flushes again when he realizes where he's touching you, his thumb gently stroking over your chest in slow, teasing circles. his eye is locked on you as he does so. he feels you tug at his hair, making his body shiver slightly. soft sighs and gasps escape him and he lets out soft moans from time to time. the feeling of being so close and touching you with the soft caresses of his hands has him reeling.

he bites his lip nervously, "can you take it off?" his pretty, glazed over eyes are now avoiding yours. his shyness gives away what he wants and you reach back to unclasp your bra. he doesn't waste any time sliding your bra off to leave your entire upper body exposed to him. he can't help but stare for a moment, as he always does. taking in your body and appreciating the sight in front of him.

"you're so pretty, angel." he murmurs, still a little breathless. you let out a small laugh before sliding your hand up his shirt, leaving ghost touches along his abdomen. he lets out a groan at your touch, his body twitching in excitement. a shiver of pleasure ripples through his body when your lips nip at a sensitive part of his skin.

with a whine he pushes your body back down, "this is about you, not me." he places his lips on your skin again, inching lower and lower with every one he places. they trail from your collarbone, to your chest, down your torso, and landing right above the waistband of your pants.

he looks up at you as if awaiting your commands, causing you to giggle. "thought you were gonna worship me? you get to decide what to do then." he stutters before shutting his mouth and nodding, hands shakily sliding your pants down your legs.

he kisses along your thighs, breathing heavily at the sight before him. you're clad in just your underwear, you're piercing eyes trained on him while you wait for his next move. his kisses come back up until his breath is making contact with the fabric of your panties.

he presses a small kiss to your clit thought your underwear, unable to bite bad a prideful smile when you hum out of pleasure. he pushes your underwear to the side and he slides his tongue through your folds.

he moans when your hand tugs at his hair again, harsher this time. he judges his nose against your clit. he can't get enough of your taste, hands snaking around your thighs to hold them in place around his head.

he feels your hand push down, attempting to control his head. with a soft groan he lets you use his face to get off. the vibrations his noises make has you squirming, your own moans getting louder and louder when a finger slips into you.

your noises turn into tired pants and your hand falls to your side. you lazily grind against his face and he holds your thighs down. you feel yourself getting close and you let out a sigh before tugging his head up by his hair.

he looks dazed and his fingers continue to work inside you, "i'm close, you're doing so good." the praise has his head spinning and his movements quickening. he leans up to capture your lips in a kiss, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you.

he pants into the kiss, his desperate hips grinding into the mattress. he feels your body spasm before you're cumming around his fingers, biting down on his lip and leaving him whimpering.

he stops and lets you catch your breath, face inches from yours. you go to praise him some more when your eyes catch on the wet spot on his pants. "did you really..." he whines before you could finish your sentence, burying his head in your neck.

"don't say anything, please."

[ikkyfics]

Divination

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: "You two have a intertwined future," the teacher says, her enigmatic smile deepening. "I see a boy... He'll wear glasses, like his father."

Warnings: just fluffy - a lovestruck and embarrassed James

Masterlist | Realization | c.ai

The scent of incense hangs heavy in the stifling Divination classroom, where the heat wraps around you like an invisible cloak. The dim light of scattered candles in ancient holders gives the room a mysterious air, and thick velvet curtains block out any sign of the outside world. You’re seated beside James Potter, and between the two of you, at the center of the round table, a crystal ball rests silently, surrounded by a tattered book of Divination with yellowed pages.

It’s been at least half an hour since you both started staring at the crystal ball, unable to see anything at all. Frustrated, James was the first to give up, throwing himself into the far more entertaining task of making up ridiculous stories about the future he “saw” in the cloudy surface of the object.

“There! It’s as clear as day,” he says, dramatically pointing at the crystal ball with a mischievous grin. “You’re going to be the first professional Quidditch player to bring a hippogriff onto the field. And I’ll, uh… obviously become the greatest dragon tamer the world has ever seen.”

You burst into laughter, trying to keep a straight face as he gestures like he’s actually wrangling an invisible dragon. “Didn’t know your vision included being mauled by your own dragon,” you tease, and he chuckles, pushing his glasses up as he attempts to look offended.

You’re still laughing when you notice the professor’s presence beside your table. She seems to materialize out of the shadows, her intense gaze flicking between you and James. Your laughter dies in your throat, and James straightens in his chair, still with a trace of a grin on his lips.

“Enjoying yourselves, I see,” the professor says, her low voice reverberating in the quiet space. She leans slightly forward, observing the crystal ball for a few seconds before turning her gaze back to you. The pause is long, almost uncomfortable, and when she finally speaks, the room seems to hold its breath along with you.

“You two have an intertwined future,” she says, her enigmatic smile deepening. Her fingers brush lightly against your shoulder, a gesture almost maternal. “I see a boy… He’ll wear glasses, like his father.”

The silence that follows is deafening. It feels as though the entire world has frozen in that instant, the weight of her words hitting you like a gust of icy wind. When you finally summon the courage to glance at James, he’s already looking at you, his eyes wide, his expression a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and something else you can’t quite place.

“Well… that was… interesting,” he says at last, breaking the silence with a voice deeper than usual. He attempts to laugh, but it comes out nervous, and his hand automatically moves to his neck, ruffling his already messy hair.

“Interesting is one word for it,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady. But your heart is pounding so fast it feels impossible he can’t hear it.

For a moment that feels like an eternity, you hold each other’s gaze. James’s look is intense, almost unsettling, as though he’s trying to decipher something, like the future the professor mentioned is now written on your face.

“Our son, huh?” he finally says, his voice barely a whisper. He tries to smile, but it’s a hesitant one, laden with something that might be fear or anticipation. “Hope he gets your good sense. Two of me would be a disaster.”

You laugh, despite the tension, and the sound seems to ease the air between you. “And I hope he doesn’t inherit your knack for getting into trouble.”

He laughs too, and for a brief moment, everything feels normal again. But then the silence returns. James averts his gaze, staring at the crystal ball as if, suddenly, it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. You do the same, fixing your eyes on the open Divination book in front of you, though you can’t read a single word.

And then, at the same time:

“I was thinking that—” “Do you think she—”

The words overlap, making both of you stop instantly. You look at each other, startled, before James starts to laugh nervously. You can’t help but laugh too, covering your mouth with your hand as you feel heat rising to your cheeks.

“Sorry,” he says, still chuckling, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “You go first.”

“No, you go,” you reply, the smile still playing on your lips.

“Alright, then.” He takes a deep breath, as if preparing for something big, but when he speaks, his voice comes out softer than you expected. “Do you think… she was serious?”

You hesitate, biting your lip as you consider the question. “I don’t know. She seems so certain about everything, but… maybe it’s just one of those things she says to make an impression, you know?”

James nods, but his smile is small, almost uncertain. “Yeah, probably. I mean, she did say Peter would marry a Merpeople, didn’t she?”

You laugh again, the memory easing some of the tension. “And that Sirius would become Minister for Magic. He nearly cried from laughing so hard.”

“Yeah, that does put things in perspective.” He laughs too, but the silence that follows feels different this time. It’s not uncomfortable, but full of unspoken thoughts that seem to hang in the air between you.

“But what if…?” you begin, your voice so quiet you can’t believe you said it out loud.

James looks at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he’s trying to figure out what you mean. “What if…?” he repeats, leaving the question hanging, and you feel your heart race.

“Oh, forget it,” you say quickly, laughing nervously. “It’s just the professor and her absurd prophecies. No reason to take it seriously.”

“Yeah, of course,” he agrees, but something in his voice makes you think he’s not entirely convinced.

The silence returns, and you can’t help but let your mind wander. A little boy with James’s messy hair and a pair of glasses slipping down his nose comes to mind, and without meaning to, you smile. The image is so sweet it almost makes your heart ache.

“What are you smiling at?” James asks, and you realize he’s looking at you again, his head tilted slightly.

“Nothing,” you respond far too quickly, feeling heat rise to your face.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he presses, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“It’s just…” You hesitate, but James’s smile is encouraging, even if he doesn’t realize it. “I was thinking about what she said. About… a boy. And I was imagining… he’d look just like you, with messy hair and those glasses.”

James blinks, as though your words caught him completely off guard, and you feel the urgent need to fill the silence before it gets awkward. “Not that I think that’s going to happen! It’s just… well, the idea is funny, isn’t it?”

“It’s…” he starts, but then stops, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away. When he speaks again, his voice is almost a murmur: “I think I’d… maybe I’d prefer a girl. Who looked like you.”

Time seems to stop. You’re sure your heart skips a beat, and the silence that follows is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

James’s eyes widen as if he’s just realized what he said. “I mean—” he begins, his voice an octave higher. “Not that… that’s not what I meant! I just… ah, never mind.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and it’s impossible to hold it back. “A girl who looks like me, huh?” you tease, and his embarrassment is so endearing you almost forget your own.

“Alright, you win,” he says, throwing his hands up in surrender, but the smile he tries to hide says more than any words could. “I think the professor got to us. We’re officially losing it.”

“Yeah,” you agree, laughing, but inside, you know something has changed. Because, as absurd as it might seem, the idea of a shared future with James doesn’t feel so impossible anymore.

[g1rld1ary]

heart shaped doodles - james potter x reader

wc: 836

summary: you accidentally get given james' essay, covered in doodles with your intials together

me: wrote this in one sitting i love loverboy james!!!!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

you were in agonies waiting for your latest potions essay. usually, you had a pretty good grasp of how you were doing academically, but this last project just had you muddled and confused.

the confusion you felt about your essay, though, was completely overshadowed by the utter bewilderment you experienced as you looked down at the piece of paper slughorn had handed you.

all over the heading and through the margins laid doodled hearts, slightly smudged from carelessness. even stranger than the hearts was that your initials sat right in the middle of them, paired with the unmistakable ‘j.p.’.

you quickly paged through the rest of the essay, face draining of colour at the characteristic chicken scratch — and even more so at the clearly accidental inclusion of a page in the middle, filled with doodles and the repeated mantra of ‘mr james’ followed by your last name.

before you could process what you’d just read slughorn snatched the essay out of your hands, booming laugh echoing through the potions classroom.

“sorry about that,” he shook his head as if to reprimand himself, “i must have gotten confused with your initials being all over it.” that got the class’ attention, and several gryffindors craned their necks to catch a glance of the paper as the professor passed.

when slughorn finally made it to james’ desk, dropping the essay down silently, the class erupted into chaos. teasing and heckling ensued as both you and james sunk into your seats, and you were sure your face was the same shade of red as his.

slughorn failed spectacularly at controlling the class after the revelation that the james potter had a crush on you. and not just any crush, a doodle-your-names-together-in-the-margins, down-bad kind of crush. knowing that no more learning was going to happen slughorn dismissed you all, and you had plans to run straight to your dorm and hide there until everyone stopped caring about the whole incident.

remus lupin was immediately at your side, chatting to you about something you weren’t particularly interested in, but you were too polite to tell him of your hibernation plans. you nodded and agreed with him until you were the only ones left in the classroom. apart from james.

you froze, panic overtaking you as you stumbled to put the last of your things in your bag and run when a voice called your name. you knew instantly it was james and turned slowly to face him, forcing yourself to reluctantly make eye contact.

there was still a light dusting of blush above his cheekbones, and the way he was rubbing the back of his neck betrayed his own nervousness.

“hey,” he said, hand clutching the single strap of his bag.

“hi,” you replied, trying to stop your hands from shaking.

“so you, uh, saw my paper?”

“yeah,” you breathed, “um, congrats on the ‘o’ by the way. wish it really was my essay.” james laughed softly at your joke, messing up his hair for something to do.

“i could help you sometime! if you need it, of course.” james cringed at his own reply, the instant realisation that it maybe wasn’t the right thing to say at the moment.

“right,” you trailed off, “well, i’m gonna—”

“wait!” james reached out, a hand catching your bicep lightly. it sent goosebumps up and down the length of your arm. you looked at james expectantly, heart hammering in your chest.

“look, i — fuck. there’s no point pretending we both don’t know now. i really like you. like, an embarrassing amount, as everyone’s discovered today. and i wasn’t gonna do anything about it because i figured you’re so out of my league and aren’t interested, but i suppose i’ve already made a fool out of myself today, might as well full send it. so, what do you say? can i take you out to hogsmeade sometime?”

you pretended to mull it over to give your internal voice time to scream. james potter was without a doubt the hottest guy in school, not to mention smart and funny and good at everything he tried. and he wanted to go out with you! if he wasn’t watching you with anxious interest you thought you might’ve passed out. instead, you played it cool.

“yeah,” you said, smile creeping out despite your best efforts, “yeah, that sounds like fun.”

you almost had to shield your eyes when james beamed, practically its own light source.

“cool!” he said, too loud and fast, “next weekend?” you nodded with almost equal enthusiasm, the two of you sharing the same giggly grins.

behind james you caught a glance of slughorn through the crack in his office door, smiling fondly at the both of you. maybe his slip-up wasn’t so accidental.

“so,” james said, intertwining your fingers boldly as you both turned to leave, “you need me to be your tutor?”

[sunflowersonatas]

WITH ALL MY LOVE: ONESHOT

JAMES POTTER X F!READER / FLUFFFFFF, MINOR ANGST

summary: on a quiet Christmas Eve, old love letters resurface, revealing the unspoken words and unwavering devotion of years past. as memories unfold and long-hidden emotions come to light, a love story once written in ink is now fully realized in the warmth of the present.

a/n: omg guys i've been so creatively inspired recently idk what happened but i've been writing like crazy. had this idea today and once i started i couldn't stop. barely edited so no judgement okay. hope you enjoy, xoxo. sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 4075

With All My Love

It’s a cozy evening in Godric’s Hollow– only the gentle sounds of snowfall on Christmas Eve. Holiday lights are strung around the house, the tree shimmers with multicolored tinsel, littered with ornaments, big, small, sentimental. The year is 1987. The radio faintly plays Stevie Nicks, crooning Silent Night. 

It’s incredibly peaceful.

Our toddler is cuddled up on my lap, still having trouble leaving the clingy stage, though I’m not complaining. Little Rosie is the best thing to ever happen to me. And to James, who sits next to me on the sofa, cradling our infant son in his arms, soothing him to sleep. 

I take a moment to appreciate the look on his face as he gazes down at baby Oliver, taking a mental snapshot. He looks almost amazed, incredulous at the life we created. I still can’t believe it either, sometimes. And more than anything, the pure love in his gaze is so obvious it hurts.

Rosie, who I thought was asleep before, suddenly pipes up from my lap. “Mama?”

Her voice is so sweet, I melt every time she speaks. I wish for her to never lose that lovely lilt in her speech.

“Yes, baby?” I reply softly, a practiced response, given she asks about a thousand questions a day now.

“How did you and daddy fall in love?”

Me and James share a knowing, nearly mischievous glance— the kind of glance only parents know about.

This isn’t the first time she had asked this question— in fact, the story of how me and James met had quickly become a bedtime favorite for her. The words leaving my lips are rehearsed, precise, but they lose no trace of the loving, warm tone I always seem to gain when I speak about my husband.

“Well,” I croon to her, swaying her softly in my arms, “we went to school together, and we met when we were little, and even back then, I knew he liked me.” My eyes glimmer as I glance over to James, gauging his reaction.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he adds with a quiet chuckle, not wanting to disturb the baby. Every time I tell this story, he seems to add something new, some little detail he’d kept to himself all this time, that, if I had only known, would’ve made my heart swell.

“And then when we got older,” I continue to Rosie, who’s now tucked into the crook of my shoulder, clinging to me like an adorable, sleepy koala, “he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

“And you said yes?” Rosie asks, as always.

“I did,” I nod, holding her head against me with one hand, glancing over to James again with a heartfelt expression.

“And then we fell in love,” I tell her earnestly, beginning to rock her gently again. “He would write me letters, follow me everywhere, do just about anything to earn my attention,” I go on in a soothing, motherly voice.

James seems to perk up when I mention the letters. Oliver fusses in his arms, and he begins to bounce him gently. 

“You know what, baby?” He announces in a hushed voice.

“Yeah?” Me and Rosie both answer at once, the melodic blend of our voices sounding like a great symphony to James. His gaze softens as he looks down at Rosie, still sleepy in my embrace.

“I actually have some of those letters,” He reveals, as if it’s a key secret to the universe that he’s entrusting her to keep. “Would you like to see them? Mummy can read them to you,” He suggests gently, standing now, slowly as Oliver settles back comfortably into his father’s arms with a gurgle.

Rosie’s face lights up: “Really?” Well, in two-year-old speak, it’s more like Weawy?

I also look up at him, quirking an eyebrow. “You do?” I ask curiously, eyes sparkling. “I didn’t know.”

“Got to keep an element of surprise, these days,” he replies quickly, not missing a beat. The look he gives me— it’s like we’re teleported back to seventh year, and he’s tugging me into a broom closet to snog all over again.

I hardly have a chance to reply before he’s setting off upstairs, to the nursery to put Oliver down, most likely. It was getting late for him anyway; though we wanted to celebrate the special holiday with him, and Rosie insisted on staying up as long as her little eyes would stay open, the baby’s sleep schedule had restraints.

I hear him shuffling things around in our bedroom for a moment, and then he returns, wearing a cheesy grin, no longer holding a baby, but a box. One I’ve seen before in our closet but never mentioned.

He sees my look and gives me a counter-look. “It’s my you box,” He explains, sitting down next to me and our daughter again, resting the box on his lap. He pops the lid off, and I see many things.

The items on top are more recent. A strip of photos from a photobooth at our wedding. A section of my veil that had torn off during the festivities; I thought it was lost. A ticket stub from the concert he dragged me to because he swore I’d love the band, even though I had never heard of them before that night. 

A locket, one I remember giving him in seventh year once we were official. A tiny, folded note I had once slipped into his pocket before a Quidditch match, wishing him luck—the ink slightly smudged from his clammy hands clutching it too tightly. A page torn from his old school journal, one where he had written my name over and over again like a lovesick fool: overlapping and covering nearly every centimeter of the paper in ink. 

Underneath this arrangement of items, taking up nearly half the box, is a thick stack of parchment. More than I expected. Some neatly folded, some stuffed into envelopes, some fraying at the edges as if handled too many times.

James reaches in and pulls one from the stack, thumbing over the worn parchment as if deciding whether or not this is the right one. After a moment, he nods to himself and hands it to me with a small smile.

“This one,” he murmurs. “Start with this one.”

3 June 1974

Two days. It’s only been two days, and I already hate it without you. I keep glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see you there, but you never are. I wish you were.

I don’t know what I’m trying to say, it’s just that I keep thinking of you. I wonder all the time what you’re doing without me. I probably sound like a clingy little shite right now, I probably won’t send this.

If I’m not going to send it, then I suppose I can be completely honest. I love you. I don’t know when I started loving you, I think I always have. Literally from the first day at Hogwarts, I was starstruck, I think you could tell.

You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. You still are. You’re even more beautiful now, if that’s possible. It still leaves me speechless sometimes when I look at you, I literally can’t formulate any other thoughts. I just see pretty.

Every time you open that pretty mouth, I’m compelled to listen. I’m drawn to your every word, love. I can’t get enough of you. It feels like a sickness. You’ve infected me. Why’d you do that?

Seriously, why? It’s causing a whole lot of trouble. We’re supposed to be friends, you’re friends with everyone else. But not with me, it’s always been different with me, we both know that. I’ve never thought of you as only a friend.

The love I carry for you is deep and unquenchable, believe me I’ve tried. I’ve tried to just ignore it, mash it down, not think about it or talk about it or waste any more energy trying to get your attention.

But I’m done with that. I love you and I can’t hold it in anymore.

Even though I’m not sending this letter, at least I wrote it out.

Happy Birthday, love. I’ll send you a card and a better letter in a few days.

Yours,

James

I was going to read the letter aloud for Rosie, but once I see the date, I stop. We were 14. I knew he had feelings for me for a while, but I’ve never really asked about specifics. He said since fourth year at least, and here he is in 1974, proclaiming his everlasting love for me.

My eyes carefully analyze every word, every detail: the loops of his handwriting, where the page is scratched like he was pressing too hard. Where there’s a blot on the page like he was holding his quill there for a long time, not knowing what to write. Where the letters are all connected suddenly, like the words just came flooding out of him.

When I’m done, I look back up at James with tears in my eyes. He freezes, stunned by my reaction.

“What does it say, mama?” Rosie chimes in, trying to climb me in an effort to read the letter herself, as if she could read it.

I hold the letter to my heart and cover my mouth with my other hand, so Rosie doesn’t see me sob.

James just leans forward and plucks her from my lap effortlessly, murmuring about bedtime. She resists, of course, and her complaints are heard all the way up the stairs. But she was sleepy, too, and so after a few minutes of listening to his hushed voice telling her goodnight, he comes back downstairs.

I’m still motionless on the couch, rereading every word he’d written to me.

“James—” My voice cracks. I try again. “James.”

“Don’t cry, love,” he answers with a chuckle, rushing back to the couch to take me firmly in his arms.

For a moment, he just holds me, letting me take in everything. Then, with a kiss pressed into my hair, he leans back just enough to meet my eyes. A smirk tugs at his lips, his usual playful demeanor returning.

“You do realize,” he teases, voice warm and full of fondness, “that there are so many more of these, right? And I lived with these feelings for years. So now, you get to read about them. Fair is fair.”

I let out a watery laugh, shaking my head as I press my forehead against his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins. “And yet, you married me.”

I exhale, still overwhelmed, but lighter now— he always manages to make me feel lighter. James reaches for the stack of letters again, flipping through them casually before selecting another. He holds it out to me, eyes twinkling.

“Alright, love,” he says. “Next one.”

14 October, 1975

My darling,

This is going to be another one of those letters that I probably won’t send. I don’t want you to read this one, because I’m angry with you.

How do you not see it? If I could scream it from the rooftops, I would, it’s just… every time I try, I can’t. Does that make sense?

You. You’re the one who needs to see it, to see me. I can’t do anything more. I’m right here. Why can’t you bloody see that?

That Ravenclaw prat at the party tonight had his hands all over you, and you looked happy about it. Like it never crossed your mind to ask me to dance instead. You know I would’ve, angel.

Maybe I’m reading too much into things. Maybe I’m just jealous. I don’t think so, though.

I think you need to wake up and look at what’s right in front of you. Look at me, please, I’m begging you, now, darling. Just look at me once, and I think everything will be okay.

Or just tell me you don’t feel the same, and I’ll forget all about it. No, I can't. Even as I wrote that I realized, I could never forget the way you make me feel with just a look. And you have no idea. So damn oblivious.

I love every single thing about you, I wish you would just let me.

Faithfully yours,

James

I read this one quietly as well, scoffing to myself and giving him a look as I read about the Ravenclaw boy. I remember that night— it was the first time any boy had wanted to dance with me. If only I had known James was there, wanting to.

The realization hits me like a truck. Everything I put him through, even unknowingly. How he could still love me, undeniably, after all of that, seems incomprehensible to me.

“I had no idea,” I tell him through soft cries, blubbering and whimpering, feebly wiping my face with my sleeves. “I’m awful.”

James shakes his head immediately, reaching for my hands and pulling them away from my face. His thumbs sweep over my knuckles, grounding me.

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs, voice impossibly gentle. “You weren’t awful. You didn’t know.”

I sniffle, blinking up at him. “But I should have.”

He lets out a quiet, breathy chuckle, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You weren’t supposed to know. Not then.” He tilts his head slightly, eyes warm and full of unwavering affection. “You know now, though.”

I let out a trembling laugh, shaking my head at him. “Merlin, I was so oblivious."

James smirks. “Painfully so. Good thing I’m persistent, yeah?”

I exhale, still overwhelmed, my fingers tightening around his. He nudges the stack of letters toward me once again, eyes glimmering with that same familiar mischief.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” he teases, voice lighter now. “You’re just getting to the good part.” He pulls another from the stack and hands it to me— this one has been crumpled up and smoothed out meticulously, maybe even pressed under heavy books.

9 December 1975

I’m sorry I kissed you. It was an accident. Not really.

I’ve wanted to for a long time, I just never had a proper reason to. Tonight, after winning the game, I was excited, and I thought it was the right time. But I’m starting to think there’s never a right time with us.

Every time I try, I fail. You would hardly look at me at the party afterwards. So I know you didn’t like it, or didn’t want it, and for that I apologize.

But also? I can’t apologize for kissing you. It wasn’t planned, but I knew I wanted to. I’ve always wanted to. Merlin, I’ve thought about it so many times. 

I can’t apologize for finally putting action to my thoughts. And with that, I suppose I mean to tell you… I have feelings for you. 

It doesn’t matter

The tone of this one is slightly different from the other unsent letters— and significantly different from the letters I have received from him over the years. He’s being very blunt, vulnerable even.

It only strikes me when I read the last line, and it suddenly cuts off. It doesn’t matter and nothing else.

I look up at him with an indiscernible look in my eye. Confusion, maybe, or putting things together.

His lips stretch into a tight smile, and he scratches the back of his neck. “I, er, stopped writing this one, ‘cause I knew I wouldn’t have the guts to give it to you,” he admits, sounding a bit bashful at the fact.

My heart feels like melted candy: gooey and dangerously hot. 

I glance at the date again wordlessly. Two years before we started dating. Two years he held onto this letter. I can imagine him right now, in his dorm, scratching It doesn’t matter and then abruptly setting the quill down, abandoning whatever thought was coming next, taking the parchment in his hands, and squeezing it with all his might, as if that might let his frustrations out. A minute later, he’d sulk over to the bin, fish the ball out, flatten it, and put it in the box with the others.

And I do remember him apologizing for the kiss in person the next day— undoubtedly one of our most awkward conversations. I told him it was fine, tried to brush it off, yet all with an air of I didn’t want that to happen. And it was true, and he wrote that. I didn’t want it to happen. Not yet, anyways.

My shoulders sag; I collapse into his arms in a crushing hug. I allow myself to feel my feelings for just a moment, and then I pull back with a sniffle, composing myself.

“I always knew that kiss wasn’t accidental,” I tease him half-heartedly, drawing a chuckle from his throat anyway.

“Here,” he says, handing me another letter, which he’d pre-selected while I was reading the last. “The next one’s better.”

3 May 1976

My dearest,

You helped me study for OWLs this year— well, you always help me study— but I aced them all. I couldn’t have done it without you. I had to write to tell you how thankful I am.

You do a lot for me, whether you realize it or not. Keeping my grades up (don’t even argue with me on this, you know you do), giving me advice about Lily. It all means a lot to me.

You’ve been one of my closest friends over the years, someone I can confide in. I haven’t found anyone else like you in my sixteen years of living, and I doubt I ever will. You’re completely unique, and I love that about you.

Your smile brightens my entire world. When you laugh, it’s like colors are brighter, and my mind feels sharper. You always manage to clear my head with just a look or a touch, it never fails. You are the one thing keeping me grounded.

There’s so much going on, all the time, constantly. Fights are breaking out across the country, dark magic running amok. Friends come and go, classes change year by year, but for me at least, there’s always been one constant. That’s you, darling.

I know I can rely on you, tell you anything and risk no judgment or harsh response. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met, I would be surprised to hear you hurt a fly— or even something you hate, like a spider. Never change that kindness.

I suppose I’m really just trying to tell you how much I appreciate you, nothing more. Sorry if it came off a bit sappy, I might’ve gotten carried away. I’ll write you a normal one soon.

Yours,

James

I trace my fingers over the ink, pressing my lips together. My chest is too full, my heart aching in the best way. When I finally look up at James, he’s already watching me.

James shifts, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s still embarrassed about it, even now. “Yeah, so, funny thing about this one…” he starts to explain the moment I look up at him, “I would… sometimes give the letters to Sirius and Remus, to screen,” he admits, scratching his neck again. “Boy, I heard a mouthful from them about this one.”

I throw my head back laughing imagining it, and James launches into a reenactment, doing his best Sirius impression, all with a hushed voice to not wake the kids: “‘Yours, James’?! Bloody hell, Prongs, why don’t you just propose in the next one and save us all the trouble?”

I try to stifle my laughter, but bright giggles still carry through the air, and his heart still jumps at the sound. It’s still true to him— colors are brighter. 

We’re both trying to stifle our laughter when Rosie shifts in her sleep, sighing softly. James glances toward the stairs, then back at me, grinning like a schoolboy. “Shh, don’t get us in trouble,” he teases.

He hands me the next letter, and this one is crisp, like it hasn't been touched since the day he wrote it.

12 April 1977

Love,

The end of the year is coming sooner than any of us expected, and with that, I feel that I need to be incredibly honest with you.

For seven years, I have been biting my tongue, swallowing words I was too much of a coward to say.

Everything I do is for you, surely you know that. I just want to be near you all the time, is that too much to ask?

We’re already together all the time anyways, it wouldn’t be that big of a change. Plus, we’d get to kiss anytime we want.

I know it’s a lot to ask, and I know this is probably the last thing you’re expecting right now, but maybe you are expecting it. I think maybe you already know.

So please. Be mine, my dearest. We will be so happy, I just know it. You make me happier than anything ever has. Say yes, and I will spend the rest of my life proving that you were always meant to be mine, and that I am good enough to be yours.

With all my love,

James

I read the last words slowly, my fingers pressing into the worn parchment like I could somehow hold onto the feeling in my hands. It takes me a long moment to breathe, to look up at James, who is watching me like he already knows exactly what’s running through my mind.

“I can’t believe you never gave me this,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.

James smiles, that same lopsided grin that made me fall in love with him all those years ago. “Didn’t need to,” he murmurs. “You beat me to it.”

He taps the date at the top, and it looks familiar for a reason I can’t place. Family life is unbelievably busy; anniversary dates, birthdays, deadlines, all swimming around in my head. I can’t place it.

“This was the night you told me how you felt,” he explains softly, voice so tender it resonates through every one of my muscles. 

I gasp recalling it: I had found him in the common room late one night in April, after harboring feelings for him for the entirety of the year and never acting on it. He had his hands behind his back like he was holding something.

He never had to give it to me.

I glance back down at the letter, trying to commit every word to memory. "All this time... and you kept it?"

James shrugs, but there’s no mistaking the emotion in his eyes. "Of course I did. It was never just words on a page. It was everything I felt, everything I wanted to say, and even though I never needed to give it to you, I couldn’t let it go."

I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his, grounding myself in the warmth of him. “We were such fools back then,” I murmur with a soft laugh, shaking my head. "All those years wasted."

James tilts his head, considering, then smirks. "I don’t know. I think it happened exactly the way it was supposed to." He shifts, turning fully toward me, his free hand brushing along my jaw before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Because it led us here. To this. To them."

We both glance toward the staircase, where our children sleep soundly upstairs, oblivious to the weight of the moment between us. The house is quiet, the warmth of the fire flickering gently against the walls, wrapping us in the kind of peace I never knew I would have.

I sigh, leaning into him. "You're right. We got it right in the end."

James presses a lingering kiss to my temple, his voice barely above a whisper. "We always would have."

I close my eyes, letting myself melt into his embrace, holding onto this moment—this love that has spanned years, that has grown and strengthened, that has carried us through everything.

Outside, the snow continues to fall, blanketing the world in quiet serenity, as if time itself has slowed just for us. And for once, I don’t think about what’s next. I only think about now. About him. About us.

And I know, without a doubt, that there is nowhere else I’d rather be.

♡

You looked gorgeous today, in case nobody told you. -James

♡

I’m paying attention very hard in class today. (I’m lying, I’m watching you twirl your quill and thinking about how unfairly pretty you are.) -Yours, whether you know it or not.

♡

Did you know you bite your lip when you’re concentrating? Because now it’s all I can think about. -James

♡

You laughed at my joke and I’m pretty sure that’s going to keep me alive for the next three days at minimum. Entirely at your mercy, -James

♡

if you liked this, check out my james drabble which is a little continuation / expansion of this story!!

my current series is a james fake dating trope if that tickles your fancy more!!

xoxo sunny ☀️🌻

[amiableness]

Hockey!James Potter x Lupin!Reader ❆ 663 words

thank you to @moonpascal for reading this and giving me ideas! hockey!james is dedicated to you, babes <3 series masterlist ; main masterlist

“Put a shirt on—my sister’s coming over.” Remus calls out, smacking the back of the couch behind Sirius’ head. Sirius barely flinches, too absorbed in the video game to care. James glances up from where he’s sitting, his gaze casually following Remus as he walks into the living room. But then, as the words register, his head snaps back for a double take.

“Your sister’s coming over?” James sits up straighter, his interest piqued. “When?”

Remus glances at his phone as he settles into the chair next to the couch, “Pretty soon.”

“He’s one shot away from dead, James,” Sirius mutters through gritted teeth, his fingers flying over the buttons, laser-focused on the screen. “Get on that. Now.”  

Silence.  

Sirius darts a quick, panicked glance to his right, expecting to see James ready for action, only to find him staring intently at Remus instead, his controller slack in his hands.  

“Pretty soon? What does that mean? Ten minutes? Thirty?” James asks, his thoughts drifting to the state he’s in—his hair a disheveled mess from repeatedly running his hands through as he played games for half the day. Not to mention, he’s still lounging in his pajama pants, a consequence of having no classes and a rare night off from hockey practice. 

If he’d known you were coming over today, he would’ve made an effort—fixed his hair, changed out of his lazy clothes, maybe even tidied up the place a bit.

“James!” Sirius barks, his frustration mounting. “I said get on him, not play twenty questions!”  

Remus shrugs as he strides further into the room, completely unfazed by the chaos. “Again—I don’t know, mate. She just said, ‘pretty soon.’”

James frowns, his brow furrowing. “Do I have time to shower?”  

The high-pitched sound of a game-over screen fills the room, and Sirius throws his controller down with a groan. “Oh, bloody hell! We could’ve won that!” 

James glances over at the screen with a slight wince, “Shit, sorry.”

“Remus, you’re up,” Sirius announces, grabbing the controller James has abandoned and tossing it to Remus, who barely catches it. A disappointed look is shot in James’ direction as Sirius sets up the new game. “You’ve lost your privileges.”

Remus takes the controller, his eyes flicking to James as he stands and begins collecting the forgotten cans and empty food containers scattered around. Sirius glances over with an amused smirk, his gaze lingering on James’ frantic tidying.

“Should I be concerned that you’re cleaning up for my sister?” Remus asks, raising an eyebrow. James turns to face him, a guilty and uncertain expression crossing his face.

“Uh, I do—” James stammers, clearly unsure how to respond without annoying Remus. 

“If you’re gonna change, you might as well throw on a backwards hat,” Remus says, interrupting casually, his eyes glued to the screen as his fingers hover over the buttons. “She finds it hot on guys.” He catches James out of the corner of his eye—sees him straighten, the words sinking in as he nods slowly. Without a word, James turns and heads for the kitchen, muttering to himself, like he’s trying to remember where he’s got a baseball hat lying around.

“Wait, does she really?” Sirius asks, raising an eyebrow. Remus mutters a distracted “yeah.”

“Noted,” He nods, a sly grin creeping across his face. “I’ll be sure to wear one around her next time.”

Remus turns and shoots him a warning look, making Sirius pause. “Seriously? You’re handing him tips, but I can’t even joke about using them?”

“No, because he’s actually interested in being with her. You’re just interested in flirting with her.” Remus says, shooting Sirius a look of warning and protectiveness— the kind only a brother could deliver.

Sirius rolls his eyes, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, fully aware that Remus is right. James had fallen for you the moment Remus introduced you four years ago—his feelings for you were real, and somehow, everyone but you could see it.

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