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g1rld1ary · 24 days ago

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pushing it down and praying - ex! james potter x fem!reader

part 2 to let things go wc: 5935 cw: angst with some comfort, lots of crying, swearing, blood and cuts, toxic partners, kind of misogynistic speech? sex but not in graphic detail, pls lmk if i miss any me: has taken me a hot minute but part 2 is finally here! it ended up being so much longer than i expected so i assume there will probably be a part 3 at some point bc theres so much to explore with this dynamic

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Lily’s apartment was cozy but refined, absolutely perfect for her. You could see furniture and decorations you recognised from when she first got her place with Mary, but it was clear she’d grown up, and the flat had matured with her. Your heart clenched as you realised you’d missed it all.

Thankfully, Lily hadn’t commented on your absence, hadn’t made any snide remarks that you were crawling back because you had nowhere else to go. She just held you in a long embrace the second you walked through her door, rubbing your back softly as you began to cry again.

Remus was standing behind her, a pitiful frown on his face.

“Long time no see, love.” He pulled you towards him, his knitted sweater warm and soft against you.

“I’ve missed you,” You mumbled against his chest, holding him tighter until you were almost sure you weren’t going to bawl anymore.

Remus and Lily fussed around you until you were wrapped in a thick duvet, sitting on Lily’s couch with a steaming mug of tea.

You were glad you’d let everything out over the phone; it negated the necessity to explain it under their pitiful, sympathetic gazes. Instead, you let them both fill you in on their lives.

It seemed like everything had changed, yet was still exactly the same. The friendship group had stayed, but jobs, partners, and living arrangements had shifted and altered in the time you’d been away. You hung onto their every word, filling in the gaps that had slowly appeared over the years.

Then Lily asked you to return the favour. You hesitated, unsure of where to start. You started on something safe: your career. Objective achievements, a linear progression between positions and responsibilities. You told them about the hobbies you’d picked up and those which you’d long abandoned. Finally, you told them about your flat.

You described the shitty heating that only worked once every four or five days, meaning you had blankets ready on every surface just in case. You told them about the single square metre kitchen (only a slight exaggeration) where you had to contort yourself to open any of the cupboards, but how you turned it into a game and had even started to love it. You told them about your bedroom and the sanctuary it had become, with eccentric lamps you’d found antiquing and the same cozy bedspread you’d had since adolescence.

Speaking about your bed brought you back to thoughts of Adam, though, and you could feel your spirit sink again at the idea of him moving in. Remus and Lily exchanged concerned looks, unsure of how to broach the subject.

“So, Adam’s moving in?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Can I ask something that might be uncomfortable?” Lily continued at your nod, “You and Adam have been together for, what, a couple years now, and he still hasn’t moved in? What’s your hesitation?”

You looked around at both your friends for a long moment, feeling bile rise in the back of your throat. It was bitter and burned inside your mouth, echoing how you’d been feeling all day.

“I don’t know,” You croaked, staring daggers through your tea mug, “I mean I love him! I think. But, I just… I don’t know if I want to wake up next to him forever, you know? If he moves in, it feels like that’s it. It’s permanent.”

Lily looked at you in a way that was very familiar, eyebrows knitted together in pity. You kept your eyes anywhere but hers, carefully examining some of the framed photos on the wall.

“You know it’s okay to not want what someone tells you you’re supposed to, right?” Remus said, pulling a blanket over himself on a plush armchair. You nodded, duh, but really hearing it, you bit your lip.

“It’s just, like, it’s been years, right? He’s been asking to move in since before we hit a year, and it just feels like if we don’t do it now, then he’ll break up with me. And I don’t want that! I don’t think, or — or, I didn’t, but now things are extra weird and… Ugh.” You didn’t mean to ramble or reveal so much, but you were sure it wasn’t such a surprise after the previous events of the night, and the way that Remus and Lily had known you for a million years and were intimately familiar with your tells. Evidently, you hadn’t changed that much with Adam.

“Lovely, you can’t be making huge lifestyle changes just to hope that someone doesn’t break up with you. If Adam is really the one for you, he shouldn’t mind if you tell him you’re not ready for it yet.”

“Besides,” Lily added, “We’re all still young. It’s okay to just want to experience living alone in your twenties. There’s no timeline that you have to do anything.”

“Okay,” You nodded shakily, “I’ll tell him tomorrow that I’m not ready for him to move in, but that I want us to stay together. Maybe we can reevaluate or something in a few months?” You missed the look that Remus and Lily exchanged — not ideal, but it’s a start.

“That sounds good, honey.” Lily smiled, asking if you wanted any of the ice cream she had left in the freezer.

Ten minutes later, you were all chowing down on chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, giggling over much lighter subjects.

“Is Sirius still working on that bike?” You asked, remembering the broken-down motorcycle he’d bought for almost nothing right when you graduated. He’d still been trying to repair it the last time you saw him.

“It’s working now, he’s even managed to get it flying,” Lily replied with a smile.

“God help us all,” Remus interjected, shaking his head, which made you giggle.

“You’ll have to come round and see it sometime, it’s actually quite a good-looking bike. ‘Course we’re all scared half to death whenever he rides it, but you know Sirius can’t be dissuaded.”

You asked a few other questions — had Marlene made much progress with the electric guitar? Was Peter still the best in the group at chess? Then, quietly, nervously, you asked, “How’s James?”

They both paused before answering, clearly choosing words carefully.

“He’s good,” Remus said, “Still playing quidditch, of course, but he’s beginning to think of life outside of playing and branching out to other projects. Have you seen any games?”

You shook your head. “Not since… it ended. And Adam doesn’t know I’m a witch, so it’s just easier to tune out of it all.”

“Still?” Lily asked, disbelief clear in her raised eyebrows, “They’re at the top of the ladder this season anyway, maybe you can come over and watch a match one time if you’re not up to attending in person — they’ve finally caught up with muggle television.” Remus brought over one of the framed photos sitting beside the television as Lily spoke, clearly a recent one. James looked good, like always.

“Outside of work?” You poked, trying to talk around your point. Remus just raised an eyebrow. He always was too smart for his own good.

“He’s had a few short-term girlfriends, but nothing more than a few months. I think he’s looking to settle down, though.”

“He always wanted a family.” You nodded.

“As do you,” Lily said, though it sounded more like a challenge. You choked on your ice cream at the implication, shaking your head.

“I’m with Adam,” You confirmed, partly for yourself.

“Never said you weren’t” She held her hands up in surrender, “Just something to think about.”

The next night, you invited Adam over for a home-cooked dinner. An apology of sorts for the night before, and a softener for what was to come.

You sat across from him, pushing your pasta around the bowl as you tried to broach the subject. Adam was focused on his food, attacking the bowl like he had something to prove.

“So, um, I have to tell you something,” You said, fork scraping against the porcelain bowl.

“What?” More of a statement than a question, but you proceeded anyway.

“I don’t think we should move in together.” Adam’s head snapped up to face you, already clouding over with anger. “But I don’t think we should break up! Not at all, I want to be with you, I do. Just… I’m only getting started in my life, and I think I need to have this time where I’m figuring so much out to be okay with being alone and self-sufficient.”

“And you can’t figure that shit out with me in the flat?” He asked, unimpressed.

“It’s not about you, Adam,” You sighed, running a hand through your hair, “That’s the whole point. It’s about me. I want to be a fully formed woman, I need to know who I am in my soul before I attach my identity to yours!”

“I don’t get it, isn’t that the fucking point? This is a serious, grown-up relationship, is it not? What are you waiting for? Do you not love me, is that it?” It wasn’t like Adam was yelling or flipping tables or anything, but tears welled at your lash line, threatening to bubble over and down your cheeks.

“Can we just take a minute?” You begged, hands splayed out on the table like they were keeping you upright. “I don’t want this to be a fight.” Adam huffed but nodded, and you went to go sit in your bedroom while he took the couch as you both cooled off — well, Adam cooled off and you cried.

Your bedroom was still a mess from your attempts at cleaning out yesterday, but you sidestepped the piles of junk in order to throw yourself across your mattress, sobbing into the pillow as you clutched it tight between your arms.

It went exactly how you thought it would — Adam taking it overly personal and blowing up. He just didn’t get it. He’d already done all his figuring out by the time he’d even met you; he was almost thirty! Adam had his whole life planned out, and you were dragging him behind.

In your devastation, to your entire shame and disgrace, you began to think about James. What would your life be like now if you hadn’t broken up? Would you have moved in together by now? Or would you be resisting it like you were now? A memory struck you, one that had you crying harder.

You lay on James’ naked chest, hand softly playing with his curls. You’d both just lost your virginities and were basking in the post-sex haze in his bedroom over the summer holidays, shrouded in white sheets, orange sun rays filtering through the window.

“How long do you think we’ll be together for?” You asked, voice small, though you didn’t pull away from him. It was an insecure question, you knew, but it had been a vulnerable day.

“As long as you’ll have me,” James answered without hesitation, hand drawing gentle circles in the small of your back. You smiled, so big James could feel it against his skin.

“Will we get married?” You followed up, tracing his jawline featherlight.

“Somewhere gorgeous,” He replied, “In a garden with those flowers you like, the purple ones.”

“Sirius will be your best man, and Lily will be my maid of honour, and your mum will cry buckets.” You were both giggling, giddy in the way only teenagers in love can be.

“Will we have children?” He asked, pulling you so you were directly on top of him, the two of you nose to nose.

“Yes,” You paused to think, “Two or three maybe. One boy and two girls.”

“Sounds good to me, lovely. Can’t wait for forever.”

You were smiling through the tears, the nostalgic joy of the memory flooding through you. A knock at the door had the warmth seeping out of you, pulling you back to the moment you were living in. You made an affirmative noise, and Adam cracked the door open, looking a little like a kicked dog.

“I don’t want to fight, babe. I won’t move in yet.”

You managed a weak smile, nodding as you blinked a few times until your eyes were dry.

Adam sat next to you, the mattress dipping under him. He put an arm around you, your muscles tensing under his touch.

“It’s okay, babe. I get that you need time to grow up or whatever, but we love each other, so it’s fine. I can still stay over, right?”

“Yeah,” You hesitated, “Yeah, of course.”

“Good,” He said, leaning over to kiss you, “Because I couldn’t live without you.”

You let Adam kiss you, malleable under his direction. He pushed you back onto the mattress, and you let him slide your red woollen sweater over your head, kissing down your neck and collarbone.

Soon you were naked, lying still underneath Adam as he slid in and out of you, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. I love him, you told yourself, I love him. And so you kissed him, craning your neck to reach him, hoping he couldn’t see written on your face what was creeping into your heart.

You closed your eyes, a big mistake. In your head, instead of Adam fucking you it was James, his doe eyes boring into your own. Fuck, you wanted to feel guilty. You knew it was wrong, Adam was your boyfriend. Not James. James hadn’t been your boyfriend for years.

And yet, you didn’t feel guilty that you were fantasising about your ex whilst you were actively having sex with your current boyfriend. In fact, you’d just started feeling good. Your back arched up into Adam’s chest as you moaned, “Fuck, touch me.” You fell just short of crying James’ name, thank god.

Adam finished, collapsing on top of you and wrapping his arms around your middle.

“Love you,” He mumbled, holding you tighter.

“Yeah,” You whispered, rolling onto your side, “You too.”

You were still awake an hour later, staring at the wall, bathed in silver light from the moon outside the window. On your nightstand stood two framed photos, one of you and Adam early in your relationship, his arms around you as you both stood in a nightclub, wide smiles on both your faces. The second was of your Hogwarts friends when you were much younger, at Remus’s sixteenth birthday party.

You were all squished around the armchair that Remus sat in, a crooked birthday crown sitting on his hair. You were next to James but your arms rested on Remus’ shoulders so it wasn’t obvious that you guys were a couple at that time — but you knew his hand was resting on your arse behind the back of the seat. If Adam was privy to that knowledge, then you knew the photo would have been thrown away years ago.

You couldn’t help staring at James. He looked the same as he did when you broke up, bright grin and mischief in his eyes. His glasses were crooked across his nose, you remember reaching up to adjust them after the picture was taken. You missed him; you couldn’t deny that to yourself. But it wasn’t romantic, you reasoned, just nostalgia spurred on by the past few days. You only pictured him instead of Adam because it was an experience you were used to, no other reason. You repeated that mantra until you fell into an unsatisfying sleep.

A few weeks passed, and you were making a conceited effort to stay in touch with your old friends. At first, it was just Lily and Remus, confident in knowing that they still liked you. But eventually, you reached out to the rest of the girls too, pushing through an awkward coffee date to reestablish your previous connection. You hadn’t reached out to Sirius yet, and you knew you’d never contact James, but you were content that you were taking steps to bring back the old part of your life.

“I’m off,” You said one evening, pulling on your coat, “Headed to the pub with Lily and some of the girls.”

“Since when are you hanging out with them?” Adam asked, looking up from the football match he was watching on your couch.

“Just recently,” You answered blithely, “I realised I hadn’t seen them in forever! Crazy.” You purposefully left out any suggestion that it was Adam’s doing; it would just cause another fight.

“I thought you didn’t like them anymore? Remember you said they were too immature?”

“I didn’t—” You cut yourself off, shrinking in shame when you recalled the moments the words left your mouth, trying desperately to seem cool in front of Adam’s older friends. “Well, um, you know. It’s been a couple years, maybe they’ve changed.” You slipped out the door before Adam could say anything else about it.

Later that night, or earlier the next morning, you stumbled in, blissful from a night of laughter and dancing with your friends, just like when you were younger. You didn’t expect to see Adam still up, a sitcom rerun playing, but he clearly wasn’t watching.

“Where’ve you been?” He asked, standing.

“I told you, out with the girls.”

“Til two in the morning?” He took a step towards you, and you headed towards your bedroom.

“We went dancing.”

“Great, so you were probably grinding on some other fuckin’ guy,” He huffed, and you hurried over to him, a soft hand on his bicep.

“I would never! Adam, you’re my boyfriend.”

“Prove that you love me.”

You were beginning to have a problem. Lying naked in bed, Adam inside you, yet you couldn’t enjoy it unless you were picturing James instead. You had to imagine it was James’ lightly calloused fingers running up and down your sides to derive any pleasure from it.

And still, you couldn’t feel guilty, because when you closed your eyes and James’ kind smile replaced Adam’s, your insides finally ignited, giving you a release you’d been waiting for. The same which convinced Adam you hadn’t cheated on him. Funny how that works.

Things were shaky, but mostly alright, for a few more weeks. You saw your friends when you could, but tried not to bring it up very much in front of Adam. He got moodier every time you mentioned them. Snide comments, subtle insults, you had no idea why he hated them so much.

It all came to a head a few weeks later.

“I’m off to lunch, you can stay here if you’d like,” You said, applying your mascara in the hallway mirror.

“And I wonder who you’re going out with.” He rolled his eyes with a huff.

“It’s Remus’ birthday,” You pleaded, “I have to go.”

“But Remus hates me, how could you be friends with someone who hates your boyfriend?”

“He doesn’t hate you.” He does. “Besides, it’s his birthday, and it’s just lunch. I can’t miss it.”

“Fine, whatever. I just can’t believe you’re choosing them over me.” Adam turned back to the television, your shoulders slumping as you sighed, hand making its way up to your forehead.

“I’m not choosing either of you — whatever, I’ll be back in a few hours. Let yourself out.”

At your lunch, you recounted the story to your friends with a casual air, scolding Remus when he interjected with a deadpan “I do hate him.”

“He’s really not that bad, Remus. He’s just not maybe your kind of guy.”

“He’s no one’s type of guy,” Marlene snorted, “He’s barely a man. Six years older than you and acting like a child.”

“Come on, guys,” You sighed with a small smile, “We’re here for Remus, not to rag on my boyfriend.”

The conversation moved on to lighter subjects, but you couldn’t help the sinking feeling that maybe your friends had a point. It wasn’t like they would lie to you, right? Surely if all of them thought Adam wasn’t right for you, there was some truth to the statement.

You figured it was an issue you’d deliberate over when you were home alone, not when you were in the company of friends.

Even Sirius was there, giving you a long embrace when you reunited, though the energy between you wasn’t as effortless as it had been in the past — you couldn’t blame him. You were told James couldn’t make it because of quidditch training, but Remus said he saw James enough that it didn’t really matter whether or not he was there for the official celebration.

You stumbled along the path with Mary, who lived nearby, giggling as you’d perhaps gone overboard at bottomless lunch. You were unaware of Adam still in the apartment, watching you with contempt from your front window, three stories up.

“See me soon, okay?” Mary made you pinky promise, kissing you on both cheeks.

“Of course, we’ll go see that movie you were talking about — the one about the cowboys.” You nodded eagerly, squeezing her hand as you turned towards your door.

You fumbled with the keys, missing the slot two or three times before pushing into your flat. To your surprise, instead of the tranquil apartment you were expecting, Adam was standing in the middle of your open plan area, clutching something tightly in his hand.

“Hey,” You said lightly, stepping closer. You could finally make out James’ postcard wrinkling under Adam’s grip, and your face fell. Looking over, your room was in disarray, your memory boxes strewn across the floor.

“What the fuck is this?” He held up the postcard, practically vibrating in his fury.

“Adam…”

“No, what the fuck is this? How can you possibly defend having all this just sitting in your bedroom?”

“Adam, it’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think? You’ve got boxes full of shit from your ex-boyfriend, how can there be any other explanation?”

“It’s stuff from my friends too, it’s just from my school years!” You tried to defend yourself.

“Don’t lie to me!” Adam yelled, and you faltered, shrinking away from him. “You’re still fucking in love with him, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” You protested, tears welling in your eyes.

“You know, my friends all told me you weren’t worth it. That you were immature and hung up on that dick, that I was dating below my league. But I defended you, said you were mature for your age, that you were cool. And this is how you fucking thank me? By emotionally cheating on me with your fucking teenage boyfriend? You’re just a pathetic girl.”

You could only watch, paralysed, as Adam ripped up the postcard, tossing it to the floor. A fat tear rolled down your cheek.

“Adam, please, can we just talk about this, it’s not like that!”

“Talk about what? That I’ve given you years of love just for you to run back to some washed up high school jock you dated when you were sixteen?”

“I haven’t seen James in years!” You yelled over him desperately, sobs wracking through your body.

“If you’re going to act like a child, I’ll treat you like a child. I’m fucking done.” Adam stormed past you, pausing only to throw your framed graduation photo on the floor, the glass of the frame shattering into a thousand pieces at your feet.

The door closed with a violent slam, and you sank to the floor, hardly noticing the shards of glass tearing up the skin of your knees. You clutched the remnants of the photo, too distraught to care about the blood dripping from your hands as you grasped the ruined frame hopelessly.

You cried for what felt like hours, alone in your dark apartment, unable to gather the energy to even switch on a lamp. It was only when you had no tears left to cry that you pushed yourself up onto shaky legs, stumbling out of your flat in a daze.

You wandered down the streets, limping from where a particularly deep cut had sliced into the join of your knee. You weren’t bothered by the disturbed stares of passersby, too emotionally drained to even be self-conscious.

You didn’t stop until you were standing at Lily’s doorstep, weak hand extending to the doorbell.

Inside, the gang had continued Remus’ birthday celebrations, everyone giggling over wine and a Bowie record. When the doorbell rang, clear and piercing even through the joyous noise, no one expected the visitor waiting to be let in.

Of course, it was Lily who opened the door, gasping in horror as she took you in, grabbing the attention of the rest of the party.

You stood in the doorway, mascara running down your cheeks, your hair a mess. You were still wearing the mini skirt and blouse you’d worn to lunch, but your bare shins were covered in blood, matching your hands, from where you’d been cut up by glass shards.

Lily ushered you in, and you followed her numbly down the entrance way toward your friends.

“Hey,” You croaked, voice rough from harsh sobs.

They all spoke at once, questions of what happened and whether you were okay, exclamations of horror at your sorry state.

“Did he do this to you?” Sirius asked, and no one had to clarify who ‘he’ was.

“No,” You shook your head, “Not directly.”

“We need to get you cleaned up,” Lily said, comforting hand warm on your back. For the first time, though, you’d noticed James.

He looked the same, yet entirely different. The years had changed him for the better. James had grown into his features, strong jawline just dusted with a five o’clock shadow. His curls had grown out slightly, sitting just below his ears, but his glasses were still crooked on his face, just as you remembered them always being.

Right now, though, his face was far from the sunny, mischievous expression you were used to seeing. As you locked eyes for the first time in years, conflict was clear on James’ face. You were sure yours was exactly the same.

“Uh, come on.” Lily pulled you gently, leading you along to the bathroom. By the time you arrived, you were crying again.

Lily didn’t question you as she sat you on the closed toilet lid, letting you silently cry as she wet an old rag. There was a knock at the bathroom door, just two quick ones which echoed against the tiles. Lily cracked the door open, a slight gasp escaping her as she came face to face with James.

“What are you doing?” She asked softly, a hand reaching out to comfort him. There was no reason he should be coming after you.

“I’m the only one here with any first aid training,” He replied, studiously avoiding you, “Glass is trickier than a plan cut.”

“Oh, ok,” Lily nodded, “Do you want me to stay?” She whispered, and you pretended you couldn’t hear despite the three of you all occupying the same square metre. James shook his head, and they swapped places, Lily giving him a long look before leaving you two alone.

James didn’t say anything at first, simply taking the rag that Lily had left in the sink, wringing it out so it wasn’t dripping, before making his way over to you. You didn’t make eye contact.

“I’ll just clean off the dried blood first, shouldn’t hurt too bad.” James’ voice was more gruff than you remembered, but maybe that was because he was with you. You didn’t say anything, but gave him a small nod.

James started with your knees, pressing the rag lower on your shins where the blood had run to. That part didn’t hurt, so you sat in silence, the only reprieve coming from the music floating softly from the living room. The bathroom door was only open a crack, closing by itself in the movement before.

“What are you holding?” He broke the silence. You looked down, snapping out of a daze. You didn’t have the words to describe the picture without absolutely sounding weird or talking yourself into a hole, so you just held it out for him to inspect.

James took it from you, careful not to cut himself on the sharp edges. You watched in real time as his eyes softened, the beginnings of a smile twitching at his lips as he examined it.

“From graduation?” He asked. You nodded, your own smile threatening your lips.

“It made me happy every time I looked at it; I had to keep it.”

You locked eyes, and for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed, that you were both freshly out of school and in love. Then, in an instant, you were both back in the present moment. You both averted your eyes quickly, examining your injuries.

“Um, this part’ll hurt. I would do it with magic, but honestly, the glass kinda stresses me out, I’d rather just do it by hand.”

James dug around in Lily’s bathroom cabinet until he found a pair of tweezers, and you winced before he’d even approached with them.

It took fifteen minutes for James to fish all the shards out of your knee, the only sound being your whimpers and James’ quiet apologies.

“You ready for the hand, or do you wanna take a break?” He asked softly, still not looking at you.

“No, do it. I just want this whole nightmare to be over.”

You whimpered as the tweezers fished around in your cut, screwing your eyes shut tight as you tried to stay still.

“It’s almost over, love, you’re alright,” James said, before visibly remembering where he was and becoming serious once again, “Uh, I’ll be quick.” You didn’t say anything, too focused on trying not to jerk away from James’ intrusions.

James pulled out a bandage and some rubbing alcohol, preparing to treat the wounds. You hissed as James cleaned the wound, the alcohol burning inside the raw flesh. He put a hand on your thigh to comfort you out of past habit, thumb caressing the skin gently.

He wrapped your hand up in the bandage, touch soft though you still weren’t talking.

At long last, you were finished, yet James didn’t move from in front of you. You stared at each other, years of unsaid feelings coming to the surface.

“Did he hurt you?” James asked, tone low and dangerously controlled.

“He didn’t do this.” You looked down at your bandaged hand and knees.

James just nodded curtly, clearly satisfied that he didn’t have to go kill a man. He stood, holding the door open politely so you could rejoin the others.

You took a seat next to Remus on the sofa, smiling weakly when he put a comforting hand on your thigh.

“Do you wanna tell us what happened, honey?” Mary asked sweetly, bringing you a tea from the kitchen.

“I don’t know, it seems so stupid now…” You recounted the afternoon anyway, tears burning behind your eyes. Your friends all looked to be in various states of shock and horror as you told them what Adam said to you.

“You’re acting like a child? Be fucking for real,” Remus snapped to no one in particular.

“So what now?” Marlene asked.

“Well, ‘I’m fucking done’ was quite clear. We’re broken up.” You didn’t look at James, too afraid of his reaction.

There was a moment of silence in the room before your friends erupted in thunderous applause, hooting and hollering as Lily fetched a bottle of champagne from the kitchen. James didn’t partake in the external celebrations; in fact, you couldn’t read his face at all.

Still, when a bubbling glass was handed to you with an accompanying congratulations, you couldn’t help but smile through your upset.

“Our girl is free!” Sirius sang, draping himself across Remus to cheers your glass, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek.

“Shove off,” You laughed despite yourself, “I’ve just been dumped, you dick.”

“Yeah, by a man who we’ve been hoping you would see the light and break up with for years!” Mary cackled, and you giggled, the bubbles already floating up to your head through your bloodstream.

“Where do you go from here, practically?” Lily asked kindly, always the one to be thinking pragmatically.

“Well, thank god he didn’t move in, so I don’t have to deal with any lease stuff. Honestly, the only thing I lose is his friends, but they never liked me anyway. They thought I was immature, or too much or whatever.”

“So literally no loss,” Remus said casually, “You’re better off, even. Though we could have told you that after the first date.”

“Hindsight’s 20/20, right?” You said weakly, revelling at least in your friend’s laughter. “Lils, would it be possible for me to stay here tonight? There’s still a bunch of Adam’s stuff in my flat that I couldn’t bear to look at tonight.” Lily agreed in a heartbeat, of course.

The night wore down, and your friends all eventually set off for their own homes. You were mostly left with congratulations and celebratory hugs, but you stood in front of James as he set off for the door, tension thickening before your eyes.

“Thank you for helping me,” You said earnestly.

“It’s no problem, wouldn’t want you to have to deal with a messy breakup and glass embedding in your body,” He tentatively joked, the new dynamic between you entirely unexplored.

“It was really nice to see you, James.”

“Yeah,” He hesitated, “Yeah, you too. You deserve so much more than that jerk ever gave you.”

With that, he walked off, leaving you stunned and conflicted in the middle of Lily’s living room.

Half an hour later, you were lying beside Lily in her double bed, the moment feeling perfectly like you were having your childhood sleepovers again.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” You whispered, squeezing Lily’s hand under the covers.

“Anytime, you know that.”

“Thanks for letting me come back.” You both paused, the weight of what you’d let happen over the years sinking in. You’d missed so much. Nobody was the same as they were, including you.

“This is your chance, my love. Figure out who you are. Not who he wants you to be.”

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g1rld1ary · 12 days ago

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mister carter - james potter x lily evans x fem!reader

wc: 4743 summary: in your first week at your summer internship for a top law firm in london, you meet james and lily potter; partner at the firm (your boss) and his fashion-empire wife. despite the age gap and power structures, they both take a special interest in you warnings: pervy boss, inappropriate work relationships & hr nightmares, age gap, objectifying and boss-employee flirting, all consensual, i don't think this part is necessarily 18+ but the next parts definitely are me: inspired by the song mr carter/milktown by nep! this is part 1 of what i believe will be a 4 part series, and it only gets nastier from here, so be warned lol

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It was a shitty day. Your first at your new corporate job and it really wasn’t going the way you wanted it to. You’d already torn a ladder in your stockings when it caught on your painted fingers and had been running on the highest anxiety levels since the moment you stepped into the high-rise glass building.

Plus, you hadn’t had a moment to breathe until your lunch break, where you were directed to the third floor of the skyscraper to a collection of fast food chains and coffee shops surrounding a mass of chairs and tables. It almost felt like a school cafeteria, but most of the employees were making six figures instead of cramming for a physics final.

You stood in line to order, shifting from foot to foot to take the weight off your aching toes in heels that only kind of fit. The job offer had come around so suddenly that you’d had to take the first pair of reasonably office-appropriate heels from the thrift store. You deeply regretted it when the heel started digging into your skin, surely leaving blisters for you to deal with at 5:30 pm in the shoebox flat you shared with an almost unknown roommate.

James Potter had wandered into the food court with Remus, complaining idly about his subordinate employees when he first saw you. He’d stuttered his usually smooth conversation, drawing Remus’s attention, his gold-flecked eyes scanning over to you.

“Does she work with us?” James asked, taking in the sight of you appreciatively. You were the vision of an office seductress, tight pencil skirt outlining the curve of your hips and tight white button-up open just one too many buttons, giving a pervy boss like James ample opportunity to appreciate your cleavage. Could you complain to HR just from the lascivious looks he was giving you? Maybe, but James wasn’t too worried; he always got what he wanted.

“Dunno, s’pose so. Must be an intern or something; new.”

“She’s a sight for sore eyes.” James couldn’t help his eyes locked on your body, admiring the shine of your hair in its professional up-do. You were clearly trying hard to make a good impression.

“You’re married, remember?” Remus led them both down to a table. Remus’s hypothesis about you being new was clearly correct, your eyes frenetically scanned the room, foot tapping erratically as you clearly analysed where the safest place to sit was.

“Lils wouldn’t mind. She’d find her just as charming.” Remus just rolled his eyes, digging into his food. They’d been friends so long that pretty much nothing James could say, no matter how freaky, could truly weird him out.

Remus had ducked out of lunch early, citing some papers he had to finish reviewing. James let him go, enjoying his hour behind the guise of a novel, eyes flitting towards you between every paragraph.

Just as the elevator doors were closing James in to return to work, you called out, begging him to hold it for you. He obliged, almost disbelieving how easy it was to get an encounter with you.

“Thank you so much,” You heaved a sigh of relief, regaining balance on your wobbly heel, “Can’t be late.” James noticed your smile, perfect in the way it conveyed both your gratitude and hints of sarcasm.

“No problem, sweetheart. First day?” You nodded eagerly, readjusting the papers and water bottle in your hands, seemingly not noticing the highly unprofessional pet name.

“Wanna make a good impression with everyone. Hopefully, I can get a real job here after my internship ends.” So Remus was right. James smiled.

“Well, a pretty little thing like you stands every chance, just work hard and you’ll be fine. How old are you?” You seemed to preen under his compliments, which made him smile; you were just too good to be true.

“Twenty-four. It’s my last summer after law school, so landing a permanent place here would be an absolute dream,” You gushed, and James almost laughed at your innocence. He was just over a decade your senior, which not only made him feel positively ancient but also a little tighter in his trousers as you chirped happily at him, innocently open to his conversation.

“Well, good luck, gorgeous. I’m sure I’ll see you around. Find me if you ever need help around here.” Your eyes dropped to the floor under his praise, growing bashful at the older man’s sweet attention.

“Thank you so much, Mister…”

“Potter,” He answered as the lift arrived at his floor, flashing you a brilliant smile as he left. He chuckled when he saw your mouth drop open, evidently recognising his name. James Potter was the youngest person ever made a partner in the firm, and he’d just initiated a connection with you.

And while you were freaking out alone in the lift that he had not only made conversation but complimented you twice, James was making long strides towards his office, texting his wife in a hurry.

Come for a lunch date tomorrow, there’s someone you’ll be dying to meet ;) xx

On your second day of work, things were going slightly better. Knowing what to expect helped hugely, and you’d even started to chat with the people around you. Regulus, a trainee a few years older than you, had introduced himself and given you a few pieces of advice. You’d left the conversation with an invitation to lunch that had you beaming down at your readings.

When lunch came, you were happily chatting to Regulus as he recommended a few different places to try in the food court, leaving you to make your own choice. You stocked up on a coffee and a wrap, once again anxiously observing the tables to find your new friend.

From the middle of the food court, James and Lily Potter were having a seemingly innocuous lunch date, both waiting for your unwitting arrival. They made mundane conversation as Lily impatiently awaited the girl James had come home raving about. Finally, James spotted you, just having spotted Regulus and beginning to make your way over to him and his friends.

“That’s her, babe!” He subtly pointed to you, and Lily gasped, eyes gleaming as she turned back to her husband.

“She’s perfect. I want to talk to her,” Lily replied, pushing herself out of her seat before James could even question her decision. Lily was always one to act, more direct than her analytical husband. He watched her strut across the room, hips swaying hypnotically. She approached you without making eye contact, appearing busy on her phone, bumping into you at the last second.

In an effort to save your fresh hot coffee, you sacrificed your handbag, letting the contents clatter across the ground haphazardly. It was mostly worth it, and you escaped largely unscathed, with the exception of a few drops on your collar and a couple of burning splotches on the top of your chest. You exclaimed in pain, and Lily was quick to apologise, sweetly fretting over you and dabbing at the spills with a napkin despite the inappropriate position.

You quietly dropped to your knees, hurriedly collecting your belongings. Lily followed, picking up your keys, admiring the girly keychain, decorated with a tiny Hello Kitty figurine and a Tamagotchi. Adorable. Lily was up before you, dangling the keys in front of your face. You looked up, doe eyes innocent as you registered her for the first time. Lily thought you were the prettiest little thing she’d ever seen.

“Here you go, angel. Sorry for the bump!” She apologised and you took the keys gratefully, shaking your head fervently to rid her of guilt.

“No, it’s totally my fault, I’m so sorry. I didn’t spill any coffee on you, did I?” You looked so concerned Lily almost laughed, as taken with you as James said she’d be.

“I’m all good, darling, no harm done. Now don’t worry about me, you’re too pretty to be frowning.” The people in London were so nice. Coming from a relatively small town, you’d been warned that big cities came with rude inhabitants, but so far, everyone you’d met had been extremely nice and complimentary. Mr Potter, Regulus and now this woman. You brightened up at her comment, unconsciously striving for more of her validation.

“Alright, um, I should probably be going, I’m meeting a new friend and don’t want to make a bad impression!”

“Oh, so you are new?” Lily asked with a sly raise of her eyebrows, amused as your eyes widened, alarmed at being caught so quickly.

“How could you tell?” You replied quickly, scanning your outfit for telltale wrongdoings.

“Your corporate clothes don’t fit perfectly well, which tells me you haven’t been in the office for long. Everyone else upgrades to tailored clothes on their first few paycheques. You’re bursting with energy, so you’re probably nervous, trying to make a good impression. Plus, you’ve got the skin of a baby, you’re so young.”

“I’m twenty-four,” You replied helplessly, humiliated that you’d been so easily read. You thought you were pretty lucky to have found office-ready clothes in your size at the thrift shop, despite them not being tailored to you; they worked well enough.

“So young!” Lily agreed, though it wasn’t your intention, “Here, it mustn't be easy being all alone and in a corporate job for the first time. If you ever need some help or a female friend, just call me.” Lily pulled out a business card from her wallet, using a pen from her purse to scribble down her mobile number. You took it shyly, examining the perfect handwriting and heart next to the message.

“Oh! Um, thank you.” Lily just smiled, squeezing your arm as she left. You stood for a second in a haze, not exactly sure what had just happened, before bringing yourself back to reality and hurrying over to Regulus.

“That was weird, wasn’t it?” You asked him, pointing out the woman you’d been talking to.

“Lily Potter just gave you her number and told you to call her?” He asked incredulously, mouth agape.

“Potter?” You asked, “Lily Potter as in—"

“As in James Potter, youngest ever partner here, both of our bosses, certified hottest man in the company? Yes, those two make up the single most gorgeous couple that has ever existed.”

“That’s so funny, they both kinda said the same thing to me,” You said, only realising it as the words left your mouth. When Regulus pressed you for details, you continued, “They were both super nice and complimentary, and when I told them how old I was, they both offered their help if I ever needed it. Aren’t they nice?” Regulus’ jaw was practically on the floor.

“So our super hot boss and his gorgeous wife both offered you essentially the greatest network point to ever exist, just like that? Holy shit.” You shrugged, lost for words. It felt completely bizarre, being both utterly lost and overwhelmed at a new internship at a prestigious law firm, and somehow also catching the attention of two extremely powerful figures in your professional orbit.

You changed topics quickly after that, getting to know Regulus better, but you couldn’t help glancing back to where James and Lily sat at their table, holding hands as they spoke intently. You didn’t catch their own covert looks over in your direction.

You were starting to settle in after your first week, even believing this could be your real job after the summer. You hadn’t seen Lily since you first bumped into her, business card sitting untouched in your wallet. James had been around the office a few times, though, and you were always happy to see him. Despite the ten years he had on you, James was bubbly and funny and always down for a chat. He always waved or spared you a smile if he was passing through your floor, and if you saw him in the elevator or at lunch, James was quick to supply you with a kind compliment.

In short, you’d grown quite happy at your internship and were developing quite the schoolgirl crush on one of the most powerful men in the firm. It wasn’t like it was your fault, though. An older (crazily hot) man was paying you kind attention in an otherwise lonely city; what were you to do?

MONDAY

You were rushing down a hallway following Regulus, thumbing through the stack of papers you’d just been handed by your supervisor. Regulus was bitching about him and his strict tendencies when your eye caught on the man turning into the corridor.

James was accompanied by two other partners, no doubt discussing important cases far beyond your pay grade. He strutted in his perfectly tailored suit, strong lines accentuated as he marched. You felt your breath hitching quietly as you took him in, the very picture of classically good-looking.

To your surprise, when James caught you looking, he didn’t appear surprised or weirded out; instead, he gave you what you could only describe as an excessively smug smirk, accompanied by an appreciative once-over, lingering on your body, which had heat creeping up your neck. Finally, you received a slight but definite nod, specified to you by the unwavering eye contact. You returned it after a long moment, processing the surprise of being the recipient, offering a shy smile as thanks. That seemed to please James as he brought out his own smile, drawing the subtle attention of the other two partners. Neither said a word, but you could feel their eyes following even as you passed, long since returning to your conversation with Regulus.

TUESDAY

On Tuesday, you were chasing after your supervisor, struggling to keep up and listen to instructions as he marched down the corridor, seemingly unaware or intentionally ignorant of the fact that you were all but required to wear heels around the office. Just as you were hobbling around a corner, James Potter came ambling out of an office, joking easily with whatever high-up employee you hadn’t met yet.

His eyebrows raised slightly as he almost came in contact with both you and your supervisor, a smile breaking through as he recognised you.

“Hey!” He said your name, and it felt heavy in the room, intentional. “How’s it going?” You stuttered for a moment, not expecting the direct address.

“I’m, uh, I’m good! Thank you, Mr Potter.” You returned the pleasantry with a smile, wider than it probably should have been.

You could feel your supervisor watching the two of you, confusion written on his face. You were far too irrelevant for James to be talking to you like this, and all three of you knew it. Well, maybe not James.

It was you who ended the conversation, feeling the moment becoming awkward and your supervisor annoyed, wishing James a good day and busying yourself with entering the office you and your supervisor had been heading to before as he reluctantly walked the other way, stealing a backwards glance you didn’t catch.

“What the hell was that?” Your supervisor asked, aged forehead creases deepening.

“I have no idea,” You answered honestly, more breathless than you probably should have been. He paused for an accusatory look but let you off easy, continuing with the mundane task he’d originally been explaining, but not before a, “Keep it up and you’ll leave here with a job at the end of the summer.”

WEDNESDAY

You hadn’t seen James all day. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world; it wasn’t as if you were truly upset by the fact, but it did worry you that you’d noticed. You’d been interning at the firm for a week, and your crush on a partner was so bad you were already keeping tabs on when you saw him. A married partner, you had to keep reminding yourself.

Your schoolgirl daydreams were replenished at the end of the work day when you got into the same elevator as him. It was just you, him and one other person from one of the other companies who inhabited some of the other levels of the skyscraper. So, you and James were free to chat without the curious stares you’d already garnered.

“Hey!” He said brightly, in a tone you were beginning to see just came naturally to him.

“Hi.” You fiddled nervously with the keychain hanging off your shoulder bag — the most professional you could find for cheap.

“Is that Hello Kitty?” He asked, the beginning of a laugh creeping in. Your eyes snapped down to the keychain like you were only just realising it. You’d put it on mindlessly, maybe still partly brainwashed from the grade school days of decorating all of your belongings. You’d bought it with your best friend years ago, aged probably fifteen or sixteen, at a Sunday market, sitting in a trash or treasure stall. You had the pink, sparkly Hello Kitty memorabilia while your friend took the black and purple Kuromi one, a reminder that you were still friends despite living hours apart.

Brought back to James’ question, you nodded sheepishly, already feeling stupid and childish.

“It’s dumb, really, but it makes me feel connected to my friends back home,” You tried to explain hurriedly, but James cut you off.

“I love it,” He said, and you really believed he meant it. You felt small under his gaze, like he could read every insecurity. “You wanna see something?” You nodded curiously, completely clueless as to what he was going to show you.

And out of his very sophisticated (undoubtedly very expensive) leather bag, James pulled an adorable vinyl Miffy wallet. Your eyebrows creased together of their own accord as you cooed over it, immediately enamoured.

“I know it’s not very ‘manly’,” He laughed, “But Lils got it for me and I love my wife.” Ouch, there it was. The reminder that the hottest, most unreachable man you’d ever met was also married. Nevertheless, his attempts to make you feel better worked like a charm, and you were soon smiling again.

“It’s adorable.”

The elevator reached the ground floor with a melodic ding, and the three of you walked into the lobby, you and James dawdling behind. You felt like a school kid again, walking extra slowly down the halls to get a few extra minutes with a crush. But this couldn’t be the same, James was more than a decade older than you, basically your boss, and married to a beautiful woman he was clearly head over heels for.

“Which way are you going?” James asked as you passed through the gold-rimmed revolving doors into the quiet summer night. You gestured to the left.

“Headed to the tube, you?” James frowned.

“I park a few streets down the other way. Are you alright to catch the train alone in the dark, sweetheart?” You laughed a little, straightening out your slacks.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’ll be fine, Mister Potter. I’m a big girl. Goodnight,” You said sweetly, giving him a small wave. He reluctantly returned it, and you could hear him swinging his keys around his finger until you descended into the train station, still thinking about the pet name he’d called you. It should have been condescending and made you angry, but if it was James, you found a way to find it endearing and protective, despite the fact that you were really barely acquainted. A few minutes out of your week was all that you’d spent with him. He was clearly threatening your morals and feminism, but you didn’t seem to mind as long as he was smiling at you.

THURSDAY

You were beginning to love working at a big fancy firm. Not only for the pay, which you were eagerly awaiting, but the facilities too. The food court was one benefit, not having to leave in search of a fulfilling lunch, but the break room was quickly becoming your own favourite spot.

Close to your desk, stocked with snacks and drinks and comfy furniture, it was the perfect place to get away, especially when the food court seemed a little too intimidating. It wasn’t large, though, and in high traffic times could get very busy.

You’d endeavoured to make yourself a coffee, just as the rest of the firm had seemingly decided to rendezvous for a quick chat right where the coffee machine sat. You squeezed past the bulk of your colleagues to make it to the machine, starting off your drink happily.

You were just fiddling with the machine when James came from your left.

“Sorry, Darling,” He said as quickly as an afterthought, hand around your waist as he squeezed over to the fridge.

It should have enraged you. It should have made you feel harassed and disrespected. And yet… James’s handprint left a burning mark that sat in the forefront of your mind as you tried to continue with your beverage.

It only burned hotter as James came to your aid once again. You were balanced precariously on your tiptoes, reaching for the sugars that were just beyond your fingertips. You had half a mind to start climbing the cabinetry when a strong arm passed by your own, easily grabbing the container and placing it back down on the bench top. There James was, placed only a few inches behind you, effectively caging you in without being so obvious.

When you twirled to thank him, you were made aware of that fact, jumping at the proximity. It wasn’t anything scandalous, James too smart to do anything less than perfect in his own firm, but he was much closer than you’d typically stand to a colleague, obviously under the guise of helping you out.

“Thanks, Mister Potter,” You said, trying desperately not to stutter and reveal your nerves.

“It’s all good. You’re a sweet girl, eh?” He judged as he watched you pour in several packets. You tried to ignore the implicit flirting, just agreeing with the comment about your coffee. You could not, under any circumstances, let yourself believe that James Potter was flirting with you, or you’d never get another piece of work done while you were working there.

“I should, um, get back to work. But it was nice to talk to you!” You forced yourself to start the navigation process back through the break room to your desk. To your surprise, the hand on your lower back had returned, guiding you softly through the crowd.

“I’ll see you later then,” James said with a small but certainly cheeky smile, giving you a lazy salute before heading to the elevator. You couldn’t produce any reply, distracted by the ghost of his hand on your body.

FRIDAY

You had five million papers stacked in your arms. Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but enough to feel like you were lifting weights. As the lowest rung on the corporate ladder, you had to do a lot of reading and editing. All the boring, time-consuming tasks that actual lawyers didn’t have time (or desire) to do. Honestly, you felt more like a teacher than a legal intern correcting spelling mistakes. Still, if it would set you up for a good career, it’d be worth it.

Either way, all of the paperwork collected into a mountain you had to deliver to your supervisor on Friday afternoon. You admittedly couldn’t see very well behind the stack, but you’d put your faith in your colleagues to be aware enough to stay out of your way.

That was why you let out a small cry when two big arms wrapped around your middle, yanking you out of your path, stray papers flying off the top of your tower.

And there, as you probably should have started to expect, was James Potter, pulling his arms back to rest on your hips, steadying you. And flying through where your body just stood, was the child of one of the other partners — the older, stricter, scarier one. If James hadn’t manhandled you out of the way, one or both of you would have certainly been bowled down, and you’d be the one to pay the price.

“Thank you, Mister Potter,” You said breathlessly, caught up with the adrenaline. James’ hands stayed on your hips, warm and encompassing.

“You alright? Could’ve been bad,” He asked with a smile, looking you over with genuine concern. You only nodded, not trusting yourself to speak with his hands on you. You thanked him again profusely, then dropped to your knees, gathering the fallen papers as fast as you could. To your surprise, James followed, helping you clean up.

“Any weekend plans?” He asked, casually like he wasn’t dropping below his station to help you.

“No, I don’t really have any friends here yet,” You laughed, “I was thinking more binge a season of something and eat my body weight in junk food.” James laughed loudly, a resonant sound that attracted looks from around the office.

“Sounds like my dream weekend,” He replied, hazel eyes boring into your own, “Maybe I’ll see if I can get Lils to agree to blow off the gala she’s taking me to, I’d kill for an extra large pizza and a season of That 70s Show.” You giggled, taking the last of the papers from James’ hands.

“Makes sense you like that show,” You said, collecting yourself and hurrying down to your supervisor's desk. James, confusingly, followed as he continued the conversation, asking for an explanation. “Well, you know, you seem fun and lively, and also you’re old, you probably relate to them.” You chanced a joke, heart fluttering at the way James tipped his head all the way back to laugh, hand on his chest like a stabiliser.

“You’re a menace, sweetheart. Making me feel ancient.”

“It’s fine, Mister Potter, you’ve still got all your hair, so you’re doing pretty well.” You decided you loved it when James laughed at your jokes, eyes shining with mirth.

“I’m only thirty-five, love, I’d hope I still have all my good looks yet.” You ignored his shameless self-promotion, shaking your head as you packed up for the weekend.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, my Dad was bald before forty.” James acted mock-offended, hands over his chest like he'd been shot. You snorted at his ridiculousness, making your way to the elevator and slinging your bag over your shoulder. James followed, pressing himself into your side when the lift was crowded. You tried to control your breathing, unwilling to share how giddily nervous he made you.

If you were a more confident person, you would believe his knuckles grazing your thigh lightly were intentional, flirty, even. As a certified nobody in the company and hardly-even-coworker, you knew it was just because the lift was full.

“You need a lift home, love?” James said as you approached the doors, gesturing for you to go ahead of him.

“I’m sure we don’t live anywhere near each other, Mister Potter, it’s okay. Thanks, though!” You still told him where you lived when prompted, and laughed when James cringed.

“Look, it might be in the opposite direction, love. But if you ever need a lift home, I’ll drive you. Your safety is my top priority,” He put on a silly voice, imitating an old-fashioned flight attendant or captain to make you giggle. You still shook your head, gripping the strap of your shoulder bag.

“I’ll call you if I see any big, bad wolves.” You gave him a small wave, taking off in the opposite direction to him, warmth dusting your cheeks.

part 2

412 notes · View notes

g1rld1ary · 1 month ago

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high stakes & high seas - pirate!james potter x princess!reader

wc: 3111 summary: you get kidnapped by a pirate crew as political leverage and meet the ship's charming captain me: a late addition to fantasy/mythology au for @acourtofchaos festival! took me a little longer than expected as i have a few assignments still going on but wanted to get this out!!! i have many more ideas for this pairing so they will probably pop up again soon...

The sun was all encompassing, warming your skin as you sat on the bow of the ship, feet dangling in the air. The waves occasionally brushed your uncovered feet, but you were in too good of a mood to mind. You could see dark clouds out in the distance, threatening to ruin your afternoon, but you’d deal with that when they arrived.

You looked back over your shoulder to the crew working on the ship, members of your family, of course, nowhere to be seen, too afraid to ‘ruin their complexion’. You shared no such worries.

You were, to be fair, a bit of a black sheep in your family. The only sibling who wasn’t vying for the crown, the only child who didn’t believe in the same ideology as your parents, the only one not utterly obsessed with your outward appearance. You assumed that all of your family members were currently hiding away in the dark, musing on their own alleged superiority.

When you looked back out to the horizon, the storm clouds were significantly closer, along with the outline of a ship headed straight towards you. It was unusual for ships to come straight at you — typically, when they saw your kingdom’s flag, they gave you space out of respect for your family. This ship, though, seemed not only unafraid but to be heading straight towards you.

Shit.

It seemed everyone on board put the pieces together at the same time, the crew springing into action. The helmsman tried to steer your ship out of the other’s course whilst a deckhand pulled you onto your feet, ushering you back towards your quarters.

The other ship was close approaching, if you looked back over your shoulder, you were sure you’d see the figures on the foreign deck, but you didn’t have time for that. Rain was already sprinkling over you, and you could tell you were in for a much wilder storm.

You stumbled over the hem of your gown, falling onto your hands and knees with an emphatic thud, scrambling to get back up and keep going. You were desperately trying to open the door to the cabins and quarters, rattling the handle with trembling hands.

“Everybody stop,” A booming voice made everyone freeze, your blood running cold, hand still lingering on the brass door handle. You turned slowly, eyes wide as you took in the sight in front of you.

The other ship had pulled up right next to yours, no doubt scratching the expensive paint and detailing that would have your parents moaning and whining for days — never mind the fact that someone could very well die in the next few moments.

Standing up on the railing of the deck was a pirate, illuminated by a dramatic thunder crack and lightning strike, making him appear a looming figure over the rest of the ship.

“What do you want?” The captain pushed through the crowd of skittish crew members, “If it’s money, just name a price. We’ll happily comply to ensure everybody’s safety.” You noticed how he purposefully avoided mentioning the royal family.

The man waved him off with a far-too-casual air, the flimsy hand gesture almost insulting. How could he not want money? He was a pirate, and this was a royal ship; it was probably the grand prize of pillaging on the ocean!

“Money’s not our object,” The man said, landing lightly on the wood floor of the deck, making hardly a noise considering his thick brown boots. The rest of the crew took an involuntary step back, intimidated by the man’s unnerving calmness.

“Then… what is?” The captain stuttered, hand hovering nervously over his sword.

“Her.” The man looked squarely at you, long finger raised at the point between your eyes. You gasped quietly, backing yourself flat against the wall in an attempt to shrink into nothing.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you have that, sir.” The air became thick on deck, unperturbed by the rain pouring over you all. The crew were all on edge now, seemingly preparing for a fight. The man’s cool expression hadn’t changed, save for one raised eyebrow.

“Shame,” He said, looking around at the circle your crew had made around him, “I’m not quite used to not getting what I want.” Then he whistled, long and crystal clear even through the rain.

Suddenly, figures came from all directions, swinging from their masts, climbing up the side of the boat. You didn’t know what to do, you weren’t equipped for combat! Plus, the door was clearly jammed, and you didn’t think there were any other ways to get off the deck.

The fight was dynamic but surprisingly clean. The pirates seemed hesitant to cause any injuries, merely tying most of the crew up against the mast or deck railing, clearing their path to you. You didn’t think you were a freeze kind of girl, you’d expected flight at the very least. But there you were, stuck in your place, feet sinking into the rough wood below you.

Through the chaos, you saw the pirate captain set his eyes on you again, the hint of a smile on his lips. As if in slow motion, he all but strutted toward you, direct path unperturbed by the fighting going on around him. Another lightning strike hit as if on cue, illuminating him so you could see the glowing amber flecks in his eyes, otherwise shadowed by his tricorn hat, drooping in a roguish way, no doubt weighed down by the heavy rain. You could feel your own hair plastered to your face and neck from the same cause.

The man didn’t waver as he stepped into your personal space, his eyes saying everything his mouth didn’t need to. You stared up at him with wide eyes, chest heaving from adrenaline and anxiety, lips slightly agape. Your hands stayed stuck to the timber wall behind you, like it was going to save you.

It seemed like an age that you stayed like that, you too scared and he too intense to move. Finally, finally, he spoke.

“You’re prettier than your portrait,” He said, eyes raking over your figure. You shrank further under his gaze, suddenly self-conscious. That wasn’t what you expected.

“What do you want from me?” You managed, searching his eyes for any deeper meaning. You didn’t sense malice or bloodlust, which at least soothed you a little.

“Just your company, your highness. See if you’re as sweet as you look.” He smiled, revealing blinding teeth. Then, like an afterthought, added “And the leverage you give me over your parents, but that’s secondary, of course.”

“You won’t get anything out of my parents,” You said through gritted teeth, body finally catching up to your terrified mind. You moved to run, but the man caught you before you could take a step, gripping both your shoulders in his large hands.

“I thought we were going to be friends,” He pouted, voice dripping with sarcastic upset, “We can do this the hard way, but remember it was your own choice.” The captain hoisted you up over his shoulder with strong arms. You’d long lost your panic response and were thrashing, kicking and demanding him to put you down, using every trick in your book. Nothing worked.

“I don’t even have shoes on, you animal!” You yelled, smacking your hands against his back. The man didn’t so much as flinch, but you felt his head move against your hip, looking for someone.

“Moony!” He yelled, and a tall man tying rope knots around the helmsman looked up. “Go get the girl some shoes, will you?” ‘Moony’ sighed and rolled his eyes, but moved nonetheless, and you heard the distinct sound of a door being kicked in as the man carrying you laughed.

You stopped by the edge of the boat, where the man hesitated before setting you down. His hand remained around your waist, not painful but a reminder that you had nowhere to run.

“Get on,” He said, gesturing down to his ship, a metre or two below. The jump worried you, you weren’t exactly known for your athleticism — which princess was?

“No.” You crossed your arms petulantly, planting your feet into the wooden planks of the deck.

“Get on,” He repeated, voice hardening as you resisted.

“No!” You exclaimed, trying your best to shrug yourself out of his grip, to no avail.

“Now.” The captain’s voice was hard, irritation present. Good, you thought, the man kidnapping you deserved some annoyance at the very least.

“Make m—” The hand resting firmly on your waist span you so you were facing the captain, his hand covering your mouth.

“Trust me, love. You don’t want to finish that sentence.” You were pressed up against his body, practically moulding together in your soaked clothes. Fear coursed through your body at his authoritative tone, looking up at him through your lashes, heart beating out of your chest.

The captain, too, seemed affected by the proximity, grip on you loosening momentarily as he stared down at you. Being put in your place had reduced your bravery, though, and you dutifully followed down into the other ship, heart sinking into your feet as reality began to set in.

The ship was nice, though not nearly as lavish as your own. You were shown to a small, simple room, with just one bed, an empty chest and a window.

You were left to your own devices for what felt like hours, but really could have been mere minutes. There was nothing to do. The window only opened a sliver, so you couldn’t have escaped if you tried, though climbing out of it would surely lead to an untimely death; nothing but rough waters below.

You’d been deeply engaged in staring at the plain wall when your first visitor came, the tall scarred man from before, his hands full.

“I brought you some things,” He said, making sure he closed the door behind him as he approached. “Shoes, of course, but I thought you might want to get out of your wet dress.”

“Thank you,” You said earnestly, but you couldn’t help the shakiness in your voice. You were one more act of kindness away from bursting into tears. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Moony.” He gave you a polite smile, the scar that ran across his upper lip contorting. “Our crew are called the Marauders. They’re really nice blokes once you get to know them. I know they seem scary.”

“And the brute that hauled me over his shoulder?” Moony laughed, shaking his head in exasperation.

“That would be our captain. Prongs. Goes about things in interesting ways sometimes, but he’s a good man. I don’t reckon he’d want to hurt you.”

“Fills me with confidence,” You spat, throwing yourself back into the mattress. Not as soft as your own, but that wasn’t uncommon.

“I should go,” He said, already halfway out the door, “I don’t think Prongs’ll be happy if he knows I’m talking to his asset.”

“Pardon?” You yelled after him, utterly affronted. An asset? You were worth much more than that.

A few hours later, you were visited again. The prettiest man you’d ever seen in your life was at the door, raking his eyes over you hungrily.

“What?” You snapped, upset when the man laughed.

“Fiesty, hey? Just how we like them. C’mon, princess: dinner time.” He dragged you by your arm out into the corridor, not giving you any time to adjust to the change in light.

“Who are you?” You struggled against his hold, brushing yourself off with self-importance as he finally relented, keeping close enough to grab you if you ran.

“I’m Padfoot, better get used to this face, darling. You’ll be here a while.”

“What is wrong with this ship? Do you all have such ridiculous names?” You huffed, stumbling as Padfoot pulled you around a corner.

“Hope you don’t bring this attitude to dinner, Prongs doesn’t tolerate disrespect.” He was laughing, but there was a shade of warning present in his words.

“You seriously expect me to dine with a pirate?” Your eyes blew wide into saucers, the idea the definition of ridiculous. You were a princess! Princesses simply did not dine with pirates, not ever.

“You might be a princess, but that means nothing here. You’re nothing here.” You got the distinct impression that Padfoot had a personal problem with royalty. “So call it dinner, or call it kindness that we aren’t required to extend. Call it your only chance to stay alive until morning.”

“I would rather starve,” You spat, wrenching your arm out of his grip again. Of the few pirates you’d met today, you were sure Padfoot was your least favourite.

Turning into the door Padfoot had led you to, the captain, Prongs, was waiting for you, already invading your personal space again.

“Then you’ll starve beside me, Princess. I’m not hungry either.”

It was just the two of you in the room; you thought it might have been his office, but the lighting was dim, and it was hard to make out the details.

Two plates of food sat between you, but neither of you moved. Clearly, you matched him for stubbornness.

“What’s your name?” You asked, keeping intense eye contact, “Your real name. Not the bullshit nicknames I keep getting.” Prongs huffed a laugh, amused at your bad mood.

“Captain James Potter, at your service.” He tipped his goblet of wine toward you in a lazy toast.

“And what do you want from me, James Potter?”

“What I want from you isn’t appropriate to discuss over a nice dinner,” He said, eyes giving you another once over. A shiver shot up your spine. “But what I need from you, princess, is your leverage. I want things your parents can give, but they won’t give them unless they receive something in return.”

“Smart, I suppose,” You mumbled, eyes catching on the actually delicious-looking meal, “But what could you want that would warrant you kidnapping me for it?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little mind about that, princess. I expect the king and queen will arrange for my demands to be met by the time we get to port.” James gave you a smile, one that felt real, and your outlook changed on him. Just a little.

“And how long will that be?”

“About a week or so, if all goes to plan,” He replied, messing with his hair, drawing your eyes up to examine the unruly curls.

“Do things typically go to plan?” You cocked your head to the side and James didn’t know if you were being genuine or not.

“Do you always ask this many questions?” He mocked your cadence, “And almost unfailingly.” You got the distinct impression he was lying to you, but his smile was so charming you didn’t think it was too terrible.

In a moment of silence, your stomach rumbled, and James’ eyes lit up with amusement.

“Come on, princess, eat with me. Is it really so terrible to dine with a pirate?” You hesitated for a moment, examining James thoroughly.

“I suppose not,” You conceded, shyly picking a first bite.

You and James ate in mostly silence, the mood scarily intimate with the singular candle between you.

“Is it nice?” He broke the silence first, and you were surprised at the genuine tone.

“Yes, yes!” You added a touch more enthusiasm than came naturally, unsure why you cared about how James felt, “It’s really delicious.” You weren’t lying, it really was good. Your family never ate anything comforting. Food was purely for show or for nutrition, perfectly portioned plates with the exact amount of sustenance you each required. Of course, it was prepared well by royal chefs, but it was nothing compared to the plate piled high in front of you, with food that warmed you as you swallowed.

When both your plates were empty, James stood.

“You’ve had a hard day, you must be exhausted. I’ll accompany you back to your quarters.”

“What, to make sure I don’t kill myself?” You joked, but James looked at you seriously.

“Precisely. Or kill one of my mates. You might have a pretty face, but I know there’s some darkness in there, princess.” You only smiled once James did, sure it was at least a half-joke.

You followed James closely, the shadows all looking scarier in the darkness of night.

“Is your room okay? Do you need anything?” James asked, looking down at you with hazel eyes.

“It’s fine, thank you.” You moved to turn away, but he caught you by your waist, pulling you back to him. You stumbled with the surprise, hand flying up against James’ chest to stabilise yourself. You both froze, feeling the other in much closer quarters than was appropriate for a princess and a pirate.

“I just — I was just going to say… This isn’t about you, I hope you know. I don’t want this to be painful, so let me know if I can do anything to make it better for you. I need you here to make things better for a lot of people.” You looked at James for a long moment, changing before your eyes again. You couldn’t decide whether he was terrible or lovely. He kidnapped you, yet seemed like he really cared about how you felt.

The boat rocked, throwing you against the door and James towards you, accidentally caging you in with his forearms. You gasped quietly, eyes wide again as you gazed up at him.

Slowly, silently, he brought a hand down, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers follow the strands down to where they finished.

“Are you planning on sleeping over, captain?” You teased in an attempt to diffuse the tension. James sighed, running a hand down his face as he pushed himself away from you.

“I’ll leave you to your beauty sleep, princess.”

With that he was off, leaving an electrifying buzz in your chest and the simultaneous realisation that you were all alone in the middle of the ocean. The combination made for turbulent sleep.

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g1rld1ary · 2 months ago

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who's your friend? - james potter x reader

wc: 745 summary: james tries a pick up line on you at a party me: this is tiny but i wanted to just write something after such a long time not touching anything bc of uni!! a contribution to modern au for @acourtofchaos festival!

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the party you were at was kind of lame. the drinks were gone, the music was lame, and your friend was draped over some guy’s lap. you knew you weren’t going to get her back anytime soon, and you didn’t know that you even minded — it only meant you’d have to plaster on a fake smile for another hour.

you thought about finding your own man to throw yourself at, but honestly no one you’d seen yet was giving you much inspiration, but maybe that was just because of your sour mood.

you rummaged around in your bag, searching for something to occupy your time, settling on redoing your lip combo in the tiny compact you brought along everywhere. that could only keep you busy for so long though, and you were once again looking around the party for something to occupy your attention.

unbeknownst to you, someone else had set their eyes on you, keenly observing you carefully, pencil lining your lips.

“who’s that?” james asked, lounging coolly against the party host’s kitchen island, drink in hand. his eyes were locked on your figure, dabbing lip gloss onto your lips, eyebrows slightly furrowed in focus.

“dunno, must be a friend of a friend. fit though,” sirius replied, hardly moving from his position sprawled across remus.

“don’t be crude. she’s gorgeous.” james looked remarkably like a puppy, unable to stop looking at you.

“go talk to her then, prongs. she’s just a girl,” remus suggested, hand subconsciously rubbing circles on sirius’ skin, the other hand lazily holding the neck of a beer bottle.

james nodded, bouncing on his heels to hype himself up, breathing in and out a few times to gather the nerve. sirius and remus exchanged a look, unused to seeing james nervous to approach a girl.

“hi,” james said, drawing your attention.

“hey,” you replied, sliding your makeup back into your little purse.

“enjoying the party?” he asked, and you quirked an eyebrow, trying to assess his intentions. you thought he might’ve been hitting on you, but he wasn’t getting as close or as sleazy as most of the twenty-something party guys you usually met.

“i suppose so,” you replied, “but i’ve been ditched, so… what about you?”

“oh! yeah, it’s fine. not cool you got ditched though.” your lips twitched into the beginnings of a smile, somehow charmed by the boy.

james eventually did remember to introduce himself, engaging you in smalltalk for another minute, which was longer than you anticipated.

“so…” he trailed off, suddenly growing nervous. “my friend thinks you’re cute.”

you raised your eyebrows, surprised it took him this long to get to his mission.

“which friend would that be?” you glanced behind him to the group of three boys, very unsubtly watching your interaction.

“me.” your eyes snapped back to james, not the answer you were expecting. you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, lighthearted surprise at his terrible pickup line.

james smiled at your smile, the two of you creating a moment in the middle of the chaos of the party.

“would my friend be able to get your number?” he asked, and you subconsciously tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“i mean, yeah why not,” you laughed, writing your number on his (attractively big) hand, “you can tell him i think he’s kinda cute.”

“awesome!” he laughed, the other hand going to rub the back of his neck. “well, i should probably get back to my friends, but it was really nice to meet you.”

“yeah, you too, james. you can tell your friend it’s nice to meet him as well.” james flushed a brilliant shade of red, nodding and stuttering as he stumbled his way back to his friends, who were all eagerly awaiting a full report of the conversation.

you’d finally found your friend, who’d been turned off of her man for one reason or another, pulling her aside to point out james.

“he’s cute!” she cried, squealing until you had to slap your hand over her mouth. you’d obviously drawn the attention of his dark-haired friend, who was laughing at both of you. you dragged her out of the room before he could draw james’ attention and embarrass you further, but a smile was blooming on your lips as you remembered james’ ridiculous pickup line.

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g1rld1ary · 3 months ago

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let things go - ex!james potter x reader (kind of)

wc: 4455

summary: cleaning out your apartment so your boyfriend can move in, you come across a box of mementos and discover you're maybe not as over your ex as you thought | angst, swearing, problematic boyfriend (not james), a bit of misogyny, lots of flashbacks, modern!magic!AU

me: this is maybe the angstiest fic i've ever written and i'm sorry that present james isnt in it, but i do have ideas for where his story could go, so if people like this i'm open to writing a second part! based off the song let things go from ordinary days!!

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You stared around your apartment, hands on your hips as you mentally prepared to make it your bitch. With Britney Spears’ Circus album playing and garbage bags at your disposal, you were sure you were ready.

You wondered how you could’ve ever considered the place not big enough for all your belongings, grimacing as you imagined the bomb-site it would soon become. But that’s why you were cleaning, right? For the greater good, because you deserve to live in a place not cluttered by trinkets and things stuffed in places they don’t belong. Or maybe because you’re boyfriend had decided he was moving in. Who could say, really?

You flung open a closet door, unimpressed at the mass of clothes seemingly defying physics to stay off the floor. My life has to be more than the sum of this… stuff you thought to yourself, turning your back on that. The closet was scaring you too much to start, you should pick something easier. You looked up at the bookshelf, teeming with novels you’d long since loved, and told yourself to grow up. Today was the day you started cleaning things out. Today was the day you’d start letting things go.

Hours later, you’d made a start and not much else. You stood in the centre of your bedroom, your whole entire history strewn across the floor. Fetched from a box deep in the back of your closet, a treasure trove of trinkets lay in front of you as you decided what you had to get rid of. Years-old planners, dog-eared postcards. Why was I even keeping these? You asked yourself, laughing at the ridiculous thought of you even holding onto frivolous mementos all these years.

But then you shot yourself in the foot. You almost saw it from an outside perspective, bending down, fingers dusting lightly over the various souvenirs until they curled around the planner, decorated with stickers and photos taped to the front. You recognised it immediately, the planner you had for seventh year.

Your stomach dropped as the memories smacked you in the face and you were on the floor before you knew it, furiously thumbing through the pages.

september 1st - first day of seventh year!

september 27th - hogsmeade date with james <3

october 5th - study with james 4pm

october 31st - halloween! common room party 8pm: make sure james’ costume is ready!!!!

november 23rd - sirius’ birthday party 8:30pm

december 25th - christmas at the potters! make sure gifts are here for effy and monty

january 1 - new years day!! to do: kiss jamie <3

february 14th - valentines day! date with james 7pm

april 9th - easter lunch with the potters

may 29th - graduate from hogwarts!! to do: start life with jamie

A year full of James; one of six knowing him in Hogwarts, one of four that you dated. Every other day had something involving James — help him with his essay, going to Hogsmeade with him, kiss him silly (god bless teenage hormones and being in love, why were you writing that in your academic planner?). Every new page and task brought back memory after memory of James and his dumb smile and your stupid dates and the whole relationship you thought would never end.

You snapped back into your real life, forcibly ignoring the water collecting at your lash line. You were fine, everything was fine. Your eyes strayed to a postcard, paper edges fraying and wearing thin from the amount of time you’d obviously spent re-reading and admiring it.

The design on the postcard was cute and kitschy, a vintage style beach picture with a sun lounger and palm tree. You remembered it instantly, receiving it in the post over the summer between your sixth and seventh year. You flipped it over with trembling hands, the familiar chicken scratch scrawl bringing a small smile to your face.

Hey lovie,

I am in Nice! We got in late last night and I’ve been exploring all day — remind me to show you the photos when I get back because it’s so beautiful here. We should come back here together next year.

Anyway, I’ve been walking around town and this older man asked if I fancied a shag — fancy that! I said no, thank you, I’m actually married, just to see how it felt (very good). I can’t wait to marry you when we’re older, gorgeous.

Mum and Dad are absolutely thrilled to be by the beach — I think they’ll be prunes by the time we get back to England! Will send you photos to laugh at in the next letter.

I love you!

James Potter (your future husband)

You sat for a minute, the postcard crumpling slightly from the tension between your fingers. Then, in a flash, you slammed the postcard down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling to stop yourself from crying.

You stashed the belongings back in the box, unwilling to look at them anymore but unable to throw them away. You just couldn’t get rid of all those memories. Still, you needed to clear out some room for Adam’s things, so you tentatively labelled the box ‘maybe’ to pretend you were considering getting rid of it all.

You exhaled emphatically, convincing yourself to think it over and throw it all out at the end of the day. Just after you did the rest of the room.

Things only got worse from there. You’d never thought of yourself as a hoarder of the past, but as soon as you were looking around your flat, you discovered decorative or sentimental items displayed on every surface, hidden in every drawer and cupboard. Birthday cards from years gone by, plastic souvenirs from monuments you’d travelled to, a pamphlet on Van Gogh from when your friend group went to France and wandered around the d’Orsay making fun of the paintings.

You shook your head, physically manifesting the negative thoughts leaving your head. You needed to clean all this shit out! You should’ve done it years ago.

But then you picked up a framed photo — the one that always seemed to fall face down whenever your boyfriend came around. It was your graduation photo, all your friends crammed in like sardines to fit in the shot. You were pressed into James’ side, his strong athlete’s arm wrapped snugly around you. Nothing else about the picture indicated you were a couple, which was how you rationalised keeping it up, but holding it now, you could feel all the memories rushing back to you like it had happened yesterday. The soft breeze, the smell of daisies from the grounds, your friends' beams, the feeling of James’ hands around you.

You could feel the sensation like it was current, but it all seemed like lifetimes ago. You’d seen James maybe once since your breakup, purely by accident, and it was like ripping your heart out all over again, like you were freshly eighteen and experiencing the first heartbreak of your life.

And to be honest, you could hardly remember the last time you’d even seen the rest of your friends. There was no picking sides, no ferocity or anger, but somewhere along the way, they’d faded from your life, much to your regret. Now, you spent most of your time with Adam. And Adam’s friends. Which was great.

Suddenly, you realised how much your life had changed. How much you’d changed. Adam didn’t even know you were a witch, for God’s sake!

Suddenly, the pictures weren’t just pictures, and souvenirs weren’t just hunks of plastic; they were proof that this life was yours — even if you hadn’t been living it for years. And you couldn’t let that go, you couldn’t dispose of the identity you’d just realised you’d lost. So back the trinkets went, returned to surfaces and shelves in pride of place. Small reminders that you were still who you always had been, even if you didn’t feel like it.

How did it happen? You’d torn up your apartment just to decide you couldn’t get rid of anything, painstakingly returning everything to its place.

Fuck! Adam. Adam still needed to move in —well, he still wanted to move in. So you still needed to find some room for his things. But surely he’d be fine? You could get creative, maybe move some of your mementos from out of the closet and into one of the cabinets in the hallway where Adam would never look, so you didn’t have to get rid of any of it. Or maybe some of your things could be stuffed into the spelled secret crevice where you kept your wand stashed whenever he came around.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. Adam would be over in fifteen minutes. Everything needed to go back in its place before he arrived, or all hell would break loose.

It was a known fact to you that Adam was jealous of James, even now. You’d met whilst the two of you were still dating, and Adam had, both before and after, always made comments about how you weren’t right for each other. It had irked you a bit whilst you and James were together, but then again, he was right, so… The point was, if Adam knew you were keeping all of these mementos that involved James, he’d flip.

Half an hour later, Adam arrived.

“Hey, Babe,” He unlocked the door with the key you’d given him free access to a few weeks ago, “Turn that shit off, it’s trashy.” He followed the statement with a kiss, which confused your senses. You nonetheless got up to switch off the music, changing it to an album you knew you could both enjoy, something he’d introduced you to.

“So did you clean out some of your stuff?” He fell onto the couch next to you, reaching to turn on the television. You watched him reach for the remote, sighing as you turned off the music.

“Uh, kind of,” You hesitated, searching for the right words, “I moved some things around. I’ll still have to do some work on it, but I’m sure we’ll have space!”

“Babe,” He groaned, putting an arm around the back of the couch, sitting just disconnected from your skin. “I’m moving in in a few weeks, we’ve gotta get this stuff ready. I know you’re a ‘feeler’, but it’s just stuff, you have to make compromises for me.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” You shifted in your seat, eyes glued to the television screen where Adam was clicking through programs, “It’s all just got sentimental value to me. It’s hard to get rid of any of it. But I’ll try, I promise.”

“What about I just do it? I’m sure I can put a bunch of papers and plastic snow globes in the bin.”

“No!” You said, too fast. “It’s okay, I’ll have another try and be stricter with myself. It’s just the first time I’ve looked at any of this stuff in a while. Memories, you know?”

“I get it, Babe, but we have new memories now. And we’ll make more. You don’t need a shitty hunk of plastic from eight years ago.” You made a noise of agreement, not wanting to get into any more detail about what the ‘hunks of plastic’ really were.

After the talks of moving in and cleaning out moved on, your night really was nice. Adam helped you cook some dinner, and you turned on a film he’d been talking about for a few weeks, but something still felt wrong.

You could tell Adam expected to stay over, a fair assumption, and was being touchy enough that you knew what he wanted. To your own dismay, your body was rejecting his advances, knee twitching when he laid his hand on it, subconsciously leaning away when he cuddled in or nuzzled into your neck. You didn’t want to, but everything felt wrong in the moment.

“Hey, um, I think I’m getting my period or something, my stomach feels really weird. Do you mind if we call it here?” It was a cheap shot, you knew, but also not necessarily a lie — your stomach was feeling queasy.

Adam looked at you for a minute, and you weren’t sure if his knitted brows were for concern, confusion or judgment. Probably all three.

“Sure, I guess. Do you need, like, a hot water bottle or something?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll take a painkiller and see if it gets worse. Thanks, though.”

You accompanied him to the door, apologising again softly as he pulled on his shoes.

“It’s fine, I’ll see you soon. Love you,” He said, crossing the boundary outside of your flat. You hummed in agreement, leaning up to press a kiss on his lips.

“Bye,” You murmured, shutting the door softly as he took off. You leant against the door, a sigh escaping you.

You suddenly felt like you were in a video game, anything from your life before Adam illuminating in a glow, calling your attention to them. You stumbled through the apartment, buzzing from photo to souvenir to memento in a haze of memories.

It all came to a head in your bedroom, a box half full of things that didn’t fit in other places still sitting in the middle of the room. You sank to your knees, unable to stop yourself from immersing yourself in the years of memories you were unlocking.

You felt like you were waking up from a dream, a whole reality fading in and out of existence, the pathways of your life splintering as you looked back on where they all diverged. At what point did you make the decision that put you on this specific path? Was it worth it?

You picked up a folded paper flower from out of the box, being taken back to the day you received it.

It was the winter of fourth year, just after the Christmas holidays. The grounds of Hogwarts were covered in a blanket of crisp snow, something that most students found beautiful and calming, but you thought it was isolating, suffocating.

“What’s up, grump?” James approached your spot in the bay window of the library, staring vacantly out at the pristine white grounds. You looked up in surprise, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Just putting off my charms essay, waiting for spring to come,” You sighed. This wasn’t a new problem; all of your friends were well aware of your aversion to winter, but it didn’t mean it ever got better.

“Right,” James laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “Well, I, uh, made this to help you feel better?” It came out as way more of a question than he obviously intended, causing a rosy blush on his cheeks as he revealed a paper folded flower from behind his back.

“Potter? What is this?” You asked in delight, reaching out with delicate fingers to cradle the flower in your hands.

“My mum taught me how to make them over the holidays. I thought it’d make you happy over the winter ‘cause they won’t die.” You beamed, looking up at James with bright eyes.

“That is so cute! Thank you, James.” You went to turn back to the window, thinking the conversation was over, when James cleared his throat awkwardly.

“This might be weird or whatever, so, like, don’t even worry, but would you maybe want to go to Hogsmeade with me next time?”

“Aren’t we all going together in a few weeks?” You asked casually, not fully catching on to what James meant.

“Um, yeah, but I meant just the two of us? Like a date?” James was looking anywhere but at you, a stark difference from his usual cocky, borderline obnoxious demeanour.

“Oh!” You broke out into a wide smile, nodding before you could even get the words out, “Yeah, I’d really like that!”

“Cool,” James replied, sporting his own dorky grin. “Awesome. Amazing! Can’t wait.”

“Yeah,” You agreed, a little awkward but excited nonetheless.

“Yeah.” You and James stared at each other for a moment, unsure of where to go from there. “I’ll see you at dinner then!” He waved quickly, practically leaving a trail of smoke behind him.

You watched him go, a smile still lingering on your lips. James Potter just asked you out on a date! Fancy that!

You and James had dated for the second half of fourth year, fifth through seventh year, and made it eight months after you graduated. That was a significant period of your life, pretty much all of your adolescent memories were inseparably associated with James. You put down the flower, carefully preserving it amongst the other items.

You felt a bit like a madwoman, throwing your things across the floor, jumping from memory to memory like you were a starving man coming across food for the first time.

Even the clip in your hair was a gift from him, coincidentally, the same night you met Adam for the first time.

“Here, lovie, got you a clip so you don’t have to have it in your eyes while you’re dancing.” James approached you from behind, offering you the claw clip before wrapping his arms around your middle, smoothly joining in the group’s conversation.

“Is that where you went?” You asked with a happy gasp, reaching around James to quickly put your hair up. You’d been complaining for the last hour since your group had started dancing as opposed to sitting and chatting, your outfit not quite prepared for the occasion.

“Prongs is so pussy-whipped he went to a chemist for a clip on a night out,” Sirius barked out a laugh to Remus, who just rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Forgive me for loving my beautiful girlfriend?” James asked with a spoonful of sass, placing a kiss on your cheek.

An hour later, you were dancing with the girls, carefree as you threw your arms around in the air. Lily nudged you at one point, gesturing just beyond where the boys were crowding near the bar to where another man was watching you. It wasn’t necessarily intimidating or threatening, but you were unused to attention after being so associated with your relationship for so many years. You accidentally made eye contact with him, sparing him a half smile, unsure of what the proper protocol was.

You’d long forgotten about the man once a Kesha song came on, getting lost in the music with your friends.

About an hour later, you were slowly making your way up to the bar for another drink when the man returned, approaching you with a charming smile.

“Hi, I’m Adam. You’re stunning,” He said, taking you aback with his directness.

“Oh, uh, hi. Nice to meet you,” You introduced yourself, strangely reserved.

“Are you here by yourself?” Adam asked, subtly shuffling closer. You leant back, shaking your head.

“No, I’m here with some friends. And that’s my boyfriend over there.” You pointed James out as he laughed at something Marlene said.

“That guy? No way.” Adam shook his head confidently, laughing in a way that had you a little confused. What was funny about that? When you voiced that thought, he tried to soften his statement, backpedalling a little in a way that amused you. “Sorry, it’s just… You are way out of his league. I mean that guy? He looks like every typical high school film jock who has muscles for brains. Like, does he have independent thought skills?” He said it like a joke, but you weren’t sure it was funny.

“James is really smart, actually. Always got top grades in school,” You replied, voice soft but determined.

“Oh, you guys went to school together? High school sweethearts?” Adam had totally changed his tune, maybe because he could see that you didn’t think insulting your boyfriend was entertaining. Still, you nodded brightly, choosing to believe the best in him.

“Yeah, we’ve been dating since I was fourteen! We’re going on four years.” You glowed with pride, eyes straying over to James, who was starting to notice where you were.

“So you’re fresh out of school, huh?” You nodded slowly, suddenly aware that he could be decades older than you. Well, maybe you were being a little dramatic.

“How old are you?” Adam was twenty-four, as he told you, which did surprise you slightly, though you tried not to let it show. In the real world, that’s not crazy, right? Maybe you were still adjusting to being out of Hogwarts.

“Hi, lovely, who are you talking to?” James approached you both, his hand snaking around your waist.

“This is Adam. We were just chatting.”

“Hey, mate.” They exchanged identical greetings, a strange tension growing.

“Your girlfriend’s just been raving about how great you are, mate. You’re a very lucky man.”

“I know,” James said, jaw tensing in a way that was equal parts concerning and sexy.

“Well, it was nice meeting you!” You chirped, pulling away to end the conversation now that James was beside you.

“Yeah, you too, honey. I hope we meet again soon.” You nodded after a slight pause, waving politely as James led you back to your comfort zone and your friends.

“Well, who knew little miss wifed-up still had it?” Remus laughed, giving you an impressed nod.

“Hey, I thought we all knew I was gorgeous,” You joked, tossing your hair dramatically, “But seriously, if I have it, I do not want it.”

It wasn’t until later that you’d met Adam again and struck up a friendship which eventually evolved into a relationship, beginning to bond right before the start of the demise of your and James’ relationship.

God, you felt like your world was beginning to crash down around you, memories you’d had locked away for years resurfacing the second you laid eyes on a corresponding memento.

Everything was too suffocating; you needed to get out. Stumbling around your room, you pulled on some outside clothes, lacing up your shoes as you hopped down the entryway.

Walking down the street, you immediately felt a bit calmer, the crisp air sending shocks through your system and bringing you back down to earth.

With a little more sense in your head, the reality of your feelings began to set in. Regardless of how satisfied you were with your current life, which was something you were simultaneously beginning to reconsider, you missed your old life. In particular, you missed your friends.

Though James was obviously a massive part of your life and dominated most of the souvenirs you’d held onto, you’d had the same friendship group for six years of school. They rounded out every memory, filled the time between classes at school, and helped shape you into who you’d become as you grew into adulthood.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, you’d lost contact with them. Obviously, you hadn’t caught up with James since the breakup (with the exception of the single most awkward interaction of your life) because you were so heartbroken and shattered, but you’d tried not to let it impact your friendships.

Sirius was the first to go, of course, just because he was so close to James, and the other boys followed not too long after, torn between the rift. The girls held on for a bit longer, and you would tentatively say you were still friends today, but the intervals between your catch-ups got longer and longer each time. No bitterness, at least on your part, but you were all busy leading different lives.

Suddenly, it clicked how long it really had been since you’d seen your friends, and how it had steadily declined ever since Adam. Maybe it was just because you were already emotionally distraught, but doubts began to creep in about Adam. The way he’d behaved even before your breakup, his refusal to hang out with your friends after, and insisting you hang out with his friends all the time despite them not really liking you. It felt like something was beginning to add up, but you weren’t sure how to finish the equation.

With shaking hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, searching through your contacts for a number you hadn’t called in far too long.

“Hello?” The voice on the other side asked, gentle confusion evident.

“Lily?” You asked, voice wavering as relief washed over you at the familiarity.

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Lily asked immediately, the intricacies of your speech pattern coming back to her in an instant.

“Are you free to talk for a bit?”

“Um, yeah, of course! Remus is with me right now. Do you want to be on speaker? Or I can go into a different room.” You said it was fine, the desire to hear his voice overpowering in your heart.

“Hi, dove. Been a while,” He said softly, and you could see the expression he was making despite it being a voice call.

“Yeah, sorry,” You choked out, tears beginning to spill again. Without further ado, you began to spill everything. All of the conflicting thoughts and feelings that had stirred within you in the span of a single day. You told them about Adam rushing you to let him move in before you were maybe ready (you’d never said that out loud before), finding the box of memories you’d forgotten had even existed, and the deep, deep longing for the past you’d felt ever since.

When you were finally finished you’d cried out all the water left in your body, but you felt monumentally lighter, even if it was just because Lily and Remus at least knew how much you loved and missed them.

As you began to trail off, worries less prominent, your friends sat in silence on the other side of the line.

“Do you think I’m broken?” You asked, voice ragged from your monologue and the accompanying tears.

“I think,” Lily said, “You need to come over tonight.”

part 2

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g1rld1ary · 3 months ago

Note

Ohhh, Hotch's Daughter x Spencer is my FAVOURITE. Anything forbidden, etc. My vision is that they're on a case in Readers' hometown, and they meet up and maybe some smut? Almost getting caught in the act type stuff? Some awkward Spencer 😬

wc: 2093

cw: making out and tits out, almost getting caught

me: thank u sm for this request gorg! i didn't do full smut coz i just Could Not but i hope u enjoy!! sorry this has taken so long it has been a crazy crazy month in gia land! i love this world so requests r still more than welcome! in my head this takes place quite a bit after the first two parts; a lot has taken place in the interim

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It was weird enough being back in your hometown for the holidays after moving interstate for college, then your big girl job. Being back at your mother’s always gave you a weird feeling of detachment, being in a place that used to be home but didn’t carry the same weight anymore.

What was weirder, though, was the text you got from Aaron as you sat on the tree swing outside, reading.

Are you with your Mom? We have a case near you right now. Dinner when we finish?

You laughed at his proper spelling and grammar, texting back to tell him you would love to. The coincidence was uncanny, but you weren’t in any position to complain about seeing him.

Your mother was shockingly excited, going so far as to insist that you invite the whole team over for dinner on the night they closed the case. It certainly wasn’t the reaction you were expecting given the whole secret baby thing she’d done for two decades, but you thought it was sweet that she was enthusiastic about your relationship with your dad.

That was why you were at your local police precinct, alerted by your father that the case was wrapping up and would be finished by the evening.

“Miss me?” You walked through the door into the meeting room the BAU had obviously been delegated to. The team all looked up in surprise, except your dad.

“Baby Hotch, what are you doing here?” Morgan grinned, standing to give you a quick hug.

“I grew up here,” You replied, returning Rossi’s wave of greeting. “But here, here? I come with invitations. My mom insists that you all come for dinner tonight, as soon as you’ve wrapped up the case… and maybe had some showers. Not to be rude, but it is not smelling like heaven in here.” You were glad the team got your joke, what with half of them being covered in bruises or blood. You didn’t know what had gone down in the case, and you didn’t think you wanted to.

You stuck around as the team wrapped up the administrative parts of the case, exhaustion clear on their faces. Still, the promise of a home-cooked meal (and a glimpse into Hotch’s past and your private life) kept them going, spirits not too shabby.

“Alright, shall we say meet at your mom’s place in an hour and a half? That way, everyone has time to get cleaned up and you have time to go hide anything embarrassing in your childhood bedroom because you know they’ll all charm their way in,” Hotch said with a tiny glint of humour in his eye, the look he tended to save for his children. You nodded dutifully, jokingly saluting as you fished your mom’s car keys from the depths of your coat pocket.

The BAU all peeled off into the SUVs, ready for a hot shower and a change of clothes. You were just unlocking the doors to your own vehicle when the precinct doors opened and out stepped a very familiar face.

“Doctor Reid,” You said, voice full of mocking, “What a complete surprise!”

“You know, I was stuck taking witness interviews today so I’m not in any desperate need for a shower…” He matched your faux innocence, letting himself into the passenger seat.

Safely inside a car with tinted windows, you leant over the centre console to press your lips to his.

“Hi, Spencie,” You giggled, putting the car into drive. Reid pulled a face at the nickname, but let his hand fall to rest on your thigh regardless.

“You’re incorrigible.” He squeezed your leg lightly.

Your mom was busy in the kitchen when you both arrived, trying to knock each other off the path up to your front door like children.

“Hey, Mom. This is Doctor Reid from Dad’s team. He’s gonna hang out until the rest of the team gets here.”

“Spencer,” Reid corrected, waving from beside you. “Thank you so much for inviting us over, ma’am. The team is very fond of your daughter.”

“I see,” Your mom replied, shooting you a look that said he’s cute. Knowing Reid, he absolutely caught it. “It’s nice to meet you too, Spencer. Dinner won’t be for a while, you two go hang out.”

“Are you sure we can’t help out?” Reid asked at the same time you exclaimed, “We’re not thirteen!”

“Thirteen?” Reid asked with a laugh as you led him up the stairs to your childhood bedroom.

“Shut up,” You groaned, “It just sounded like she was gonna tell us to go play Monopoly, or she was excited for me to have my first kiss.” Spencer shook his head, laughing again at your ridiculousness. He liked your mom already.

“So, you don’t want to kiss me?” He asked with frankly highly effective puppy eyes, moving closer to loop his arms around your waist.

You only got a peck from the genius before he’d caught a glance of the bedroom behind you, spinning you quickly so he could snoop inside.

You stood in the centre of the room, sinking into the pink fluffy rug, as Spencer darted about the room, taking in every fragment of your life before college.

“Is this a tape deck?” He asked, immediately flipping through your collection of cassettes.

“Yeah, my parents refused to buy me a CD player, so it was my darkest secret in high school that I was still listening to cassettes. I’ve got a good collection, though. Now, can you please help me hide anything too embarrassing from Morgan?” Reid popped in a tape, Duran Duran’s Rio album, and got to work, but not without commenting on how embarrassing it was that you were into Duran Duran as a teen.

“Debate team?” He asked, pointing at the certificates pinned to your wall. You stared at them for a moment with squinted eyes, scrutinising.

“Leave them. At least I was good at debating. Take down the math olympiad participation prize next to it, that’s the line, I think.”

“I did math olympiads!”

“Exactly.” Spencer rolled his eyes playfully but took down the certificate nonetheless, putting it in the storage tub you’d allocated to anything you didn’t want seen.

You went about in peace for a while, you cleaning and Spencer snooping amongst your things.

“Is this actually you?” He broke the silence, holding up a small photo book.

“Oh my god,” You moaned, covering your face with your hands. The photos were from your senior year of college, when you and your friends spent spring break down by the beach. The photos were absolutely mortifying, capturing you drunk, messy, and in far too few clothes. You weren’t even that many years into the workforce, and you already couldn’t believe you were ever wearing those itty-bitty bikinis out in public. “I haven’t looked at tequila the same way since.”

“You look really great, you should wear that again sometime,” Spencer said, a light blush on his cheeks.

“Alright, perv,” You laughed, taking the photo book from his hands, “That’s definitely going in the box.” You bent over to put the album away when Spencer’s hands landed warm on your hips, spinning you around and pulling you flush against him.

“I’m serious,” He murmured, lips brushing against yours, “You’re so beautiful.”

Before you could reply, Spencer was kissing up and down your neck, a contented sigh escaping from your lips.

You led him blindly to your childhood single bed, falling onto it as the back of your knees hit the bed frame. You pulled Spencer up to your lips in a desperate kiss, running your fingers through his hair as he worked on getting his buttoned shirt undone.

He pulled away so you could get your own shirt off, his eye catching on one of your stuffed animals sitting snugly next to your pillow.

“Who’s this guy?” He asked with a small laugh, and you huffed.

“For your information, that’s Mister Stripes.” You succeeded in unfastening your bra, “And hello? More important things to be focusing on? We have to be quick.”

Spencer immediately turned his attention back to you, hands going straight to palm your tits, drawing a gentle sigh from you. You attacked his neck with kisses, sucking on his pulse point to hear the pretty moans he made.

You’d just popped the button of his slacks when you heard boisterous laughter from the kitchen, voices that were definitely not your mother’s. Spencer’s eyes snapped up from where his tongue was on your nipple, both of you freezing in your tracks. If the BAU were already in your house, it was only a matter of moments before they would find their way into your bedroom. You really did not want them finding you and Spencer getting hot and heavy… especially as none of them knew you were even close.

Spencer launched across the room over to your old wardrobe, pulling his shirt over his shoulders and doing the buttons with record speed. You heard your name being called from the bottom of the stairs.

“You up there?” Hotch called, and your eyes widened more than you thought possible.

“Uh, yeah! I’ll be down in a sec! Spencer too,” You added after a moment, hoping it would seem less suspicious if you were upfront about his presence.

“No way, I need to see her childhood bedroom.” You heard Morgan say, accompanied by heavy footsteps getting closer.

“Fuck!” You hissed, giving up on the possibility of getting your bra back on with your fingers anxiously shaking, kicking it furiously under your bed and pulling a sweater over your head to lessen the damage.

You brushed through your hair with your fingers as the door creaked open and the rest of the BAU let themselves in.

“Hey, Dad,” You greeted him with a smile you hoped was confident, giving him a quick hug.

“Hey, Honey. And Reid.”

“Doctor Reid got here a little early, I was just showing him around my room,” You cut in before he could say anything.

“She was a champion debater,” Spencer added with his signature awkward smile, pointing over to the certificates by the door. That got everyone’s attention onto the various memorabilia and memories scattered around your room and off of you.

You and Spencer made eye contact, identical sighs of relief making you giggle.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Morgan said as you were explaining a framed photo to the rest of the group, “Better do up that last button before Hotch notices the hickey on your neck.” Spencer almost jumped out of his skin, hands flying to cover up the mark. He did just that, trying to casually pass by your mirror and ensure his shirt covered everything indecent.

Your mother called you all down to eat minutes later, which saved you both from the persisting anxiety of having been almost caught. Spencer was seated far from you, but you both spent the meal stealing looks and small smiles.

Dinner with the BAU was everything you thought it would be: loud, chaotic and full of love. You enjoyed hearing stories of your Dad at work, it helped piece together the puzzle of someone you’d spent so long wishing to get to know.

As the night drew to a close, you found yourself dreading the team having to leave, feeling at home amongst the banter and teasing.

When it did officially become too late and even Hotch was refusing drink refills, you and your mom followed the team to the front door, making everyone promise to return for another meal the next time they were in the state. Hotch even suggested that you should do something as a three: him, you and your mom, which made you beam.

On the way out the door, Spencer gave your hand a squeeze. Soft, simple, something otherwise unnoticeable. But he couldn’t kiss you, couldn’t tell you to call him later or update him on the book you were reading. So he gave your hand a gentle squeeze to tell you he’d be thinking of you on the plane ride home.

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀#fluff #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #dr spencer reid #bau team #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #matthew gray gubler #love #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine #dr reid #criminal minds fanfiction

502 notes · View notes

g1rld1ary · 4 months ago

Text

well kept secret 2 - spencer reid x hotch's daughter!reader

wc: 1479

cw: none!

me: i love writing dialogue!!!!!!!!! also i did get a request for a diff hotchs daughter fic but id already written half of this so anon i have seen it!! also also i just finished my first week back at uni and i already have so many more readings than last yr so my writing may become a bit slower for the foreseeable sorry!!

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You hadn’t seen your father for weeks. Both of you had been slammed with work and Hotch had been on a few particularly long cases that had kept him out of Quantico.

However, you weren’t one to waste time. You’d only learnt Hotch was your father as you went into college, your mother’s well-kept college fling exposed as you grew into adulthood. It was you who took the risk in reaching out, genetically curious. Thankfully Hotch was open to the relationship, and the two of you had been making a concerted effort to make up for all your lost time.

That brought you to the FBI offices after Hotch had messaged you that his case had wrapped up at an appropriate time of day, for once.

“Hi, Sweetheart. I just have to fill out this paperwork but I’ll be quick. You can sit in my office if you like or go get yourself a coffee from the break room.” Hotch gave you a quick side-hug, a big show of affection for him, and you nodded easily.

“It’s all good, I’m gonna go annoy your inferiors,” You laughed, skipping out of Hotch’s office and down to the bullpen.

“Hey, little Hotch, you’re back!” Morgan grinned as he saw you, shaking your hand with probably unearned familiarity.

“Are you hanging around for long? Gotta wait for my Dad to finish work before we can have dinner,” You exaggerated your rolling eyes to emphasise the humour in your tone and Derek responded accordingly.

“Good dads, am I right? Sorry, little Hotch, but I’ve got a woman to make dinner up to, I can’t stick around tonight.” You pretended to be annoyed as you made your rounds to the rest of the agents that you’d met, but everyone was lost in their own little world, rushing to get home to their loved ones.

Not that you could blame them, you were sure if you had to be away risking your life so often you’d behave exactly the same. Fortunately or unfortunately, you weren’t in that position and were getting bored. That was, until your eyes locked on the only agent still sitting behind a desk.

“Doctor Reid, right?” You confirmed as you approached him, not not enjoying the way he seemed to become flustered under your gaze.

“Yeah,” He stuttered, “But you can call me Spencer. If you want. Or not, of course.”

“Alright, Spencer.” You grinned, “So why are you so eager to sit behind the desk? Everyone else basically hit the ground running.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Spencer trained his eyes on the file ahead of him, spinning a pen rapidly between his nimble fingers, “Nowhere to rush to, I guess.”

“So you’re single?” You raised an eyebrow with a sly smile, “No girl waiting for you at home?” Spencer almost jumped out of his skin at the word, but managed to shake his head in a way that was almost calm.

“So, um, what do you do?” He changed the subject hastily but you were ready for him.

“You tell me, you’re the profiler, aren’t you?” You were teasing him, challenging him even, but Spencer was good with challenges.

“Clearly you’re in office work of some sort. I assume not necessarily very high up since you said Hotch bought your high-end heels but nothing else you’re wearing is nearly as expensive. Your nails are brightly coloured and have those… charms on them, which tells me you work in something creative, where professionalism has different standards. You’re well spoken and were confident even when faced with the group of us last time, so you probably have to public speak or do client relations. My guess is marketing?”

You stood for a second, amazed by the acute observations Spencer had made within your first conversation.

“I guess they don’t call you Boy Genius for nothing, then. I’m in graphic design, usually marketing campaigns.” Spencer brightened at the praise and confirmation of his brilliance.

“It’s just my job. Any of us would have told you all the same things.”

“Genius and humble? No wonder the FBI is so fond of you,” You teased, leaning against the edge of Spencer’s desk. He laughed shyly, clearly unsure of what to do with himself.

“That and the fact I have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory.” Your eyebrows raised as he hit you with what you interpreted as a joke. Cute, smart and funny, what more could a guy offer?

“Wow, you really are the secret weapon around here, huh? Don’t worry, I won’t tell the bad guys.” You winked with a smile, enjoying the way a rosy blush developed over Spencer’s cheeks. “And all of that by what? Thirty?”

“Twenty seven,” He shot back quickly, “I don’t look that old, do I?”

“Not at all,” You grinned, “I think older men are hot.”

“I don’t think twenty-four and twenty-seven is much of an age gap,” Spencer mused as you blinked owlishly at him, completely missing the implications of his statement.

“How’d you know that? You’re not a genius and a mind-reader, are you?”

“I did some digging,” Penelope admitted sheepishly as she crossed the bullpen with her handbag, clearly on the way out. You glanced at Spencer with an expression you hoped was saying ‘who is this woman and how can she do that?’ to find he was already looking at you, amused smile on his own face.

“If you keep hanging around here you’ll get used to her eventually, we all did.”

“I love her. She’s like if my twelve year old self had adult money.” Spencer laughed at that, loud and bright in the otherwise silent bullpen. You smiled at the sound, silence falling between you both. It was somewhere in the middle of nice and slightly weird. You’d only just met but you knew Spencer was someone you wanted to get to know, he fascinated you in every way. And he was fun to talk to, especially as he got comfortable around you. You assumed it was the genius intellect that helped with his quick wit.

“So, is my Dad a good boss?” You broke the silence with a cheeky grin, testing the boundaries.

“Stop tormenting my agent, honey.” Hotch’s rich timbre popped up behind you and your shoulders tensed in surprise. You’d been caught. You turned to face your father with a coy smile, giggle barely contained.

“It was just a question! Don’t quash a young girl’s curiosity,” You played innocent, knowing good and well that Hotch was too smart for the ploy.

“Maybe save your questions for when Reid isn’t wanting to get home for his weekend?” He raised one thick eyebrow, but you could see the amusement behind his typically serious expression.

“I’m very sorry, Doctor Reid, thank you for taking the time to babysit your boss’ daughter.”

Spencer looked like a deer in headlights. What was the procedure? Hotch was standing right there, yet he was pretty sure (and it took a lot for him to even suggest the notion) that you were flirting with him. How was he supposed to handle that?

“I, it was no trouble at all, really. Happy with babysitting duties, sir,” Reid stammered out, the twisting of his features making clear he knew he was making a fool of himself. Hotch, always having had a soft spot for the doctor, let it slide.

“Make sure you don’t stay here all night, Reid.” Hotch started for the elevators and you hopped along at his heels happily.

“Hope I’ll see you soon, Doctor Reid.” You turned back to face him with a grin, delighting in the way he jumped slightly, only able to offer the single most awkward thumbs up and wave combination you’d ever seen.

As the glass doors closed behind you, you could have sworn you heard a squeaky, “It’s Spencer!”

You stood next to Hotch in the descending elevator, giddy smile playing on your lips. If Hotch noticed he didn’t say anything, not that you thought he would. He was definitely not the type of dad to start gossiping about boys.

You were in his passenger seat on the drive to your dinner plans when he finally turned the subject back to his coworkers.

“Just don’t start coming into my work because you like my coworkers more than me, okay? I’d never hear the end of it, especially from Morgan.”

“Who, me? I would never,” You teased, changing the radio station to something more pop-y, “Besides, it wouldn’t be Morgan I’d be visiting.”

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g1rld1ary · 5 months ago

Text

long time no see - aaron hotchner x hs gf!reader

wc: 1395

cw: minor drinking

me: first time writing for hotch so sorry if there are characterisation issues!!!! i love this pairing so feel free to send reqs if u want more from them bc they're cuties <33

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“Aaron Hotchner am I dreaming or is that you?” You called from across the semi-quiet bar of some middle-of-the-road restaurant. You weren’t 100% convinced it was really him, but the upright posture and stern side profile brought back a lifetime of memories.

Aaron turned quickly, almost paranoid, but his face flashed through a thousand emotions as he took in the sight of you. He settled on what looked like joy, though it was always a little bit of a gamble with him, especially after so many years apart. The intricacies of his expressions weren’t intimacies you were entitled to anymore.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, reciprocating your warm embrace, “You look great.”

“As do you, Aaron. This suit is really nice.” You ran your fingers along his lapels. It was a gesture probably too familiar for two people who hadn’t seen each other in fifteen years, but seeing Aaron had already had an effect on you.

“Do you live around here?” Hotch asked again, a hand warm on your bicep even as you’d stopped hugging.

“Just moved back,” You answered brightly, “Spent the last decade or so in New York but, you know, my parents are getting older. Thought it was time to come home.”

“I’m glad. It’s really great to see you.”

“What are you up to now? Still—”

“Hotch!” A voice interrupted, “Our table’s ready. Who’s this?” The man was obviously a few years younger than Aaron which made you question their relationship — coworkers was the most likely answer, but they seemed awfully comfortable together. Behind them, you caught a glance of a larger group all looking at you curiously. You weren’t ashamed to say you were intimidated.

Aaron took a long look at you as he considered how to answer his friend’s question.

“An old friend from high school.” He introduced you both, and you took particular notice of the title Morgan was given.

“SSA?” You asked, “Like the FBI? I thought you were going to be a lawyer, Aaron?”

“Your friend is team leader of the BAU,” Morgan laughed as Hotch’s humble nature started to show, “He’s a bit of a top dog around the FBI.”

“I can see that.” You were impressed, you hadn’t imagined your high school boyfriend would end up as an important FBI agent.

“I was a prosecutor for a while,” Aaron conceded to make you feel better, “But I’ve been with the FBI for a while now, I feel like I’m making more of a difference.”

You shook your head with a small laugh, “You’re as good as you used to be, Aaron Hotchner. Tell me, has he developed any flaws since he’s been at the BAU?” You directed the question over to Morgan, whose interested surprise was clear in his expression. Evidently, he didn’t exactly agree with you, though you could see plainly how much he respected him.

“Let’s just say you wouldn’t want to be an incompetent local cop — I’m pretty sure he knows more insults than the rest of the team combined.”

“Will you eat with us?” Aaron changed the subject suddenly, “Unless, of course, you have other plans.”

You glanced over at the novel sitting in your now-vacant seat and didn’t think twice. You nodded enthusiastically, bouncing over to collect your things and return before the invitation could be rescinded.

You tried to stay calm as you approached the immensely intimidating table of FBI agents, all doing a poor job of acting as if they hadn’t just been talking about you.

“Hi,” You smiled, sitting down in the empty seat next to Aaron. You were immediately bombarded with questions. About yourself, your life, your relationship with Aaron. It was overwhelming, but you liked the energy and you liked seeing Aaron all grown up.

It was clear his team respected him, you could see it in every look they gave him, and you didn’t even need to be a profiler to notice it. You were strangely proud of him despite not having been in his life for the majority of adulthood, but you supposed everyone always had a bit of a soft spot for their first love.

“Why did you two break up?” Doctor Reid, the youngest of the group, asked as you all tucked into your food. You looked at Aaron for a long moment, a million memories slingshotting themselves to the forefront of your brain.

“I hardly remember,” You answered finally, “I’m sure it wasn’t a good reason — it rarely is when you’re young. I daresay I was probably jealous of the college girls getting to see Aaron every day whilst I was in AP Lang.”

“You’re younger?” Elle asked with sudden interest, a teasing smile on her lips. You nodded, picking up your wine glass.

“Two years.”

“My man!” Derek cheered and you were sure he would have tried to dap his boss up if it wasn’t so entirely anti-Hotch.

The dinner, though definitely a little strange, was full of joy and you enjoyed it immensely. The BAU were a group of such lovely people, they were immediately welcoming to you. They did, however, make you feel old.

Spencer was practically a child, only twenty-three, you and Aaron had already been broken up for a few years by twenty-three! Elle wasn’t much older, and Garcia and Morgan acted a bit like twelve-year-olds when together. You were told stories about Gideon, an older agent who’d built the BAU, but apparently he’d flaked dinner.

The meal wrapped up, and you couldn’t stop your gratitude flowing out for the wonderful night you’d had. Maybe you were a little bit wine drunk. Luckily the team all reciprocated, expressing fond wishes to see you again.

“Can I drive you home?” Aaron asked as the table began collecting their things and pulling on coats.

“That would be nice,” You beamed, “Just let me pop to the bathroom or I’ll be pissing in your car seats again. Uh, don’t ask.” Garcia giggled behind her hand as you darted off through the restaurant.

“She seems nice,” Elle said, buttoning up her coat.

“She is nice. It’s nice to reconnect with an old friend.”

“She might be nice but she’s not a friend, man. She looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky.” Hotch shook his head at Derek’s accusation, but there was definitely the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

“It’s true,” Reid piped up, “Her pupils dilated significantly when looking at you, she was almost always leant towards you with open posture, and she brushed her hair behind her ear sixteen times during the meal.” He awkwardly reciprocated Morgan’s offered high-five.

Hotch was a perfect gentleman, even when you weren’t dating. He’d given you his arm as you strolled down toward his car in a nearby parking lot and opened the passenger door for you to hop in. When you’d told him the address to your flat he didn’t plug it in the GPS which was inconsequential but hugely impressive.

“Who would’ve thought after all these years we’d be back in the same city, driving around town late at night?” You sighed contentedly, watching lights and buildings pass through the rain-spotted window.

Aaron hummed in agreement, both hands on the steering wheel. You liked to watch them, you always had.

“Let’s not leave it so long next time, hm?” Aaron said as he escorted you up to your apartment door. You didn’t invite him in and he showed no indication of wanting to enter. The night was enough. “It was really great to see you.”

You smiled, a warm, genuine one that had Aaron smiling back. For a moment you saw his eighteen-year-old self in it, the image of him kissing you goodnight after his prom fresh in your mind.

“Aaron?” You called him back and he didn’t hesitate, long strides bringing him back to you in moments. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, pleased by his gentle surprise, “I really missed you.”

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g1rld1ary · 8 months ago

Text

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

1K notes · View notes

g1rld1ary · 1 year 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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g1rld1ary · 5 days ago

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mister carter - jily x fem!reader pt 2

part one wc: 5475 summary: you get closer to both potters, and sexual tension bubbles between all three of you warnings: nsfw mdni! pervy boss, inappropriate work relationships & hr nightmares, age gap, objectifying, kissing, nipple play, groping, piv sex (not involving r), boss-employee flirting, praise kink? power dynamics, dom!lily and james and submissive!r, voyeurism but consensual, pls let me know if i have missed any i'm not used to tagging smut!! me: inspired by the song mr carter/milktown by nep! thanku all for the love on part 1, we only get spicier as the series goes on! absolutely taking feedback on my smut(ish) writing as i haven't done much and would love to improve!

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Your weekend-long junk food and television binge didn’t go exactly to plan, as you were invited to a friend of a friend’s house party by someone you knew vaguely from uni. So your pyjamas had to be swapped out for proper clothes, and you’d ventured out to the liquor store for a bottle of cheap wine to avoid showing up empty-handed.

You were browsing the aisles for something in your budget and not totally shit when you saw a ponytail of red hair bobbing along the next aisle over. Your breath caught involuntarily, brain convincing you it had to be Lily despite it making no sense. London was a big city, and you were sure you lived nowhere near her postcode; there was no way it was her.

And yet, like a divine trick of fate, as you reached the end of the aisle, you almost knocked straight into her again, thankfully not dropping the glass bottle you were holding. Lily grabbed your waist to steady you, cold hands sending goosebumps up your midsection.

“Sorry!” You squeaked quickly, not wanting to address her directly in case she didn’t recognise you. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Oh, hello, lovely! What are you doing out here?” Lily asked, hands not moving. The question was innocent, but something in the way she was looking at you made you feel like it was slightly condescending, like she knew you weren’t good enough to be in the area. You couldn’t find it in yourself to mind when she was staring down at you with emerald eyes.

“Just heading to a party. I, um, didn’t wanna show up empty-handed,” You explained, eyes trained on the bottle in your hands. Lily laughed, a melodious sound clinking off the bottles around you.

“Well, please don’t bring that, it’s awful. Let me help.” Lily looped her arm through yours, putting the bottle back on a shelf and leading you through the store. You let yourself be led, taken aback by her easy familiarity. Lily was older, richer and infinitely classier than you, yet she was so willing, even eager, to help you out and do you favours she didn’t have to.

“Here, this tastes so much better and is still cheap.” She pressed the bottle in your hands, and you inspected the pretty label.

“Thank you!” You smiled brightly, heading towards the register. Lily called your name, causing you to stop and look back at her.

“If you want to impress the people at this party, you should pick a different top, something off the shoulder would be more flattering. Don’t change the jeans though, they’re irresistible.” You didn’t know how to respond. You were honestly kind of offended at the criticism, but at the same time, you wanted more of her validation. She was like one of those shitty pick-up artists who tore down women to make them more reliant on them, but it was working on you. Maybe it was just because Lily was a fashion executive, her words surely meant more concerning style.

Either way, her words — critique and compliment — played in your head for the duration of the walk to your friend’s place, where you’d be having pres. Once you passed the obligatory hellos and hugs, you posed a question to the room: “Does anyone have an off-the-shoulder top I can borrow tonight?”

You were humming a radio tune in the break room when it happened. You hadn’t been paying attention, though that probably wouldn’t have changed the outcome. James’s whistling alerted you to his presence before his figure, so you’d already turned to greet him happily. James, seeing you, also perked up and began to wave when he tripped on the slight step up. All in slow motion like the embarrassing scene in a romcom, James’ tea came flying out of his mug and toward you.

You could only stand and watch in horror as his tea got closer and closer, eventually splattering across your face and chest. You could only thank god that the liquid wasn’t scalding hot; in fact, it was freezing cold, goosebumps erupting under where it had landed.

“Oh my God,” James said, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” He rushed over to you, floundering as you stood in absolute shock. “It’s my tea from last night, I made it then got a call and completely forgot about it. I am so sorry.”

James darted across the room to grab a bunch of paper towels, handing you a few and beginning to clean the mess he’d created. After only a moment, he realised the compromising position, hand on top of your now-wet boob, and launched several steps back with a barrage of apologies.

“It’s alright,” You laughed nervously, “It was an accident. I’m just gonna go to the bathroom and maybe stand under the hand dryer for a minute.” You smiled to convince him, rushing to the bathroom with your hands crossed tightly across your chest.

You examined the damage in the mirror, wincing when you knew your white shirt and bra would definitely be stained from the drink. After a moment of hesitation, you unbuttoned your shirt, holding it under the hand dryer. The brown stain didn’t disappear, but at least it wasn’t dripping wet anymore. Your bra, however, was still an issue.

You looked between the shirt and yourself in the mirror, squinting as you considered your options. Not wanting to have a gross stain coming from underneath your shirt, you took off your bra, stuffing it in the waistband of your skirt and pulling your shirt back up your arms.

You reappeared in the break room to a still concerned James, though now with a new cup of tea, which he held dramatically far away as you re-entered.

“See,” You presented yourself with limp jazz-hands, “All good.” You shivered as the air conditioner touched you, goosebumps rising again.

James felt like an absolute creep, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your tits, nipples straining against the still-damp material. “Good,” He agreed, eyes flicking up and down, “You’re shivering, do you want my jumper?” You paused to think, not wanting to bother or inconvenience him.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” You conceded, shamelessly staring at the glimpse of happy trail revealed as James pulled the sweater over his head, and his crisp button-up was pulled out of his belt. You thanked him relentlessly as you pulled the expensive material over your head, but James waved it off with the same determination.

Unknown to you, he was similarly benefiting from the situation. One, you were wearing his clothes, and that unlocked a whole new realm of fantasies. Second, he could finally look away from your chest and pebbled nipples. He was beginning to grow afraid that he simply wouldn’t be able to get any work done for the rest of the day if you remained so tantalising, and he’d simply have to fuck you in his office to get his head back on straight. Not that either of you would have protested if the occasion ever arose.

The rest of the day passed inconsequentially after the incident, James’s sweater hiding any evidence that something had gone wrong and allowing you to get back to work. James, however, was unusually distracted, continually coming back to the vision of your perfect breasts any time his mind strayed from his work (often).

You stared at your feet as you approached James’ office on the higher level you’d never visited before, like it would stop others from looking at you in return. Of course, nothing was off about your appearance aside from your sweater perhaps being a few sizes too large, but that could easily be explained by a preference for oversized clothing; it wouldn’t be strange. Thankfully, James had an amazing wardrobe, probably partly due to his high-fashion empress wife, so his work outfits were always expertly made and in tasteful neutrals, perfect for your own barebones wardrobe.

You knocked softly on James’ office door at the end of your work day, knuckles rapping against the rich oak. You saw him through the glass panel, busy speaking quickly on a telephone, scanning through a thick pile of documents. He looked up at the sound of your knock, holding up a finger to indicate for you to wait until his call was finished. You nodded quickly, supplying an understanding smile as you studied the rings on your fingers to kill time, shivering from the too-high air conditioning.

After a few minutes, James came to the door with a crooked smile, leaning on the frame to look down at you.

“Sorry, love, I’ve been trying to get rid of him all day.”

“It’s no worries, Mister Potter, I’m happy to wait.” James brightened at your eagerness to appease him, ushering you into his office with a hand on your lower back. You didn’t seem to notice its inappropriate nature.

“So what did you need, lovely?” He asked, heading back to his desk.

“I just wanted to return your sweater and thank you again for being so kind. I’m glad it was you, if it had to be anyone.”

“I’m glad you think that, sweetheart. I’m glad it wasn’t anyone with bad intentions. But it’s really no worries,” James trailed off as you began to lift the sweater over your head, completely unaware that your peaked nipples were clearly evident through the thin white material of your button-up. It wasn’t your fault they kept the place so damn cold all the time. His eyes had a hard time straying from the straining fabric, slacks noticeably tighter.

In his haze, he stepped forward to retrieve the jumper while you similarly got closer to return it, resulting in James reaching out his hand and brushing your tits, eliciting a subtle, pleasured gasp as he made contact with your already pebbled nipple. You both stopped for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

You both pretended nothing happened, and you forcibly ignored the pulsing in your underwear.

“Um, thanks again, Mister Potter. I really appreciate you looking out for me.” James simply nodded, his ever-charming smile doing most of the heavy lifting to dissolve the awkwardness of the moment.

“Of course, darling. Come to me if you ever need anything.” You beamed at James over your shoulder, eager to be done and clock out for the day. You really liked how protective James was of you; it felt nice to have someone looking out for you and paying you attention, especially in a big city to which you were a stranger.

After a few weeks, you’d managed to sort out your life and finances and had, for possibly the first time, disposable income you were happy to spend. It was a good thing, too, as over the last few days, Lily’s first words to you had been replaying in your head. Your corporate clothes don’t fit perfectly well, which tells me you haven’t been in the office for long; everyone else upgrades to tailored clothes on their first few paycheques. The thrift store office wear had served you well for the first weeks of your internship, but you needed an upgrade. Everyone else in the office had perfectly fitted clothes in nice, luxurious fabrics, and it was time for you to catch up — shirts one size too small or large just weren’t cutting it anymore.

However, you didn’t know the first thing about expensive clothes. What was worth it, how to get things tailored; it was all a bit of a mystery. And so finally, finally, you unfolded Lily’s business card from inside your wallet and called the fashion empress.

To your surprise, Lily was more enthusiastic about a shopping trip than you were, organising a date only a few days after you asked for help.

That brought you to a store you’d never even heard of before, let alone shopped in, standing with Lily and a tailor as they poked and prodded the clothes you’d tried on.

“Add some darts to this shirt so it’s tighter around the waist,” Lily commanded, her expertise making up for your absolute cluelessness. “Hasn’t she got such a great figure? Let’s not hide it.” You found it both a little embarrassing and kind of hot how assertive Lily was being — it felt nice to have a commanding figure around when you’d felt almost perpetually unsure since moving to the city.

Lily nodded slowly as the tailor marked out the changes she was making. Then she had you turn around so they could assess the pinstriped trousers. Lily’s hand ghosted over your arse as she made a few adjustments, and a shiver shot up your spine at the intimate touch.

You emerged from the store several hundred dollars poorer, with the promise of a few work shirts and a mix of skirts and trousers that would be ready soon.

“Are you in the mood to continue shopping?” Lily asked as you left the store, looping her arm in yours, “Not work stuff, just for fun.”

“I would love to, but I really just can’t afford it,” You confessed, embarrassed to admit it when you knew Lily was both independently and maritally wealthy. Instead of laughing or acting snooty, Lily just looked at you, eyebrows slightly creased.

“I didn’t mean you were going to buy! Darling, you’re twenty-four doing an internship, I would never ask you to frivolously spend money. I’ll pay. So, do you have some time?” You opened your mouth to argue that you couldn’t possibly accept Lily just buying clothes for you, but she shut down that argument with a pointed look. “Honey, I don’t mean to be blunt, but let’s face it. You’re poor, I’m filthy rich, my husband is rich, and I want to buy you some pretty clothes. So, what are you doing for the rest of the day?”

“Nothing!” You replied meekly, swallowing your pride and taking Lily’s kindness. She nodded decisively, dragging you over to where the more fun shops were, immediately grabbing a few things off the rack for you to try on. You were a little sceptical about her choices, flouncy little sundresses you wouldn’t ordinarily pick out for yourself.

Lily pushed you off into the fitting room, taking the boyfriend seat in the middle of the room, typing quickly on her phone as you pulled the beige curtain across.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, concerned by your appearance. The dress was pretty, white, floral and lacy, but you weren’t sure it really suited you. The neckline scooped low, revealing more of your chest than you would typically. That, combined with an excessively short skirt, made you doubt it was really the dress for you.

“Honey, are you ok? You’ve been in there for a while.”

“Uh, yeah!” You called, turning to see every angle in the mirror, “I’m just not sure this suits me.” Lily said something about that being ridiculous and drew back the curtain. You stood anxiously under her gaze, fidgeting with the hem of the mini dress. Lily’s emerald eyes raked over you, sweeping over your breasts and where the skirt sat just under the join of your arse and thighs.

“We’re getting this,” She decided finally.

“B— Mrs Potter!”

“You look gorgeous, boys will be falling all over you if you wear that. Besides, it’s my money, isn’t it?” Your hands were tied. A gift was a gift, even if you stayed too self-conscious to wear it out.

The afternoon progressed the same way, Lily picking out clothes you’d never choose for yourself, usually revealing or adventurous in a way you typically weren’t. Yet, every time you came out of the fitting room nervous or shy, Lily would shower you in compliments and insist on buying the clothing article.

“What bras do you wear to work?” Lily asked out of the blue, and you choked on the Diet Coke you insisted on buying for both of you — a feeble attempt at evening the score.

“I dunno, the ones I wear every day?” You shrugged, showing her the strap from under your tank top. Lily huffed, shaking her head.

“God, for such a beautiful girl, you are so close to hopeless,” She said, and you couldn’t tell how your body wanted to react — to the compliment or the insult. You felt that way a lot around Lily; she evoked a lot of confusing feelings in you.

Before you knew what was happening, Lily was dragging you into a lingerie store, thankfully skipping the colourful matching sets and heading straight to the boring neutrals, appropriate for under a work outfit.

She helped you pick out some bras and panties that would be invisible but flattering under the new clothes she’d just helped you tailor.

“You go on and try them, just message me pictures if you don’t want to come out of the fitting room.” You nodded meekly, taking the bras into the fitting room. Lily didn’t let her satisfaction show that it might result in her having pictures of you in a bra on her phone.

You did as she asked, trying the articles on behind the fitting room curtain.

“You decent, poppet?” You heard from the other side and replied quickly, pulling your tank top over your head so Lily could come in with you. “Do not worry if this is too uncomfortable for you, but I was browsing and just thought these would be absolutely perfect, you should try them on!”

It turned out Lily was talking about a few coat hangers of ribbons and lace. Just ribbons and lace. They were the skimpiest pieces of lingerie you might have ever seen, far beyond even the sexiest bras you already owned.

Lily saw your scepticism and made a show of shaking her head, taking the hangers off the hook she’d rested them on. “It’s completely fine that you don’t want them, don’t worry, darl! I’ll go put them back.”

“No!” You said, louder than you intended, “I’ll try them.” You didn’t know why you agreed — they were definitely out of your comfort zone, and you weren’t even seeing anyone. You had no reason for them, but something inside of you was desperate not to disappoint Lily, even if it meant figuring out how to climb inside a mess of lace and straps.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, eyebrows furrowed. You started off with the safest of the collection, a lavender bra and panty set adorned with frills on the waistband and bra straps, tiny purple flowers sewn onto the space between your breasts and the top of the underwear. The whole ensemble was tiny, but at least the mesh was pretty thick, so you didn’t feel totally exposed.

When you showed Lily, she cooed like you were the cutest thing she’d ever seen. She gushed over how amazing you looked, how flattering the cut was, on and on until you were convinced you liked it.

She did the same for the baby pink translucent camisole, paired with an embroidered floral thong. You were a little concerned about how much you were coming to depend on Lily’s praise. You hadn’t known her very long, and after only one day of quality time, you were preening under her validation.

Lily had picked out one more set for you, and it was by far the scariest. A deep emerald green body suit, complete with an excessive amount of straps, buckles and bows to hang off your body. The whole thing, despite on paper being the most full coverage of the lot, showed your every asset. That wasn’t helped by the fact that you couldn’t figure out how to wear it properly. It wasn’t because you were stupid — you were almost a lawyer for god’s sake — but clearly your brain wasn’t wired to know where superfluous ornamental details sat on your body.

“Um, Mrs Potter?” You called, looking down at the mess you’d gotten yourself in. “I think I need some help.” You weren’t completely hopeless; you knew where the crotch and bra cups (or lack thereof, to be honest) went, it was just the ornaments and trimming.

Lily slipped inside the fitting room with a bright smile, drinking in your body appreciatively.

“I knew this colour would be so sexy on you, let me help!” She fawned, immediately helping you connect the waist suspenders to the garter on your thigh. Her soft hands on the fat of your thigh made goosebumps erupt on the flesh; you hoped she didn’t notice.

If you thought Lily touching your thighs was bad, it was nothing compared to when she worked her way up your body, fastening buckles and tying bows. Especially not when, after a quick glance for permission, she palmed your breasts under the guise of helping them fit better in the almost non-existent cups. Your breath hitched as her hands held your tits, thumbs toying with your nipples with enough subtlety to have deniability, but enough intent to make them stand at attention. You really didn’t mean to lean into her touch, but who could blame you? A beautiful woman inflating your ego all day, calling you sexy and beautiful and spoiling you with hundreds of dollars worth of (slutty) clothes.

“There,” She said from behind you, hands trailing down your body to rest lightly on your hips. “Goddess in green, anyone would be lucky to have a chance with you.” Even you? You thought, then immediately shook the thought out of your head. Lily was married, to your boss, no less, ten years older than you, and married. Lily was not interested in you; you were her little pet project if anything.

You left the store with all three lingerie sets upon Lily’s insistence, feeling extremely indebted to her and physically riled up.

“Do you want to come back to my place? We can make some tea, watch a film.” You agreed easily, amenable to any suggestion Lily could make at that point.

You settled into the plush couch in front of the Potter’s television, observing the many photos littered around various surfaces. Judging by the appearance changes, Lily and James had known each other for a long time. Two different graduations, presumably secondary school and uni, parties, their wedding, even a photograph of them as children. You were slightly disheartened by the knowledge that you were already too old to have a relationship like theirs.

Lily returned with two steaming mugs of tea, sitting much closer than you anticipated. You could practically feel her body heat from where your thighs sat inches apart. You’d never seen the movie Lily switched on, but she promised it would be good.

“I love these shorts, by the way! I’ve been staring at them all day; I wish I could wear them, but I feel like I’m too old now.” Lily grabbed the hem of your shorts, feeling the ripped denim.

“Are you kidding? You’ve got great legs!” You cried, “I hope my legs look like yours in a decade!” It was true, Lily was in great shape, and her legs were miles of creamy white skin, dusted with red freckles. Lily made a joke about you making her feel ancient again, but the conversation soon died down, Lily’s hand resting on your thigh from when she admired your shorts. You tried to control the racing of your heart when she made contact, you shouldn’t — couldn’t be feeling so girlishly lovestruck over both Lily and James Potter, it wasn’t right.

You continued to watch the film in silence, Lily’s hand warm on your leg. Then, on screen, two women began to kiss, music changing to be sultry and erotic as it filled the living room. Your breathing faltered quietly, feeling the change of mood. Suddenly, there was a tension in the cozy living room, and you could feel Lily watching you.

“You’re so pretty,” She murmured, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. You turned slightly, the eye contact intense between you. Lily’s hand slid from your hair to rest feather-light on your neck, energy sparking between you. Lily’s eyes were flicking between your own and your lips, and you couldn’t help but mimic her.

You could all but feel Lily’s lips on yours, her lip gloss sticky on your own. A million thoughts and worries swirled around your mind, but Lily’s floral perfume silenced most of them, lust clouding your head as you both leant in.

The door creaked open, heavy footsteps wandering inside. You jumped away from Lily, safely on the other side of the couch when James walked in. You didn’t know how Lily looked so calm, her husband had almost caught her cheating on him with his employee, you’d think she would have a little more urgency.

“Hey, honey!” Lily called as James’ footsteps got closer. “How was your day?” James bounded over to his wife, kissing her with maybe a bit too much passion given that you were sitting only a metre away. You felt like a voyeur, especially with how you were admiring James.

Up until now, you hadn’t seen him out of his sharp work suits. Not that they weren’t delicious for the eye, but they didn’t come close to the outfit he was wearing now. A tight compression shirt highlighting his defined abs like he wanted you to look at them, and a pair of much too short athletic shorts, revealing muscular thighs and long legs.

“Oh, hi, lovely! What have you two been doing today?” You thought Lily would answer the question, but she appeared distracted and lovestruck, giggling like she was fifteen years younger.

“We, uh, went shopping!” You answered, pointing to the collection of bags on the floor next to the couch. James engaged happily, asking you questions and listening intently as you told him about the clothes.

Lily was acting bizarre next to her husband, shifting in her seat, giggling and touching him more than she should have been in a three-person conversation. Caressing his bicep or thigh, holding his hand, nuzzling his neck.

You took the hint; it was time for you to go. Standing up in a hurry, you made an excuse, thanking Lily profusely for all of her help and generosity as you collected your shopping bags.

“Really nice to see you too, Mister Potter!” You squeaked, slipping out the front door and onto the street.

You were strangely confused as you wandered down the footpath, the last few minutes puzzling you. The energy had shifted so suddenly, Lily behaving like an entirely different person. There was an undertone of sexual tension between the three of you, but you were terrified of making wrongful assumptions.

A few minutes into the walk, you realised you’d left your lingerie bag at the Potter’s, turning on your heel to retrieve it, pink sunset elongating your shadow. You paused for a moment, not believing what you’d just heard. A high-pitched, pornographic moan, floating through the air as if intended for you to hear. Deciding it wasn’t your business, you continued back to the Potter’s house, slipping inside the crisp white picket gate.

The moans, you discovered, were coming from the Potter’s house, which confused you slightly. You’d been gone for three minutes, tops, what could possibly have happened since then? You returned up the short cobblestone path to the front door, hearing Lily’s breathy sighs, pinpointing the sound to coming out of the top panels of the gorgeous bay window, all three cracked open. Your hand lingered on the door handle, hesitating as to knock or just leave it. Your decision was easily made when you heard your name uttered, and curiosity began to creep to the forefront of your mind.

You strayed from the path onto their perfectly manicured garden to satisfy your intrigue, peering through the tall bay window panes. You were all too aware you were being voyeuristic and intrusive, but in your defence, it was too easy, like you were supposed to be listening in. The window being open, the curtains — already a translucent sage — only half closed, left ample opportunity for anyone to look into the Potter’s home, and when you knew they were talking about you? It felt understandable to be eavesdropping.

You didn’t know how to feel about what you saw. Past the oak dining table, Lily was sitting on top of the marble kitchen island, holding herself up on her arms as her head lolled back in pleasure. Her breasts were out of her blouse, only covered by James’ huge hands as he played with her nipples, leaving sloppy kisses and bites up and down the pale expanse of her neck. You froze at the sight, both incredibly aware that you were being a complete pervert, and of the wet spot forming in your panties.

“God, you should have seen her,” Lily said, sighing as James nibbled the crook of her neck, “Looked so fucking good in that bra, just wanted to — ah! — take her there in the fitting room.”

“Fuck, baby, I know she’s got the nicest tits. If there weren’t still people in the office, I would’ve touched ‘em. Just like this.” James demonstrated how he apparently had wanted to handle your boobs the day you borrowed his sweater, thumbing over the left nipple to elicit a shudder as his teeth grazed over Lily’s right one, making her hum in delight as he paid them the attention they deserved.

“I’m still winning though,” Lily’s words were barely distinguishable through the moans and breaths they were both emitting, “I’ve gotten further than you, and I would’ve kissed her today if you hadn’t interrupted us.” She sounded annoyed, but you thought that was hard to believe when she was actively untying the drawstring of James’ athletic shorts, fiddling with the knot over his prominent bulge. The noise James made was primal, coming from deep inside his throat.

“You two are so fucking sexy, need to see you together.”

You tore yourself away from the porno unfolding in front of you as Lily reached into James’ pants, catching your breath against the brick wall, safely out of sight from the window. What the fuck was happening? Maybe you weren’t the most sexually experienced person in the world, but you were fairly certain the Potters were using you to rile each other up and have good sex. And honestly? You should have been less turned on. You should have been utterly offended and terrified and violated, and yet all you could think about was how soaking wet you were. You figured you’d get your lingerie back another day and set off for the subway station, humming happily at your epiphany.

Lily sighed as James thrust into her, clutching the curls at the nape of his neck.

“James,” She cried, grasping the edge of the kitchen countertop, “James, she saw.” James only let out a strangled moan, fucking his wife harder and faster.

Later that night, with your fingers deep inside yourself, your eyes caught on the stack of shopping bags sitting next to you on your bed. Gasping in pleasure, you decided if the Potters wanted to use you as a pawn in their jealous, kinky sex lives, you were a more than willing participant. In fact, you thought it was fucking hot. Especially when they showered you in validation and material gifts. Was it immoral? Probably, but so was fucking your wife while sexually fantasising about the intern a decade younger than you.

On Monday morning, your lingerie was sitting on your desk wrapped in a less conspicuous reusable grocery bag for all of your sakes. When you unwrapped it in the safety of your home, the seal of the protective tissue paper was ripped. You grinned. They’d been looking at it.

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