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santaasi · 25 days ago

Text

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

#– santi 🪐#james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter x y/n #james potter fanfiction #bsf!james potter #james potter x fem!reader

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ricochetyears · 1 month ago

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everyone’s always talking about how james is such an amazing dad, and yeah, he’s awesome, but can we take a moment to talk about regulus as a parent? i mean, let’s just agree that he’s sooo attentive, and sooo loving, and he always lets their kid hang out with him in the kitchen while he’s cooking or cleaning, just listening to them go off about random stuff like, "daddy, mr. snuggles (aka the stuffed bunny) said he doesn’t like carrots. we had a fight." and regulus will give this exaggerated shocked look and be like, "no way? seriously? you’re telling me?" all wide-eyed and dramatic, and they’ll just go back and forth like that for hours, because their kid’s got the same endless chatter as james

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unconventional-lawnchair · 1 month ago

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Just Kiss Her

James Potter x BSF!Reader

Summary: You find a few unsent letters with your name on them- literally.

WC: 2.1k

CW: use of {Y/N} - typo and nonsense it's 4am and I can't sleep.

The Gryffindor boys' dormitory was unusually lively for a day when James was absent. You sat cross-legged on James’s bed, surrounded by the mess that only four teenage boys could call normal. The faint scent of James’s shampoo lingered on his pillow behind you, a small comfort as the chatter of the room swirled around you.

Sirius groaned dramatically from his own bed, his leg propped up on a stack of pillows. He had injured it during their last Quidditch practice and was now milking the situation for all it was worth.

“Darling,” Sirius called, drawing out the word as he tilted his head toward you. “I demand attention. Do you know how utterly dull it is, lying here with nothing but Moony’s dull bookishness and Wormtail’s horrible color sense for company?”

“I’m literally right here, Pads,” Remus replied flatly, not looking up from his book.

“And you love me,” Sirius shot back without skipping a beat, grinning lazily.

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention back to Peter, who stood in front of the mirror with a tie hanging awkwardly around his neck. “I think the green one is better,” you offered. “It brings out your eyes.”

Peter frowned, his hands fumbling with the knot. “But is green too Slytheriny?”

“Not unless you start hissing and cursing muggleborns,” you replied with a teasing smile. “Just pair it with a gray jumper. Neutralize it.”

Peter nodded, muttering something about giving it a try before swapping it for a blue tie. Meanwhile, Sirius groaned again, this time louder.

“I’m dying, and none of you care,” he complained, flopping back against his pillows like a tragic figure in a poorly acted play.

“You’re not dying,” you said, leaning back on your hands. “You’ve got a bruised leg.”

“Bruised? Bruised?” Sirius gasped as if you’d mortally wounded him. “That’s how they minimize war injuries, you know. Next you’ll say I’m malingering.”

“Which you are," Remus said, still not looking up from his book.

Sirius turned to you, ignoring Remus entirely. “Come on, love. Entertain me. Read me a story or sing me a song or- oh! Recite poetry! You’re good at that.”

“I’m not reciting poetry for you, Sirius.”

“Why not?” Sirius pouted. “You do it for James.”

“That’s because James actually asks nicely,” you quipped, smirking.

At that, Sirius clutched his chest as if you’d stabbed him, his grin betraying his dramatics. “Et tu, Brute? I thought you loved me.”

“Loved, past tense,” you teased. “You’re officially too high maintenance.”

“You wound me,” Sirius said, throwing an arm over his face. “Moony, tell her she’s being cruel.”

“Not getting involved,” Remus said quickly, still reading but now smiling faintly.

Sirius turned his face toward you again, his pout morphing into a cheeky grin. “Fine, if you won’t entertain me, at least come sit over here so I can lean on you while you’re ignoring me.”

You rolled your eyes but stood anyway, walking over to Sirius’s bed. “You’re unbearable.”

“I prefer entertaining,” he replied smugly as you perched beside him, letting him lean his head on your shoulder.

The room was quiet for a moment, save for the sound of Remus flipping another page in his book and Peter muttering to himself as he fiddled with another tie. Sirius, still leaning on your shoulder, let out a long, exaggerated sigh, clearly waiting for you to indulge him.

“Alright,” you finally relented. “I’ll read something to you. Happy now?”

Sirius grinned triumphantly. “Ecstatic. Now, find something good. None of that boring rubbish you usually bring in here.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood and glanced around the room. “Fine, but I’m not wasting my time reading some textbook or Quidditch manual. Let’s see if James has something decent for once.”

Sirius perked up, watching you make your way over to James’s trunk. “Careful, darling, you’re stepping into dangerous territory. Prongs’s secrets and all that.”

“Oh, he won’t mind,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “Besides, if he didn’t want me snooping, he’d have locked it.”

Remus glanced up from his book. “I’m not sure that logic holds up, actually.”

You knelt beside the trunk, lifting the lid to find the usual James Potter mess: a tangled heap of robes, a few textbooks with worn edges, and a Gryffindor scarf stuffed haphazardly into the corner. But what caught your eye was a small, battered box tucked near the bottom, half-hidden beneath a crumpled cloak.

“What’s this?” you murmured, pulling it out and turning it over in your hands.

Sirius’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Oh, now that looks promising. Open it.”

Remus let out a quiet sigh. “I wouldn’t- ”

“Of course you would,” Sirius interrupted. “It’s Prongs. What’s his is practically hers anyway.”

Ignoring their back-and-forth, you pried open the lid. Inside was a disorganized stack of parchment, some neatly folded, others crumpled and torn. Some were even singed at the edges, as if they'd narrowly escaped being thrown into the fire. Every single one had your name scrawled across the top in James’s messy handwriting.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“What is it?” Peter asked, peeking over your shoulder.

“Letters,” you said softly. “They’re… they’re addressed to me.”

Sirius’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Oh, now this is good."

Remus closed his book, his brow furrowed. “Are you really going to read those? They’re personal.”

“They’re addressed to me," you replied, a mixture of curiosity and nerves stirring in your chest.

“You’re doing him a favor,” Sirius said breezily. “If he didn’t want you to read them, he’d have gotten rid of them properly.”

You hesitated for a moment before unfolding the first letter. The parchment was slightly wrinkled, and the ink looked rushed, as though James had written it in a moment of unfiltered emotion.

Dear {Y/N},

You probably think I’m an idiot. Honestly, you wouldn’t be wrong. I’ve tried to write this letter five times already, and I keep throwing them in the fire. But this one… I don’t know. Maybe I’ll keep it. Maybe one day I’ll find the courage to actually give it to you.

You laughed today. I can’t even remember what I said to make you laugh, but Merlin, it was the best sound I’ve ever heard. I keep playing it over in my head like an idiot, and it’s driving me mad.

I think I love you. No- scratch that. I *know* I love you. But I can’t tell you. What if you don’t feel the same? What if it ruins everything? Maybe it’s better this way. At least I can still be near you, even if it kills me to pretend.

Your voice caught, and you lowered the letter, your hands trembling slightly.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius said, looking genuinely impressed. “Prongs has it bad.”

Peter nodded mutely, wide-eyed.

“You really shouldn’t be reading those,” Remus muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

But you couldn’t stop. You reached for another letter, this one more crumpled, as though James had balled it up in frustration before deciding to keep it.

I tried to burn this one too, but I couldn’t. I can’t seem to get rid of the things I write to you, even if they’re pointless. You’ll never read them anyway. But writing them feels like the only way to stop my chest from caving in whenever I see you with someone else. Merlin, I’m pathetic.

I wish I could just tell you. But then what? You’d laugh, or worse, pity me. I couldn’t stand that. So, I’ll keep pretending. Keep being your best friend. Keep loving you quietly.

“Wow,” Peter said softly.

You sat back on your heels, clutching the letters tightly. All this time, James had been carrying these feelings- for you- and he’d never said a word.

“See?” Sirius said, looking smug. “Told you this was worth it.”

Remus shot him a glare. “You’re not helping.”

You looked up, your heart pounding. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

Sirius leaned back against his pillows, crossing his arms behind his head. “Because he’s James bloody Potter. He’d face down a hundred Death Eaters without flinching, but one look at you and he’s a goner.”

The door to the dormitory burst open, and James Potter strolled in, looking thoroughly windswept from Quidditch practice. His broom was slung over his shoulder, and his Gryffindor scarf dangled loosely around his neck.

“Alright, lads, miss me?” he asked cheerfully, dropping his broom beside his bed. He glanced at Peter, who was still fiddling with his tie. “Wormy, mate, what’s that? A tie? You look like you’re about to slither off into the dungeons.”

Peter huffed, pulling at the tie. “It’s green with gray accents. She said it works.”

James’s laugh was loud and carefree, but then his gaze landed on you, sitting on the floor with a stack of letters clutched tightly in your hands. The open box on the floor beside you caught his eye, and his face immediately fell.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice suddenly sharp.

You froze for a moment but quickly regained your composure, hugging the letters closer to your chest.

“Reading,” Sirius said from his bed, his tone positively delighted. “Turns out, Prongs, you’re a regular Shakespeare. Real heartfelt stuff.”

James paled as he took a step toward you, his eyes wide with a mix of panic and embarrassment. “Put those down. Now. They’re mine.”

You stood quickly, holding the letters tight to your chest as if they were a treasure. “No, they’re mine. They’ve got my name on them.”

“{Y/N},” James groaned, his face turning a deep shade of red. He lunged for the letters, but you stepped back just in time.

“I don’t think so,” you said, grinning as you unfolded another letter. You held it up dramatically, clearing your throat. “Let’s see what this one says- ”

“Don’t you dare!” James exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly.

“Dear {Y/N},” you read aloud, dodging James as he tried to grab the letters again. “You’re going to kill me one day, and I’ll probably thank you for it. Today, you- ”

James groaned loudly, lunging for you again. “I mean it! Give them back!”

But you were faster, darting around Sirius’s bed and laughing as James scrambled to catch you. “Today, you laughed at my joke in Transfiguration, and I swear I forgot how to breathe- oh, that’s good, James! Real poetic!”

Sirius howled with laughter from his bed, clapping his hands. “Oh, this is gold. Absolute gold.”

Peter, wide-eyed, muttered, “Should we stop them?”

“No,” Sirius said quickly, waving a hand. “This is the most fun I’ve had all day.”

James was completely flustered now, his hair even messier than usual as he chased you around the room. “You’re impossible!” he said, his voice breathless.

“And you’re in love with me,” you teased, waving the letters in the air. Suddenly you paused, as if reality hit you. Your smile grew tenfold as you looked at the letters then to him with wide eyes. “Merlin, you're in love with me!”

That made him freeze for half a second, giving you just enough time to read aloud again. “You’ll never read this, but Merlin, I can’t stop thinking about you- ”

Before you could finish, James lunged and finally managed to catch you, his arms wrapping around you tightly. You squealed in surprise and delight as the two of you toppled backward into the open closet, the letters scattering around you.

James pinned you gently, his face mere inches from yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’re an absolute menace,” he said, though his tone was more fond than frustrated.

“And you’re a hopeless romantic,” you shot back, grinning up at him.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his hazel eyes filled with something intense and unspoken. Then, before you could say another word, he kissed you- soft and sweet at first, but quickly turning urgent and consuming.

You forgot about the letters entirely as his hands framed your face, his lips moving against yours like he’d been waiting for this moment forever. Your laughter melted into the kiss, your hands clutching the front of his Quidditch jumper as if to anchor yourself.

From outside the closet, Sirius’s voice rang out. “Bloody hell, Prongs, save some for later!”

James pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his face flushed and his smile wide. “Remind me to hex Sirius later,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips.

“Deal,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him again.

Sirius groaned loudly. “Merlin, they’re hopeless. Wormtail, fetch me a bucket; I’m going to be sick.”

Remus sighed, his tone amused. “I think we’ve just lost James for the rest of the day.”

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black #james potter #harry potter x reader #remus lupin #harry potter x you #james potter x you #james fleamont potter #james x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #james potter fic #James potter x bsf!reader #bsf!james potter #friends to lovers #idiots in love

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sun-kissy · 2 months ago

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light | bucky barnes

bucky barnes x sunshine!reader; neighbour au — ★ 1k words

summary: bucky meets you, his bright, new neighbour, and is instantly endeared

tw: nothing, tooth-rotting fluff <3

a/n: first time writing for bucky… please be nice 🥲 consider this my official letter of intent into the mcu fandom on tumblr LOL

Ding dong! Bucky is quick to get to the door, abandoning his attempts at brewing coffee. The espresso machine Sam had gotten him sits sadly on the kitchen platform, likely broken from the looks of the dented knob and crooked buttons. Some things he could get a hang of easily — appliances were not one of them, and neither was using his metal arm with gentleness. He’d have to try and fix it back up later.

He pulls the door open, pleasantly surprised to see you standing there, with your twinkling eyes and sweet smile. Bucky hadn’t known what love felt like in a long, long time. But he thought the ache in his heart when he first saw you came dangerously close to it.

His first encounter with you was a couple of days ago, when he was just moving in. Dr. Raynor had told him that a move would be good for him, giving him a chance to have a fresh start. Bullshit. The only thing he’d gotten out of the new neighbourhood so far was a headache because of the sweltering heat, and a pulled muscle in his arm — the non-metal one — from hauling boxes up the stairs to his apartment.

He was busy cursing his therapist under his breath when you showed up, like some sort of angel in his plight. You jogged over to him brightly, hand wrapped around the leash of a fluffy brown dog. Bucky’s first instinct was to push you away when you offered to help. But you were persistent, and he gave in on account of shutting you up.

Your smile had widened immediately, and he remembered wondering how anyone could be so happy to help a stranger.

He couldn’t have been more wrong. Your enthusiasm only grew with each minute you spent together. It was like you couldn’t stop chattering — asking him where he was from, how long he was going to stay, and everything else under the sun. He hadn’t asked, but he got to know a lot about you too. He now knew you worked in a clinic near the neighbourhood, you lived alone with your dog (whose name was Milo), and that you weren’t particularly close to any family.

Bucky couldn’t help but soften more and more by the second. You were incredibly endearing, all soft smiles and loud laughter. It was like catching the first glimpses of morning light after being locked up in darkness for a lifetime, and frankly, he was smitten. You told him that you lived a few floors up and that you’d be back to visit soon. When you held Milo’s paw in your hand, the dog all bundled up in your arms, and waved him the most adorable little goodbye, he knew he was gone.

He was more than happy to see you on his front door today. You were all dolled up, pink tube top with a frilly white skirt. He couldn’t help the smile that quirked his lips. “Hey.”

“Hi!” you chirp, already digging into your bag for something. Bucky eyes you with an arched eyebrow as you pull out a Tupperware box, handing it to him excitedly. “Brownies.”

“For me?” He hesitantly takes it from you, surprised. There’s a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

You step into the house as he pulls the door open wider, confirming it with a nod. “Yeah, for you. Baked them myself.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, closing the door behind you. No one’s ever done something like this for him before, niceness for the hell of it. It makes him want to pull you into a hug. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all,” you brush him off, flashing him a small smile before turning your attention to his living room. He watches as you peruse the place curiously, eyes darting all over before landing on the espresso machine. “So, James…” you start unsteadily as you walk towards the kitchen.

Bucky lets out a huff of laughter. “James? Where’d you get that?”

“I asked the security guard downstairs about you, didn’t let him off till he told me your name,” you smile sheepishly, twirling your curls around your finger. “He said it was James Buka… Bucha…”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he interrupts with a fond sort of amusement. “Bucky for short.”

“Bucky,” you repeat with a giggle. “Cute. I like it. Also, do you need help with this?” You gesture at the smoking coffee machine, spilt puddles of the liquid dotting the kitchen platform.

“Oh, um,” he shrugs, a light pinkness dusting his cheeks. “Sure.” He watches as you grab a new mug and pour some milk into the machine. Your tongue juts out adorably as you click the buttons concentratedly. “What’s yours?”

“Y/n,” you mutter, straightening up proudly as the brown liquid starts to spout into the mug. You turn to him with an accomplished grin. “It’s working.”

“Thank you,” he chuckles, heart squeezing in his chest when you give him a wink. “Y/n. That’s a pretty name.”

Bucky swears he can see the blush on your cheeks, but it’s hard to make out with your back turned to him. You busy yourself with wiping the spilt coffee, but he hears the smile in your voice when you thank him.

You hand him his coffee before grabbing one yourself, making yourself comfortable on his couch. He leans against the platform as he talks to you.

Surprisingly, you’re not as chatty today. Perhaps you were more comfortable around him, feeling less of a need to fill the silence. He tells you about the war when you point to a picture on the wall, one from the 40s, in which his arm is slung around Steve’s shoulder. He’s glad you don’t ask about Steve.

Soon, you make to leave. “I have an appointment with a friend,” you smile apologetically as you stand, dusting yourself off. “This was fun, though.”

Bucky nods and walks you to the front door, pulling it open. “It was.”

“See you around sometime?” you ask hopefully as you pull your heels on.

He softens, voice tinged with affection. “Sure. Why don’t you come over for lunch tomorrow, if you’re free?”

“Really?” you beam. “Great. I’ll be here.”

You call out to Bucky as you make your way to the stairs, vigorously waving your hand in farewell. He gives you a small wave in return, trying his best not to smile.

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lqveharrington · 3 months ago

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Double Surprise | R.L.

summary: The Marauders and Lily come over for Christmas Dinner but you and Remus have a little surprise for them all.

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

includes: mentions of sex, talks of pregnancy, drinking, sirius and reader acting like siblings, overall just fluff

a/n: this idea came to me randomly 🤷‍♀️ (and it’s not even Christmas time yet??)

Ever since you fell for Remus all those years ago, you knew he was the one you wanted to be with forever. He did as well. You went from talking, to dating, to engaged, and the latest: married. And every single time you fell harder and harder for him.

So it was no surprise that you wanted a child with him. A mini version of your love right beside you. After a long conversation with a worried Remus, you both decided it was time. You were able to soothe his thoughts about the full moon and a baby at the same time which you knew was his greatest worry. He didn’t want to accidentally turn you nor the baby into what he was.

With many nights of trying — although both of you could argue that some of those nights were much more passionate than others — you were finally pregnant with his child. There was no other way to tell your friends about the news except over Christmas dinner, of course.

“How do I look?” You bit the tip of your thumbnail in anticipation, looking at yourself through the mirror hung in the hallway. “Presentable enough?”

It wasn’t like you were scared to tell them… Actually, you were beyond terrified to tell them, especially Lily. She was practically a sister to you at Hogwarts and you always told her everything that happened in your life. And having a baby was the most important news of all.

“Gorgeous as always, dovey.” Remus murmured as he carefully wrapped his arms around you with his hand placed on your stomach, cradling the growing fetus.

You weren’t showing at all. You were barely two months, but you knew he meant it as a comforting gesture. You tilted your head to look at him properly and smiled when he placed a gentle kiss to your lips.

You parted and bit your lip softly, smiling even harder as you looked between his eyes. “What was that for?”

“Just admiring the one I love.” He nudged his nose with yours and kissed you once more.

The moment was sweet enough to give you a cavity, but the rapid knocking from your front door caused the both of you to snap out of it. You lean your head on his shoulder and shut your eyes for a second, letting yourself stay in comfort for a little longer.

Finally — after more aggressive knowing from the door — you sigh and press a loving kiss to his lips. “Get the door, please? I need to check on dinner.”

“You just don’t want get cold.” Remus patted your hip as you sent him a cheeky smile.

“You know me so well.” You blow him an air kiss as you sauntered into the warmth of the kitchen.

But even from the kitchen you could hear the shouts of the people at the door, which amused you beyond all doubt. Sirius — of course — was the loudest voice you could make out. His shouting loud enough for the neighbors to hear over the thickening snow.

“Moony, let us in! It’s freezing!” Sirius shouted as he pounded on the door with his fist, teeth chattering.

The next voice you heard was James. And it was no surprise to you that he used his wife’s name to get Remus to open the door faster.

“You don’t want Evans to freeze, do you?”

Finally, you heard Lily’s voice through the thick door. “It’s Potter now, but we all know I’m still your favorite, Rem!”

You snickered when you finally heard the door unlock and feet stumbling into the warmth of your house. The clunking of boots and your coat rack filled the air as you pulled the food out of the oven.

“Oh, thank Godric.” Sirius immediately collapsed onto the arm chair, propping his feet up toward the fire place. “I couldn’t feel any of my bloody fingers.”

Lily hastily placed her coat into James’ hand before directing her attention to the Welsh man beside her. “Remus, I love you, but I love your wife so much more.”

At that, you perked up and rushed into the living room, colliding with Lily and crushing her in a tight hug. “It’s my favorite Potter!”

“Hey—“

“Says you, Mrs. Lupin.” Lily kissed both your cheek and held you in front of herself to get a better look at your figure.

Thankfully, you wore a comfy sweater that covered your barely showing bump. Lily rubbed your arms, smiling so bright it challenged the sun’s rays. You tuck strands of hair behind your ears, face radiating pure joy.

“How did we both get so lucky?” You return her smile and lead her into the kitchen with questions trailing after. “How are you?”

James looked at Sirius and Remus in disbelief, still surprised that the girls left them faster than the speed of light. Remus shrugged and still had a lovesick look on his face.

“Yeah, I’m not doing that.” James propped his coat and Lily’s on the rack and snapped his fingers in front of Remus, sighing when he glared at him.

“Are you sure?” Sirius wiggled his eyebrows and nudged Remus with his elbow. “It could be fun.”

“You two are so weird.” Remus rolled his eyes and left them to set up the dining table, shaking his head when he heard the two of them bickering as they followed him.

“You’re part of this friend group!”

As the smell of Christmas dinner filled the house — along with chatter from all of you — it was finally time to reveal your surprise to the group. They were merely talking amongst themselves as they ate dinner, oblivious to the glances you kept sparing to your husband.

You were still anxious about how the reveal would go down. Noticing this, Remus brought your hand up and kissed the back of it with a look a reassurance. Now you knew you had to tell them.

“Mm, you know the Longbottoms? They have a child on the way.” Lily drank from her iced tea as she told you the latest gossip she heard since the last time she saw you.

“Really? It seems like everyone we know is.” Sirius swirled his wine around before downing it all in one go.

You grimaced at him, masking your face when he made eye contact with you.

He glanced around at the table and gave you and Lily confused looks, refilling his wine in the process. “Hang on now, how come you,” He pointed a finger toward your figure. “And you,” He then pointed at Lily. “Aren’t drinking wine? Christmas is the best time to drink some.”

“Saving it for the in-laws.” You waved a hand around and did your best not to project nervousness. “Besides, Remus isn’t drinking either.”

Sirius stuck his tongue out at you then quickly retreated when you sent him a dirty glare. He was about to protest when Remus interrupted. Remus knew that you two fought like siblings and it wasn’t needed today.

“Speaking of gifts…” Remus squeezed your hand and grabbed your attention once more. “Dovey got you guys early gifts.”

You nod slowly and clear your throat, letting excitement take over when you saw Lily light up. “We’re going over to his parents’ house for Christmas and I really want to see your reaction to this present. It’s one that can’t that long.”

As you stood up to find the presents for them, Remus guided them over to the living room right in front of the Christmas tree. The three of them sat across the carpet like children on Christmas morning. You handed them their gifts and took a seat next to Remus, his arm naturally moving across your shoulder.

Before Sirius could even tear into his gift, you stuck your hands out to stop him. He frowned and crossed his arms, almost like he was a child.

“Sirius— I want you all to open them at the same time.” You swiftly spoke and fiddled with Remus’ fingers instead, effectively calming yourself down.

All together, the three of them opened their gifts and suddenly, gasps filled the air. Lily and James’ mouths were gaping and you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad sign.

“What do you guys think?” You bit the inside of your cheek and leaned your head in Remus’ shoulder, trying to defuse the nervousness creeping up your body.

Sirius huffed and spun the picture a thousand times without looking at the other gift inside. “I can’t tell what it is… What’s written on it?”

“You’re kidding.” James looked between you and Remus before down to your stomach, running his fingers through his hair.

“Really? You’re being so serious right now?” Lily twisted the ends of her tissue paper in excitement, ready to jump all around the room.

“Hey, wait—“ Sirius tried to intervene, still clueless to what the photo was supposed to be portraying.

“Congratulations! The odds of this happening is pretty slim.” James stood and clapped Remus’ back, giving you both happy looks.

Your face twisted in confusion as you looked up at James, Lily trailing right behind. “What do you mean?”

“Me too.” Lily placed a delicate hand on her stomach, making you gasp in return.

“Really?” Your eyes shined brightly, grasping her hands in yours.

“Yeah, just found out a couple of weeks ago.” She shrugged and watched James and Remus converse about the new fatherhood they would embark together.

“Congratulations, Lils!” You giddily exclaimed and pulled her into another soul crushing hug.

Lily laughed in enjoyment. Not only was she happy you were pregnant, but she was overjoyed by the fact you were pregnant as the same time as her. Although you were ahead by a little.

“What is happening?” Sirius whined, throw the paper onto the ground before looking inside the gift once more. Once he found the onesie that said he was going to be an uncle, everything clicked into place. “Ohh…”

“You poor thing.” Remus rolled his eyes before meeting your happy eyes.

You radiated pure joy because of today and he swore that this memory would be etched into his mind forever. No matter what happened, he knew you always had someone to talk to about anything. He pulled your waist and kissed the top of your head, knowing damn well your face was red.

“I’m so happy for you, dovey.” He murmured softly and rubbed your stomach. “I love you more everyday.”

You look up and smile back, “I love you too, Rem.”

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crescenthistory · 3 months ago

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Where Padfoot Lays His Head

Summary: Inspired by @thewriterghost's reblog of my last animagus!reader fic, this is just a sweet drabble of Whiskers comforting Padfoot:,)

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, your marauders/animagus name is whiskers, walburga black, black family dynamics and trauma, vaguely implied abuse, sirius spiraling into self-loathing, platonic physical affection, romantic!regulus x reader but platonic!sirius x reader is the main focus, background platonic!moonwater

Note: this is based on the same reader from Feline Touches, Sweet Like Honey and Padfoot vs. Whiskers, sirius' beloved almost-sister-in-law that he has frequent (loving) sibling squabbles with

Sirius pretended he didn’t feel the humiliation burning through his veins from his friends’ worrying looks.

Stop looking at me, stop caring so sodding much.

His internal begging was all for naught; this was apparently what he signed up for when he strolled into the train compartment that housed the largest smile Hogwarts had ever seen and his pack of make-shift slightly-fucked-up-but-lovable friends.

Most days, Sirius was grateful to the bone for the family he had been able to assemble at Hogwarts, stretching from his boyfriend to his boyfriend’s childhood best friend to his biological brother and the boys that became his brothers. However, on days that Walburga Black, the hag to end all hags, sends him a Howler berating him for leaving home over the summer, few sentiments besides anger, self-loathing and isolation remained in the young boy’s body.

When he eventually stops reeling and wallowing, all this attention would make him feel warm once more, especially when he sees they didn’t stop showering him in it even as he retreated perhaps a bit rudely from it. Right now, though, it just kept the wound open and Sirius was sure the infection would kill him this time around.

He was sure of that every time.

It became evident quickly that he would not be able to get away from his friends. James was practically glued to his side from the moment he left the Great Hall after Walburga ruined everyone’s lunch. His brown eyes were so wide beneath his glasses and Sirius was sure he could almost see tears in them as he swung his arm around Sirius’ shoulders and kept telling jokes like his life depended on it. Remus was not much better. He had learned by now not to soften his touches when Sirius was in these moods – on the contrary, harsh, direct touches helped ground him – but his hands rarely left his being, as if he would fall apart without him. Even Lily tuned down her playful banter with him, swapping it for concerned questions and checking in on him throughout the day. Sirius loved them all, but he hated it.

Even Regulus showed him more compassion than normal, though he didn’t say much. His entire being seemed to radiate I get you, I understand more than anyone, because frankly he did. Even as hearing Walburga’s voice must have rattled Regulus too, he didn’t show it, instead holding space for Sirius, carrying what was supposed to be his burden.

Humiliating.

All of which to say, Sirius did what Sirius does best; he ran from them all, in the one form none of them would be able to hold a conversation with him in.

Padfoot had turned out to be a blessing that way. Sirius picked up on it from you, who only ever was in your animagus form when you felt particularly well or horrifically poorly. Difficult to ask how a dog is feeling, yeah?

He laid in front of the common room fireplace, stretched out in a position that showed he was ready to pounce should anyone try to pet him. Around him, his friends were cuddled up on the sofas and armchairs, chattering lowly amongst themselves and playing the occasional game of wizarding chess. Padfoot had his head placed on his front paws as his gaze flickered all over the room, unable to settle. His nerves always seemed to transform with him, manifesting as the most anxious dog Gryffindor had seen.

Perhaps the only one, but the sentiment remained.

Their stares were still on him, penetrating and with downturned frowns over their faces. Stop it, stop it, stop it. He couldn’t string too long sentences together in his dog brain – part of its fantastic appeal right now – but that sentiment remained steadfast.

You were sat in Regulus’ lap opposite the fireplace, murmuring something in his ear as you both intermittently looked at Padfoot. Your hands were playing with his hair, lips almost grazing his skin as you talked, even pressing the occasional kiss to his cheek, his jaw, his ear. Love. Padfoot loved love and he loved his little brother getting to experience it so wholly, even as he laid here, destroying the moment with the same misery that haunted any children raised by the Black family. He felt as if he was sucking the joy out of the room with his wallowing, yet he couldn’t stop himself.

Padfoot couldn’t help the low whine that escaped him at the darkness swirling around inside him. Upon fearing having to meet the gazes of anyone who caught the noise and see the goddamn sympathy and pity in them, he brought his paws up to cover his eyes, pathetically hiding within himself.

Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.

In his internal chanting, he didn’t notice when the chatter died down a bit, nor did he see the glances exchanged. He felt the footsteps reverberating through the floorboards, suggesting somebody was walking away, but he didn’t register its true implications. Leave, was all he could think. Good, leave. Go.

What he did notice to its fullest extent was when a few moments later, soft fur collided with his own as something was rubbing against him.

A bit too quickly, almost too violently, Padfoot’s head snapped up from beneath his paws to see what this intrusion was – only to come face to face with a white-and-grey cat, blinking slowly at him. His mouth fell slightly open, and he thought a complaining bark may be on its way out, but then you – Whiskers – butted your head against the side of his neck, caressing him with your feline body.

The adventures of Whiskers and Padfoot were a running joke, especially one Remus and Regulus loved to team up to tell. Whether it was chasing each other around, hunting rats – preferably Wormtail, but any would do – and mice or playing with the house elves, you two loved to conduct mischief together in the one form you could never be properly caught in. There had been the occasion where you cuddle or pet one another, but it was rare and usually unspoken, attachment growing deeper and softer without either properly addressing it.

So, this was not necessarily out of left field, but it surprised him nonetheless. He couldn’t say it wasn’t quite welcome, though.

You had started purring as you walked up and down his body where he was laid in front of the fire, soaking up the warmth he was bathed in and oddly calming the vibrating nerves within his own body. Whenever you reached his head, you bumped your snout against his, rubbing the space between your ears all over his face.

Cats are weird, Padfoot thought. Like it.

Mere minutes ago Sirius had been surveying his friends and his effect on them intently, digging himself deeper into his self-inflicted hole. Now, his attention was captured by the much smaller animal beside him, and he didn’t see how most conversation had stopped to witness the interaction. Lily and James looked at them in almost shocked awe, both having been snapped at and ran away from when they attempted to pet Padfoot themselves. Regulus and Remus, however, sat there with soft, knowing smiles – seeing the girl they loved most go for it with no fear and comforting their favourite dog. Remus would deny it to anyone who asked, but there were tears in his eyes.

The next time Whiskers came up beside his face, you stayed there, leaning yours against his. You laid your body down over the paws Padfoot had previously rested his own head on and made yourself comfortable in a position no one but a cat could possibly conjure up. From there, you began cleaning his fur like you were his personally-assigned cat mother, licking the strands in their correct direction. When his face was too far away, you lightly brought your paw up to his snout to bring him further towards you.

Despite being placed in front of a fire, warmth didn’t truly spread through Sirius before now. When he brought his head down, he laid it on top of you and let it rest there across your midsection, careful not to hurt you, as your upper body curled around his head. You continued cleaning up his fur as you purred loudly, easing the tension from Padfoot’s poor body.

A cuddle only animals could come up with, an embrace Sirius would deny anyone today, yet like this, it just worked.

When his eyes became heavy, Sirius let them fall. You continued your ministrations without hesitation, carefully and slowly tending to Sirius face, only stopping occasionally to nuzzle your forehead further into his fur and purr even louder.

He didn’t quite fall asleep, he rarely did as Padfoot, too alert and awake in this form, but he let himself fall into a place of tranquillity. Walburga’s harsh words seemed almost funny in their anger now, and Sirius’ own spiral was becoming a thing of the past.

Would he still be red-cheeked tomorrow and avoid his friends’ eyes for the first half of the day? Perhaps, but they would reel him into their arms and hearts regardless. Would he sputter and fall back into his evil cycle of thoughts if anyone brought this specific moment up? Without a doubt, but that’s why they would not, at least not before he settled.

Padfoot was suddenly safe in the Gryffindor common room. He was safe with this warm weight over his paws and beneath his head, he was safe with love being quite literally carded into every strand of fur on his body. He was safe with the hearth behind him and his pack in front of him, quiet voices further lolling him further into a state of peace.

Padfoot was safe – maybe even loved.

Across the room, Remus and Regulus had gravitated further towards one another, as theirs were the only eyes who never left the scene of cat-dog-solidarity displayed before them.

Regulus bumped into Remus’ arm with his elbow and whispered, “He doesn’t like cats, he says?” with a knowing smirk.

The other boy huffed a laugh at that, lips remaining softly upturned. “I believe he has an exception or two to that rule.”

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amiableness · 6 months ago

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Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 1796

series masterlist ; main masterlist

“Y/n! You came!” Marlene exclaims, her eyes widening with surprise. Her usually confident demeanor melts into a mixture of shock and delight. Dorcas, sitting next to her, sends you a bright smile when she notices you. Lily practically flies off her barstool to give you a hug.

“You seem surprised.” You giggle as you pull away from the hug you just shared with Lily. Noting the genuine astonishment on Marlene’s face, you take in the lively atmosphere of the pub, which is buzzing with conversations and laughter, typical for a Friday night. You can’t remember the last time you went out with the girls; it’s been ages.

“Well, I mean, yeah, a little.” Marlene admits, shifting slightly on her barstool. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and glances around, almost as if she’s trying to ensure that you’re really there.

“Why’s that?” You ask, flagging the bartender down for a drink. The bartender, a tall guy with a friendly smile, nods at you in acknowledgment as he finishes serving another customer.

“You haven’t been out with us in ages.” She replies, a hint of concern creeping into her voice. Her eyes search yours, looking for an explanation.

“I’ve been busy, you know that.” You say, smiling softly. The pub is so loud that Marlene’s sigh goes unnoticed by you.

“With James.” Marlene says blankly. Dorcas sends her a look of caution. Your eyebrows furrow, and you look over at her in confusion and surprise.

“Um, yeah, of course. Who else?” You ask, sending her an odd look. It’s been clear since school days that you and James were close, so you aren’t sure why she seems annoyed by this.

“Don’t you think you’re spending a lot of time with him?” Marlene asks, bringing her drink up to her lips and looking at you over the rim.

“With James? I’ve always spent a lot of time with James.” You laugh, though you’re starting to feel like Marlene is about to interrogate you. You love her, but she never holds back from stating her opinion, and sometimes that puts you on edge. You prefer to avoid confrontation at all costs. The lively chatter and clinking of glasses around you only add to your growing discomfort.

“It’s true!” Lily chimes in, trying to diffuse the brewing tension. She broke up with James because everything for him always came back to you. Not that you knew that.

Marlene raises an eyebrow, clearly displeased with your answer. “I know, but lately it’s felt... more intense.” She admits, her voice lowering as if she doesn’t want everyone in the pub to overhear.

Dorcas, who has been silently observing, finally speaks up. “What Marlene means is that we miss you. It feels like we barely see you anymore, and when we do, it’s usually with James.” You and Marlene remain silent, merely staring at each other blankly.

Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, and your voice takes on a challenging edge. “Intense? What do you mean by that?” Dorcas and Lily exchange uneasy glances. Girls’ night was not supposed to go this way.

Marlene raises an eyebrow, clearly incredulous. “He’s got Henry now.”

A waiter sets your drink on a napkin in front of you, and you offer a quick, grateful smile. When you turn back to Marlene, your smile has vanished. “And how does that affect anything?” You ask.

“It changes everything,” Marlene says sharply. “You’re playing house with James. That isn’t your responsibility. If James wants that, he needs to find a girlfriend.”

You scoff, “I’m his best friend. Of course, it’s my job to help him out.”

“But you’re not just helping him,” Marlene counters. “You’re practically Henry’s mum.” You stand there, rigid. “Look, I want the best for you. Spending your twenties raising another woman’s child isn’t how you should be spending them.”

Your head jerks back as if struck, and you pull your lips tight. “She gave up her rights. Henry is James’ son. If James doesn’t want me to help, he can tell me himself.” You sling your bag over your shoulder and down your drink. “And did you ever consider that this is how I want to spend my twenties? Being a part of their lives means everything to me. I’m sorry if you haven’t found someone you feel so strongly about.”

You’re so upset that you don’t even notice you’ve just confessed your feelings for James out loud for the first time.

By the time you reach James’ place, it’s well past midnight. The streets are quiet, and the only sounds are the occasional distant car and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Given that it’s a Friday night, there’s a strong possibility he’s already in bed, but you’re willing to take that risk. You know he might be asleep, but the thought of waiting until morning is unbearable.

It takes a second for him to open the door, but when he does he squints at you and glances back at the street in horror, “Did you walk-”

You interrupt, a bit impatiently, “You would tell me if you didn’t want me to help with Henry as much as I do, right?”

James studies you closely. Your hair is tousled by the breeze, and you’re huddled tightly into your jacket against the chill.The sight tugs at his heart, making him want to gather you close and warm you himself. He reaches out and gently pulls you inside, closing and locking the door behind you as you slip off your coat and shoes and place them in their rightful place.

When you look up, James stands there with his arms crossed, a concerned frown on his face. “Well?” you prompt. James sighs, clearly grappling with how to respond.

“Of course I would,” he says softly. “I’ve always appreciated your help. I’ve never once considered asking you not to help me.”

You hesitate, glancing at the three pairs of boots lined up by the door—James’s, yours, and Henry’s. “And you reallydon’t think I’m trying to be Henry’s mum?” you ask, your voice quiet and edged with tension. James follows your gaze to the boots, his expression neutral. He doesn’t reply immediately, simply looking back and forth between the boots and you.

“He calls you his mum.” James says finally, and your heart feels like it stops. The room seems to shrink around you as tears spring to your eyes without warning. You raise a hand to cover your mouth, afraid that a cry might slip out uncontrollably.

Your voice is barely a whisper, “He does?”

James nods, his gaze steady but gentle. “He has for a while now. But I asked him to keep it between us because I didn’t want to overwhelm you.” The soft light from the hallway lamp casts a warm glow on his face, and the quiet of the roomfeels heavy with the weight of his words. If you weren’t so overwhelmed with emotion, you might have noticed that he took your advice to turn off the overhead lights and use a lamp instead.

A tear slowly traces its way down your cheek, and James catches sight of it instantly. His expression softens with concern. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.” You say gently.

There’s a pause between you both. You struggle to keep yourself composed, while James fights the urge to reach out to you. Neither of you is succeeding.

“Y/n,” James says, stepping closer with a hesitant expression. “You can tell me to forget it if this sounds strange, but—”He trails off, his gaze dropping to the floor as he nervously fiddles with his glasses. The soft hum of the heater fills the silence. “I don’t think you’re trying to be Henry’s mum. I think you already are.”

Your gaze snaps up to him, tears streaming freely down your face and leaving damp trails on your cheeks. “James, you can’t just say that. When you get a girlfriend and it gets serious—”

“Darling,” he interrupts gently, his hand coming to rest reassuringly on your arm. “Why do you think I haven’t gotten myself a girlfriend after all these years? Henry’s about to turn four.”

You sniffle, “I—I don’t know. I just thought you were waiting for the right person, someone who would be a good fit for both you and Henry.”

“I have been.” He says, stepping closer until you’re nearly chest to chest. His gaze locks with yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. The soft light from the lamp casts a gentle glow on his face, accentuating the earnestness and vulnerability in his eyes. Your stomach tightens at the sight of the tenderness in his gaze—eyes soft and honeyed.

“Jamie—” you whisper, but your voice trails off as you feel his hand settle on your hip, pulling you gently against him. Your heart pounds so fiercely that you’re sure he can feel it if he presses any closer. The space between you seems to shrink, the air thick with unspoken feelings.

“What, darling?” He murmurs, his voice barely more than a breath as he leans in. His lips, pink and slightly parted, are just inches from yours. The warm, intimate proximity makes you ache to close the gap and kiss him, yet a flicker of doubt makes you hesitate, wondering if you’re misreading the depth of the moment.

You barely have time to process your doubts before James leans in and presses his lips against yours. The kiss starts offtentatively, allowing you the space to pull away if you need to. But you rise onto your toes and slip your right hand into his soft curls, guiding him closer with a gentle pull. The deep, passionate groan he releases sends a rush of warmth through you, making your head spin.

His fingers find yours, and he intertwines them with a reassuring grip. He slowly walks you backward until your back meets the cool surface of the door. The texture of the wood presses against your shoulders and the small of your back. Your bodies are pressed closely together, and your hands remain intertwined, resting next to your head on the door.

The kiss grows more intense with each moment. Your lips part, and James licks into your mouth, his tongue moving with an urgency that’s both surprising and exhilarating. His left hand comes up to hold your jaw, his thumb pressing into your cheek, holding you steady as he continues to kiss you. The soft whimpers and moans that slip past your lips are pathetic.

When he finally rests his forehead against yours, sending you a breathless, knowing smile, it becomes clear that you’re completely done for.

please reblog or comment with your thoughts! they are very appreciated and keep me motivated to keep writing! 🤍

#this has not be read through!#dad!james and bsf!reader universe #dad!james potter x reader #dad!james potter #james potter headcanon #james potter fic #james potter oneshot #james potter fanfiction #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter baby blurb #james potter blurb #the marauders era

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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A Christmas Special

summary: after Christmas Eve at Remus' flat, thick snowfall prevents you from going home. He's more than happy to host you

cw: mentions of alcohol, smut mdni, p in v, oral (fem receiving), praise, inexperienced reader, shy little idiots in love

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 11k words

Remus isn’t sure entirely how he’d gotten strongarmed into hosting Christmas Eve at his flat. James and Lily usually host, but James claimed that this year their house was in too much a state of “baby mayhem” to have any hope of being tidied enough for a gathering. He’s said it in such a lovesick voice Remus couldn’t push back for long, his friend’s happiness so potent it was like looking into the sun. Sirius had begged off quickly, saying that his “bachelor pad” was too small to have a group over. As usual, when Remus spoke last, the matter was settled before he’d gotten the chance to have much of a say.

He’s made an effort to live up to the hosting legacy passed down to him by the Potters, but it’s a flimsy attempt at best. Thankfully, the snowfall outside is doing a fair amount of the work for him. Remus’ street is coated in fresh, gleaming powder, enough that the trees look weighted down with it and his neighbor had put her little dog in a knit sweater to go into the yard and do its business. It’s still coming down, the snowflakes visible in crisp contrast against the darkening sky as they drift lazily to the earth.

Inside Remus’ home, the Christmas tree is nearly covered in tinsel to make up for his scant supply of ornaments, he’s run out of stockings to put up above the fireplace and has had to use one large sock (that one will have to be for Sirius), and he’s still stringing up popcorn when a knock sounds on the door.

Remus is surprised (he’d told everyone to come at six, but that was only because he didn’t think anyone would actually show up until a couple hours after), but that dies away when he unbolts the door and opens it to find you on the other side.

“Hi,” you say, teeth nearly chattering as Remus ushers you inside. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was worse than I expected.”

“It’s hardly quarter after six.” Remus takes your coat, tsking. “People do seem to become worse drivers around the holidays, don’t they?”

“Well, I suppose not everyone on the road tonight might be used to driving in the snow,” you allow, ever forgiving.

Remus smiles. “Merry Christmas, love.”

Your lashes kiss as you smile back at him, unwrapping your scarf. “Merry Christmas.” You’re merry as can be, cheeks dimpling and eyes sparkling under the twinkling lights Remus is suddenly very glad he decided to purchase for the occasion. “Where is everyone?”

“Well,” Remus says, heading back for the couch, “Sirius is hitching a ride with James and Lily, so if I had to guess I’d wager that James is just putting the finishing touches whatever food he’s decided to bring while Lily tries to rush him out the door. And then they’ll go to Sirius’ place and have to wait for him to finish wrapping the presents he undoubtedly just remembered today.”

You sit beside him with a half-exasperated laugh. “I was thinking I’d be the last one here,” you admit, “but I’d forgotten how they can be when it comes to these things.”

Remus shrugs. “Easy to forget.” Lily is usually able to marshal James (and by extension, Sirius) most places on time these days, but the frenzy when they actually have things to prepare is inevitable; Remus has learnt to account for it. He reclaims his half-finished string of popcorn, clumsily stabbing the needle into another kernel and wincing when it goes through easier than expected, pricking his finger.

“Oh no, did you hurt yourself?” you lean over, trying to see his hand.

“No, just a scratch.” Remus has about a billion of them by now. He’s far from coordinated on a good day, but the unwise decision to have coffee earlier has resulted in shaky hands that make working with a needle somewhat hazardous.

You watch him try again, and it’s really the distraction of your cute frown more than anything else that messes him up. His needle goes through the fluffy edge of the popcorn, stabbing him and giving the string hardly anything to hold onto in the process. The flake falls to his lap for his efforts.

“Remus, your hand’s not a pincushion,” you say, and you weren’t yourself he’d almost think you were chiding him. You reach over, taking the needle and thread from him. “Here, let me do that.”

“I didn’t mean for you to come here early so I could put you to work,” Remus protests, watching as you string up the next piece of popcorn with nimble fingers. Jealousy wars with admiration, but his esteem for you wins out. “You’ll never come back for New Year’s if this is what you have to look forward to.”

You smile down at your hands. “Sure I will. You’ll still be there, won’t you? And I really don’t mind helping, it gives me something to do.”

Remus smiles back even though you’re not looking. “Alright, well I guess that means I can start rolling out the gingerbread dough. Thanks, love.” He touches his hand lightly to the crown of your head as he stands, letting the urge to press a kiss there pass as quickly as it arises.

He goes into the kitchen. A second later, you decide to follow. Popcorn swishes against the floor behind you as you make your way over to the bar counter, sitting on a stool with your string trailing all the way back to the couch.

“You’re making gingerbread cookies?” you ask, watching with eager eyes as he plops the dough onto the floured counter, rolling it flat.

“Mhm. You like them?”

“Never had one.”

Remus feels his eyebrows inch upwards. “Seriously?”

You look almost sheepish, as though this is a crime which you expect to be held against you. Honestly, you’re not far off; had James been here, you would have been questioned and scolded to hell and back, and then he would’ve made Remus give you some dough to try, salmonella be damned.

“No,” you answer him. “We made ornaments out of them in school, once, but we weren’t allowed to eat any. I always thought they were so cute, though, with the little people cutouts.”

“They’re the best,” Remus agrees, pressing out the shapes and laying them on the baking sheet. “If you finish that quickly enough, I might even let you help me cut out a few.”

“Yes!” you cheer. He laughs when you start working quicker with the needle.

“Don’t hurt yourself. The privilege of cookie cutting is not actually contingent on your labor.”

“I know,” you say, but your hands don’t slow. Remus has barely finished filling his second baking sheet before you’re done, having made more progress in the last twenty minutes than he had over nearly an hour.

Remus’ hip touches yours as he shows you how to give the cookie cutters a little shake in the dough, freeing the shape before lifting it and placing it on the sheet. It’s not a painfully difficult task, and still he’s impressed by how quickly you catch on. You’re a machine of efficiency. You seem to enjoy rolling out the dough almost as much as pressing out the shapes, falling into a quick, happy rhythm. Before long you’ve pushed Remus out of the way (Lily would be proud, he thinks), urging him to go and hang up the popcorn garland before everyone else arrives.

You haven’t seen each other in over a month, both of you caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season, and you catch up as you work on your separate tasks. Remus talks to you about his job, the students who plague him and the ones he wishes he could take home after work each day, and how none of them had liked the film he’d put on the day before break. (“Mister Magoo’s is a classic!” you protest as Remus shakes his head. “They’re too young to get it,” he says. “Our classics are just old to them.”) You tell him about your new cat, and the sweater you’d crocheted her for the holiday which she despises above all else, and he promises to come over sometime soon to meet her.

You’ve poured yourselves spiked eggnog and sampled a few ginger cookies (“They’re twice as good when they’re fresh,” Remus says. “Don’t let the others’ tardiness rob you of the experience.”) by the time the door bursts open again, Sirius of course not bothering to knock.

“Hello!” he calls from somewhere behind a tower of presents. “Merry holiday to you, Moony!”

You get up to help, and so Remus is compelled to do so as well, taking a couple of sloppily-wrapped boxes from Sirius’ arms.

“Merlin, it smells good in here,” James declares as he comes through the door, Lily carrying a beaming baby Harry on her hip behind him. James’ eyes fall on you. “Awe, you beat us here?”

Remus scoffs, setting down the gifts by the tree and leaving you to arrange them as you see fit. “Not very difficult, when you’re over an hour late,” he says. “You’re lucky Y/N’s good company, or I’d be more cross with you.”

“Sorry,” says Lily as Sirius makes a dismissive sound, flopping onto the couch. “We had some trouble fitting everything in the car with Harry’s seat, and then Sirius—” she shoots him a glare, and he grins like she’s sweetly cooed his name “—wouldn’t leave without his hat, even though he’d lost it.”

“One only gets to wear one’s elf hat every so often,” Sirius justifies, unperturbed. “I wasn’t going to miss the occasion even if it took me all night to find it.”

“It nearly did,” Lily shoots back, but then James is at her side, having discarded his load of food and presents and now vying to hold Harry.

“Come here, my handsome little guy.”

“Used to call me that,” Sirius quips with his mouth full of gingerbread cookies, a heaping plate seeming to have found its way into his lap.

Remus isn’t going to smile at that poor attempt at a joke, but once you laugh he can’t help it.

“Only on special occasions,” James replies, taking Harry under the arms and hoisting him into the air. Harry laughs, and it’s probably the most contagious sound Remus has ever heard. Everyone smiles; James most of all, grinning ear to ear as he does it again.

“He never lets me hold him,” Lily complains fondly.

“Because I know how much you like seeing me with him,” James says breezily, making a face at Harry above him. “You’re mad with lust right now, Evans, don’t try to deny it.”

“Sleaze,” Sirius says to him, the bell on his hat jingling when he tilts his head.

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“I,” Remus cuts them off, “am hungry. And I’ll bet Y/N is too, since she’s very politely refrained from snacking much while we waited for you lot.”

James' attention actually leaves his son for half a second to look at you and see if what Remus says is true, and you go instantly bashful. It doesn’t seem to matter how long you’re friends with them; having attention drawn to you will always find you avoiding everyone’s eyes. Lily comes to your rescue, ushering you into the kitchen like she needs somewhere to channel her mother hen urges while James is monopolizing Harry.

“I hope you really are hungry,” she says, “because James has made enough bhaji to feed us all for a month.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Soon even James is stuffed and you’re all a bit tipsy on eggnog. Some of your natural anxiety fades as everything starts to feel slower and more fluid, your insides warm and soft as wax.

“No, because it was so obvious,” Sirius says. He’s telling a story about a girl he’d seen at a coffee shop that he’s sure was enamored with him. James, naturally, agrees completely, but Lily and Remus aren’t so sure. “She did the—the thing. Y/N, back me up. When a girl makes eye contact with you and then looks off to the side, it means she’s not interested, but when she looks down, it’s because she’s nervous, right?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I think you made that up,” you tell him, tiny bits of laughter running in between your words. “Anyway, is her being nervous necessarily a good thing?”

“She was nervous because she’s obsessed with me,” Sirius insists.

“Or,” Remus says, “she was nervous because you were staring at her, and she thought you were going to follow her home.”

“And probably kill her,” Lily agrees.

James’ eyebrows shoot up. “Merlin, you two are dark. Our Padfoot’s not putting out murderous vibes. He’s got too much boyish charm.”

Sirius nods appreciatively, but Lily only shrugs, careful not to jostle Harry where he’s sleeping on her lap. “Girls have to think of those things.”

“Bleak.” James looks slightly troubled as he kisses the side of his wife’s head. “Well, I think she was in love with you, Pads.”

“Yeah,” Remus rolls his eyes, “he should show up at her house and find out. It’d be romantic.”

“And on that note,” James goes on, ignoring him, “shall we do presents?”

You all agree, and Sirius looks at James with an older brother’s entitlement. “Go ahead and distribute them, Prongsie.”

James, well used to this, doesn’t even question it, scampering back and forth between the tree (which you can’t help but notice is somewhat lacking in the ornament department but quite sparkly) to deliver your presents at your feet. After a few rounds of this, you can’t stand it anymore and get up to help, laughing through the protests of your remaining three friends. (“He’s got it, love,” Remus says, and Sirius adds, “He’s got energy he needs to run off.”) Between the two of you, the bottom of the Christmas tree is bare within a couple of minutes, small piles of presents next to each of your friends. You go to sit back by the pile meant for you, touched at the fact that you seem to have something from every person there.

“S’not fair that James and Lily get to do couple’s presents now,” Sirius complains. “I’m going to start buying gifts for you like you’re one person, see how you like it.”

The biggest pile is obviously for Harry, and you all start there, no small amount of eagerness in James’ expression as he tears open the first box. “The Velveteen Rabbit,” he reads aloud. “Wow, this is kinda hefty for a children’s book.”

“Who’s it from?” Lily prompts, as if you don’t all already know.

“Shit, I forgot to check.”

“And that’s why we read the box,” Lily says, and you get the sense this is a conversation that’s happened more than once, “before we start ripping, love.”

“It was me,” Remus volunteers, lips pulling into a half-smile.

“Course it was,” James says, taking a break from sticking his tongue out at his wife to smile at Remus. “Thanks, Moony.”

“You had the opportunity to get him Goodnight Moon,” Sirius tsks, “and you just let it pass you by.”

Remus rolls his eyes, but then Lily says, “He already has that one, it’s his favorite,” and you watch as he tries and fails to suppress the shy smile that takes him. It shifts the scars on his cheek and lights his eyes with a warm tenderness.

He looks especially pretty under the Christmas lights, you think. The warm glow suits him, bringing out the amber in his eyes and richening the various brown shades of his hair. It makes his skin look softer too, smooth even where you know he has stubble around his jawline. You want suddenly to reach out and touch it. You’re glad you’re sitting too far from him to act on the urge.

You’ve noticed Remus over the years, of course. It’d be impossible not to. You’ve always harbored a tiny crush on him, but you keep it shoved deep down in your gut where it can’t hurt anyone. You think the world of him, but you love your little group of friends more than anything else. You’re not unaware of the fact that Remus is a more crucial fixture in it than you are; if anything happened between you and it made things awkward for everyone, you’d be the one to go.

“Oh, is this a hat?” Lily pulls something tawny brown from a box, and you realize they’ve gotten to your gift. “Oh my god, it has little antlers!”

You try not to smile too hard as she shows it to James and he coos, taking it from her hands.

“No way, he’ll be like our little Prongsie! I’m going to put it on him.”

“Don’t wake him,” Lily warns, but James waves her off.

“He can sleep through anything,” he says, settling the baby beanie on Harry’s head. Sure enough, he doesn’t stir.

“That’s so darling.” Lily presses a hand to her chest. “Y/N, where’d you get this?”

You feel your face heat and hope the lighting is hiding the bashfulness in your smile. “I made it,” you admit. “I know we’re already well into winter, but I hope he can still use it a little.”

“Um, he’s never taking it off. Like, ever.” James leans around Lily to press a smacking kiss to your cheek. You laugh, trying not to shrink in on yourself from all the attention. “Thanks, love.”

Once all the cooing over Harry’s presents is done, the rest of the gift opening proceeds with decidedly less fanfare, though no shortage of gratitude. You get a bunch of purple eyeliners from Sirius (you’d complained to him a few weeks ago that they’d stopped selling your old one, and he’d been thoughtful enough to find you options to help decide upon new one), a cookbook from James and Lily (“Now you can stop eating all those frozen meals,” James tells you with a meaningful look), and a set of mittens from Remus (“They’re alpaca,” he explains. “Supposed to be extra warm, and your hands are always freezing.”). The rest of your gifts are received happily too, and then Remus’ living room is covered with the wrapping paper Lily had tried but eventually given up on getting everyone to put in piles as they went and you’re all starting to yawn.

“Alright,” Lily says after a while, “it’s well past Harry’s bedtime, and ours, and I’m sure Remus would like his flat back.”

“Booo.” Sirius lays back on the couch, letting his head loll over the edge of the armrest. “Domestic life has made you lame, Evans-Potter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” James drawls, gathering Harry against his chest, “I saw you yawning, Pads. Let’s go.”

You stand with the rest of them, going to find your shoes by the door. “Thanks for everything, Remus,” you say. “It was great.”

“For a first time hosting,” James allows, jokingly prideful, “I suppose you did a pretty decent job. Big shoes to fill, and all that.”

Remus smiles, but it falters when his gaze settles on something behind you. “Are you all going to be alright getting home? It looks like it’s really picked up.”

You follow his stare out the window. He’s not wrong. The unusually thick snowfall you’d arrived in has morphed into something that looks more like a blizzard, the wind whipping white across the black backdrop of sky outside Remus’ flat.

James looks between the scene outside and his family once before seeming to make a decision. “Yeah, we’ll be alright,” he says, watching Lily as he talks. She nods her approval, and James’ voice becomes more solid. “We don’t have far to drive.”

Remus nods, still looking worried. His brows furrow as he turns to you. “What about you? Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s the only answer in these situations, though you’re sure Remus would be alright with the alternative if you felt very strongly. “It doesn’t look too bad out there.”

Remus casts another dubious glance out the window, and a particularly loud gust of wind whooshes past as if to spite you. “Are you sure? It looks fairly bad to me.”

“Yeah,” James says, “don’t you live rather far?”

“It’s not that far,” you fib, at the same time as Remus says, “She does.”

You laugh awkwardly, pulling on your coat “It’s not. Anyway, I’ve driven in a lot worse than this.”

Lily gives you a small smile. “That’s hardly reassuring.”

“You can stay here,” Remus offers, but you’re shaking your head before he’s even gotten the words out.

“That’s sweet of you, but I can make it home.” You give him your most competent smile. “If I end up driving off the road and have to camp in my car, at least I’ll have fantastic mittens to keep the frostbite from my hands.”

He gives you a deadpan look. “While I’m glad you’re excited to use my gift, I’d rather if it didn’t come to that.”

“You can’t get in a crash and die on Christmas,” Sirius says. “It’d be, like, a massive downer for us every year.”

“I’ll be fine,” you insist.

“Babe, I don’t care if we have to lock you in here,” James says, frowning in a way that doesn’t look particularly formidable when he’s swaying back and forth to rock Harry on his chest. “There’s no way you can drive all the way to your place in this.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, wrapping your scarf.

“Okay, you know I would never usually say this,” Lily says, gnawing on her lip as she watches the snow blow past outside, “but I think you should listen to the boys. It looks too scary out there to drive that far.”

“It’s…” You look between them, your argument dying of fruitlessly on your tongue. James seems prepared to blockade you inside Remus’ flat, and even Lily’s giving you a stern look. Your gaze lands on Remus, and the last of your resistance melts away.

“You really should stay here,” he says kindly. “Actually, I’d feel a lot better if you did. Okay?”

You sigh, slipping your scarf back over your head. “Okay.”

“Phew!” Sirius says, pulling you into a one-armed hug. “Glad that’s settled. See you all soon, thanks for Christmas Moony!”

“He’s so tired,” Lily says after Sirius is out the door.

“Wiped,” James agrees, adjusting his grip on Harry so that he can wrap one arm around Remus’ neck. Remus leans down into the awkward hug, begrudgingly fond as he pats his friend on the back, then kisses Lily on the cheek when James moves to you.

“Thanks for the gifts,” James says, grinning down at Harry’s knit antlers after he releases you. “He’s never taking this off.”

“He means it.” Lily sends her husband a look as fond as it is weary as she hugs you. “I’ll probably have to bathe Harry while James is asleep so he doesn’t catch him without it.”

Your face is feeling hot again. “I’m glad you like it,” you say with a little shrug, but your friends are used to your shyness and only smile and wave on their way out.

And then the door shuts, and you and Remus are left alone in the quiet.

“Are you tired?” he asks you, moving back into the living room. Lily had sneakily taken care of a good deal of the cleanup, but there’s still a few half-empty glasses of eggnog strewn about which Remus begins gathering.

“Not really,” you answer honestly, beating him to the sink and forcing him to hand you the glasses to wash. “Are you?”

“No,” he agrees. The look he shoots you has to be the gentlest form malice has ever taken as he takes up the dish towel and stations himself beside you. “Fancy a film?”

“Mm, a Christmas film?”

“Obviously.”

The dishes are finished quickly thanks to Lily’s interference, and Remus makes you some hot cocoa while you scroll through movies, calling out possibilities. The only conflict between you is your equal complaisance to whatever the other prefers, and you eventually settle on the first one you’d seen just to put an end to it. You take your cocoa gladly when Remus passes it to you, blowing gently while he settles a blanket over the both of you. Your knees are curled towards him and he has one leg crossed over the other, angling him towards you.

The first few minutes of the film are spent in that contented quietude that the two of you so often fall into when you’re alone together, but then Remus asks you, “What is it?”

You look over at him. “Hm?”

“You’re frowning.”

“Oh.” You laugh. “I’m just thinking about snow.”

His lips quirk. “It is kind of the bane of your existence tonight, isn’t it?”

“No.” You smile down at your hands, hoping it's not obvious how not unpleasant you find your circumstances at the moment. “That’s not it. I was thinking, I kind of hate how it always has to snow in these movies. It makes any Christmas where it doesn’t snow feel like it’s not up to par. Or not quintessential enough, or something.”

“Mm, I see.” Remus looks back to the screen, considering. “Does that make this your quintessential Christmas, then? Are we living up to the movie standard?”

You watch him while he watches the TV, blue light cast over his handsome features. “I guess so,” you say.

The longer you sit there, the closer you get. You blame it on the late hour, your bodies relaxing towards each other on the couch. Remus’ arm brushes yours when he lifts his mug for a sip, and your knees dig into his thigh under the blanket. Soon you’ve drooped enough that you’re leaning nearly entirely against him. You don’t notice until Remus puts an arm around you to encourage your head to his shoulder. You tense but don’t sit up, and eventually his head comes to rest atop yours.

“Are you crying?” he murmurs during a scene near the end.

Your reply is equally soft, not wanting to jostle either Remus’ head or his shoulder with your speech movements. “I really like this part.”

“You know how it ends. It’s going to be okay.”

“I know.” You sniffle, bringing a hand up to wipe your face now that you’ve been caught. “I know it is. It’s just really profound.”

“Sure it is.”

“It’s the spirit of Christmas, Remus. Goodwill to man.”

“Okay.” He rubs your shoulder, and you pretend not to feel his shaking with quiet laughter. “Okay, I agree with you.”

A while later: “You’re tired,” he accuses.

You hum a denial.

“Sweetheart�� —your stomach flutters, and there’s a jolt somewhere behind your ribcage; you ignore it— “you’re practically falling asleep right here.”

“Are you tired?”

He shifts slightly, stubble tickling your forehead. “No. But you are.”

“I want to finish the movie.”

He seems to debate this for a moment, then his shoulder relaxes beneath you. “Alright.”

Soon the credits start. Neither of you move.

You let your head slump more heavily onto his shoulder. “Your place really does look lovely. Thanks for having me.”

“Of course, love.” You can feel his smile squish up against the top of your head. “Would you go so far as to say my hosting measures up to James’?”

You chuckle, gesturing to yourself. “I’d say you’ve gone above and beyond, for sure.”

Remus laughs too. “Perfect. Tell him so, would you?”

You’re going to agree when a great yawn takes you. You keep it quiet, but there’s no avoiding the way your chin digs into Remus’ shoulder, your shoulders rising with the prolonged inhale. He moves away from you.

“Ready for bed?” He smiles down at you as you run a knuckle under your eyes, collecting tears from your lashes.

You shrug an admittance. “Sort of. But I don’t want to kick you out of your own living room if you’re not tired yet.”

“No, I’m pretty wiped too,” he says. “Anyway, I’m the one kicking you out. You’re staying in my room.”

You had a feeling he would say something like that. You grab a throw pillow, getting situated with your head near the armrest. “No, I’m not.”

His laugh is disbelieving. “Yeah, you are. You’re my guest, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

You tug the blanket off his lap, curling up with your pillow stubbornly. “I’m not going to steal your bed. You’ve already done so much. You’ve helped me try gingerbread cookies and given me nice mittens and hosted an amazing Christmas. Let me sleep on your couch, please.”

“While I appreciate all that,” he says, “no.”

“Remus.” You’re near pleading at this point. “Your back will hurt.”

“Your back will hurt.”

“Not as badly as yours.” You give him a hard look. “I’m not taking your bed.”

There’s a brief silence, terser than your usual ones but no more awkward for it. You stare each other down.

“Right,” Remus says, reclaiming the remote from where he’d set it on the coffee table. “I suppose we’d better start another movie, then.”

“Remus, come on.” You sit up, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. “You’ve just said you’re tired. Go to bed, please.”

The TV flickers back on. “I’m not leaving this couch.”

“Well, neither am I,” you laugh, completely serious.

He rolls his eyes, then snuggles up to you under the blanket. You take this as a sign that he’s not really very cross with you.

“You’re much more argumentative than usual tonight, you know that?”

You huff, laying your head back on his shoulder. “I could say the same about you.”

“True, but I know I’ll win out in the end.”

“You can think that if you like.”

“Want to watch this one next?”

“Sure.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus watches as your eyes drift closed, then twitch back open, over and over again. He thinks his bony shoulder is the only thing keeping you from falling over the precipice of sleep. If he were James Potter, he’d simply pick you up with ease and carry you to his bed, but Remus can’t say he’s entirely sorry for this extra time with you, even if neither of you are awake enough to make much conversation.

Silly as it sounds, he enjoys just sitting here with you nearly as much as talking. Your cheek squished into his shoulder, your legs curled up atop his. You’re warm and weighty against him.

He should have known it would be a hopeless endeavor trying to get you to agree to take the bed. You’re a gentle thing by nature, but stubborn in your selflessness. Even if you had gone, Remus knows he wouldn’t have slept all night anyway, too preoccupied with thoughts of you all wrapped up in his sheets, your face pressed to his pillow, getting your shampoo smell on the pillowcase. He doesn’t know if it smells like him (does he have a smell?), but he would have wondered all night if it does, if you were noticing.

Your head nearly rolls off his shoulder, and a pitying sound escapes Remus when you jerk awake to set it right. He lets his head rest on yours so it doesn’t happen again. Your eyelids droop closed almost immediately, and Remus begins dragging his thumb across your shoulder blade, a nice, slow back-and-forth. You’re quiet for a long while.

“Are you trying to put me to sleep?” you murmur, words all sloshed together.

It’s a conscious effort not to let his thumb slow. “No,” he says.

You hum.

“Unless you mean it’s working.”

Another long silence. “It’s not,” you reply, head growing heavier on his shoulder.

He chuckles. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed, hm?”

“You go to bed,” you mumble, and if he thought you were capable of it he’d say there was some bitterness lining your words.

Remus sighs. “You’re too nice for your own good,” he tells you.

“No,” you reply, softly, plainly, like it’s a fact, “that’s you.”

He picks his head up off of yours to see your face. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Your eyes are closed. You don’t know he’s looking. Your face is wholly relaxed, no hint of pretense about you. “You’re the best I know.”

Something warm and wheedling works its way through Remus’ ribs to the soft gooey core of him.

“Well,” he tells you honestly, “you’re the best I know.”

You seem unconcerned. “Another impasse for us.”

He actually laughs at that, instantly guilty when it jostles you on his shoulder and your eyelids peel apart. He can’t regret it, though, when you look at him the way you do. You’re glowing in the light coming off the tree, soft and warm and lovely, and yet you’re looking at him like he’s the only place your eyes want to go. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You come gradually more awake, eyebrows twitching towards each other just slightly. “Remus,” you murmur, and he finally does what he’s been wanting to since you’d shown up at his door hours ago. He kisses you.

Your lips are pliable, parting for his almost instantly, like you’d been waiting. His hand coasts from your shoulder to cup the back of your head, keeping you close as your nose slides against his. You both all but fall back onto the bed you’d made yourself on the couch. He’s careful not to put too much of his weight on you, but when his tongue brushes across the inside of your lip and you inhale, he draws back.

“I...” He pants into the space between you. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

You make a sound that’s half hum, half whine, and bump your chin up into his.

Remus loses himself again with frightening quickness. It’s even better now that you seem more sure, your mouth asking, coaxing against his. You taste like gingerbread. A low, embarrassing sound pries free from the back of his throat when you wind your fingers into the hair at his nape, and he slips his free hand beneath your back, getting as close to you as he can. Your legs make room for him automatically, knees tipping open so he can slot between them.

“Do you—” you breathe when his attentions move downward, tilting your head to the side to grant access as he mouths at the skin just under your jaw. “Do you want this?”

The word leaves him in a soft exhale, muffled against your skin. “Yes.”

You swallow. He feels the movement in your throat. “Are you sure?”

His eyelashes brush your jaw as his kisses slow, become more tender, more intentional. “Lovely girl,” he murmurs. “You’re silly, you know that?” His mouth meanders it’s way over to your pulse, getting stuck there and sucking at your skin lazily. “I mean, you’re smart.” The words are all mushed up against you. Noticeably amused. Remus quit the eggnog hours ago, yet he feels half drunk. “You’re really smart, honey, but you can be so oblivious sometimes.”

You don’t respond, and as much as he loves the sound of your voice, he’s hoping your silence is in his favor right now. He wants you wrapped up in him, wants to engross you so completely you forget how to form your lips around speech.

“Do you want to move to my room?”

You take a breath. Fuck, even the sound of you breathing is nearly enough to undo him. He moves back to your mouth as if to intercept it, nipping at your lower lip.

“Is this a ploy to get me off the couch?”

“You’re relentless.”

Your lips curve against his, and he mirrors them without thinking. You stay quiet.

“Fine. I promise it’s not, okay?”

Your laugh is fizzy like champagne, and it warms Remus’ chest like it too. “Okay,” you say in that lovely voice. “Okay, let’s go.”

❆ ❆ ❆

You always thought Remus was all softness. He’s made up of soft looks, soft colors, and hair that you can now confirm is soft as dandelion fluff. But this night has defied your expectations in a thousand ways. And your Remus, soft, gentle, kindhearted Remus, is scraping at your throat with his teeth.

You have to suck your lip between your teeth to keep from making a humiliatingly desperate sound when he passes his tongue over his work, another crescent moon that’s sure to be purple by morning. Your hands are beseeching in his dandelion fluff hair, keeping him close while his hands are busy lower, one gripping the fat of your hip while the other drags tantalizingly slow up and down your side. He’s kissing you like you have all the time in the world, sometimes rough but no more urgent for it, and you’re breathy and molten and useless beneath him.

You’re brimming with adoration and something else too. Something that you think you could almost identify—you’ve felt it before, but never like this.

“What do you want to do?” There’s a raspy quality to Remus’ voice that would send you to your knees if he hadn’t already taken them out from under you. He dots leisurely, open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, soothing over spots he’s already nipped and sucked into oblivion. Your head feels fuzzy. “Sweetheart?”

Christ, is he trying to send you into cardiac arrest? Remus doesn’t stop kissing you even at your silence, finding your lip still held between your teeth and encouraging it free with his own. You try to remember what he’d asked you. What do you want to do? You have no idea. Where would you even start? You want him to keep talking to you in that raspy voice, that’s for sure. You want…you want to keep kissing him, to know what his hands would do if you let them beneath your clothes. You want to keep investigating this warm feeling in your gut. See where it takes you.

Remus’ kisses slow, then stop. He pulls back to look at you. In the dim street light coming in through the window, you wonder what he sees.

“You alright?” His voice is soft, gentle, saying it’s okay if you’re not without saying it.

You take a breath. It shakes a little on the way out, but you don’t think he can tell. “Yeah, I’m good. Just nervous. But not in a bad way.” Nervous-happy.

“Don’t be,” he implores, lips brushing your cheek. “It’s only me.”

Exactly, you think. It’s you.

“What do you want to do?” You turn his own question back on him.

His smile is tinged with bashfulness. “I mean, whatever you’re alright with.” There’s a tentative quietness to his voice. “Have you…”

If it were possible for you to get any warmer, embarrassment would do it. “No,” you say, shrinking away from him though there’s nowhere to go. Whatever the end to that question might be, the answer is no.

“That’s okay,” he says quickly, dropping another kiss on the corner of your mouth like a cure-all remedy. “That’s okay, you just tell me if you want to stop, yeah? If you don’t like something, or you want to slow down—anything at all, you let me know.” He kisses you again, further up on your burning cheek. “Okay?”

You swallow. “Okay.”

“Don’t be nervous.” He says it like a promise, hand stroking your side again as if to soothe you. His lips find your shoulder, nosing the fabric of your sleeve. “Can I take this off, lovely?”

You nod, words all stoppered up in your throat, then realize he can’t see you and do it yourself. He has to pause as it comes off, taking the opportunity to do away with his own sweater. He tosses it onto the floor beside the bed. You do the same, and your bra quickly follows. You’d always thought (largely influenced, admittedly, by trashy novels) that this was the part where the guy stops what he’s doing and openly oggles the shirtless woman in front of him, but Remus has seen tits before and wastes no time in getting his mouth back on yours, pressing you into the mattress.

His skin is as heated as yours, the areas where you touch deliciously warm despite the cold still whipping past his bedroom window. You allow yourself one sweeping, appreciative pass over the muscles on Remus’ back before your hands go to your bottoms, shimmying them down your legs. A long-fingered hand finds the exposed skin of your thigh and kneads reverently. You swallow Remus’ groan. He kisses you more deeply, long, savoring passes of his tongue along the inside of your mouth until his lips move downward.

One hand stays at your hip while the other strokes up and down your thigh, spit cooling in a path down your stomach. You try to relax as he passes your navel, but the anticipation is hard to shake. You’re nearly trembling when he kneels between your legs, kissing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs.

It’s all you can do to nod, gasping when his teeth drag over one of the stretch marks there. You clutch at the sheets above your head like a lifeline.

“We can stop anytime you want.”

You inhale raggedly. “No,” you manage. Your breathlessness is obvious in the quiet room. “I want—I want to keep going.” You pause. “Do you?”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, love, that sounds good to me.”

Good, you’re about to say, but Remus’ next kiss lands on your slit, and your voice withers and dies in your throat. He uses a hand to push one of your legs out further while bringing the other over his shoulder, spreading you open. His breath fans hot over your cunt.

You’re writhing at the first broad stroke of his tongue. He wraps his fingers around the outside of your thigh, keeping you still while placating you at the same time.

Remus takes his time, lapping experimentally at your entrance before making his way upwards. You gasp as his tongue skims over your clit, burrowing your hand in his hair before hesitating.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

His hummed assent has you tightening your grasp. He brushes over your clit one more time, and when this gets a similar reaction from you, begins sucking on it gently. You’re panting, and Remus has to move his grip to your hip to hold you in place, squeezing indulgently at the fat there while he narrows in on what you like. Before long you’re trembling all over, tugging feebly at his hair as you squeeze your eyes shut against the odd sort of bliss that’s taking you under.

“Remus,” you breathe, and it’s a miracle that he hears you but he does, raising his head with a lewd suctioning sound.

Remus looks at you questioningly with eyes almost all pupil.

“Come here,” you plead.

He obeys, crawling back up you to peck at your bitten lips. “Doing alright?” he asks you.

“Yeah,” you promise. You cup his head in one hand and wrap your leg over the back of his as if to prevent him from leaving. “Just wanted to kiss you.”

You feel him smile against your lips. He slots his mouth over yours, and you dedicate yourself to his top lip. He tastes like sex, braver now as he explores your mouth. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth, and you make a high, breathy sound. His grip on you tightens.

“Do you think—can we—”

He hesitates, kissing softly at the corner of your lips. “Are you sure?”

“I want to. Do you?”

Remus actually laughs, muffling the sound against your cheek. “Yeah, I fucking want to. I’ve wanted to forever.”

You can’t think about that. Think about that and you’ll fall to pieces.

He noses affectionately at the underside of your jaw, slipping down you once again to stand at the end of the bed. He steps out of his pants and grabs a condom from the drawer of his nightstand. “You’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you promise, anticipation coiling up snugly with that other thing in your stomach. They don’t feel all that distinct from one another.

“Alright,” he says, palm slipping under your thigh. “Can I lift this up, love?”

You nod, and he grasps the soft underside of your knee, bringing your leg up to your stomach as he lines up. You gasp as he pushes in slowly, watching your face to make sure you’re doing okay. You’re already slick and worked open from his mouth, but it’s still a bit shocking.

His thumb strokes beside your knee as your walls adjust to the size of him. “How’s that feel?”

“Good,” you say honestly. There’s a note of desperation to your voice. “I can—more, please.”

He’s quick to accommodate you, pushing deeper as he folds himself over you to recapture your lips. Your breaths shallow. His free hand moves to your breast, kneading gently at the soft flesh. He gives it a firm squeeze at the same time as he moves inside you, and you nearly bite Remus’ lip off, a half-suppressed keening sound escaping you.

“So good,” he mumbles. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Taking it so well.” He lifts his head, kissing your temple. “Think you can handle a bit more?”

Your response is barely more than breath, but he catches the affirmation, pressing another firm kiss to your forehead before he bottoms out inside of you. Your head lolls back, fuzzy with the strange pain and even stranger pleasure. Remus tightens his grip on your leg to keep it up, dotting kisses down the side of your face.

“Good girl,” he says hoarsely. “Still doing okay, lovely?”

“Yeah,” you say, somewhat dizzy. “Remus, it feels so good.”

“Good,” he croons. “It should feel good, love. Ready for me to move?”

“Mhm.”

He pulls out slowly, dragging against your sensitive walls. He starts mouthing at your neck again before he pushes back inside you, filling you up all over again. A slew of expletives roll out of your mouth, unbidden and entirely unlike you, as Remus begins pumping your breast again, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. He sucks the flesh of your neck between his teeth, and you bite down hard on your lower lip to repress what promises to be a high-pitched and deeply mortifying sound.

Remus praises you amply, soft kisses and reverent touches and a raspy “Fuck, sweetheart, just like that.” Your head floats or swims or both, your body tensed all over and yet completely plaint to Remus’ touch. He moves back to your mouth, discovering your bottom lip held captive between your teeth.

“Come, don’t do that,” he chides, easing it free with gentle kisses. “Let me hear you, bet you sound so pretty.”

The Welsh accent that’s grown faint after years of living away from home is emerging now, as is the crude vocabulary it's tied to in memory, a host of barely comprehensible profanities spewing from Remus’ lips when you clench on him again. His grip tightens on your tit, and a moan tears from the back of your throat.

“That’s it,” he praises, head dipping to kiss the soft spot he’s found underneath your ear. “There you are, lovely girl.”

The coil in your core grows impossibly tighter, your thighs quivering as you approach a peak you’ve never known before. Remus feels it, cooing softly even as he drives into you harder.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?” You nod dazedly. “Good, good, just let it happen, I’ve got you.”

“Come here,” you demand again. He wastes no time in obliging you.

He kisses your lips sore as you dig your nails into his shoulders, pulling his body flush against yours, the feeling inside you growing so great you don’t know where to put it, don’t know if you can contain it. You can’t remember ever feeling this close to someone, Remus’ touch the only thing keeping you from hurtling off some unknown precipice.

“Let go,” he urges, and you do. You trust him to catch you.

It’s bliss like you’ve never known. You cry out, and Remus’ hand slides down from your breast to spread wide and flat against your ribs. Steadying. He kisses soothingly at your jaw as you gasp and pant your way back to him, grip slackening on his shoulders.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, though you really haven’t done much at all.

“Are you—” You swallow, choking on the emotion that’s risen unbidden in your throat. “Are you close?”

Remus smiles, coming back to your lips like he can’t help himself. He pecks you once, twice. “Sweetheart, I’m more than close. I’ve barely been holding myself together since you kissed me.”

Well, he’d actually kissed you, but you’ll take the compliment anyway.

“Do you think you’ll be alright if I move again?” he asks. “It’s alright if not.”

“You can,” you say, leaning up on your elbows to see him better. “Is there…anything I can do to help?”

The smile fades from Remus’ face, leaving something far more tender in its wake. “Just, keep looking at me like that?” He says it almost like he’s embarrassed, voice quiet with supplication.

You want to tell him you’d never needed asking to look at him, but you don’t, keeping your eyes on his obediently as he pumps into you. He really must have been close, because he’s cursing again not long after, accent twisting his syllables with a gruff pleasure. Your walls contract at the movement, still sensitive, and that’s all it takes. Remus digs his fingers into your waist and makes sounds you’re sure you’ll dream about, panting, breathy moans you sit up to smother against your lips. He follows you back down onto the mattress, mouth slotted against your own. You hold him to you until his breaths even and his grip on you loosens.

“Was that alright?” he asks, some of the rasp still lingering in his voice.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, dizzy with affection. “Yeah, it was good,” you promise him. Understatement of the year. “Really good, Rem.”

“Good,” he echoes, lips brushing the skin under your eye. You don’t know how you know, but you can feel the amusement building in him just before he asks, “Tired yet?”

You guffaw. The force of it jostles him on top of you, and his lips curve against your cheek.

“A little bit, yeah.”

Actually, you hadn’t realized how exhausting sex would be. If it didn’t mean having to take your eyes off Remus, you’d have closed them and passed out by now.

“Good,” he says again, hands sliding down your waist as he moves to stand again. You make a small sound as he shifts, and Remus shushes you, slipping out from inside you. You watch fascinatedly as he removes the condom, sticky with cum. He tosses it in the wastebasket under his desk and walks away from you.

“Hey,” you protest. “You’d better not be sneaking off to sleep on the couch.”

His chuckle echoes in the bathroom, followed by the sound of a cabinet opening. “So mistrustful,” he says when he comes back in with a damp towel. “What’ve I done to arouse such suspicion?”

Your fuzzy brain gets stuck on the word arouse in his teasing tone, and it takes you a second to answer. “Well, I’m here and a blink away from falling asleep, so you tell me.”

“Fair enough.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, taking your thigh in his grasp to move it aside. “Alright if I clean you up, love?”

You startle, coming up on your elbows to see where Remus is holding the towel between your legs. “I didn’t realize it’d be so messy,” you admit. “You don’t have to, though, I can do it myself.”

“I don’t mind,” he says, thumb soothing over your knee. “S’my mess anyway.” He seems to have not quite agreed with himself to say that last part aloud, a blush spreading over his cheeks.

“Sure,” you say, mostly to alleviate his embarrassment. You let your weight lean more heavily on your elbows, trying your best to look relaxed. “Sure, if you’re alright with it.”

“Might be a bit sensitive,” he warns. You’d guessed as much, but it's worth it for all the praises he rains down upon you as he works, finishing with a kiss to the side of your knee.

You miss him humiliatingly when he goes to the bathroom again to discard the towel. It’s all you can do not to reach for him when he comes back, but luckily Remus reads your mind anyway, slipping under the covers and tugging you to him until his lips rest against your forehead.

“That was really great,” you tell him.

“I thought so too.”

“You’ll stay here, right?”

A low laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m staying here.”

❆ ❆ ❆

Remus hasn’t known anyone to sleep in longer than Sirius, but you seem to be vying for his title. The sun has long since passed above his windows when Remus wakes, and still he has time to spend idle hours marveling at the closeness of you. His nose is cold above the covers, but everywhere your bodies are pressed together is warm, your palm flat against his chest and one of your legs wormed between his own. Your fingers twitch as you dream.

It has to be early afternoon by the time he rises, slipping his hand carefully from beneath you and plodding into the kitchen. The blanket is still on the couch where you left it, throw pillow creased with your indentation. Your mugs are discarded on the coffee table with globs of once-hot cocoa stuck to the bottom. Bright light refracts off the snow outside and into his kitchen, making everything look shiny new.

Remus puts on the kettle first, letting that warm up while he rifles through the cabinets for his big mixing bowl and starts whisking together ingredients. A bird chirps outside as the kettle gurgles, and somehow the peace of Remus’ kitchen feels more complete knowing that you’re sleeping just down the hall.

Until, apparently, you’re not. Your footsteps are so silent he startles when you appear, still blinking yourself awake as you cross your arms over the sweater you’ve thrown on with your bottoms from the night before. Remus’ sweater. And Remus had thought he’d come to terms with the idea of you here, in his apartment like the best Christmas gift of all time, but apparently not, because his heart stutters and stops at the sight of you.

He’d thought you’d looked adorable in the soft glow of the Christmas lights the night before, and again tucked into his sheets this morning, but you’re almost ethereal now. Sunlight bathes the planes of your face and gleams off your hair, making you appear almost like you’re emanating the bright light rather than standing in it. You smile at him, seraphim.

“Morning. Sorry I didn’t ask,” you say, fingering the hem of Remus’ sweater. “I was cold and you were gone, I hope you don’t mind.”

Mind? Remus can’t even think.

“Course not,” he manages, but just barely. It’s more an exhale than a statement. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Really well,” you say. His sleeves cover your fingers as you rest your elbows on the counter, and your gaze has gone a bit shy again, but Remus can hardly blame you. You both seemed to have experienced unusual nerve the night before. He only hopes you aren’t regretting your part in it. And now that he’s had some time to think, he hopes even more that you’d truly wanted it in the first place. “Did you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You lean a bit closer in a way that he doubts either of you are even slightly unaware of, peering into the mixing bowl. “What’re you making?”

“I’m experimenting,” he says, though he wishes now he weren’t. He wanted to make you something good, but his confidence in his adaptation is waning now that you’re in the room. He should have gone with something basic, tried-and-true. “Or, I’m attempting. Gingerbread pancakes?”

His voice crawls up into a question, as if he really has no idea what it is he’s trying to make (maybe that’s closer to the truth), but Remus’ regrets vanish instantly at the genuine elation that lights your expression.

“Really?”

A laugh startles out of him, giddy. “Yeah, does that sound alright?”

“More than alright,” you declare with full seriousness, seating yourself at the bar counter. “That sounds amazing, Rem, thank you. Merlin, I owe you so big for all of this.”

“I think you’ve more than made it up to me.” It slips out without permission, Remus too high on the flow of your conversation to filter the words through his brain before they reach his mouth. His loathsome, traitorous mouth. “I mean, I’m sorry—fuck, that sounds awful—I only meant that I’ve had a really good time with you here. I’m glad you stayed.”

Your eyes have widened. Remus expects his face is about five shades pinker than normal.

“Not that I’m only glad because of—or, I’m always glad to have you. As a friend, too.”

There’s a tiny pinch in your features, gone before he can diagnose it. Somehow, you seem even more uncomfortable. “Right.” You give him a thin smile. It’s a hearty attempt, but you’re too genuine a soul to fake it. Remus hates himself for it. “As a friend.”

They’re his own words, but hearing them from your mouth and with that piss-poor smile feels like having a fire poker jammed between his ribs.

With his track record this morning, Remus really should be taking a vow of silence, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Just friends, then?” Hesitance makes his voice sound quiet even in the silent kitchen. He looks down, stirring the batter to avoid watching the answer take form on your face.

“I mean,” your tone is a match to his, “is that what you want?”

A short, soft laugh escapes him. “I think I made what I want fairly clear last night.”

There’s a short silence. “I thought I did, too.”

It’s a conscious effort to keep stirring. Had you? Remus had kissed you, he’d brought you to his room, he’d been the one to ask if you wanted to do more. And you’d been game for it all, sure, but he can’t help but wonder if you were just going along with him. If maybe you’d thought it was just a fuck, something to pass the time while you were both snowed in, no strings attached. Remus could understand that. He could disentangle the strings from last night if it’s what you want. But he’s liked you for years. He could love you oh so easily. He’s practically teetering on the edge of it already, though you’ve only been friends all this time.

Remus spoons some batter into a waiting pan on the stove. He’s debating asking what exactly it is that you thought you’d made clear when you speak again.

“I understand if it’s too much for you.” Your voice is quiet. He looks up, and your shoulders are hunched as if you’re trying to hide yourself. You shrink further under his gaze. “We can stay just friends if it’s…if that’s what you want. I want whatever’s easier for you.” Your next words are so impossibly soft, Remus has to strain to hear them over the low sizzling of the pancake batter. “I really want you to stay in my life.”

“What?” It’s a staccato, loud enough that it surprises you both, Remus stepping toward you while you nearly flinch back. “Sorry.” His hand goes up, reaching into the space between you as if he can soothe you from feet away. He lowers his volume. “Sorry, I just—I didn’t realize that was even on the table. I would never want to not be in your life.”

“I just mean that I don’t want to make things weird for you, or for everyone else—”

“Hey.” He manages to cross the distance this time, his hand landing on your wrist atop the counter. Remus isn’t sure why he needs it there so desperately, but he suddenly feels much better. “There is nothing that could make any of us not want to be friends with you. I can speak for everyone in that regard. Okay?”

You look at him consideringly for a moment. Remus holds your stare, letting you see his certainty.

“Okay,” you echo, sounding unsure. He’ll deal with that later, he decides.

“Okay,” he says once more, and it’d almost be firm if it weren’t so gentled by the tenderness he can never seem to get rid of around you. Even so, what he says next doesn’t sound particularly tender. It’s not very kind to you, he knows, but Remus is selfish, and he feels (selfishly) like he’s done his part already. He tries to phrase it as nicely as he can. “Can you tell me what it is that you want, please?”

You try to shrink again, and Remus’ grip tightens on your wrist instinctually as if to keep you from running off. He swipes his thumb over your skin apologetically.

“Remus, come on.” You sound almost upset, but it’s hard to tell with your voice so quiet. “I know I’m not that good at—at covering myself up. I must have hearts in my eyes half the time I look at you.”

Remus would give a month’s rent to know what you can see in his eyes right now. Even if he’d been hoping for an answer something like that, he hadn’t expected it. And for you to act like it’s been obvious…he does his best to think back.

You’ve always been a shy thing. It had taken James months to get you to be remotely yourself around them, and though you’d seemed to warm to Remus first, you’d always retained some of your bashfulness when you were alone together. He’d chalked it up to the result of two people, quiet by nature, with no wildly extroverted James or Sirius or Lily to run interference.

You’ve always been kind to him, but you’re kind to everyone. How is anyone supposed to suspect favoritism from a soul as indiscriminately sweet as yours?

He recalls your voice last night, thin and reedy and fragile as the cattails that had bordered the creek behind his house as a kid. Wary of getting swept along by the current, but willing to go if Remus would take you. Do you want this?

He’d called you oblivious for asking. How could you wonder, when he’d been the one to kiss you and has probably been looking like he wanted to for years? He’s certainly been thinking about it for as long. But perhaps your obliviousness is another congruity between the two of you.

So much for opposites attract.

“I think I’m an idiot,” he says, and mercifully, a smile far more real than the last sneaks onto your face.

“You are not,” you reply, ever forgiving.

“Don’t tell Sirius,” he warns, “but I really think I am.” His voice drops to a more earnest register. “I had no idea, love, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re better at hiding things than you thought. But if you don’t want to be friends, I don’t want to either.” Remus hesitates. “Or, I always want to be your friend, just—”

“Remus?”

Finally. Someone needs to stop him. “Yeah?”

“Your pancake…”

He turns to find a thin spire of smoke rising from the pan. “Oh, fuck.” He grabs a spatula and quickly flips the pancake, but there’s no saving it. The bottom side is completely blackened. It’s inedible. “Sorry, I…I’m not sure I have enough batter for much more.”

“It’s fine.” There’s laughter in your tone, and that’s more than enough to make up for it. “It was a really sweet thought, that’s what matters anyway.”

Remus turns to find you’ve slipped out of your seat and are standing uncertainly on the threshold of the kitchen. His heart warms with incandescent, aching fondness.

“Would you come here?” he asks.

You comply with an eagerness he wonders how he’s never noticed before, stepping forward to let him fold you into his arms. Your wrists cross over his mid back and the tip of his nose mushes into your hair as he touches his lips to the top of your head. He can’t believe he could have been holding you like this all along if only he hadn’t been so thick. He supposes he’ll have to make up for it now.

“Let’s do away with asking about want, does that sound alright?” He rubs lightly between your shoulder blades, wonders if you like the feel of his breath on your forehead. “How about you tell me if anything comes up that you don’t want, and I’ll do the same.”

“Yeah.” Remus knows he likes the feel of your voice on his skin, your chin moving against his chest. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.” He smiles, pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay, should we venture out to find something for breakfast? Or lunch, I suppose it is by now.”

You ease out of his arms. “I really should go home.” There’s an apology already embedded in your tone, but you add one anyway. “Sorry, but my cat’s been there all night by herself, so…”

“Right.” Remus ignores the dull throb behind his sternum, which is really a bit dramatic. He’ll see you soon, surely. “Yeah, that makes sense. Think you’ll be able to drive?”

“I mean, I looked outside.” You shrug, backing towards where you’d hung your coat the night before. “The roads here are cleared, which I hope means they’ve gotten to most of them already.”

“That’s good,” he says, though he feels the opposite. Your poor cat, he’s pitted completely against her now. She’s done nothing to deserve the resentment he’s directing at her, almost petulant in his malcontent. “Good, good.”

You’re both silent as you put on your shoes, your scarf. It’s not unusual for the two of you, but it lacks its usual easy contentedness. Your eyes flit up as you pull on your new gloves, a silent thanks in them that you know Remus won’t let you voice aloud again. Despite the upset in his chest, he smiles.

“I…listen, I have to go home,” you tell him, looking down as you wriggle your fingers more snugly into the gloves. “I have to feed my cat. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to…leave.”

Remus can’t see how that changes anything, but he recognizes it for the olive branch it is. You’re both so uncertain, and you’re trying to alleviate his worries about what you leaving right now means. He can return the favor.

“I don’t want you to leave either,” he says, “but I get it. She seems important to you, best to keep her fed.”

“Exactly.” You smile, relieved. “But, I mean, if you’re not doing anything, you could come meet her? We could pick up breakfast on the way. Or I could make you something there.”

Remus can’t believe his luck. And, once again, his stupidity in not getting there himself. Why is it that all of a sudden, everything that has to do with you seems so absurdly difficult? At least one of you is thinking clearly.

“Yeah, that would be fantastic.” He’s grinning hugely, totally unlike him but liking it very much. “Let me grab my coat.”

“Wait.” There’s a newly familiar breathless quality to your voice, and when Remus turns you’re already coming forward to meet him. Your palm slides against the stubble along his jaw as you stretch your neck, kissing him sweetly on the lips. “There,” you say, timidity shrouded beneath a good layer of happiness, “now we’re even.”

Remus laughs, loud and startled. He wants to be generous with you, he really does, but he still thinks you’re far from even. “I’m not sure about that, sweetheart,” he says warmly, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of your eyebrow, “but we'll get there.”

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writtenbymoonflower · 9 months ago

Note

Heyoo! How are you dove? Can I request more roommate!poly!marauders x shy!reader pleasee! Your fics have a special place in my heart

roommate!marauders is my drug <3 thanks for requesting hunny! fem!reader x roommate!marauders

cw: thunderstorms, poor boundaries with roommates

659 words

You didn’t realize the sheer volume of the downpour outside until the chatter of your roommates in the sitting room couldn’t be discerned over the pounding of raindrops reverberating off your window panes. You weren’t complaining, though. You were cozied under a multitude of soft blankets and fluffy pillows, your reading lamp emanating a soft glow onto the pages of your book, the smell of rain wafting into your room.

That was until your lights slowly flickered a few times, before shutting off completely, leaving you in pitch black darkness. This was shortly followed by a shrill scream, then a crash, making your drop your novel. You untangled yourself from your covers, setting your book back on the bed, before venturing out. You held your hands in front of you as you stumbled around in the dark. You felt around for your doorknob, swinging the door open. You didn’t make it far before you tumbled into a tall torso and lanky limbs.

“Shit, dove! Sorry! I didn’t see you there.” Remus blindly reached a hand out in an attempt to steady both of you.

“It’s okay! I think that only raccoons can see in these conditions.” You attempted to joke. He rewarded you with a small chuckle.

“Are you okay, though? You didn’t fall or anything?” You could hear the worry laced in his tone. It made your heart weirdly warm to know that he was concerned for you.

“No, I’m all good.” You reassured. “Are you okay? I heard a crash.” You stepped further into the living area, carefully watching your footing. Remus chuckled again.

“You wanna tell her what happened, lads?” His tone filled with unusual mirth. You could vaguely make out the forms of the other two boys in the dark. You heard Sirius grumble, though it was James who spoke up, much more timidly than typical.

“Well uh- we didn’t expect for the lights to go out, you know? Pads got a little spooked and screamed.” You could feel Remus shaking beside you with nearly-silent laughter. “And uh- Sirius spooked me, I guess. And then I dropped a plate.” He trailed off. Remus was now laughing loudly at his friends’ expense, but you could tell that there was no malice given or received between the boys, with them also joining in. You weren’t laughing, though. You resisted the urge to flounder over to James and check him for injuries.

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No we’re okay, babydoll. It’s in the kitchen, we’ll worry about it later. Come over here, though. You’re gonna trip.” Sirius’ hand circled your arm gently, pulling you towards him and James. You weren’t sure what you were in risk of tripping over, but you let him maneuver you as he liked. You were startled by the sound of sparking, making you jump back into Sirius’ chest.

“Sorry, lovely. Candles.” James set the soft, flickering light onto the coffee table. Remus appeared right beside you again.

“You’re all jumpy, dove. Are you sure you’re okay?” Remus cooed as James lit another candle. You jumped again as another hand grazed your back.

“Y-yeah.” The dark was very unsettling. Purple light flashed through the house, quickly followed by a loud boom!

“EEK!” You weren’t the one who made the sound, but you were pulled onto the settee, tumbling on top of Sirius’ frame, face landing in his inky curls.

“Christ, Pads.” James flopped down next to your tangled forms. He pulled you off to settle you between him and the high-strung boy. “You’re gonna kill her before the lease is up.” Another wave of thunder clapped through the house, this time Sirius only flinched. James pulled you closer to him in response.

“Oi! I can’t help it. You know storms make me flighty.” He argued, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you back against him. “It’s okay though, I’ve got this dolly to keep me safe.”

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g1rld1ary · 9 months ago

Text

the way i see you ; remus lupin x reader

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

wc: 4346

cw: swearing, allusions to sex, gryffindor reader but literally mentioned once, no pronouns but implied to be fem reader, kissing, no war AU!!

me: the remus brainrot is strong rn

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You were an artist, you had been the whole time the boys knew you. Even in first year as a shy eleven year old, you were always scribbling away in a little sketchbook that lived in the big pockets of your robes. The hobby only developed as you got older, expanding mediums and filling countless sketchbooks. When you weren’t studying (or even when you were supposed to be) it was almost a given that you’d be working on a piece somewhere, far from the prying eyes of others.

Your friends caught glances of your art sometimes, doodles on the corner of your essays or notes, maybe a stray page left out in your dorm which told them you were good, but you never ever willingly let them see it. They didn’t know why, truthfully, you didn’t know either, but it had always been that way and everyone had more or less accepted that.

“Have you ever drawn me?” Sirius asked one afternoon as you all sat out by the Black Lake, cocky grin on his face.

“’Course,” You answered simply, moving to turn back to your conversation with Remus.

“Wait, really?”

“Well you have to have drawn me then, right? Can’t just be Padfoot!” James cut in quickly, making you laugh, nodding.

“Before everyone starts asking, lets just establish that I’ve drawn all of you at some point, okay?” You thought that would calm them down, but it only riled them up further, much to your chagrin.

“And you haven’t shown us?” Marlene cried dramatically.

“I deserve to see you capture my beauty!” Sirius collapsed in an exaggerated performance and you couldn’t decide whether you were amused or embarrassed, giggling and hiding your face in Remus’ shoulder. He merely pat you on the shoulder, shooting you a fond gaze you couldn’t see. James caught it though, and smirked in a way that Remus knew he was about to be embarrassed.

“Have you drawn Moony?” He asked, and you both looked at him suddenly.

“Prongs, don’t,” Remus said sternly, then turning to you, “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer… I know they must ruin the picture.” He gestured down to his scars. You just looked at him for a moment, utterly baffled.

“As if some silly scars would stop me from drawing you,” You said, a sweet smile on your lips, “You’re my biggest inspiration, Moony.” He blushed at that but the rest of your friends tactfully ignored it, though the boys shot him some shit-eating looks.

It was probably true that you drew Remus the most, but it was only because you spent the most time with him! Or, that’s what you told yourself anyway. Remus Lupin was your best friend in the world, and you loved him more than anything. Since you were always together and hanging out, clearly you’d draw him more, it was perfectly natural!

Your study sessions together in the library often devolved quickly, essays abandoned to the side, both of you falling into chatter as you studied and sketched him.

“What’re you drawing, dove?” He’d always ask, knowing you’d never tell. You’d simply press your lips into a cheeky smile, shaking your head resolutely.

“Uh-uh,” You’d say, “An artist never reveals her secrets.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s magicians, stupid,” He laughed, running a hand through his curls.

“Oh,” You frowned, “Well I’m that too, aren’t I?”

“Hardly,” He snorted, “Your essays are more doodles than writing.”

“Hey, Slughorn gave me a whole extra mark for the portrait I drew last week, so none of that.”

Or you’d follow him out of the pub you were all in when Remus needed a smoke, sitting on the blacked out window ledge as he lit up. You thought he might have been the most beautiful person in the world when he smoked, the way the lighter brought out the gold flecks in his eyes and hair and the shadows of night emphasised his unreal bone structure. You’d probably drawn him in that exact scenario hundreds of times, but it wasn’t your fault he looked like a fallen angel. When he leaned over to give you a puff you took it gratefully, if only for the proximity. You weren’t much of a smoker, but for Remus you’d let your lungs rot.

It was moments like that where you’d wonder what it would be like to kiss him, lean past the cigarette and put your mouth on his. Sometimes you thought he wanted it too, the way he’d get slightly too close for best friends, his own hand being the one to stick the dart into your mouth, sometimes so close your lips brushed his fingers. Moments like that made you wonder if he loved you back. Then later, when everyone was drunker, you’d see him stick his tongue down some prettier girl’s throat and you’d remember your place as his best friend. If it stung you tried not to show it, letting some sleazy guy a few years older than you buy you drinks until Peter told you it was time to leave.

Still, you were mostly alright with just being friends with Remus. You still got most of the benefits; his conversation, his dry humour, the ability to look at his gorgeous face. Who needed everything else? Plus, you could draw him whenever you wanted, doing whatever you wanted — not in a weird way. Mostly. You still would never admit that you’d drawn him holding your hand, or kissing you, or other things you desired… The magic of art, right?

After years of bugging, you finally submitted to your friends constant nagging. The day that you officially graduated Hogwarts was an emotional one. Seven years of constant laughter and magic (both literal and the sentimental kind) were over, and the world seemed too large and intimidating compared to the familiar walls of your school. Yet there was no stopping it, and you were all Hogwarts graduates.

While all your parents cried and reminisced over coffee in the Great Hall, your friends had gone for one last deep conversation by the Black Lake. Discussions of the future were unavoidable, but were mostly positive. Talks of trips you’d take, apartments you’d live in and hell you’d raise. When you all quietened down slightly, struck by it being the last time you’d sit in front of the lake, you cleared your throat.

“Um, I have something for you guys, a graduation gift.” From your purse you pulled the envelopes, all filled with fancy cardstock from the art shop near your family home. You’d drawn a simple grey-lead portrait of each of your friends, framed with a little message of congratulations. You watched anxiously as they each opened the envelopes, nervous all the hype would make the art seem inconsequential. Your fear couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Sirius gasped dramatically as he saw what it was, but a genuine smile followed straight after. James burst straight into tears, hardly getting the picture all the way out. You could tell Lily was trying not to follow, but seeing her boyfriend cry set off the waterworks for her. Marlene and Mary were inspecting the others, pointing out the little details you’d put in, like Mary’s favourite daisy earrings or the slit Marlene had impulsively shaved into her eyebrow only a few weeks before. Peter was bright pink, flattered to the highest degree. Remus was hard to read, simply staring at you with the strangest look in his eye. You couldn’t ask him about it though, being ambushed with hugs from every direction.

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding all this talent from us,” Peter said, the rest agreeing.

“Didn’t know we had our very own Da Vinci hiding behind a Gryffindor tie,” Marlene added, making you blush and grin.

You dreaded to imagine what it would look like from an outsider’s perspective, the eight of you teary, sweaty messes all piled on top of each other. Well, seven of you.

“Come on, Moony,” James called in a sing-song voice, “If you can’t submit to a hug at our graduation I am going to give you the biggest, slobberiest kiss and you won’t be able to do a thing about it.” Remus snorted, rolling his eyes.

“You look like absolute wankers,” Was all he said, but joined the pile nonetheless, and you were extra glad he was mainly holding on to you. When you all finally pulled away it was minutes later, but the whole thing was strangely cathartic.

“We all have to promise that we’ll always be friends, no matter what,” Mary said, putting her pinky finger out. The rest of you agreed, sticking your pinkies in for a very convoluted eight way promise. With that sorted your friends started heading back up the hill to the school building, ready to leave Hogwarts forever and prepare for a long night of heavy drinking. Remus held you back. James sent you a suggestive glance when he noticed but left it that, drawing Lily in for a bittersweet kiss.

You turned to Remus, only for his eyes to be locked on the portrait. You’d spent so much time trying to get it perfect for him, practising the stupid knot he insisted on tying every day despite the rest of the school going with a less convoluted method of wearing their ties.

“Do you like it?” You asked, subconsciously twisting your ring around your pointer finger. Remus let out a half laugh.

“I love it, honest. It’s insane, really. That you can make this just like that. It’s just…” You searched his eyes for the rest of the sentence. “You make me look…” He didn’t finish but you knew immediately what he meant. Remus hated looking at himself, training his eyes down in the bathroom and opting to always be the photographer so he didn’t have to see himself in the final product. You knew of course it was because of his scars, but you genuinely couldn’t believe he thought they were ugly, much less made him ugly.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, just once,” You sighed, grabbing his free hand and interlocking your fingers, leading him back to where the others were waiting.

Four years out of Hogwarts and you’d all kept your promise. Of course you didn’t see each other quite as much as the boarding school schedule allowed, but the boys all had an apartment together which brought you together often enough — except James and Lily who were married and had moved down to Godric’s Hollow to raise baby Harry. That similarly brought you all to meet often, all determined to spoil Harry as his aunts and uncles.

You weren’t a full-time artist professionally, though you still did it just as much. You’d evolved to paints by then; living with a muggle because the rent was cheap had the added bonus of not having to worry about leaving your paintings on the easel since you didn’t really care what they thought about your art anyway.

Your friends were all huddled in the boys’ apartment living room, every seat taken as you all caught up. You were on the couch with Remus, absentmindedly running your hands through his hair as his head rested on your lap. You still weren’t dating, but Lily always said you might as well have been. You laughed her off every time — if he hadn’t said anything by now how could he feel the same way? You tried to pretend it didn’t still sting.

You’d tried dating, Remus too. He’d had countless partners since you’d finished school — even more one night stands. Nothing lasted more than a few months. You’d done slightly better, you made it about a year with some bloke that Remus hated before he revealed himself as a colossal dickhead, and you’d been mostly single since.

The group was trying to organise their next meeting.

“What about the movies next Friday? I wanna see that new muggle film, Knife Runner,” James suggested and you and Remus both snorted.

“Blade Runner, love,” Lily corrected with a giggle and James burst out laughing, making a quick joke at his own expense. You’d dug your planner out of your purse to check your availability and frowned, closing the book quickly.

“I can’t do next Friday, sorry, how about Saturday?”

“And what plans have you got on a Friday night, you minx?” Mary asked with wiggling eyebrows. Even Remus looked interested, which made your heart stutter.

“Just a work thing,” You answered quickly, not wanting to reveal the real reason.

“You lie like a rug!” Marlene yelled, sitting up from her spot on the floor. You winced, you shouldn’t have made an excuse that she could so easily disprove, being in the same department of the ministry. “What plans are you too embarrassed to tell us about, slag?” You laughed shortly, their assumptions were so completely off.

“It’s not what you think—”

“Not what you think my arse, who’s ‘Davis Show’ and why is he surrounded by hearts, you absolute tart!” Sirius cried, displaying the planner for everyone to see. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, wheezing as you looked at your friends’ faux-scandalised expressions.

“Look you twats, Davis Show isn’t a man. I’ve been invited to put my art in a show at the Davis Gallery down on Welking Road next week. I can assure you I’m not shagging a man named Davis.”

The whiplash was immediate, the gossip sniffing exchanged for celebrations, you couldn’t tell whose yelling was whose. Peter immediately ran to the kitchen for a bottle of champagne, passing glasses around the room. When the initial excitement wore down you were subjected to a million questions, and tried to answer each of them patiently.

“I can’t believe you weren’t gonna tell us,” Mary pouted and you sighed.

“You know how I get about my art,” You explained, “It’s not that I don’t love you all, obviously, it just makes me so nervous thinking about you guys all seeing my stuff.”

“You know we’re all coming now, right?” James said, wiping his glasses where the champagne bubbles had created smudges.

“You really don’t have to,” You put in quickly, “It’s so embarrassing.”

“Why won’t you let us appreciate you?” Marlene whined.

“It’s just, my art is like an extension of my soul. I don’t think I’d be able to recover if you didn’t think it was good.” Your friends grew rowdy at that, offended you’d even think they wouldn’t adore your art no matter what. You felt Remus put a hand on your thigh and gave him a weak smile, knowing he’d shut down the conversation if you wanted him to. You didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing though, especially when everyone was being so supportive. You figured everyone was so busy they’d forget it by the next week anyway.

Friday came, and you were a wreck of nerves. Although you’d sold pieces here and there throughout the years, this show would be the first time your art would be displayed as a collective, and you were terrified of rejection.

You’d figured your friends weren’t actually coming since none of them had really mentioned anything since. Apart from Lily, of course, who’d sent an owl to your desk that morning with a sweet good luck note and your favourite chocolate.

Even Remus hadn’t said anything when you went for coffee on your lunch break. That did puzzle you, you knew he would never go if he thought it would make you uncomfortable, but it wasn’t like him as your best friend to forget something so monumental in your life. You thought he was acting kind of weird though, more affectionate than he usually was. He kept looking at you longer than he should, and you wondered if you’d miscounted how far away the next full moon was. When you asked him about it he just brushed it off, looking down at his tea instead like he’d been caught.

“I love you,” He said and you laughed.

“I love you too, Lupin!” You cooed, patting him softly on the hand.

“You’re amazing, you know?” You arched a brow.

“What are you trying to make up for?” You asked suspiciously, giving him a once over to search for answers.

“Nothing, promise,” He smiled in a way that made your knees a little weak, “I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“You’re gonna give me an ego,” You grumbled, packing up your things to get back to work. As you parted ways he pressed a kiss down to your cheek and you stumbled. Remus was never this affectionate as a person — a pat on the back, a hug if you needed one, yes, but he was never one for casual platonic kisses. You figured it must have been his way to apologise for not coming to the art show? But he knew you didn’t mind, so what was he apologising for? You tried to shake it off and get back to work, but you couldn’t get your closeness out of your head.

Evening fell and you were setting up your stall before the other patrons came in. Rearranging the paintings until you were pretty much perfectly happy, you looked around, still not fully believing you were really here. People were filtering in, well dressed and chattering softly as young waiters handed out flutes of champagne. You straightened out your silky black skirt in an effort to look more presentable, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

At first things were slow, and you almost regretted not inviting your friends, if only so they could make your area look more interesting. And once you let that thought in, you kind of regretted not inviting them anyway. After all, they were the dearest people in your life and this was such a meaningful event to you.

You couldn’t think about that for long though since people had begun to filter over to you, making polite small talk as they admired your paintings. You tried to be energetic, smiling widely if you ever locked eyes with someone. However, deep down, you just wanted your friends.

A little old woman approached you for a while, wanting to know the meaning behind basically every painting and you told her happily, sharing the memories that inspired each work.

“Seems like you’ve got some true friends,” She said, “I hope you keep them close.” You agreed, thanking her profusely as she bought a landscape of the Whomping Willow.

It was growing closer and closer to closing, and honestly, it had been a wonderful night. Seeing the way that people reacted and interacted with your art was a magical experience, and changed the way you thought about it entirely. You decided that if you ever got the opportunity again, you’d want to share it with everyone else.

You were just moving to start packing up when you heard a myriad of gasps.

“What the fuck, dude?” The unmistakeable voice of Marlene McKinnon said from behind you. You whipped around to meet them, breaking into a cheek splitting smile.

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked, rushing over to scoop them all up into a hug.

“Fuck that, why didn’t you tell us that we’re your exhibition?” Sirius cried, running up to examine the paintings more clearly.

“And that they’re literally professional?” Peter added, eyes wide in wonder. You flushed red under their praise. If your friends thought your pencil portraits were good, they were nothing compared to your paintings.

Plus, every one of them was of your friends, or something sentimental to you all. Landscapes of Hogwarts, portraits of your friends, captured memories of long summer days, or life sketches from when you were all together. You watched them observe the paintings with nervous excitement, loving as they gave specific, personal compliments that only people who truly knew you could give.

“This our apartment,” Sirius said, pointing to one of your biggest pieces, “That’s our couch, the pillow Prongs has permanently ruined with butterbeer, that’s Moony!”

“There are a lot of paintings of Moony, aren’t there?” James whispered to you, wiggling his eyebrows. You flushed again. Sirius continued on, seeming (or pretending) not to have heard.

“We have to have this in the flat. Right boys?” Your eyes widened.

“Really?”

“For sure,” Peter said, “I’m buying this one too.” He gestured to one of him and James playing chess in the Gryffindor common room.

“And this is taking pride of place at home.” James pointed to a portrait of his and Lily’s wedding, and Lily similarly chose one of her and baby Harry. Marlene took one of her and Mary on the beach and Mary took one of the group at a house party. Half your paintings ended up being sold by the end of the night, and you couldn’t feel luckier. The only one who hadn’t said anything was Remus, who couldn’t keep his eyes off the paintings.

You shooed your friends out of the gallery once it really was closing time, and got to work packing away your things. You were deep in thought, reflecting on the wild day when someone cleared their throat behind you. It was Remus, and he moved to help you put your things away, stacking the paintings between bubble wrap to protect them.

“These are really beautiful,” He said, “I mean, we knew you were talented but… these are seriously on another level.”

“Thanks, Remus.” You smiled, unable to make eye contact as you watched him handle all the paintings you’d done of him. Portraits like the others, but also studies of his hands — god you were obsessed with his hands — his profile, and one less than innocent picture of his back, scars resting over muscles. You probably shouldn’t have put that one out, but to be fair you didn’t know he’d see it.

There was a somewhat awkward silence between the two of you. Not uncomfortable, per se, but there were definitely things you both wanted to say that neither knew how to.

“Let me drive you home,” Remus settled on and you nodded, letting him help you load your work into the boot of his car. You sat in the passenger seat, absentmindedly tapping your fingers on the dashboard to whatever radio station Remus had turned on. Remus stared straight ahead, knuckles pulled tight around the steering wheel.

“I’m really proud of you, you know. This whole show was incredible.” You went to thank him again but he kept talking. “I just wanted to know, um, there were a lot of paintings of me. I was just wondering why, why me?” You hesitated, unsure of what was going to come out of your mouth.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” You decided on with a bit of a sigh.

“You’ve said that before, what does that mean?” Your breath hitched. You definitely didn’t intend for it all to come out tonight, but if you didn’t say it now you doubted you ever would.

“You are the most beautiful person I know, Remus. I mean, even aside from your personality — which we know I have to be at least somewhat a fan of after all these years — you’re totally fit. Your eyes, your hair, God, your fucking bone structure, you’re literally a walking renaissance painting. And I know you think your scars make you ugly, but you don’t know how turned on I get thinking about how they’d feel on my skin.” Shit, you probably should’ve stopped talking.

You hadn’t realised he’d parked while you were rambling, but now you were sitting outside his apartment and he was looking at you with eyes that looked more like the wolf than him.

“I turn you on?” He whispered, voice suddenly gravelly as he leaned closer in to you.

“More than anything,” You breathed, brain buffering at the feeling of his breath on your face. Suddenly his mouth was on yours, hot and electric and not at all gentle. It felt like years of pent up frustration being let out all at once, and if he was anything like you, it probably was.

“Up,” He mumbled between kisses and you heard him undoing his seatbelt, hurrying to do the same. You barely disconnected to get out of the car, attaching yourself to his arm as he led the way up to the boys’ flat.

You made it up the three flights of stairs, not without Remus pushing you up against the stairwell wall to stick his tongue in your mouth, and stumbled straight into his bedroom, shedding layers as soon as the door was safely shut.

The next morning you awoke first, initially convinced you were dreaming when you saw him lying peacefully beside you. Eventually you rolled onto your side, ready to get out of bed for a glass of water when his nightstand caught your eye. There, in pride of place, was your graduation portrait of him, with a polaroid of the two of you stuck to the corner. Maybe he really had liked you as long as you’d liked him.

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vivwritesfics · 3 months ago

Text

The Devil Dances With A Smile

Chapter One

He can't kill you. He can't bring himself to lay a hand on you. So, he falls for you instead (its a shame his employer really wants you dead)

Hitman!Max x reader

Chapter Two

His class wasn't listening, he could tell that much as he drew things onto the whiteboard. He ignored it, kept writing. But then the giggles started up.

It was a new class, a bunch of eleven year old experiencing their first year of high school. For the first week, they had been quiet. But now they were a month in. The trouble makers had learnt how to make their peers laugh and it was normally at his expense.

They hadn't yet seen their teacher, a professor, at that, angry. He'd gotten annoyed, had snapped a pen under his desk to help keep his cool, but had never gotten angry with his year sevens.

"Eliza, James!" He snapped, and the two fell quiet. He wasn't angry, he just needed the two of them to know better than to test him. Not today. Not after how rough his other job had been.

"Sorry Professor Verstappen," the two of them said in unison. The entire class fell silent when the two of them did, and Max got on with his lesson.

Max rubbed his eyes as his lesson came to an end and his class handed in their workbooks. He shouted a reminder about homework, but their chatter was too loud to hear it.

When the door fell shut and Max put his head in his hands. Just a few minutes of rest, that was all he needed. He let his eyes fall shut.

Even in rests that only lasted a minute, Max dreamt the same thing. The young man with the lion tattoo on his hand, begging for his life at the end of his gun. It didn't matter what he said, Max always pulled the trigger.

A knock at his door pulled him out of his dream, pulled him back into his day job. He pushed his hair out of his face and looked towards his classroom door.

The history teacher stared at Max for a minute. No, not stared. He'd asked him a question and Max had just ignored it. "Huh?" He asked, a yawn leaving a lips.

"I asked if you were okay," Charles said, his worried expression softening.

Max gave a nod. He had always liked Charles, even when they were academic rivals through secondary school. But then university came and they went their separate ways. Max went off to study geography and Charles went to off to do history. They never thought they'd be reunited as colleagues. "Just tired, that's all," he admitted.

Now, don't get it wrong, Max loved teaching. Sculpting young minds, helping them pave their way forward in life. But teaching was only part of what he did.

Most teachers went home and marked homework. Max did that too, for maybe an hour. And then it was dinner while the cats ate. Tonight he had some shitty, healthy pizza and the cats had their gourmet food.

But then his night shift began.

He didn't look like a contract killer. He didn't wear all black, didn't have a long coat with weapons beneath. No, he looked like a normal guy. He wore skinny jeans and a black leather jacket.

But their was a reason people called on The Lion. He didn't exactly need a weapon to kill anyone. He was quick, clean, and didn't ask any questions.

Christian met him in the same place each time. Max entered the office in the warehouse full of old cars, and Christian slipped the manila folder across the desk.

There was a usual routine to this. Normally Max pulled out the paper in the folder, read the information on his target. He learnt all he needed to know about his target, grabbed the weapon he thought would be best, and he set off.

But not this time.

Pulling the information from the folder, he turned the paper towards Christian. "What the fuck is this?" He asked.

On the folder was a girl in a cafe. She had an apron around her waist and a tray of empty glasses in her hands. No criminal convictions listed, no possible crimes.

No reason for Max to take her out.

"Something about inheritance," said Christian, his voice nonchalant. He didn't care what happened to the target, as long as they ended up dead by the end of it. Christian was just there to fill his coffers.

Max looked at the picture again. She was pretty, he couldn't deny that. She was smiling in the picture, seemingly making jokes with somebody the picture hadn't captured. His usual targets were criminals that had made threats against people. Those people wanted the criminal taken out before they made good on those threats. That was where Max came in. He was the one that took them out.

His other type of target was rich assholes. The kind that exploited people for money, the kind who's wealth would be better distributed to the very people they were exploiting. They weren't easy jobs, killing someone and changing their will, and they didn't get them often, but they were Max's favourite. The tougher the better.

"Christian."

Christian groaned as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Do you want to stand around and argue, or do you want to get paid?"

The Lion was on the prowl. No weapons, Max wouldn't need them for her. He climbed into his car and looked at the address of the café. A café by the train station, open for twenty-four hours out of the day. Two and a half star rating, the only good thing about the café being the 'pretty, kind waitress'.

Once the night was up, the reviews would plummet.

Max drove. A waitress at a shitty, twenty-four hour café. She couldn't be worth as much as Christian was saying she was. And, if she was worth that much, she couldn't have known.

Parking outside of the train station, Max looked over at the café. It was the same angle the picture was taken from, he recognised as he looked down at her picture in his folder. She was grinning in that picture and she was grinning now as she cleared away somebody's plates.

He couldn't do this.

***

You didn't love your job. How could you when this was your job? But you still completed it with a smile. Making coffees and running food out to people. Clearing plates and glasses, and wiping over their tables.

It wasn't forever, you told yourself as you took the plates back into the kitchen. "Desserts for table sixteen," You called to the boys in the kitchen. Jimmy saluted you as you scraped the plates into the food waste bin. It was just you, Jimmy and Frank this late at night. Jimmy and Frank were in the kitchen, while you worked the floor.

While Jimmy made the desserts, you backed out of the kitchen and surveyed the few tables you had in. Somebody was at the counter. "Sorry," you said as you rushed past him. You logged into your till and looked at him. The handsome man with the freckle on his lip. "What can I get for you?" You asked, finger poised over the buttons.

For a moment, he said nothing. It was nearly one in the morning, and he wasn't being an easy customer. He looked behind you, at the drinks you had on offer. He looked at the small version of the menu on the board behind your head.

"How about some coffee?" You tried, holding up a mug.

He gave a nod. "A coffee, please," he said and you got to work. Making coffee's was the easiest part of your day. Steaming the milk and pouring it in with the shot of coffee, creating a leaf in latte art at the end. You passed over the coffee and put it through the till.

The bell rang, signalling the desserts were ready, but you didn't run to it. Not while the handsome man in the skinny jeans and leather jacket was still paying. His phone chimed as the payment went through and he grabbed his coffee, taking a seat on one of the round tables by the counter.

You ran to answer the bell, to run the apple pies over to table sixteen, and returned to the counter, cleaning the coffee machine and the jug you used to clean your milk.

Eyes were on you as you worked. You didn't mind it too much, it happened more than you cared to admit. Teenagers that should have been in bed, coming into the café to stare at you as you served them black coffee. You let them sit in the café, since it was better than them roaming the streets.

As you cleaned the counter, you looked at the little round table opposite. Looked at the man with the freckle on his lip. He was pretty, pretty blue eyes, pretty full lips. He was well put together, better than most of the people you saw something through your door at this time in the morning. "What brings you here at this time in the morning?" You asked as you sprayed sanitiser on the counter.

The handsome man with the freckle on his lip looked around. "I'm probably here for the same reason anybody else is," he said and sipped his coffee.

You couldn't help but look around at everybody else in the café. Those getting home late from work, waking themselves up before they headed home to their families. People on break from working in the middle of the night, coming in for a coffee to wake themselves up. People that just wanted shelter, that you had undercharged for a coffee.

The man in front of you didn't seem like that.

Your eyes returned to him. You stared at him, stared at what he was wearing, at the way he was holding his cup. He didn't look on break from work, desperate for a fix of caffeine. He didn't look ready to go home, waking himself up to go and deal with the kids.

You hummed and grabbed a pastry from the counter. "Here," you said and placed it in front of him.

He looked up, brows furrowed as he continued to smile at you. "What's this for?" He asked and pulled the little, white plate towards himself.

You shrugged your shoulders. You couldn't very well tell him that you wanted to figure him out, that you gave him the pastry to keep him around.

Going back to work, you could feel his eyes on you as you cleared away plates and glasses and cleaned tables. You caught his eye several times as you ran plates back into the kitchen.

When you got him his second cup of coffee, he finally introduced himself. "I'm Max," he said and pushed his empty cup towards you.

"It's lovely to meet you, Max," you said, keeping your tone polite. You introduced yourself, gave him the name that he could have read from your name tag.

At the end of your shift, Max was still sitting there. Your conversation had been light through the evening, neither of you learning very much about each other. Just enough to keep you thinking about him as you got changed.

The morning crowd were walking in as you walked out. Max was still at your table. Part of you wanted to stop, wanted to tell him how you hoped to see him again another time.

But Max stood. He put his empty mug at the end of his table. "Can I walk you to your car?" He offered, taking long strides to catch up with you.

You gave him a smile. "You can walk me to the bus stop, if you'd like," you said and he answered you with a nod.

The two of you kept talking, the topics light as he walked you to the bus stop just a little way down the street. Even at the bus stop, Max stayed talking to you until your bus pulled up.

"I'll see you around," Max said as you stepped onto the bus.

Waving, you paid for your ticket and found yourself a seat.

You should be dead, he couldn't help but think as he walked away. Max ignored his buzzing phone as he walked back to his car.

Christian was going to have his head, he knew as he started heading back to his apartment.

He couldn't kill you, he was sure of that now.

a/n we're starting over with taglists. no permanent one. comment if you wanna be added for the series

taglist: @nurse-floyd @biancathecool

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #mv1 #mv1 imagine #mv1 x reader #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine

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fuckyeahgoodomens · 1 year ago

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The Good Omens Musical Masterpost🎵❤

How it started :)

Some time before 2013: Vicki Larnach, the australian composer and lyricist, read the Good Omens book, imagined figures dancing on stage with brilliant music and thought, ‘Ah, I’m gonna ask Terry Pratchet and Neil Gaiman if I can turn it into a musical.’ and sent an email to the publishers. The next day she got an email saying, ‘We don’t want a musical but Terry’s coming to Australia, so come and say hello and tell us what you got.’

Rob Wilkins came down to meet Vicki and Jim Hare - Vicki's husband and writer - and took them to meet Terry. They spent an hour and a half with them where Terry asked ‘piercing questions’, had tea with them and they showed Terry a song that Vicki wrote (about the Chattering Nuns). Terry said to Rob, ‘Rob, write and email to Neil, “Dear Neil, this is Terry. I’m sitting in front of two hippies from Sydney and they want to make a musical out of Good Omens and I’m tempted to let them do it.”’ which was the best email they ever heard and then Terry said, ‘Okay, you have me curious.’ - it was because of the Nuns song which sounded like the book. ‘I’m gonna give you six months, come back with a first draft libretto and five songs.’

They then sent it to Terry who sent it to Gaiman. Terry said, ‘I really like it, you’re moving story, you’re doing all the right things, but where’s showstopper, where’s the toe-tapper, you know I need people to go to intermission just snapping their fingers with the song they just can’t get out of their head, and I haven’t heard that.’ - and they realized that they were so busy serving the story they forgot to do the wow-factor, but found it very encouraging from Terry that he wanted to make it better.

They went through the whole book again to find a centrepiece - and they found it when Warlock is growing up and Aziraphale and Crowley are with him, and spent months working just on that one thing and called ‘All Living Things’ [the song at the start of this post :)] which is a line from the book.*’ Terry gave that song to a person he knew and asked him to play it to his wife with no context and when the next day the person said that his wife woke up still singing the song Terry said to Vicki and Jim: ‘Well, that’s what I asked you to do.’

* [“This here’s Brother Slug,” the gardener would tell him, “and this tiny little critter is Sister Potato Weevil. Remember, Warlock, as you walk your way through the highways and byways of life’s rich and fulsome path, to have love and reverence for all living things.” “Nanny says that wivving fings is fit onwy to be gwound under my heels, Mr. Fwancis,” said little Warlock, stroking Brother Slug, and then wiping his hand conscientiously on his Kermit the Frog overall.]

Vicki and Jim got the permission to being adapting it as a musical in 2013.

Vicki and Jim on it a couple of years ‘fumbling about’, took it as far as they could and decided to bring another person into it: Jay-James Moody

In 2015, Jay James-Moody joined the collaboration initially as a dramaturge and directorial eye, eventually evolving into co-book writer. Vicki, James and Jay have continued to evolve through countless more revisions and a number of private development readings with the support, time and talent of numerous wonderful Australian performers testing the material.

In November 2017, the musical was presented in its then-current form and entirety for the first time before an audience of over 500 eager attendees. The cast included Luke Joslin, Lachlan O’Brien, Nancye Hayes, Barry Quin, Brett O’Neill, Lauren McKenna, Nicholas Craddock, Paul Capsis, Rob Johnson, Amy Lehpamer, Debora Krizak, Blake Erickson, Nat Jobe, Ana Maria Belo, Jordan Hare, Bella Thomas, Anthony Abrakmanov and Samson Hyland.

Following a rapturous response to this reading it continued to be refined and developed.

In 2019, ten days before the show came out they did their last presentation, since then they’ve been to London and shown a videotape of that workshop to Gaiman and Rob Wilkins which was ‘a pretty heartstopping experience’.

Differences between the musical and the book

The ending of the musical is a bit different.

It opens with the burning of Agnes Nutter and Aziraphale and Crowley are introduced there.

Act One ends with them ‘essentially breaking up’ because of a huge argument and they dissolve their friendship, Act Two starts with the first time they meet.

The Future?

What is the future for the musical: in 2021 they said that they need to work on some things and then they hope to do another run, initially in Australia.

There will be a CD of the soundtrack available when the show is produced in it’s full version.

In 2024 on insta they said that it is in "complicated process of rights to stage Good Omens" and "We appreciate your support and patience of the progress or seeming lack therof, of Good Omens the musical but we assure you, we will bring you the show in the next few years."

Videos

Vicki, Jim and Jay talking 46min about the musical (this video was shown at the Ineffable Con 3 in 2021 :))

Sizzle Reel 6min

Anathema singing The Perfect Place

Crowley calling Dagon to check on the hellhound

Shadwell and Newt

Aziraphale vanishing Hastur 👀

Links

Webpage

Instagram - a lot of more bts videos and pics :)

How to support?

Subsribe to the instagram page and like and comment that you want the musical on posts :)❤. If you want to be a sponsor or donor, there is contact on their webpage.

#good omens #good omens musical #musical #masterposts #terry pratchett #fun fact #:)

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pretty-little-mind33 · 2 years ago

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James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You and James are friends with benefits until daisies and an incident with one asshole Quidditch player stirs up some hidden (or not-so-hidden) feelings

Genre: Fluffy fluff <3

Warnings: swearing, slut shaming, mentions of sex, pranks

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Since you met him in Charms class your fourth year he'd been a nuisance. In the beginning, you didn't even consider him; he was just some boy who was consistently louder than anyone else in the room and incredibly obnoxious.

Only eventually, it became obvious he'd somehow wormed his way into your heart when in the first month of your seventh year, three drinks in and one drunken kiss later, James Potter had ended up taking more than just your heart.

Your mutually-beneficial-arrangement, which has blossomed since then, is the reason you're now standing in front of the Gryffindor changing room. The boys' changing room.

You and James have this new tradition where, after he wins an important game, you'll meet him in the changing room after his teammates had left and, well, you were his reward.

Slowly, you run a hand through your hair, fixing the barrette you have pinned on one side, and then smooth your hand down your uniform. Hesitantly, you turn the handle.

Once you walk in, it takes approximately less than three seconds for you to realize you made a terrible mistake.

Inside you're met with loud, bustling, chatter as Gryffindor boys you only know by name and Quidditch positions pack their equipment and uniforms into their bags. You freeze.

One of the boys turns around, "What the bloody fuck is a girl doing in here?" He exclaims, sounding truly horrified.

Immediately, you spin around to leave but without warning another boy seemingly materializes next to you and slams his hand into the door. You almost bump into it as it shuts directly in front of you. You swallow nervously as you have no choice but to turn around.

"Y/n?" You hear your name and an immediate sense of relief rushes over you. You watch James walk in. His hair is still damp from a shower and a towel is thrown over his shoulder.

His look of confusion quickly turns into realization when he scans you and sees the small flower in your hand. Usually, when he wins you gift him a daisy and he likes to keep them all in the pocket of his Captain's uniform as good luck charms.

James's eyes then jump to his teammate and when he sees how close his arm is to your head and how close he is to you in general, he frowns, "Hey O'Conner, back it up, buddy." He says, hiding his annoyance behind a joke as he quickly makes his way to you.

O'Conner huffs but listens to James anyway. He sends you a look and then laughs to himself, "Is this your girlfriend, Potter. Seems like she has a little present for you." O'Conner looks at the daisy in your hand and you quickly hide it behind your back, cheeks burning hot.

When James reaches you, he gently holds your shoulder and turns you around. His mouth is pressed near your ear as he whispers, "Come on," and leads you out the door.

Even when James shuts the door behind you, you can still hear mocking and whistles from inside the changing room and you've never been more embarrassed in your life. You're sure James can sense how anxious you've become because he runs his thumb over your knuckles, "It's okay, love. You're just a little early. You can come back in thirty minutes and it will just be just us, like it usually is."

You stare at him and, after a moment, shake your head. You don't have to speak or explain yourself for James to understand as he kisses your forehead, "Ok, I'll see you at Honeydukes in a bit then? Pads and Moony said they invited you already?"

"Yeah." Is all you say.

James gently slides his hand down your cheeks and uses his thumb and index finger to tilt your chin up, "Gimme a smile, love?" He asks seriously.

You look into his eyes, rolling yours, but smile at him anyways. You hear him mumble something and then he swiftly plucks the daisy from your hand and, because he doesn't have any available pockets, puts it behind his ear.

When James sends you his signature smirk, you think you're melting.

"Bye Jamie," You whisper as he turns around to walk into the changing room again. The door opens and you can hear the laughter inside but they don't bother you anymore when you see a glimpse of James giving one of his teammates the middle finger as the daisy stays in his hair.

* * *

Honeydukes is known to be busy after Quidditch matches and it's especially busy when Gryffindor wins. It's a tradition that originated from James, Sirius, and Remus, and now almost everyone just comes along until it's turned into a full party.

James has his arm draped over the booth behind you as he leans against the corner. He laughs as Sirius chugs Butterbeer as quickly as possible. Your nose scrunches in disgust and Remus quickly snatches what was his drink away from Sirius's hands, "You're a pig." Remus reprimands gently and rolls his eyes.

Sirius just winks, licks his lips, and leans in to wipe the side of his mouth on the collar of Remus's sweater, to which the latter smacks him over the head and earns an amused, still muffled, laugh.

You smile. You're lost in thoughts when you suddenly feel James's fingers draw circles and various shapes on your back. It's something he does almost routinely. You turn to him, but he doesn't look back at you as his fingers find your hair and play with the strands. You admire how his hazel eyes dart from Remus to Sirius depending on who's talking. You like the way his messy black hair, now dry, is curling around his forehead and you have to resist pushing up his round glasses, which sit a little low on his nose.

You have completely lost track of their conversation and when you're pulled down to earth by a shout from another drunk student, you avert your gaze from James and instead focus on your nearly finished Butterbeer. A blush of embarrassment heats your cheeks and you slide out of the booth.

"Everything ok?" Sirius asks and the boys look at you.

You smile and lift your glass, "Yeah, I just want another round."

"Alright, love." James says, turning his head a little. You can see the daisy still hiding in his curls and your chest tightens.

You really wish you'd known in fourth year how badly you'd fall for James Potter, because maybe then you could have prevented the pain of how shitty it feels to only admire him from afar.

Pushing past a bunch of students, you go to lean against the bar as you wait your turn to order. You hadn't heard someone come up to you until you feel someone's shoulder close to yours. Because of the intimacy, you think it's one of your friends, "Hey–" You start and look up, only to jump a little as O'Conner grins down at you.

Quintin O'Conner is a rather tall, handsome boy with short, thin, auburn hair. His vibrant green eyes shine as he tips his full glass of beer with an obnoxious smirk, "Hey, stalker."

You frown at the nickname, "Can I help you?" You ask.

"Sure." O'Conner licks his lips, "Potter didn't say you were his girlfriend, so I'm wondering if you're free tomorrow night? If I'm honest, I'd love one of your good luck daisies too." His hand slides over the counter and hesitates at your hand. You shift.

James told his teammates about your daisies? You blush, "Oh um, no, those are for James." You try to explain without sounding creepy and possessive. O'Conner fakes a pout and this time his hand reaches yours and his thumb caresses along your palm.

"Yeah, but like, he's not your boyfriend is he?"

"He's not but,"

"Listen, it's pretty obvious whatever activities you and Potter do in private has caused you to fall in love with him but, clearly, he just doesn't feel the same," O'Conner now grips your hand and leans in way too close, "Y/n, if you were mine I would never take you for granted." He looks you over, his eyes more sinister than his words.

You feel like someone has just choked you. Has James been going around telling people you've been hooking up? You thought you'd agreed you wouldn't even tell Sirius and Remus? You stare at O'Conner, "How do you know that?" You stutter.

"Please," O'Conner rolls his eyes, "It's quite obvious you know? You didn't just walk into the boys changing rooms looking for Potter to have a chat, did you? Plus, anyway, Potter told us the moment you left."

You shake my head automatically as his hand grips yours and somehow leans in even closer. "What's he doing to you that I can't do?" O'Conner's lips are close to your ear now and a shiver runs down your spine. Quickly, you pull your hand away and swoop under and around him.

"Sorry, I have to go." You mumble and start to make your way back to the booth, head spinning.

"Slut," You hear O’Conner shout over the chatter and you wince, closing your eyes.

When you find your way back to Sirius, Remus, and James empty handed, they look at you confused, "What's wrong, love?" James asks, sitting up in his seat. His eyes look you over and you can tell just by his eyebrow scrunch he knows you're upset.

Sirius and Remus look equally concerned and they look towards the bar, only by now O'Conner has probably gone to bother another unsuspecting girl.

When you don't move, James is up on his feet and is making his way towards you. He holds out his arms and tries to wrap them around your shoulders comfortingly but you push your arms outwards and up so he can't touch you. You shake your head. Now, the boys look even more concerned, "Seriously, what happened, Y/n?" James whispers and crosses his arms.

You look at him and the daisy in his hair just pisses you off now, "Did you tell them?" You ask, the butterbeer in your system creating a light buzz, making your head feels fuzzy, "James, did you tell them?"

"What?" James's eyes round.

"You heard me." You hiss. Sirius and Remus look at each other confused.

"Please, just tell me what happened." James pleads in another whisper as he starts to walk towards you again, only this time you move away from him.

"Oi, Potter, next time keep your bitch on a tighter leash. She was all over me a few moments ago." You suddenly hear O'Conner taunt and your head snaps towards the sound. O'Conner's arm is swung around another girl's shoulder as he grins at you.

"What the fuck did you just say, man?" Sirius exclaims as Remus instantly holds his arm back.

You glance at James and you can see his mind racing. He's staring at O'Conner but he hasn't reacted or even moved in any way. Instead, he looks at you, and his eyes soften, "Y/n," He starts but you don't wait for an explanation and just turn around.

You've barely gone out the door when James is behind you again, "Wait, please. Talk to me." He says and his hand skims your arm. Reluctantly, you pause and let out a sigh,

"I'm so fucking mad at you, James." You exclaim.

"Okay," James's voice is calm and he guides you to turn around and look at him, "Why is that, love?" He's eerily calm, especially since he has a few drinks in him, and you're extremely suspicious.

"Why are you so calm?" You ask lightly, only a little hurt he didn't stand up for you in Honeydukes.

James tilts his head, "After what O'Conner said? Sweetheart, I'm fucking furious but that wanker isn't who I care about right now." He takes a breath, "I want to know what happened to make you so mad at me."

You glare at him, "We promised we wouldn't tell anyone about us."

James looks flustered, "Yeah? And I haven't." He defends.

You roll your eyes, "So why did O'Conner come up to me asking me about what you do to me, James?"

James looks like he's seen a ghost. He shakes his head and his hands come up to your shoulders, he’s gentle as he holds you, "Y/n, I never told him anything. Bloody hell, I'd never brag about shagging you to anyone, you deserve so much more than that."

He looks so sincere you sigh, "You think he just figured it out then?" You ask.

James smirks and plucks the daisy from behind his ear. He twirls it in front of you, "I mean this is pretty damning, isn't it?"

Your smile weakens, "Do you not like them?"

James laughs a little and his hand comes up to hold your cheek, "I love them, love." His hand lingers on your cheek and he starts to move his thumb, "Come on, let’s go back in, yeah?”

He starts to turn around but you grab his wrist, "Promise you didn't tell them about us?" You whisper, still feeling insecure.

"I promise." He reassures you. When a small bell chimes, he looks back to the door which swings open and Sirius and Remus come stumbling out.

Remus is holding onto Sirius's collar, helping him stay on his feet, "Mates, let's leave. Pads has had way too much to drink and he almost knocked O'Conner's teeth out in there." He groans. You and James look at each other, laughing.

"I'm seriously debating going back in there and punching that asshole myself." James jokes, swinging his arm around your shoulder and Sirius grins drunkenly.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Prongs?" He asks, staggering on his feet.

"Oh, I sure am." James says, smirking.

* * *

It happened a week later. All week, James had been visibly agitated after his Quidditch practices and he wouldn't tell you why.

It's Saturday morning now. Mail time. You're sitting in your usual seats: James and Sirius on one side, You and Remus on the other. James is directly in front of you and he’s been playing footsies since you all sat down. You can't hide your giggles and he can't hide his smile.

"Hey, hey, the show is starting soon."Sirius leans in after a while and smirks. James looks around excitedly as owls start to swoop in from the sky. You look at them: they look like giddy children that have just been allowed to have candy after 8pm.

"What did you guys do?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

Remus chuckles from beside you, "You'll see."

You glance at him, surprised, "You're in on it, Moony?"

"Of course he is, this was a group project, doll." Sirius winked and then his eyes follow a brown owl. You recognize it as James's owl, only it isn't flying towards you guys.

"Where is your owl going, Jamie?" You frown

"Somewhere special." James says nonchalantly and turns to watch, his arms crossed as he leans on Sirius: who is leaning forward himself and resting his chin on his hand as he wears a smug grin.

You watch his owl swoop down near where some Gryffindor Quidditch players are eating, O'Conner being one of them. He's laughing obnoxiously and anger bubbles inside you.

Remus leans in to you and whispers, "3…2…1," Pause and then James's owl drops a letter in front of O'Conner. Sirius first pumps the air as James smirks.

"You sent O'Conner a letter?" You ask James, hesitantly.

"Better." He grins. As if in clock work, a loud voice booms over the dinning hall. You recognize it immediately, it's James. Well, it kinda sounds like James only he's making an exaggerated, frankly mocking, Australian accent. Quite like how O'Conner sounds normally.

James is also clearly attempting to sound more feminine and you cover your mouth in shock as James from inside the howler begins to talk, "Quinnie, this is mummy," You look at James and Sirius, who look like they're already pissing their pants with laughter.

"Hi my darling. I'm replying to your earlier letter. Daddy and I think you should get that itchy rash on your penis checked out sooner rather than later, honey. You've been a good boy and used protection, right?"

Remus snorts from next to you as you hear some laughter resound around the room. O'Conner looks absolutely mortified as his friends laugh around him. His misery isn't over as the howler continues, "Try Granny's cream every night, ok? Daddy and I hope you feel better soon, lovie. Kisses, your Mummy dearest." James ends the letter with a loud, slobbery, kiss and then the letter rips.

Sirius has his head in his arms and his shoulders bounce as he hyperventilates quietly while James looks extremely proud. Even Remus is wearing a shit-eating grin. When O'Conner looks at you all, his cheeks dusted pink from embarrassment and anger, James simply blows him a kiss and sends him the middle finger.

You laugh behind my hand, "Why did you guys do that?"

Sirius shrugged, "That bloke has always been an asshole,"

"And he was extremely disrespectful to you yesterday, Y/n/n." Remus points out, to which James nods as he eats a mouthful of scrambled eggs. You scrunch your nose at him and eat your toast. Occasionally, you'll look over at O'Conner, who looks absolutely infuriated as his friends tease him endlessly.

"Seeing his face turn that red was pretty satisfying." You point out.

"Anyways, he should have seen it coming. No one messes with my girl without consequences." He says it without a second thought and he doesn't even look phased. You on the other hand? You're extra aware of the dryness in your throat as you try and process what James so casually said. His girl? You look at Remus and then at Sirius almost for confirmation that he had indeed said it. They look a little unsure but more awkward than confused.

"Okay well, we have Potions. See you later." Sirius stands, looking at Remus and gestures for him to stand too, "Coming, Moons?"

Remus nods quickly and walks out behind him, leaving you and James alone.

You find it incredibly annoying how nonchalant James can be sometimes. "So, your girl, huh?" You ask, hesitantly.

James pauses and looks at you, something sparks in his eyes but it quickly dies as he bends his head and continues to eat, "Mmhm." His foot nudges yours a little, "You're our girl, and we take care of what's ours."

Your heart sinks. You don't want to be their girl. You want to be his girl. Instead of the girl he fucks in secret, you want to be the one he kissed sweetly in the hallway. You want to be more than just friends.

More than just fuck buddies.

"Oh." You say, your disappointment hidden behind a small smile and James perks up.

"Wanna ditch?" He asks with a smirk.

* * *

You and James like to play Wizard's Chess.

He's infamously bad at it which means you win everytime. Still, he always loses graciously and plays whenever you ask him.

You're sitting at the edge of the lake, the warm spring air hitting your skin, and the chess board Remus had gotten you for your sixteenth birthday sits in between you and James.

"Checkmate," You stick your tongue out at him as James groans.

James scrunches his brows and then, quite obviously, uses his knee to knock over the chessboard, "Oops." He laughs. You widen your eyes and try to push him on his shoulder but James just grips your wrist and pulls you into him.

He stumbles backwards until he's laying on the grass and you're hovering over him, sitting on his waist. You look at him, breathing heavily, and he looks at you.

You don't protest when James's hand curls around the back of your neck and he guides you down to kiss him. You melt into his arms. His hand finds your hair as he kisses you more passionately and for a moment you're content until James's other hand starts to tug at the buttons of your chemise. You tense and disconnect your lips, holding his hand away from your body.

"You ok?" He asks, sitting up and helping you sit in between his legs.

You can't look at him without feeling shame and embarrassment. Is this over? All because of your stupid feelings? You turn to him hesitantly and when you look at his lips, your heart hurts. Was this the last time you'll ever kiss him?

"Hey, love, what's wrong?" James asks, holding your cheeks in his hands and gently forcing you to look at him.

You shake your head and push him away, "James, no, you know I don't like it when you do that."

"Sorry," He whispers, his cheeks pink. You feel guilty.

"It's ok, Jamie. It's just," You rub your eyes and run a hand in your hair, probably messing it up, "I- I don't think I want to continue this. Us." You pause, "Not like this." You add in a whisper.

"What? Why?" James sounds confused and a little hurt, "Is it me? Have I not been good enough? I- I can learn, love." He stutters and you can't help but wonder why he's insisting so badly.

"No, you've been more than wonderful, James." You admit and then fiddle with your hands, "It's me,"

"Y/n, you're bloody fantastic." James interrupts, voice croaky.

You lower your eyes and smile softly, "No, it's because I think I've been falling in love with you." You say quietly and shut your eyes. You feel sick to your stomach.

James is not talking, he's not even moving anymore. You feel like you could vomit.

"You've been falling in love with me?" James asks.

Hearing those words, you quickly cover your face with your hands, "I- I'm sorry."

James takes your hands and gently moves them away from your face, "You're sorry?" You nod quickly and your heart pounds. Hope is a dangerous game, but James is smiling so maybe hope is worth the risk.

"Please don't be sorry, my love." James brings your palms to his lips and kisses your hand. His lips are light and shivers run up your arms, "I'm sorry. I have been such a fool." He leans his forehead on yours and suddenly, you feel lightheaded in a completely different way.

"James," You start but he interrupts you with a finger pressed to your lips.

"I didn't think you felt the same way as me," He chuckles, "I mean? Why would someone like you: someone so kind and honest, actually want more with someone like me? So, I was happy with our agreement because I still wanted to have you in any way I could. But, you love me? You really love me?" You nod and James's smile widens until it almost looks like it hurts him, "I've loved you since forever, Y/n/n, you can't even begin to imagine how happy you've made me."

"Really?" You ask.

James rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss you gently. He pulls away and smiles that grin you love so much, "I knew I wasn't as obvious as Remus and Sirius said I was." James teases and your eyes round as you lean away from him a little,

"Remus and Sirius know?"

James touches your cheek and looks at you fondly, "Yeah, about how madly in love with you I am, not our extracurricular activities." He jokes with a wink, "I think if I'd been honest to them about that, they would have warned me how dangerous it'll end up being for me, and in the end they would have been right."

You still feel like you're in a dream when you take his hand in yours and play with his fingers, "How's that, Jamie?" You whisper, simply enjoying the new found warmth in your stomach.

"Because it was absolutely torture to have you so close, and yet, so far away from me all the time." James says and you feel validated in your own feelings.

You nuzzles your head in his chest and wrap your arms around him,

"Well, you have me now." You reassure him. He sighs and holds the back of your head and for the first time, you have everything you want here in your arms. You smile against his chest, "Does this mean I can call you my boyfriend now when someone asks."

James huffs and kisses your head, "You better, love."

"And, am I your girl now?" You ask, more timidly now as you sit up and look him in the eyes. James’s hand runs along the grass as he smirks. You see him pluck a daisy from the ground and, as he places it behind your left ear, you feel your cheeks start to burn.

"You've always been my girl." He whispers and leans in to kiss you once more. You think he mumbles, "mine" against your lips again, but at that point you're too busy being lost in the moment.

And, frankly, you don't want to be found.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagines #james potter imagine #marauders #marauders imagines #marauders imagine #harry potter #marauders fic #james potter fluff #james potter smut #james potter fic

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unconventional-lawnchair · 15 days ago

Note

hi loveee!! hope you’re doing well!

i was wondering if i could request no Voldemort AU, Wolfstar!daughter reader where her parents and harry’s parents have been making jokes about her and harry dating, and since then they have seen her slowly fade and eating less and kind of just drifting away for a few months, and when her parents, lily, and james talk to her about it she just tells them she likes girls and was really scared of telling them because she felt she was disappointing them.

if you don’t feel comfortable that’s totally fine!! love your work

An: Thank you and I'm sorry this took so long! I got a little carried away I am so sorry.

Expectations

Wolfstar!Daughter who is struggling to express her sexuality...

Summary: (See above) Reminiscing on some romantic encounters, you have come to the conclusion Harry Potter is not someone you'd ever date. HURT/COMFORT

WC: 7.1k

CW: The reader is so gay, she kissed Luna and Ginny, almost kissed Hermione, some intense negative self talk, mentions of not eating and guilty James and Sirius

The warm smell of toast and coffee wafted through the kitchen as you thundered down the stairs, your shoes slapping against the wood with unbothered energy. The kitchen was alive with the sound of the radio crackling softly in the corner, a cheerful tune mingling with the chatter of voices and the occasional clink of dishes.

Lily stood at the stove, flicking her wand to keep the eggs from burning. James leaned casually against the counter, chewing on a piece of toast and grinning at Sirius, who was regaling everyone with a clearly exaggerated story about his work as an Auror the day before. Remus sat at the table, reading the Daily Prophet with a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

You slipped past Lily with precision, she hardly glanced over her shoulder, smirking. “Late again, I see. I suppose your grand entrance was worth skipping breakfast?”

You gave her a cheeky grin, swiping the slice of toast right out of James’s hand as you breezed by. “Skipping? Please, I’m right on time,” You quipped, taking a dramatic bite and ignoring James’s exaggerated gasp of betrayal.

“Oi!” James protested, clutching his now-empty hand. “I was munching on that!”

“You snooze, you lose, Potter,” You shot back, already rounding the table to Sirius. He was mid-sentence in his story when your arms looped around his shoulders, pulling him into a quick hug. He stopped talking just long enough to lean into the affection, grinning like the proud dad he was.

“Morning, Cherry Bomb,” Sirius greeted, ruffling your hair as you pulled away.

“Morning, Dad,” You hummed breezily before turning to Remus. You leaned down to give him an exaggeratedly loud kiss on the cheek, making him chuckle and shake his head.

“You’re in a good mood,” Remus observed, a small smile tugging at his lips as he folded his newspaper.

“Am I not always?” You asked, snagging another slice of toast from the plate on the table and tossing him a wink.

Laughter and banter filled the room again as the chaos resumed. The radio switched to another upbeat tune, and Lily turned back to her cooking, muttering something about “pot-stirrers” under her breath. Sirius leaned back in his chair, smirking at James’s ongoing complaints about his stolen toast, and Remus sipped his tea, watching the scene unfold with fond amusement.

“Pops, can you-” You started, pointing toward the creamer sitting just out of reach on the table. Before you could even finish your sentence, Remus flicked his wand, and the creamer floated gracefully into your hand.

“Thanks, Pops,” You sang with a grin, pouring a splash into your coffee. “You’re on top of it today.”

“I try,” Remus replied with a faint smirk, returning to his tea and paper without missing a beat.

Before you could reach for the sugar, a familiar hand slid it toward you from the corner of the table. Harry, his hair even messier than usual, had just shuffled into the kitchen, still looking half-asleep but apparently sharp enough to anticipate your needs.

“Here,” he mumbled, stifling a yawn as he pushed the sugar closer.

You gasped dramatically, holding your hand to your chest as though he’d just saved your life. “And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why you’re my favorite Potter.”

Harry blinked at you, clearly too tired to respond with his usual quick wit. “Not a high bar,” He muttered, sliding into the chair next to Remus and slumping forward.

James, who had been about to take a sip of coffee, froze mid-motion, eyes widening in mock offense. “Excuse me?! I am the original Potter- one might say the prototype- and therefore the best!”

“Don’t forget the loudest,” Sirius added with a grin, earning a glare from James.

Lily turned from the stove, wagging her spatula in your direction. “Careful, love, you’re going to give Harry a big head.”

You snorted, swirling your coffee as you leaned back against the counter. “Please, his head’s big enough already. I’m just giving credit where it’s due.”

Harry, now more awake, gave you a sideways glance, a hint of a smirk creeping onto his face. “You know, you’re really setting the bar low if all it takes is a sugar bowl to win you over.”

“Hey,” you shot back, pointing your spoon at him, “don’t underestimate the power of good timing and selflessness, Potter. You could learn a thing or two from your favorite person.”

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “If I’m your favorite, I dread to think how you treat your least favorite.”

“Easy,” You cheeked with a wicked grin, “I steal their toast.”

James groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Unbelievable! You two are ganging up on me. Is this what parenthood leads to? Betrayal at every turn?”

“Seems like it,” Sirius chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a wolfish grin. “Honestly, Prongs, they’d make a great couple- at least then someone would appreciate your genes.”

You nearly choked on your coffee, sputtering as you quickly set the mug down. “Oh, come on,” You shot at Sirius, your tone sharp but playful, though a prickle of discomfort crept into your chest.

James was grinning now, clearly enjoying himself. “You know, he’s not wrong. Potter and Black- it’s destiny, really. Perfect balance of brains and chaos.”

“Merlin’s beard, not this again,” You groaned, running a hand down your face. “The only thing Harry and I are destined for is quidditch captain, and I’m winning.”

“But think of the headlines!” Sirius pressed on, clearly relishing the way you were squirming. “‘Auror Legacy Marries rebel Black 2.0.’ It’s got a ring to it.”

“Don’t,” Lily cut in sharply, waving her spatula like a weapon. “You’re embarrassing them.”

Remus huffed quietly, setting his tea down with a frown. “Honestly, can’t the two of you give it a rest? They’re kids, not a tabloid story.”

You seized the moment, folding your arms and aiming your most cutting glare at your dads. “Thank you, Pops. Finally, someone with some sense.”

Sirius, unbothered, leaned over to nudge James. “You notice how defensive she’s getting? Means we’re onto something.”

“That’s because you’re delusional,” You snapped, though your tone had lost its bite. “For the record, Harry and I would never work. He’s a disaster, I’m a disaster, and that’s just too much disaster for one relationship.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at you, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Speak for yourself. I’d carry this disaster just fine.”

“Oh, please,” You fired back, your grin tight but still intact. “You can’t even carry your Firebolt without tripping over your own feet.”

The room erupted in laughter, and you forced a chuckle, though the weight of their teasing lingered. You’d always been good at playing along, but this time, something about it felt different. The jokes stung in a way they hadn’t before, but you weren't ignorant to why.

The laughter in the kitchen echoed around you, but it began to feel muffled, as if someone had pressed a pillow over your ears. You stared at your coffee mug, your grin faltering slightly, though you were careful to hide it. The jokes about you and Harry- something you’d always brushed off with ease- felt heavier lately, the sting burrowing deeper into your chest.

Your grip tightened around the coffee mug as the laughter in the kitchen grew distant, the sound blurring into background noise. Your mind wandered, pulling you back to a quieter moment, one you rarely let yourself dwell on.

The library was quiet save for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional whispered reprimand from Madam Pince. You’d been helping Hermione find a particularly elusive book for her research, one she was determined to get her hands on without incurring the wrath of the ever-watchful librarian.

“You’re sure it’s up there?” Hermione had whispered, standing on her tiptoes as she pointed toward the highest shelf.

“Positive,” you’d replied, smirking as you pulled your wand out and flicked it expertly. The book floated down, landing gently in her hands.

“Show-off,” she murmured, though her lips curved into a faint smile.

You’d grinned back, feeling uncharacteristically shy under her warm gaze. The moment lingered longer than it should have, her eyes searching yours as she clutched the book to her chest. There had been something there- something thrillingly unfamiliar. The space between you had felt electric, the quiet of the library amplifying every breath, every heartbeat.

You’d thought about leaning in, about what it might feel like to close the gap. But the creak of Madam Pince’s footsteps had shattered the moment, and you’d stepped back, laughing it off as Hermione tucked the book under her arm and muttered something about returning to the common room.

“Oi,” Sirius’s voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. You blinked, realizing the room had gone quieter. Sirius leaned back in his chair, his expression softening as he looked at you. “You alright, trouble?”

“Yeah,” You smiled quickly, plastering on your signature grin to mask the lingering thoughts. “Just tired, I guess.”

Sirius didn’t press, but his gaze lingered a moment longer before he turned back to James, who was recounting a story you’d already heard a dozen times.

“Well,” Sirius said, clapping his hands on the table as he stood. “Time to pack it up, everyone. Let’s head home before the house decides to redecorate itself again.”

Lily shot him a look, though there was a smile playing on her lips. “That house doesn’t need redecorating. It needs a miracle.”

Sirius smirked. “And I’m just the man for the job.”

You chuckled softly, slipping off your stool and stretching as the others began gathering their things.

For now, you focused on the warmth of the kitchen, the familiar sound of Sirius and James bickering, and the way Remus always managed to keep everything running smoothly. It was enough, at least for the moment.

The goodbyes at the Potters’ were as warm and chaotic as the morning had been. Hugs were exchanged, and James couldn’t resist pulling you into an exaggerated bear hug, practically lifting you off your feet.

“Take care of my heir, Cherry Bomb,” James teased, grinning ear to ear as he nodded toward Harry. “You two are a dream team, after all.”

“James,” Lily said warningly, her tone sharp but her smile betraying her amusement.

“You’re delusional,” You shot back with a scoff, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed how much the teasing was starting to wear on you. You glanced at Harry, who offered you a small, sympathetic smile before pulling you into a quick side hug of his own.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Harry mumbled under his breath. “They’re impossible.”

“Right back at you,” You replied with a crooked grin, but your heart wasn’t entirely in it.

As you stepped back, Sirius clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave you a knowing smirk. “Don’t worry, Prongs, I’ll make sure they don’t elope without your blessing.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” You groaned, throwing your hands up as Remus gave Sirius a pointed look and muttered something about restraint.

“Goodbye, Lily,” You said pointedly, ignoring the boys and turning to give her a warm hug. She gave you a small squeeze, whispering a quick “Be patient with them” in your ear before you stepped away.

Sirius finally ushered you toward the car, jingling the keys in his hand like a prize. “Alright, let’s hit the road before James gets any more brilliant ideas.”

Remus rolled his eyes as he slipped into the passenger seat. “Or before you make any, for that matter.”

You climbed into the backseat, slumping against the window as Sirius started the car with a triumphant flourish. He seemed to take a little too much pleasure in the sputtering growl of the engine, muttering something under his breath about “showing Walburga what she’s talking about.”

The car pulled away from the Potters’ house, and the chatter in the front seat quickly turned into playful bickering between your dads. Sirius insisted he didn’t need a map, while Remus quietly pointed out every turn they were about to miss.

But you barely registered their voices. Instead, you stared out the window, your mind wandering again. The familiar streets blurred together as you replayed the events of the morning, the teasing, the lingering stares, and the way Harry’s half-smile seemed to carry a shared understanding.

But still, you were elsewhere.

You and Ginny had been wandering aimlessly, avoiding curfews and teachers, giggling over whatever nonsense had entertained you that day.

She had shoved you playfully against the wall in a narrow corridor, her fiery red hair catching the dim light as she grinned up at you. You’d retaliated immediately, pushing her back with a mock growl, but she was quicker, spinning and pinning you to the stone wall with a strength that belied her smaller frame.

“You’ve got to stop underestimating me,” She teased, her freckled nose scrunching as she smirked. “One day, I’ll wipe that cocky grin off your face.”

“Big words for a Weasley,” You quipped, grinning. “Want to back them up?”

Ginny paused then, her smile faltering just enough for you to notice. Her hands lingered on your shoulders, her grip light but steady. Her brown eyes softened, and something thick hung in the air between you, heavy and electric.

Her voice dropped, quiet and teasing, but there was a nervous edge beneath her bravado.

“Have you ever kissed a girl before?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her, the confident grin slipping from your face. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say a word, Ginny leaned in.

Her lips brushed yours, soft and tentative, the kiss lasting only a heartbeat. It was over almost as soon as it began, but the feeling lingered- a spark, warm and thrilling, like the crackle of fire catching on dry wood.

You barely had time to process it before Ginny leaned back, her cheeks flushed as she studied your face. “Well?” She asked, her tone light but her eyes searching. “How was that?”

You swallowed, your voice coming out a little breathless despite your best efforts to play it cool. “Not bad, Weasley. Not bad at all.”

Ginny’s grin returned, bright and cheeky. “Told you I’d shut you up one day.”

Before you could respond, Ron’s voice rang out from the far end of the corridor, calling for Ginny. The two of you jumped apart as if burned, your heart racing as her brother’s footsteps approached.

“Guess I'm caught.” Ginny muttered, casting you a quick glance. Her expression was a mix of amusement and something deeper- something you were familiar with. She turned on her heel, jogging down the corridor to meet Ron as if nothing had happened.

You stood frozen for a moment, your fingertips brushing your lips as you replayed the moment over and over in your mind.

“Oi, trouble,” Sirius’s voice yanked you back to the present, his tone amused but curious. “You’ve been awfully quiet back there. What’s on your mind?”

You blinked, realizing you were still in the car, the hum of the engine grounding you as the memory faded. You plastered on a grin, shaking your head as you leaned back in your seat.

“Just tired, dad,” you replied, your voice light and teasing. “Long morning.”

Sirius glanced at you in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion, but he didn’t press. “Well, don’t fall asleep back there. I’m not carrying you up the stairs again.”

Remus chuckled softly, turning in his seat to look at you with a knowing smile. “He says that, but we both know he would.”

You laughed, grateful for the distraction they didn't know they provided.

The car pulled to a stop in front of Grimmauld Place, and you were out of the backseat before Sirius could even turn off the engine. The heavy door creaked open under your hand, and the familiar musty air of the house greeted you. You were halfway up the stairs when Walburga Black’s shrill voice began to echo from her portrait in the hallway.

“Filthy half-bloods! Defilers of the noble house of Black!”

Without missing a beat, you stopped at the landing and turned to face her, smirking as her painted eyes glared daggers at you.

“Oh, shut it, you old hag,” You snapped, your voice dripping with mockery. “If this house had any standards left, your frame would be collecting dust in the attic.”

Walburga’s wails grew louder, incoherent insults tumbling from her mouth. Behind you, Sirius strode in, shaking snow from his jacket as he glanced up at the commotion.

“Oi, pup, what’s all this noise about?” He called, grinning when he spotted you leaning casually against the banister.

“Just giving dear old Gran her daily reminder that she’s irrelevant,” You shrugged, crossing your arms. “Thought she might appreciate the consistency.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, dropping his keys onto the hall table. “Ah, you’re a good kid. Keeping family tradition alive.”

He turned to Walburga’s portrait with an exaggerated bow. “Lovely as always, Mother. But if you don’t pipe down, I’ll have to introduce you to my new Muggle rock records.”

Her screeches hit a new pitch, and Sirius winked at you before turning to Remus, who was rolling his eyes and carrying the bags into the livingroom.

“Don’t encourage her,” Remus muttered, though his lips twitched with a faint smile.

Sirius waved him off, clearly pleased with himself. You snickered and started back up the stairs, shouting one last retort over your shoulder at Walburga.

“Hope you have a terrible night, you miserable cow.”

Her howls followed you all the way to your bedroom door, but you ignored them, shutting yourself inside with a satisfying click.

You flopped onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, your body sinking into the mattress. The familiar creak of the springs beneath you was oddly comforting, even as your mind wandered. Staring at the cracked ceiling, you let the faint noises of the house fade into the background: the distant hum of conversation downstairs, the occasional groan of the pipes, the muffled screeches of Walburga’s indignation.

The memories came rushing back unbidden, weaving themselves into the present.

It was well past midnight. Grimmauld Place was silent except for the occasional creak of the old house settling, its usual cacophony of voices replaced by the muffled hum of distant dreams. The kitchen was dimly lit by a single candle, its flickering flame casting dancing shadows on the aged stone walls. You and Luna had crept downstairs, stifling giggles like two schoolchildren sneaking past a strict headmaster.

Luna sat on the counter, her legs swinging idly, her pale blonde hair catching the soft glow of the candlelight. She watched you rummage through the pantry with the serene curiosity she always seemed to carry, her gaze steady and unbothered even when you nearly dropped a jar of biscuits.

Her soft laughter bubbled up, the sound light and airy, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “Careful,” she teased, her voice barely above a whisper. “We wouldn’t want to wake the ghosts.”

You turned to her, holding up the jar triumphantly. “Ghosts don’t care about biscuits, Luna,” you quipped, though your tone lacked its usual edge. Something about her presence always softened you.

Luna tilted her head, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. “Maybe not. But I imagine they’d enjoy the company.”

Her words hung in the air between you, her gaze steady and unwavering. The intimacy of the moment- the stillness of the house, the shared laughter, the closeness- felt overwhelming. You set the jar down on the counter, your movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid to shatter the fragile quiet.

“What?” You asked softly, your voice low as you stepped closer. The question wasn’t accusatory, just curious, as though you could feel the weight of her thoughts pressing against you.

Luna didn’t respond with words. Instead, she leaned down, her movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you the chance to step away. When you didn’t, her lips brushed yours, soft and tentative. The kiss started slow, hesitant, like the first notes of a melody yet to find its rhythm.

But then it deepened, a quiet fervor building as her hands found your shirt, tangling in the fabric and pulling you closer. Your hands instinctively rested on her hips, grounding yourself in the warmth of her presence. The candle flickered wildly, like its flame was threatening to extinguish under the intensity of the moment, but neither of you paid it any mind.

When you finally pulled back, the world felt different, quieter, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Luna’s gaze held yours, her cheeks flushed but her expression calm, steady.

“Was that alright?” She asked, her voice barely audible in the stillness.

You nodded, your heart pounding as you offered her a small, shy smile. “Yeah,” You murmured, your voice thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “It was more than alright.”

Luna’s smile widened, and for a moment, the weight of everything else fell away. In that kitchen, under the flicker of candlelight, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a moment that felt like it had been waiting for you all along.

The memory lingered like a soft melody, playing on repeat in your mind. Luna’s serene gaze, her touch, the flicker of candlelight that had seemed to mirror the spark between you- everything about it had felt right. Safe. But as you tried to focus on her eyes, your heart sank.

Like some cruel trick, the silvery blue of her irises shifted, darkening until they glowed an all-too-familiar shade of green. The serene warmth of Luna’s face dissolved, replaced by Harry’s steady, piercing gaze.

A shock ran through your body, sharp and unforgiving, jolting you out of the blissful memory like a bucket of ice water. Your chest tightened, the sudden dissonance between memory and reality leaving you breathless.

“No,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head as though you could physically dislodge the image. “No, no, no.”

Your hands clenched into fists, and a frustrated growl tore from your throat. You grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it across the room with all the force you could muster. The satisfying whomp of impact was immediately followed by a loud crash as the pillow toppled your bedside lamp, sending it to the floor in a spray of shattered glass.

The sound made you wince, your frustration replaced by a pang of guilt. You sat up, running a hand through your hair as you surveyed the mess on the floor. The dim light of the room cast eerie reflections off the broken shards, and for a moment, you felt as fragmented as the lamp lying before you.

“Oi! Everything alright up there?” Remus’s voice carried up the stairs, calm yet laced with concern.

You winced, glancing down at the shattered remains of the lamp, your heart sinking. “Uh… yeah!” You called back, scrambling for an excuse. “Just… taking out some aggression on a pillow!”

There was a pause before Remus replied, his voice tinged with amusement. “And did the pillow learn its lesson?”

You hesitated, looking at the broken lamp before sighing. “Uhm… it seems my lamp learned it for him!”

A loud bark of laughter echoed from downstairs, followed closely by Sirius’s booming voice. “Don’t touch it! I’m coming up!”

Your stomach twisted as the familiar sound of Sirius’s boots on the stairs grew louder. You quickly crouched by the broken lamp, trying to sweep the shards into a neat pile with your hands, only to nick your finger on one of the sharper edges.

“Bloody hell,” You hissed, sticking the wounded finger in your mouth as Sirius’s voice reached the landing outside your door.

“Oi, trouble,” He called, knocking once before pushing the door open without waiting for an answer. He took one look at the broken lamp, the glass scattered across the floor, and your sheepish expression before crossing his arms and leaning casually against the doorframe.

“What happened?” He prodded, though his tone was more curious than accusatory.

You stood, brushing your hands on your trousers and avoiding his gaze. “The pillow was out of line, so I threw it,” You admitted, gesturing toward the offending pillow lying innocently on the floor. “Didn’t realize it had a vendetta against my lamp- unfortunately he took her down with him.”

Sirius’s lips twitched as he tried to hold back a grin. “Sounds like the lamp got the short end of the stick,” He mused, stepping further into the room to inspect the damage. “What’s really going on?”

You hesitated, unsure how much you wanted to share. Sirius had a knack for prying the truth out of you, but sometimes you weren’t ready to give it up.

“Just… had a lot on my mind,” Your voice muttered quietly. “Needed to let it out.”

Sirius tilted his head, studying you for a moment. Then, without a word, he pulled his wand from his back pocket and pointed it at the shattered lamp. “Reparo!”

The broken shards flew back together with a soft clink, reforming into the lamp as if nothing had happened. Sirius smirked, giving the now-intact lamp a light tap with his wand for good measure.

You stared at it, your cheeks heating with embarrassment. “Of course,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Sirius grinned, tucking his wand away. “Because you’re dramatic, Cherry Bomb. Always have to make a scene.” He leaned back against the doorframe, crossing his arms with a knowing look. “What’s the fun in fixing things when you can wallow in the chaos a little longer, eh?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, alright. You’ve had your moment. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late, just lets me know you still need me.” Sirius replied, flashing a cocky grin. Then his expression softened, his gaze flickering to you with something closer to concern. “But seriously, kid, you good?”

You hesitated, the weight of his question pressing down on you. Sirius might joke around, but his ability to see through you had always been unnerving.

“I’m fine,” you finally said, though it sounded unconvincing even to your own ears. You tried to smile, hoping it would sell the lie. “Just a long day, you know?”

Sirius didn’t look convinced, but he let it go- for now. “Alright, if you say so. But if you ever need to talk… well, you know where I am.”

You nodded, feeling a flicker of gratitude for his understanding. “Thanks, Dad.”

Sirius smirked at the title, ruffling your hair as he passed by you toward the door. “Get some rest, pup. And maybe lay off the pillow abuse next time, yeah?”

“Only if it's learned its lesson.”

He gave you a playful glare. You laughed softly as he left, shutting the door behind him. The room fell silent once more, save for the faint hum of the house around you. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the repaired lamp and letting out a long, steadying breath.

"Dramatic," you muttered to yourself, shaking your head. But the small smile faltered, slipping away as something cold and heavy began to settle in your chest. A creeping dread gnawed at the edges of your mind, setting your breaths into an unsteady rhythm.

Dramatic.

You could almost hear Sirius’s teasing tone, James’s bark of laughter. The word echoed, sharp and cutting in the stillness of the room.

“They’re just joking.”

“Don’t take it to heart.”

“They don’t mean it.”

You’d told yourself these things countless times before. But their voices played on a loop in your head, louder and louder, until you could hardly think of anything else.

“If you get married, we’ll finally be a big pack!”

“You two would be perfect together!”

“You’d work so well- balance each other out!”

James and Sirius’s teasing words replayed with such vivid clarity, the echo of their laughter twisting in your chest like a knife. Even Lily’s and Remus’s softer reassurances slipped in, well-meaning but hollow now, reminders that they’d never taken it as seriously as you did.

Because all jokes have a bit of truth to them, don’t they? That dark, nagging voice in the back of your mind whispered its usual poison. What if they mean every word? What if they’ve always meant it?

The years of good-natured teasing, the remarks, the suggestions- they stretched out in your memory, suddenly too heavy to ignore. And for the first time, you wondered if that was all you were to them. If you were just a puzzle piece waiting to fit into their perfect picture.

The thought made you feel small, insignificant. Like your only worth to them was tied to something you didn’t even want. It wasn’t a new fear- not really- but it had always been something you could push aside. Something you could shake off with a roll of your eyes and a forced laugh.

But not today.

Today, it was eating you alive.

The weeks that followed were quiet. Too quiet. The lively energy you usually brought to Grimmauld Place seemed to dim, like a fire struggling to stay lit. The teasing banter that once felt like second nature now felt heavy, stifling. You found yourself retreating into your room more often, your appetite waning as the days blurred together.

At first, they didn’t notice- not fully. James and Sirius chalked it up to stress, maybe a rough patch. “She’ll bounce back,” Sirius had said confidently, leaning back in his chair like it was a guarantee.

But then you started skipping meals. Not just breakfast, but dinner too. You’d pick at your plate, offering vague excuses before excusing yourself early. The chatter at the table would falter each time you slipped away, the tension thickening like storm clouds.

You avoided Harry most of all. The warm sibling bond you’d always shared felt unbearable now, every interaction laced with an invisible wall you couldn’t bring yourself to break. He’d tried to confront you once, standing awkwardly in the doorway to your room.

“Hey,” he had said, his voice uncertain but soft. “You’ve been… quiet lately. Everything alright?”

You had plastered on a smile, too tight to be convincing. “I’m fine, Harry. Just tired.”

He’d hesitated, his hand gripping the doorframe like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or leave. “You can talk to me, you know. About anything.”

The lump in your throat had felt insurmountable, and you’d turned away under the guise of searching for something on your desk. “I know. Thanks.”

He hadn’t pushed further, but you’d felt his lingering gaze before he left, the door clicking softly behind him.

Sirius, of course, noticed the cracks in your armor. He’d tried to coax you back to your usual self with his over-the-top antics, but your forced chuckles only seemed to worry him more. Remus had asked if you were feeling ill, his sharp eyes scanning your face with parental concern, but you waved him off with a quiet reassurance that everything was fine.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting Grimmauld Place in a muted twilight. The kitchen was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the radio in the background and the occasional clatter of dishes as Lily cleaned up after dinner. You sat at the table, idly tracing patterns on the wood with your fingernail, your untouched tea growing cold in front of you.

“Alright, love,” Lily said softly, breaking the silence. She pulled out a chair and sat across from you, her eyes kind but steady. “I’m not one to pry, but something’s been eating at you for weeks, and we’re all worried.”

You froze, your fingers stilling on the table. “I’m fine,” you muttered, the words automatic, rehearsed.

Lily tilted her head, her fiery hair catching the faint light. “You’re not fine. And that’s okay. But shutting us out isn’t going to help.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“It’s not nothing,” Lily pressed gently. “You’ve been pulling away from everyone-especially Harry. You barely eat, you hardly talk, and you don’t even sass Walburga anymore. That’s not like you.”

The mention of Harry made your chest tighten. You clenched your jaw, your hands curling into fists on the table. “It’s nothing he did,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Lily’s brows lifted slightly, her gaze sharpening. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated, the storm of emotions that had been building for weeks threatening to spill over. The kitchen felt too small, too stifling, and Lily’s unwavering gaze made it impossible to retreat.

“I just…” You started, your voice trembling. You shook your head, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “I’m tired of the jokes. The teasing. All of it.”

Lily frowned, leaning forward slightly. “What jokes?”

“The ones about me and Harry,” you snapped, your voice louder than you intended. “About how we’re perfect for each other. About how it’s destiny. It’s like that’s all anyone sees when they look at us.”

Lily’s expression softened, but she didn’t interrupt. She waited, giving you the space to continue.

“I’m not…” You took a deep breath, the words sticking in your throat. “I’m not in love with him. I never have been. And I never will be.”

Your voice broke on the last word, and you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders trembling. Lily reached under the table, her hand resting gently on your knee. “It’s alright, love,” she said softly. “Keep going.”

“I hate it,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “I hate how they act like it’s inevitable. Like my only purpose is to… to marry Harry and make everyone happy.”

Lily’s hand squeezed your knee, her touch grounding you. “No one expects that from you,” she said gently. “Not really.”

“They do,” you insisted, lifting your head to meet her gaze. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t care. “Even if they don’t say it outright, they mean it. And I’m just supposed to go along with it because it’s what they want.”

“Do you want to date Harry?” Lily asked, her voice careful, measured.

You shook your head vehemently, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “No. I don’t. I’ve never wanted that. I don’t… I’m not even attracted to men.”

The confession hung heavy in the air, the weight of it both terrifying and freeing. Lily’s eyes widened briefly, but she quickly masked her surprise with a soft, understanding smile.

“That’s what’s been eating at you,” she said quietly, more to herself than to you. “You’ve been carrying this alone.”

You nodded, your throat tight. “I just… I didn’t know how to say it. And I didn’t think anyone would take me seriously.”

“I take you seriously,” Lily said firmly, her hand never leaving yours. “And I’m so proud of you for telling me.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door creaked open, and you looked up to see James, Sirius, and Remus standing there, their expressions a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

Lily turned her head toward them, her gaze sharp. “Don’t you dare say a word.”

“We weren’t eavesdropping,” James said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “We just… heard voices.”

You flushed, your chest tightening as their presence threatened to overwhelm you. But Lily’s hand squeezed your knee again, her steady presence grounding you.

“It’s alright,” She murmured, her voice low. “If you’re ready.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering between the three men. James looked as though he was holding his breath, Sirius’s expression was unreadable, and Remus’s eyes were filled with quiet understanding.

Finally, you exhaled, your shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’m not in love with Harry,” you said, your voice steadier now. “And I’m not interested in men. At all. And I- hate that you guys assume. Assume I-” Your voice cracked and there was a long moment of silence.

Sirius moved first, his usual bravado stripped away as he slowly approached you. His grey eyes were soft, filled with something that looked painfully close to regret. He crouched down beside your chair, resting one hand on the table and the other gently on your arm.

"Kid," he started, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to... I didn’t realize we were pushing you like this."

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. Sirius squeezed your arm lightly, his expression heartbreakingly tender.

"You’re my little girl," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "The last thing I’d ever want is to make you feel like you’re anything less than exactly who you’re supposed to be. And if we made you feel that way... I’ll never forgive myself."

That did it. The tears you’d been holding back slipped free, and you let out a shaky breath. Sirius reached up to gently wipe one away, his touch careful and loving. "You don’t owe anyone an explanation. You don’t have to be what anyone expects, not even us."

Behind him, Remus was watching with a guarded expression, his gaze flickering between you and James. The latter stood frozen in the doorway, his face pale and his hands trembling at his sides. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

"I..." James started, his voice cracking slightly. He swallowed hard, his hazel eyes glistening as he took a shaky step forward. "I didn’t know. I didn’t- Merlin, I’m so sorry."

You looked up at him, your tears blurring his figure. His voice broke again as he continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I thought we were just joking around, just... having a laugh. I didn’t realize we were hurting you. I would never-" He cut himself off, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "I never wanted you hurting."

Sirius’s hand remained steady on your arm as he glanced back at James, his expression unreadable. But the slight twitch of his jaw and the flicker of his gaze told you he was holding back words of his own.

Remus finally stepped in, his calm, measured tone breaking the tension. "It’s not about what any of us wanted," he said softly, addressing James but keeping his focus on you. "It’s about what she needed- and didn’t get- from the people who were supposed to protect her."

James visibly flinched, his shoulders slumping as he looked at you again. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "For every stupid joke, for every time I didn’t think- just, all of it. I’m so, so sorry."

For the first time in weeks, you felt the weight in your chest lighten, just a little. You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just want to be seen for who I am. Not... not who you all want me to be."

James nodded, his eyes glassy but determined. "You’re right. And from now on, we’ll do better. I’ll do better."

Sirius tightened his grip on your arm briefly before letting go, his hand coming up to cup your face. "We’ll figure this out, pup. You’ve got us. Always."

"And for what it’s worth," Remus added, his soft smile offering a flicker of comfort, "we’re proud of you. For being honest, even when it’s hard."

Before silence could over take the room; Harry entered the kitchen with his usual messy hair and an expression of mild concern, but the moment he saw your tear-streaked face, his demeanor changed entirely. His eyes darted between you, Sirius, and James, his body tensing like he was ready to jump to your defense.

“What’s going on?” He asked, his voice sharp with alarm. He pointed an accusatory finger at James. “Dad, what did you say? Did you-”

“Harry,” You interrupted quickly, your voice wavering but firm. You stood from your chair and took a step toward him, guilt tugging at your chest. “It’s not him. It’s not anyone’s fault. I just… I should’ve talked to you sooner.”

Harry blinked, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. “Talked to me about what? Are you okay?”

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “I’ve been ignoring you, and that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry, Harry.”

He shook his head, his concern not easing. “Don’t worry about that. I just want to know what’s wrong.”

The words caught in your throat for a moment, but then you found the courage to say them. “I like girls.”

Harry stared at you for a second, his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he said slowly, his tone filled with cautious confusion, “Me too.”

For a brief, horrifying moment, you thought you’d miscalculated everything. But then he raised an eyebrow, smirking as he added, “You kinda snogged my girlfriend, though.”

You blinked, startled by the unexpected quip. Then the absurdity of it hit you, and a laugh bubbled out of your chest, light and free. Harry grinned at your reaction, pulling you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you like a protective barrier, and for the first time in weeks, you had your best friend back.

“I was so worried,” He mumbled into your shoulder, his voice softer now. “You’ve been so distant, and I didn’t know what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything,” You assured him, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s just been… a lot. But I’m okay now. Or I will be.”

Harry pulled back just enough to look at you, his green eyes searching yours. “You could’ve told me, I’m always on your side, you know that, right?”

You nodded, tears pricking your eyes again, but this time they were accompanied by a warm smile. “I know. Thanks, Harry.”

He ruffled your hair affectionately, his grin mischievous now. “And, for the record, you owe me for Ginny. That was cheeky.”

“I’ll buy her flowers,” Your smirked with a chuckle, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

“I said you owe me. Stop trying to take her from me.” He chuckled, shoving you softly.

The room, once so heavy with tension, now felt warm again. Sirius, James, and Remus watched from the sidelines, their expressions a mixture of relief and quiet pride. Harry kept his arm around your shoulders as he turned to his dad and the others.

“Well,” he said brightly, “looks like we’re all good here. Is the kitchen open again? I feel like I'm owed desert- you made my cousin cry.”

The group erupted into laughter, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could laugh with them- truly laugh, without the weight of expectation holding you down.

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