#james being helpless

[veesstar0555]

sometime in 1977

james: oh come on lover boy, one date?

regulus: stop following me potter.

james: of course not reggie, hogsmeade?

regulus: my answer hasnt changed regardless of you asking 100 times. shouldnt you being doing something useful?

james: unless your name is suddenly ‘useful’, then i don’t think so?

regulus: potter! your brain capacity is that of a levitating feather!

james: oh do keep on talking dirty, reggie!

regulus: james!!

james:

james: oh so im james now?

regulus: fuck.

james: dont make empty promises, love!

[seriousbrat]

Canon Lily does not have any character flaws though. We can argure it is because she was never fleshed-out character on her own in the books but neither was James and we got to see his good and bad qualities.

I disagree, I think we do see flaws in Lily even though they're fairly minor, as flaws go. (And Lily is more of a minor character than James imo.) Anyway, a character flaw doesn't have to be some HUGE abjectly terrible trait or behaviour like Sev or James might have. Most humans don't have some kind of obvious massive drawback to them lmao, most people are normal and their flaws/bad qualities are a bit more subtle than 'literally being a bully' and 'literally joining a fascist group.' When I say I think all characters should have flaws I don't mean they should all secretly be assholes or evil haha. There are ways to write realistic characters who are also good and kind people.

I have a post here about what I think Lily's flaws are. But I'll also add that the flaws she's shown to have in canon are the basis for the reasons people consider her to be selfish, judgmental, a bad friend, two-faced etc. It's realistic for everyone to have moments or parts of them that are selfish or judgmental, and it's realistic for people, especially teenagers, to be imperfect friends at times. The thing is that instead of people interpreting these flaws as fairly understandable and normal in a teenage girl, they jump to the worst possible conclusions and inflate them to a ridiculous degree, with a side of blaming her for everything the men in her life did.

If Lily wasn't shown to have those flaws, people wouldn't be able to jump to them in order to villainise her. It's so weird with Lily, either people believe she's a horrible irredeemable she-devil or else she's a way too annoyingly perfect mary sue virgin mother and badly written etc. It can't be both lol. Lily has a specific role in the story because it's told through Harry's perspective. Is it that weird for an orphaned boy to idealise his dead mother? No. It's not even that weird for a non-orphaned boy to idealise his alive mother. Personally when I read Lily's scenes in DH it doesn't feel to me that she was written as perfect, she just seems like a pretty normal, if notably kind young girl with normal reactions to things.

Her reading Petunia's letter from Dumbledore and using it as ammo in an argument seems realistic. Her telling Snape that he's being ungrateful because James saved his life seems realistic. Her blowing up at James during SWM seems realistic. Her remaining friends with Snape despite his actions, and falling for James despite his, seems realistic.

Is Lily the most developed character in HP? No, of course not, but that doesn't make her that criminally underdeveloped for her purpose in the narrative imo. She's literally dead for the entire story, why would she be as developed as someone like Hermione? It's true that because of her importance to the central mystery, we don't see much of her until the end. Yes that's a shame for fans of Lily, though I also think it works well for the reader (and Harry) to realise that Lily has more importance than we'd realised. Harry identifies with James because he's a boy, it's James he goes to follow in SWM, and the logical conclusion that his mother would also be there (he even sees her and just doesnt recognise her) doesn't even occur to him until she enters the narrative herself. Even then, she's an afterthought to the way Harry's feelings about James are bound up in his own identity.

It's meant to be that way, it's realistic for it to be that way, it's good foreshadowing for the way Lily later enters the narrative in an unexpected way, but anyway, I think even what we are given about Lily is enough to construct at least a rough outline of her character if you care to.

Nobody ever complains about characters like Grindelwald or Regulus being underdeveloped lol, because they're not actually present in the story, nor are they supposed to be, despite being important to other characters. I think there's some confusion since Lily is an important character in Marauders' era, but pls let's remember that all of this stuff that we talk about on here is just background to the main story of Harry Potter. Obviously there's characters who are going to be underdeveloped if you just take them as characters on their own, and yes, since I like Lily I wish we'd seen more of her, but also it makes sense that we didn't see that much because the story isn't about the Marauders' era lol.

Personally I think people judge Lily too harshly as a character. It's not that I think everyone has to like Lily at all, but I do find the standards she's commonly held to a bit ridiculous since they're never even remotely applied to male characters. If you're only interested in angsty dark mean men that's fine, if you're only interested in the characters that have more of a presence in the narrative that's understandable, but personally I don't think there's anything wrong with the mere existence of a female character who is a good and pleasant person haha

[rosemaryhoney27]

Gotham's sunshine child part 4

“No One Tells the Sunshine Kid Anything”

Danny Fenton prided himself on being unflappable.

He had died once. Literally. Been half-ghost for years. He could walk through walls, disappear, fly, and fight beings made of fire, rage, or raw existential dread. He had babysat Ellie, his chaos clone-little-sister, through her “I can fly and you can’t stop me” phase.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the sight of his own face plastered across the top of an official-looking document on Bruce Wayne’s desk, next to the words:

“Adoption Petition: Daniel James Fenton.”

He stared at it.

Then stared at Bruce.

Then back at it.

Then he panicked.

“You—you can’t just adopt me!” Danny yelped, his voice cracking spectacularly.

Bruce blinked up at him from his desk with the calm of a man who had faced both clowns and demigods before breakfast. “Technically, I can.”

Danny looked like he might faint. “Wh—why would you—? I’m not—You’re a Wayne! I’m not a Wayne! I’m barely a Fenton! I eat cold pizza off library radiators and wear socks that don’t match! I have a hoodie made of duct tape!”

Tim leaned in from the doorway, sipping coffee. “That hoodie has structural integrity, man. Honestly, I’m impressed.”

Danny pointed at him with wide, betrayed eyes. “You knew?!”

Tim shrugged. “I helped with the paperwork.”

“TRAITOR!”

Bruce held up a hand. Calm. Gentle. Fatherly.

“Danny,” he said. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than what you want. You’d have a roof over your head. Legal protection. Access to our resources—”

“I phase through roofs. I don’t need a roof!”

“Then think of it as a...very big ceiling with heating.”

“That’s worse!”

Alfred arrived mid-meltdown with tea and what he claimed were “emotion-calming biscuits.” Danny took three. Out of spite.

“I don’t need to be adopted!” he snapped, halfway through a butter cookie. “I’m fine!”

Jason walked past the study, heard that, and turned on his heel.

“No, you’re not,” he said, stepping into the room. “You fell asleep outside last week because you gave your blanket to a stray dog.”

“The dog was cold!”

“You were shivering in a bush!”

“...It was a warm bush.”

Jason just stared at him.

Dick flopped in through the window upside down.

“We’re not doing this because we think you’re helpless,” he said, casual as a cat. “We’re doing it because Gotham chose you, and so did we.”

Danny looked between all of them. “…You conspired.”

“Yup,” Damian said, finally entering with a folder. “Here are the signed statements from three soup kitchens, a youth center, one angry barista, and a biker gang requesting your formal protection and adoption. The barista threatened to withhold caffeine from Father if he did not comply.”

“I—what?!”

“They also gave me a sticker,” Damian added, pinning a “SUNSHINE CHILD DEFENSE SQUAD” badge to his tunic.

Danny’s eye twitched. “I’m going to implode.”

“Already did once,” Tim muttered.

“YOU’RE NOT HELPING.”

Danny sulked on the couch for two hours with a cat in his lap and five Wayne kids hovering around him like worried bees.

He didn’t leave.

Eventually, Bruce sat beside him with quiet patience and said, “You don’t have to be alone, Danny.”

Danny stared at his mismatched socks.

“…I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“You don’t have to,” Bruce replied. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Danny opened his mouth, closed it again. Then, voice small:

“Can I still keep my hoodie?”

Jason snorted. “Kid, we’re not monsters.”

The next morning, Gotham woke to news headlines:

“Bruce Wayne Adopts Local Teen Hero ‘Sunshine Kid’” “Gotham’s Favorite Child Now Officially a Wayne — and Somehow Still Humble About It” “Criminals Warned: ‘Touch Him and Face Gotham’s Wrath’”

Danny groaned and buried his face in the mansion couch.

“Why are there stickers with my face on them?”

Barbara, voice chipper: “Because you’re adorable and Gotham is proud.”

[moonstruckme]

hai lovie!!! im not sure of youve written something like this for emt!marauders yet but could you write something where they come home from work to reader lying on the floor on the hallway due to having low blood pressure and shed tried to go get something to eat or something but had started feeling faint and had to lie down? and then when they come up to reader she starts to cry because being unwell makes her anxious (im not fussed if you dont add that last part up to you <3). i had really low blood pressure the other day and bad to lie on the floor for a good two hours and it really stressed me out :< anyway thanks lovie i hope youre doing well !!!!

Thanks for requesting <3

cw: mention of dizziness, nausea, worries about being alone when unwell and also being unwell in general

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You’re half propped up with your elbow on a step when you hear the front door open. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello!” comes James’ chipper reply, followed by Sirius’ groan and the clunking of shoes as he no doubt kicks them off, beelining for the couch. After a moment of you not appearing to greet them, James asks, “Where are you?” 

“I’m—here.” You soften your voice when Sirius walks by the stairs, his step faltering as he locks eyes with you. 

His eyebrows bunch, concerned before he really knows why. “What’re you doing?” 

“I’m…” You shrug limply, trying on a helpless smile. Tears threaten to spill over from the way your eyes squish up. “I don’t feel right.” 

Sirius has only taken his first, slow step toward you, bemusement written across his features, before James and Remus are behind him at the base of the stairs. 

“Oh. Hi, angel.” James’ voice matches his expression, all gentleness, and worry hidden beneath counterfeit cheer. “Having a little lie down?” 

“Yeah,” you say. Sirius’ touch is a relief as he reaches you. He cups your face and feels your forehead, brows stitched together. You’re happy to be in capable hands. “I started to fall, so I just laid down here. I’m a bit dizzy.” 

There’s only so many of you that can fit on the stairs. James makes it to you next, crouching beside Sirius to take your hand in his and press his fingers to your pulse, so Remus is left peering over them both. He frowns, looking conflicted about his inability to help and worried in general. You try another smile for his sake; unfortunately, this time, the tears do spill. 

“Hey, don’t do that,” Sirius says, no real chiding in his tone as he knuckles them from your cheeks. 

“Sorry.” You force yourself to breathe, but new ones come anyway. It’s a slow sort of cry, the result of a good long while feeling sorry for yourself. “I just, I felt sick, so I tried to go upstairs to the toilet, but then I started to faint and I didn’t think I could make it back down to my phone, and I didn’t know when you would be home, or if anyone would find me…” 

“We’re here now, though, sweetheart,” Remus stops you gently. “It all worked out alright. You’re okay.” 

“Yeah.” You wipe underneath your eyes. “I think my blood pressure just dropped all of a sudden or something, but I still feel weird. It was scary.” 

“I think you’re right,” James says. He runs his thumb over your wrist. “I mean, I’d like to think it’s just because we’re home and you’re pleased to see us, but your heart’s going pretty fast, m’love. How long ago did you lie down here?” 

“I don’t know,” you reply, sniffling, feeling silly. “I don’t have my phone. Less than an hour, I think.” 

Remus hums. “That’s still a long while.” 

Honestly, you feel better just having your boyfriends here with you. Partly because of the security, of course, that you know you won’t faint and hit your head with no one to help you, but also, perhaps, there’s a small part of you that enjoys their fussing. The concerned set of Sirius’ brow, the way Remus’ mouth puckers thoughtfully, how James keeps rubbing his thumb over your wrist like he can soothe your heart back into its regular rhythm. 

“Well, then.” Sirius pats your hip, rising from his crouch. “Not much point in figuring it all out here, is there? C’mon, pretty girl, that step has to be killing your side.” 

It’s true; you think the edge of the step probably leaves an indent in your waist after you let Sirius haul you up, supporting you down the stairs and over to the couch. 

“I don’t feel as dizzy as I was expecting,” you admit. “Maybe I was overreacting.” 

“You?” Sirius exclaims, feigning astoundment. 

“Better to be safe,” says Remus. He claims a spot next to you quickly, as though seizing his opportunity. It makes your lips tug. “I’m glad you were careful, love.” 

You lean your head on his shoulder in a silent plea for coddling; he appeases you, pressing his lips to your hair while Sirius pinches the skin of your forearm gently. You watch him with mild interest. 

“When was the last time you drank water?” he asks. 

“Um…” You think back. 

Sirius lets go of your skin and tuts. “Yeah, seems like it’s been long enough for you not to remember.” 

“On it,” James announces, coming back from the kitchen with a large glass of water. He passes it to you over the back of the couch, and it’s so full a tiny bit spills over the rim onto your wrist, making you shiver. “It’s more common than you’d think for dehydration to do that to you. Gotta be careful.” 

“Yes,” says Remus drily, though his arm comes around your shoulders. “Rather easily avoidable.” 

You shrink, mumbling, “Sorry,” into your glass. 

James awws and bends over the back of the couch to plant a kiss on your head, his good cheer restored, genuinely now. “We all forget sometimes, lovie.” 

“Don’t enable her,” Sirius tells him. He cradles your arm in his hand, stroking the skin he’d pinched as though in apology for his treatment of it. “Don’t listen to him. It’s a grave oversight and you must repent forever.” 

“Forever?” Your smile still feels weak, but you’re coming back to yourself some. “How will I do that?” 

“Mm,” Sirius takes to kissing your arm instead, mumbling with a sternness that borders upon silly, “start with filling your water bottle every day before leaving the house, and at least three times after that.” 

You go quiet, gaze sliding to Remus skeptically. 

He raises an eyebrow. “What?” 

“Is that…really how much I’m supposed to have?”

His other eyebrow lifts, too. “Yes.” 

“Every day?” 

“Yes.” Remus laughs, exasperated. “Yes, that’s the water intake your body needs.” 

“There’s no way everyone’s doing that.” 

“They’re not,” James agrees. “Instead, everyone is getting dizzy and calling us so we can go pick them up from halfway up the stairs.” 

You bring the glass back to your lips, muttering, “I didn’t call, you just found me.” 

James kisses your head again, fiercely. “And we always will, lucky girl.”

[daisybvck]

Nasty Bucky

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky eats you out and he’s nasty about it

Warning: ABSOLUTE FILTH, Bucky eating your pussy, smut smut smuttt, cum eating, pussy spanking

word count: 1.1k+

Nasty Bucky who spits on your pussy while eating you out just to watch it slide down your puffy folds until it dips to your entrance. shoving his tongue inside your hole and fucking his saliva deeper inside, chuckling against you when he feels you clench around his hot tongue. “you like that, sweetheart?” words hot and thick against your sticky cunt.

Bucky gets impatient with not having an answer and pulls away just to spank your pussy, using his metal hand. “asked you a question,” he says sternly, catching your attention. you immediately squeal, voice breaking with a “y-yes! oh god, i love it, Bucky!” you can barely make out a muffled, “good girl, just needa use your words f’me” before he’s spreading your folds open wide, watching as you blossom pink and flushed for him before licking up your slit and sucking your clit directly into his mouth.

Nasty Bucky who lets his tongue wander when he’s going down on you, slipping inside your ass and feeling your pussy clench around his metal fingers that are still stuffing your cunt full. “quit squirmin’, doll,” he pulls his fingers out, coated in your slick, just to meanly slap your pussy, again, twice before spreading your thighs further.

His tongue licking around your puckered hole, “gonna let me fuck you? want me to fill you up the way no man ever has?” his voice deep and rough, eyes flaring with something possessive, getting off on corrupting you.

Nasty Bucky who fucks you hard just to see you squirt all over him. his thrusts are nothing short of cruel, swollen tip pushing against your abused g-spot over and over again. you feel the pressure building, your thighs threatening to close from the intense feeling but Bucky won’t have it.

his strong palms are shoving your legs apart and driving his hips even harder into the same spot. you try to warn him, voice wavering with each rough crash of his pelvis against your ass, but he only presses his hand down on your lower stomach, amplifying the sensation until you finally spray.

his chest is glistening from your gushing pussy and you feel a wave of embarrassment knowing you’re the direct cause for the sheen on his abs. Before you can think too much about it, Bucky’s pulling out and diving face first into your cunt. “Hey hey, it’s okay sweet girl, you just needed a good fucking huh?”

he licks at your folds, thumb rubbing harsh circles into your clit as your juices continue to flood his face despite you trying your hardest to make it stop. he runs his face back and forth across your silky skin and groans hoarsely, basking in your taste as he shoves his tongue inside your pussy.

“James!! s’ too much—fuck!” you cry out, muscles giving out as you try to push his head away. he pulls his head back only to spit on your pussy, giving her two more rushed licks before sitting up on his knees once more, stroking his cock and fucking you right back in the same rhythm, a dirty combination of slick and squirt decorating the lower half of his face, coating his lips and that damn smirk you love so much.

Nasty Bucky who fucks you in missionary just to watch you cry. the way he rams his cock into you is nothing short of mean, his eyes half lidded in lust and his fingers intertwined with your own as he holds them above your head. you’re rendered helpless, forced to take every rough thrust of his hips even when it’s too much. your cunt begins clenching around him too tight, the slight pain that the stretch of his fat cock gives you growing more intense with each relentless thrust.

you can’t even help the big tears welling up in your lash line or your bottom lip quivering as you begin to pout at him. “B-Buck, it’s too deep. fuck, you’re too deep!” you begin to whine out, head turning back and forth against the plush pillow, body being run for all its worth and feeling the twitches throughout your frame in an unfamiliar pattern—you’re at your limit. and he’s still not through.

“just gotta make sure i get all of it, you know this, doll,” his nose is dragging along the column of your throat, his balls slapping wetly against your ass as he ensures every inch of his cock is snug inside your overstimulated pussy. your eyes shut and the tears begin to fall, your heels digging into the dip of his spine to pull him even deeper, body conflicting itself and somehow still begging for more.

“there she is, that’s—fuck sakes—that’s my good girl,” he praises once he feels you pulling him in even closer, head pulling back to look you in the eyes before flattening his tongue against your jaw, licking all the way up your cheek and savoring the salty taste of your tears.

“taste so sweet. you’re cryin’ for it. My baby’s poor little pussy can’t get enough even with all your whinin’,” his words are punctuated with a soft chuckle before he begins lapping at the opposite side of your face. his wet tongue moves slowly across your skin, the humiliation causing soft sobs to fall from your swollen lips but his hips never stop moving. his leaky tip rams against your cervix with each thrust while he presses a wet kiss to the corner of your eye. “so pretty when you cry, we both know how much you want this, how much you need it.”

Nasty Bucky who can't help himself from eating his own cum out of your pussy. he'd long since lost count of how many times he felt your cunt flutter around him, coming over and over from his insatiable desire to fuck you for all he's worth. he didn't give you time to recover after an orgasm, and if you're honest, you can't be sure you can tell the difference between one ending and the next one washing over your overstimulated body.

Bucky had inhumane stamina, the super serum obviously had its perks, and the bedroom happened to be one of the places it showcases the best. He can go for hours, never getting tired of your broken moans ringing through his ears or that frothy ring of your cum that coats the base of his cock. but when he does finally come, it doesn't mean he's anywhere close to being done with you. He could never get tired of you.

Nasty Bucky who fills you with so much of his cum that it can't possibly all fit inside of your pussy. it spills out even with him still driving his hips forward to push it deeper, making a mess of your thighs, and his heavy balls as it overflows. The soft silk sheets beneath you now soaking with a mix of your cum. Bucky simply doesn't care and groans out in a raspy tone as he feels his orgasm last longer than normal, his cock somehow still filling you with more of his hot, sticky load.

when he eventually pulls out, he's immediately dropping to his stomach and pushing the backs of your thighs towards your chest. you've never looked so messy before, he's sure of it, as he licks up the thick stream of white pouring out of your sloppy folds. his eyes shut as he revels in the taste of your combined cum, bumping your clit with his nose while his tongue laps at your quivering entrance as he cleans up the mess he made of you.

He humps the sheets with messy thrusts, “open those eyes for me angel.” You open your eyes and Bucky groans against your cunt, he sucks and bites your clit and it has you whimpering. The look in his eyes is so soft in comparison to how he’s wrecking you. He kisses your clit and moans loudly, his cum spilling all over the sheets but his eyes never left yours.

[colouredbyd]

“Tell Me You Will Believe Me”

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: Your visions as a Seer used to be harmless—until they turned dark. Now, you find yourself caught between protecting the people you love and the terrifying truth only you can see.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: emotional abuse, graphic violence, dark themes, angst, betrayal, emotional withdrawal, mental health struggles (anxiety, depression), trauma, past trauma, death of a loved one, remus being a sweetheart, visions of future tragedy, so much hurt/comfort, LOTS of angst but then happy ending <3

authors note: i should be studying but this idea has been on my mind for weeks so i decided to just write it, enjoy the major angst with comfort. Im trying to test my skills, idk should i do part 2 or leave the ending like this?

part 2 masterlist

It started slowly. Almost imperceptibly.

At first, you skipped breakfast. Said you’d meet them later in class. You didn’t.

Then you stopped holding Sirius’s hand in the hallways. Your fingers used to seek his like a reflex—lacing together as naturally as breath. Until one day, his hand brushed yours and you flinched, pretending not to notice. He didn’t say anything, just shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away.

You stopped waiting for James after class too. Where once you leaned against the wall with a playful grin, teasing him about being late, now you left as soon as the bell rang. “Thought you’d already gone,” you’d lie, when he showed up confused and breathless, eyes searching the corridor for you.

You started skipping Hogsmeade weekends, claiming migraines, unfinished essays, fatigue. “I’ll just stay in and rest,” you’d say, brushing kisses onto their cheeks like goodbyes. “You go. Have fun my love.”

They noticed, of course. The boys weren’t blind.

But you were clever.

You still smiled when spoken to. Still said “love you” back. Still sat beside them at meals—even if you barely touched your food, barely looked up, barely breathed. You learned how to be present without being there. An echo. A ghost in your own skin.

The boys watched you like you were slipping underwater, helpless to stop it.

One evening, James sat beside you on the Gryffindor common room couch, his voice low and joking, “You’ve got this whole ‘mysterious tragic poet’ thing going on lately baby. Should we be worried?”

You forced a laugh. “I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

He smiled at you, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We miss you.”

“I’m right here, Jamie,” you whispered.

-

The smell of fire, of burning flesh. Someone’s laugh twists into a scream that ends too fast.

-

But you weren’t. Not really.

“Take her and RUN, Sirius!” Remus roars, storming forward and grabbing him by the collar, shoving him back like the fire behind him hasn’t already started swallowing everything whole. “NOW!”

There’s blood in Remus’s mouth when he speaks, on his hands when he clutches Sirius, on his temple where something struck too hard, too fast. His lips are trembling but his eyes are terrifying—brighter than the firelight. They burn with something final.

“Moony—” Sirius chokes, voice hoarse with panic, tears already rising. “I can’t—”

“THERE’S NO TIME!” Remus howls, like it’s killing him to say it. “You don’t look back. You don’t come back. You take her and you fucking run, do you hear me? You keep her safe—Sirius, please—

-

-

“Hey hey hey pretty girl, look at me breathe for me come on.”

Sirius’s voice breaks through your fog. He’s kneeling in front of you now, his dark eyes wide with concern. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dorca and Peter are there too, hovering close by, their faces twisted in worry. They’re all looking at you, their concern thick in the air.

“Are you alright?” Remus asks, voice soft, but there’s something underlying—something urgent in his tone. He crouches beside you, his eyes searching for an answer you don’t have.

You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. You feel pathetic having a panic attack infront of everyone. The vision’s weight is still on your chest, pressing down on you, suffocating you. It feels like the whole world is closing in.

Sirius looks like he might reach for you, but he hesitates, as if afraid to touch you. The intensity of the moment hangs heavy in the air. “You’re scaring me princess.” he says quietly, eyes softening.

And for the first time in days, you feel something like a tremor in your chest—like the weight of their love, their worry, is finally sinking in.

“please just hold me.” you hiccup through sobs, your voice sounding too small, too fragile. But the words feel hollow in your mouth.

And they do, they hold you until you feel safe enough. 

It was Remus who saw through it first.

He’d catch you staring into the fire too long. Flinching when the wind howled against the castle windows. He noticed your fingers trembling when you thought no one was looking. The way your hands hovered just above the boys’ shoulders when they leaned in—like you wanted to touch them, like you were afraid to.

“Are you alright, dove?” he whispered one night, his hand brushing your arm.

You blinked, startled. You hadn’t even noticed him sit beside you.

“Fine,” you said too quickly, too brightly. “Just tired.”

He didn’t believe you. He never did.

But he let you go.

After that, everything became quieter, not the visions though. They got worse, more clear, and more horrifying. 

You stopped calling Sirius by his stupid nicknames. No more “Padfoot,” no more “Starboy.” Just “Sirius,” plain and clipped.

You forgot James’s birthday. The guilt nearly ate you alive, even as you watched him pretend not to be disappointed.

You stopped reading with Remus at night. Once, you’d fall asleep curled against his chest while he read aloud, voice soft and warm against your temple. Now, you claimed headaches. Stayed in your bed. Doors locked.

They started whispering when they thought you couldn’t hear.

“She doesn’t laugh anymore,” James murmured one night.

“I think she’s scared,” Sirius replied. “Of what, I don’t know.”

“Us?” Remus said quietly.

-

-

“They know. They know, James—run!” and then footsteps and a crash and nothing.

A golden ring in a pool of blood. The sound of Sirius sobbing into Remus’s shirt. “They said she was dead. They said—”

Remus’s breath on your neck. “Run.”

 Smoke curling under a door you don’t recognize.

The sound of chains dragging across stone. Always the chains.

Blood on parchment.

Your name scrawled across it again and again and again.

-

-

You pretended you were asleep, but your pillow was wet.

Until one night, Sirius finally snapped.

You were halfway through dinner in the Great Hall when he slammed his goblet down and growled, “Alright, what the hell’s going on with you?”

You blinked, startled.

“You don’t look at us anymore,” he hissed. “You don’t touch us. You barely speak. If you want to leave, just say so, but stop pretending everything’s fine.”

“I don’t want to leave,” you said, voice breaking.

“You already have.”

And when you looked at him—really looked—you saw it: the shadow of his future, the one you’d dreamed a hundred times. Screaming behind bars. Eyes hollow.

You turned away. “Please. Just let it go.”

And he did. Because even angry, Sirius would always choose you. Always love you, even when it tore him apart.

Then weeks turned into a month.

Then a month turned into two. 

And you kept fading—slowly, quietly, like death by a thousand unspoken words.

Until Remus couldn’t take it anymore.

Until that night in the library when he found you curled into yourself like a broken star, and you shattered in his arms and told him everything.

You were in the library at nearly midnight—eyes hollow, curled in the farthest back corner like you were trying to vanish into the stone.

You didn’t hear Remus at first.

But suddenly, he was there—standing in front of you, pale and shaking, with something desperate in his eyes.

“You’re done hiding.”

His voice trembled. You looked up, startled.

“I tried to give you space,” he said quietly. “I tried to trust you. Its been two months and 4 days (Y/n). I can’t anymore. You’re fading right in front of me. And I don’t care how much you lie and pretend you’re okay—you’re not.”

You stood too fast, the chair scraping behind you. “Please, just let it go rem.”

“No, dammit!” he snapped. “You shut us out. You stopped letting us love you. You look at James like you’re already mourning him. You look at Sirius like he’s glass. And you haven’t looked at me like anything in weeks.”

Your hands were shaking. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t want protection, I want you!” he shouted.

The silence that followed was deafening.

His eyes were glistening. “Tell me what’s happening. Even if it hurts. Even if it ruins everything. Please.”

You stared at him, throat tightening, vision blurring. 

Remus’s hands trembled as they gently cupped your face, his eyes searching yours for answers. The weight of everything was pressing down on him now, and he could feel the tension in your body, the way you were holding yourself back.

“Please, just tell me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, pleading. “I need to know, I need to understand what’s happening to you.”

You closed your eyes, tears brimming, throat tight with the truth you couldn’t bear to say. You’d been holding it in for so long, the fear, the guilt. It was all too much.

“Tell me you will believe me,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “Please. Tell me you will believe me.”

Remus’s breath hitched at your words, his grip on your face tightening slightly as if to pull you closer to him, as if to anchor himself to you. His heart was racing now, but his voice was steady. “I will,” he promised, his voice raw with desperation. “I believe you. I always will.”

You sank to the floor, legs giving out, and he followed, arms catching you before you could crumble completely. And then, for the first time in weeks, you told someone the truth.

“I’ve been having visions.”

He froze, but didn’t speak.

The words hung in the air between you like a spell. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t face his eyes yet. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, but then Remus exhaled like he had been holding his breath too, his hands moving to hold yours tightly.

“What do you mean? Visions?” His voice was filled with concern, but there was something else there—something dark, like he already knew this wasn’t just a simple problem. This wasn’t something you could brush off with a shrug and a laugh.

You pulled your hands away, holding them against your chest, as if protecting yourself from the storm you knew was about to break.

“It’s like—I see things. Fragments. Pieces. But they’re never in order, Remus.” Your voice broke, and you cursed yourself for sounding so weak, for not being able to keep it together just a little longer. “Sometimes, I’m in them. Sometimes, I’m not. But it’s always horrible. Always the same. It’s—it’s the end, Remus. The end of all of us.”

Remus’s eyes never left you. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t say a word, but his face twisted with confusion and concern, his brow furrowed like he was trying to make sense of the puzzle you were handing him.

“The night we’re all going to die,” you continued, your throat raw. “I’ve seen it, over and over again. I—I see James… He’s screaming. I see Sirius… He’s… he’s not himself. And you’re—” You stopped yourself, unable to finish the sentence, the emotion too raw to put into words. “You’re not there. You’re gone, Remus. And it’s my fault.”

Remus’s face went pale as he absorbed what you were saying, his jaw tightening with the weight of your words. He reached out, his fingers grazing your arm, but you jerked back, your heart racing as you continued, desperate to say it all before it consumed you.

“I’m not always there, but when I am… It’s like I’m not even alive. I watch from some place far away. Sometimes, I see myself dead.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to hold it together. “I see James and Sirius, and I—God, I can’t breathe. I just… I can’t fix it, Remus. I can’t stop it. There’s a traitor, someone in our circle, someone close, and they’re going to betray us. James dies, Sirius gets blamed. They throw him in Azkaban… And I—I get taken, or worse.”

Remus’s hand reached out, but you flinched away, guilt and fear flooding your chest. You couldn’t look at him anymore. You couldn’t look at anyone, not with this knowledge hanging over you.

“I’ve been pushing you all away,” you whispered. “I’m scared, Remus. I’m terrified. I’ve been trying to protect you, to protect all of you. But I can’t stop what’s coming. I can’t stop it. And it’s eating me alive. I’m watching all of us die and I can’t do anything about it.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t dare let them fall. You were already too weak. Too broken. You couldn’t bear to show him any more of your fragility.

“Please, Remus, you have to promise me—promise me you won’t tell them.” Your voice was barely a whisper now, a plea. “Not yet. Not until we know what to do. I don’t know how to stop it, but I have to try. I have to do something, and I can’t do it alone.”

His hand was trembling as he cupped your face, lifting it so that you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His gaze was filled with so much pain, but also an understanding that shattered you further.

“Don’t ever think you’re alone in this, dove,” he whispered. “I’m with you. Always. We’ll find a way to stop it.”

You collapsed into his arms then, the sobs you’d been holding in finally breaking free. He held you tight, letting you cry it all out, his hand rubbing your back in comforting circles.

When the tears subsided, he whispered into your head, “ I believe you, dove.”

And in that moment, you finally allowed yourself to believe it too—believe that together, you might still have a chance to rewrite the ending.

The days that followed were desperate, and the sense of dread hung thick in the air.

The Marauders—Sirius, James, and Remus—refused to leave your side. Remus spent hours with you, pushing you to strengthen your Occlumency, your focus unwavering as he guided you through each mental block. His presence was a steady reassurance, though the unspoken tension between you both never quite lifted. The weight of what you’d seen in that vision was suffocating, and you had to push yourself to stay strong for them. For him.

Every moment, every glance you exchanged with your boyfriends felt charged with the weight of a looming secret. You knew things were changing, but you couldn’t tell them yet. Not until you knew the truth.

And so, you turned to your studies, hoping that if you immersed yourself in magic, in spells that might give you a fighting chance, the gnawing fear would subside.

It was a normal evening. The fire crackled merrily in the common room, casting a warm, golden glow over the four of you. Sirius sprawled out on the couch, teasing James as he flicked through a Quidditch magazine, his signature grin pulling at the corners of his lips. James was laughing, leaning over to nudge Sirius, while you and Remus sat across from them, trying to hold onto a semblance of normalcy.

For a fleeting moment, everything felt right. Remus caught your eye from across the room, and his lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. You returned it, but deep inside, the unease never fully disappeared.

“So, how’s the study session going baby?” Sirius asked, turning his head lazily toward you.

“It’s… fine siri.” you replied, your voice betraying none of the storm inside you. “Just trying to get through all this Occlumency nonsense.”

Remus laughed softly, his gaze never straying from you. “You’re doing great. You’re stronger than you think.”

James grinned. “You’re both scary smart,” he said with a wink. “I’ve been trying to catch up, but it’s been a slow process.”

Sirius chuckled, his usual mischievous energy making it feel like everything was just as it should be.

But then, in the blink of an eye, the room seemed to shift.

The dizziness hit first, so sudden you barely had time to brace yourself. Your vision blurred, and a rush of cold air washed over you. You pressed a hand to your temple, trying to steady yourself, but it was no use.

It wasn’t just dizziness. It was like the world itself was slipping away, replaced by something darker. A vision.

-

-

The world is suffocating—darkness swallowing everything.

The air is thick with screams—raw, guttural, pleading.

James’s glasses fall, shattered into pools of red.

The earth is drenched, soaked with fear, with blood, with everything you never wanted to know.

“Run!” Sirius’s voice cracks as he yanks you forward

You hear Remus, pleading, begging—

“Please, don’t look back. Just go!”

The air is heavy with the crack of spells, the sickening sound of bones breaking.

Sirius’s grip is all you have left to hold on to. You feel the weight of everything pressing down on you, but his voice is a lifeline.

“We need to go NOW.” You don’t look back, but you hear it. That scream.

James.

It’s not just a scream. It’s the sound of everything breaking. The sound of life ending.

It rips through you, through all of you, tearing something deep inside that you can’t even name.

Remus’s eyes lock with yours for a brief second, and in them, you see everything: fear, love, regret. “Don’t look back,” Remus’s voice is barely a whisper, 

The screams keep coming, one after the other. A storm of death and pain. Then, the worst sound of all.

Remus.

You hear him cry out—no, not cry out—begging. His voice breaking, splintering as if his very soul is being torn apart.

The sound cuts through the air like a knife, a desperate plea for mercy that doesn’t come.

The trees are closing in, but you can’t outrun the screams. You can’t outrun what’s happening.

Sirius stumbles, dragging you with him, but you both know it’s too late.

The ground is shaking now, trembling with the weight of death.

Something moves in the distance. Something that’s always been there, lurking, watching.

It’s him.

You hear the soft whisper of a name in your mind, but you don’t believe it.

The world stops.

The truth crashes through you, breaking you wide open.

The traitor.

The one you trusted.

The one who sold them out.

Everything you thought you knew is shattered.

-

-

Gasping for air, chest heaving, you felt the pressure of hands on your shoulders, holding you steady.

“Hey—hey, stay with me. You’re okay.”

It was Remus. His voice was strained with worry. But it didn’t make sense. None of it did.

The world was still spinning, and the faces around you were all blurry—except for one. The one that you couldn’t pull your eyes away from.

Peter was standing by the door. His eyes were unreadable.

And in that moment, you knew.

“Peter.”

The word was barely a whisper, but it hit the room like thunder.

Remus’s grip tightened, his voice full of panic. “What are you saying? What do you mean?”

But you couldn’t answer. Your mind was reeling from the truth. The betrayal that had been right in front of you all along.

It was Peter.

[lostrologyy]

saw a pic of stag antlers as a hip tattoo on pinterest so now i’m putting in a formal request of james reacting to seeing them on u skdjsksnsjsj

james reacting to a tattoo you got just for him*. ⋆

cw: fluff but with suggestive content. james being feral. kissing (like, a lot). cursing. brief mention of needles and pain? not proofread!

a/n: can someone tell me if a hip tattoo is supposed to hurt? cause i got one last month and didn't feel a thing lmao. remember english isn't my first language!

he was not supposed to see it yet.

your skin was a bit sore from the needles, the flesh around it still flushed and tender after a few hours of getting it done. you intended it to be one of james’ birthday surprises, a way of capturing your adoration for him in a permanent way.

the plan was to get it done two weeks prior so the tattoo could have some time to heal. you scheduled an appointment at a tattoo studio in secret and told james you had to run some errands. clearly, you underestimated how difficult it’d be to hide the small patch of ink from your boyfriend.

he’s all over you the moment you step through the door, hands on your face, your neck, your waist— touching and kissing every part of you as if he hadn’t seen you in a long, long time. even if you saw each other this morning.

he carries you into the bedroom without stopping his assault to your mouth, he bites and licks and whines when your hands tug at his hair, breaking the kiss.

“mhm, jamie! what’s gotten into you?” you giggle.

“what? a man can’t show his precious girl how much he loves her?”

he sits at the end of the bed and pulls you by the waist, leaving you standing between his legs.

he tugs the end of your shirt and takes it off of you, pulling back just to see you properly, so eager and desperate.

his eyes roam over your body, going from your face to your shoulders, your chest, your tummy and your waist and—

he freezes.

oh shit

your hands fly to your hip, hiding the tattoo beneath them even though it’s pointless.

he blinks one. twice.

“angel, what— what is that?”

“it’s nothing!” you squeak, his eyes wide open connecting with yours, looking like a puppy waiting for a treat.

“ugh, it was supposed to be a surprise!” you groan.

“a surprise? for me?”

“for your birthday, jamie” you murmur, the tone of your voice reflecting how disappointed you are for ruining this.

he places a hand on your cheek, his thumb rubbing slowly your cheekbone. he smiles.

“angel, for me every day i get to spend with you feels like my birthday. could you please show me?”

you sigh, a defeating sensation growing in your chest.

“okay.”

your hands sluggishly reveal the small design on your hip, and james’ eyes grow bigger again at the sight of it.

he’s not talking, making you even nervous and wondering why you ever think this was a good idea. “it’s uh, you… kinda.”

he inspectionates it carefully, the tip of his fingers ghosting over the tender skin as if he was caressing a small and delicate flower.

“you got a tattoo… of me?” he says, astonished.

“don’t make it weird,” you whine. “i just thought—”

he cuts you off with a kiss. the kiss.

his hands pull you by the neck until you’re on top of him, shirtless and straddling his lap.

he kisses you with so much adoration you’d never felt before. his tongue brushing against yours with such need that saliva starts running down your chin, he might as well be worshipping you with his tongue in your mouth instead of on his knees.

and he groans, low and helpless.

“you’re not allowed to show this to anyone. ever. it’s mine. it’s mine.” then he places a kiss right above the tattoo, and another, and another like a prayer.

breathless, you feel him smile on your skin when he mutters:

“i love you so fucking much.”

lostrologyy © 2025.

[buckysouvenir]

pocket-size politics “Congressman Bucky Barnes: Veteran. Hero. Girl Dad.” a.n.: saw a tweet and got inspired! congressman barnes as a girl dad?? couldn't lose the chance.

Congressman James Buchanan Barnes had survived a war, the Winter Soldier program, two terms in office, and more campaign debates than he cared to remember—but the true test of his patience and diplomacy came on the morning of the National Family Policy Summit... in the form of a white, plastic, wide-eyed Sylvanian bunny named Luna.

“You’re not bringing that to the Capitol,” Bucky said, somewhere between amused and exasperated as he fastened the cufflinks on his dress shirt. “Baby, come on.”

“She goes everywhere with me,” your five-year-old daughter replied with a dramatic pout, clutching the tiny bunny in her fist like a priceless family heirloom. “Even to boring speeches.”

From where you stood by the closet, you choked on a laugh. “Did you just say Daddy’s speeches are boring?”

Your daughter turned her big eyes to you with zero remorse. “He says a lot of words. None of them are about ponies or glitter.”

Bucky turned to face her fully, brows lifted in mock offense as he jabbed a thumb at his chest. “Excuse you, I gave a very passionate speech last week about early childhood education—”

“Did it have glitter?”

“No, it did not have glitter.”

“Then it was boring.”

You tried not to laugh again, watching as Bucky knelt down in front of her with his tie dangling untied around his neck. “Sweetheart, you’re going to be sitting in the front row with Mommy. It’s a very official event. Luna might get tired.”

Your daughter’s grip on the bunny only tightened. “She doesn’t get tired. She’s brave.”

“She’s brave,” Bucky echoed solemnly, casting a helpless glance in your direction.

You shrugged, crossing the room to help him with his tie. “She gets it from her dad,” you whisper.

He looked down at you with a half-smile as you slipped the silk tie under his collar and began the practiced loop. “I’m being tag-teamed by my own family.”

“Welcome to fatherhood,” you teased, tightening the knot and smoothing it over his chest. “How’s your speech?”

He sighed. “Over-rehearsed and under-loved.”

“She did say it was boring.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’ll be brilliant. And if all else fails, you’ve got charm and the hair.”

Your daughter wandered up behind you, still holding the bunny like a weapon of emotional mass destruction. “If Luna can’t come, I’m not coming.”

“Baby—”

“She’s brave.”

And with that, you both gave up.

The drive to the Capitol was a blur of security checkpoints, coffee in travel mugs, and Bucky muttering under his breath as he reread his speech for the twentieth time. Your daughter, sitting between you both in the back seat, kept Luna safely strapped into a makeshift “seatbelt” made from a ribbon on her wrist.

“She’s ready to help the country,” your daughter said confidently.

“Oh, is she?” Bucky asked, humoring her as he rubbed his eyes.

“She has ideas.”

“God help us all.”

By the time you arrived at the grand marble steps of the Capitol, Bucky was shaking hands with staffers, giving tight smiles to photographers, and adjusting his blazer like a man preparing for battle. You held your daughter’s hand as the three of you made your way to the entrance—until a staff aide pulled Bucky aside with a rushed whisper.

“The press pool is twice the size we expected. They want a few shots of you entering the rotunda with your family.”

You and Bucky shared a glance.

Then—

“Where’s Luna?”

Your daughter froze, mid-step. “Oh no!”

In the rush of security and crowds, she had dropped the bunny. Panic set into her tiny features, but just before the tears could fall, Bucky crouched down beside her with the speed of a man trained for emergencies and grabbed the bunny who was just a few cm away from them.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said, holding out his hand. “May I?”

She hesitated, but slowly placed Luna in his palm.

Bucky glanced at the bunny, then at his daughter’s wide, hopeful eyes, and sighed in mock seriousness. “Okay. Luna can’t sit with you in the front row... so she’ll have to sit with me.”

Your daughter blinked. “She can?”

“She’s not just a bunny. She’s... undercover.”

He straightened, pulling open his blazer and carefully placing the bunny into his inner pocket so that her fuzzy head peeked out just above his handkerchief. “Secret Service bunny. She’s got clearance.”

Your daughter gasped like she’d just witnessed a miracle. “She’s gonna spy on the senators!”

“Only the rude ones,” Bucky said, brushing a hand over her curls. “Now go sit with Mommy and make sure you clap the loudest.”

Later, as Bucky stepped up to the podium, the cameras clicked and whirred and zoomed. His voice rang across the chamber with steady calm, speaking of family, education, affordable childcare, and compassion in politics.

But that wasn’t what made headlines.

It was the bunny.

“Congressman Bucky Barnes: Veteran. Hero. Girl Dad.” “Forget red or blue. We’re voting plushie.” “I trust the man who brings a bunny to the Capitol.”

Backstage, Bucky made his way to you, eyes still bright from adrenaline. Your daughter ran straight into his arms.

“She says you did good,” she told him, planting a kiss to his cheek.

He smiled—real and soft and so full of love it nearly broke your heart. “Tell her I couldn’t have done it without her.”

“She wants to do another speech.”

“Let’s start with nap time first.”

You touched his shoulder and reached into his jacket, gently pulling Luna from her pocket. “The most powerful bunny in America.”

Bucky looked down at the Sylvanian with mock reverence. “We owe her everything.”

And as your daughter curled up between you both on the car ride home, bunny in hand and head on her father’s shoulder, you watched Bucky smile down at her, brushing her hair back with the same hand that once held a shield, then a gun, and now held her heart.

A bunny in his pocket. A girl in his arms. And his whole life wrapped in both.

[hirayalore]

SIRIUS BLACK is a lot of things. he’s reckless, impulsive, handsome, charming, the epitome of trouble—yet what he refuses to be is disloyal to his friends, and that remains to be one of the few things that others can at least commend him for despite his questionable reputation.

however, his moral compass wavers a bit every single time he catches a glimpse of you, a fellow gryffindor whose laughter sounds like literal music to his ears whenever you’re near in the common room and whose smile can make him feel things that he isn’t sure he’s familiar nor okay with for that matter.

it’s mushy… fluttering… too soft for a git and well-known casanova like him who moves from girl to girl like a quaffle during quidditch.

but he can’t deny that when it comes to you, there’s an undeniable pull that he can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard he tries. it’s as if even if he makes a conscious effort of not staring at you, or tuning your voice out during class recitations, or choosing to step away when the only seat left in the gryffindor long table is next to yours—you still end up lingering in his mind after school hours, making him wonder what it would be like if he just succumbs to his desires. 

which is wrong. on so many levels.

because peter pettigrew likes you, and if there’s one thing that sirius hates the most, it’s willingly betraying your friends.

so, why does it feel this bloody good to kiss you like this?

“okay, fuck—” sirius pulls away, restraining himself from deepening the kiss and pressing you harder against the wall he’s caging you in. “you—you absolute dangerous little thing—” he tries to complain, but you tug him by the collar of his shirt again, kissing him once more which sirius groans against your mouth to, his head tilting to the side to kiss you better nonetheless.

everything happened so fast.

one second the gryffindors are celebrating a quidditch win in the common room, the next he finds himself standing next to you by the fruit punch that might have been spiked by james and himself, and then by the following hour or so, he’s seeing you flirt with him and he can’t resist the urge to flirt back, not when it’s you who’s smiling at him and batting your eyelashes in a way that definitely makes him stare far too long on that pretty face of yours.

“bloody hell,” he curses, dragging his mouth away from your lips, his forehead falling on your shoulder where he takes even breaths.

he hears you breathe with him, chuckling, before the palms of your hands find his cheeks, softly cupping them and forcing him to look at you.

you both stare at each other, and sirius scans your features—your shiny eyes, the strands of hair that fan your face, the way your lips appear sinful being swollen and red like that, as if begging him to make it worse.

you smile and pull him in for one more kiss, a soft kiss that he melts into and renders him completely helpless under your touch.

when you pull away, resting your forehead against his, he whispers something that one definitely shouldn’t say after a moment like that:

“peter likes you.”

you continue to gaze at him, raising an eyebrow. “what?”

“peter likes you.”

“yeah, no—i mean,” you laugh a bit, your hands falling on his shoulders, “why are you telling this?”

“because he’s…” he swallows hard, looking pathetic or like he doesn’t want to say his next words out loud, “he’s a mate of mine. and this—this thing that just happened between us—it shouldn’t have happened.”

“oh.” 

you don’t seem like you’re hurt by his words. if anything, you’re confused, and he gets why. the infamous sirius black isn’t exactly recognized for taking the high road.

“yeah, so.” he clears his throat and steps back (grudgingly, his feet protesting while he does so), unsure of what to do other than leave. “i’m sorry. i just…”

he feels foolish as he tries walking away. but he doesn’t even get to feel foolish for that long because the moment you call his name, he doesn’t even think—he just stops and turns to you once more, curious on what you have to say.

you’re still leaning against the wall, your hands behind you, and you’re looking at him in a coy manner that his inside feels goddamn weird again.

“i don’t like peter,” you say.

sirius inhales sharply.

“i like you.”

his hands form into fists at his sides, every bit of restraint crumbling as you stare at him like that.

and then with the press of your lips, you deliver the final blow.

“don’t you like me too, sirius?” 

he sighs, the innocence and sweetness of your tone causing him to close his eyes for a moment, further sending him spiraling due to his dilemma of being a good friend or having you for himself.

but then he hears you call his name again, with that breathy voice that he knows he’ll replay in his head for nights to come, and throwing every last bit of moral he has in his system, he curses under his breath and dashes towards you, kissing you senseless with much more fervor and want. 

your lips curve upwards against his and he groans.

“have me wrapped around your finger, have you?” he says.

your victorious laugh echoes in the dark hallway.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[ddejavvu]

JAMES POTTER THE MAN THAT HE IS i wholeheartedly believe would spoil you so much and you’d make sugar daddy joke about him CONSTANTLY even if you were the same age

"Why has your aunt just told me I look too young to be your boyfriend?" James leans over to murmur against your ear, throwing a glance at your aunt who's currently indulging in another glass of wine that she doesn't need.

"I dunno," You shrug, "Older ladies are always saying things about the way people look for their ages."

"Your grandma frowned at me when I came in," James recalls with a groan, "Not necessarily angry, I don't think. Just confused."

"She's always confused," You scoff, "Don't worry James; no one else thinks I've robbed the cradle."

"Y/N," It's a cousin of yours this time, elbowing you hard in the shoulder and sitting down beside you like you're not huddled up privately with your boyfriend, "I thought the wallet you snagged was halfway to the grave already. 'This his son?"

"Wallet?" Your eyes narrow, nose crinkling at the accusation, "What are you talking about?"

"You said you had a sugar daddy," Your cousin scoffs, and realization hooks your stomach, dragging it down towards your feet through an ocean of blood, "We all thought you were gonna bring some war veteran tonight, this kid looks like he just graduated high school."

"I'm twenty-two," James rambles, scandalized, "Y/N, you told them I was your sugar daddy?"

"No! No, I told them ages ago - when we started dating, that I had a boyfriend but- I mean, I dunno, I've thrown around the term sugar daddy while showing off some of your more... extravagant purchases."

"Like the cruise," Your cousin helpfully supplies, "And the tennis bracelet, and the summer home."

"That was a rental," You hiss, "Jamie, I swear I've used boyfriend 90% of the time."

"We thought she was just being optimistic," Your cousin admits, a wrinkled grimace on their face as they rush to free themselves from the awkward conversation, "But- uh, good for you two, remember me in the will."

"Oh my god," James buries his face in his hands, "They thought I was ancient. They thought I was some pervert chasing after girls, throwing money at the ones who'd pity me enough to look my way."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Jamie," You croon, taking his face into your hands and shooing his own away. He leans in desperately to the soothing kisses that you stick to his face, looking for all the world like he might die of embarrassment right here right now. For all that he moans and groans, he's tucked himself into your hold like a helpless infant, and you're happy to oblige his neediness.

"No more using the word daddy." James instructs, though he's not in a position to make orders while nestled securely in your protective grip, "Not unless we decide to take a leap of faith in the bedroom. God, no wonder your grandma was so disappointed when she saw me- I don't have enough wrinkles for her."

[theogonize]

intentional voyeurism wilson... nnnghhhhhh (unedited filth)

when house off-handedly jokes about being able to "see everything" through the windows of their neighboring offices, if you and wilson were ever to fuck in his office... something nefarious sets off in his mind. he knew you were into the rushed secret sex thing, him even mentioning it made you giggle and blush. you weren't familiar with just how much house would be able to see through the windows. and you trusted james, you didn't think he'd whore you out to his best friend because it turned him on.

he spent the next few days testing out the angles from the balcony that would display your body the way he wanted.

one day, when you come to visit him, when he purposely forgets his lunch at home so you'd have a reason to, he acts up. he requests to meet you in his office, privately. you smile at house on your way there. he, in turn, eyes you intently. wilson greets you with messy, hungry kisses, already quite turned on by the prospect of house watching. he gropes your ass and pushes you on the desk.

"my my james, you weren't kidding about fucking in the office, were you?" you giggle breathlessly. the rush, the secrecy, this sudden neediness in your ever professional boyfriend; everything in this moment was spurring a mighty rainfall between your thighs.

he shakes his head, yanking your clothes off you as quickly as possible. he was being hasty till this point, he just wanted the fun to begin. it wouldn't until he messaged house: "for god's sake don't interrupt me right now."

fortunately for wilson, house wasn't actually off-handedly joking that time. he meant it. ever since wilson started seeing you, house was desperate to join it seemed. everything about your body and the clothes that hugged it ever so snugly made him extremely... curious.

pressing his teeth into your neck softly, he made his way to your bra, unhooking it with ease. he used both hands to tug down your panties. then he heard it. footsteps. the cane. he was on the verge of losing all control over the sheer excitement coursing through his veins.

he propped you up on his desk in a way where house would be able to see your tits and waist clearly but not your throbbing pussy, as he expertly began fingerfucking you. he teased house with the blurry yet distinct sight of your heaving, flushed chest and descriptive expressions as james drew moan after moan, scream after scream from you.

poor house. whatever wilson was doing, he was doing right. the way your brows furrowed and the way you bit your bottom lip... dear lord. you had left him throbbing and leaking in his pants. it took everything in him to not barge through the door and watch you orgasm on wilson's skilled fingers, spilling your juices all over his thick forearms. that lucky bastard wilson.

james pulled out of you, making you whimper at the sudden emptyness. he knew house was watching. he knew he had an audience to impress. you were his little showgirl. his pretty little toy he could show off to his friend. his licked his fingers, covering them with spit. he lightly smacked the side of your thighs. it was time to change positions. of course, wilson wasnt cruel. oh no. he wanted house to get a good view of his whore, his plaything. he bent you over his desk, exposing your bare ass and thighs to your secret voyeur, not so secret to your boyfriend of course.

but somethings are just his to see, like that pretty pussy of yours, and your pretty face pressed up against the desk as your pleads vibrated through the wood. his fingers and palm conveniently covered your hole, again. house was robbed of seeing the flow of pleasure on your face. he was disappointed. and helpless, as much he wanted to, he couldnt jerk off in the balcony. he just had to ache with no release.

the last view house sees is that of wilson licking your cum off his sleek fingers, looking him directly in the eye. he closes the blinds cockily as you pant and try to gather yourself. the eye contact sets off something nasty in him, house can't help but soil his boxers with his release.

that lucky bastard wilson.

[florsial]

think think think

Regulus sneaks off to the Potters to give Sirius a secret Christmas gift and gets caught by Sirius and James who convince him to stay a bit longer, and every time Regulus is like, "I have to go" and Sirius is like, "It's Christmas Reg, cmon just a little longer, you can say that I dragged you here against your will or whatever, just stay a little for a bit longer." And Regulus, being loki helpless against his older brother, just agrees. And he begins to bond with everyone.

Eventually, Regulus accidentally stays the rest of the day and when he gets ready to finally leave, Effie is like, "Would you like to stay the night? It's quite late" and Monty just straight up says, "Would you like to stay forever?"

And that's how Regulus ran away. (Accidentally)

[theonion]

In an ultimately futile act some have described as courageous and others have called a mere postponing of the inevitable, existentialist firefighter James Farber delayed three deaths Monday.

“I’m no hero,” Farber said after rescuing the family from a house fire on the 2500 block of West Thacker Street, and prolonging for the time being their slow march toward oblivion. “Like any other man, I am thrown into this world, alone and terrified, to play a meaningless role in an empty life. In my case, that role happens to involve charging through towering blazes to pull helpless individuals from a sea of flames before they suffocate or are burnt alive.”

Added Farber, “That hardly makes me a paragon of virtue.”

At 2:30 a.m. Monday, the alarm sounded at Farber’s station house, causing the despondent firefighter to emerge from a deep malaise and, though still absorbed by the sense of dread that has preoccupied him since youth, respond promptly to the request for assistance at the home of Stanley and Joyce Morgenstern.

According to department officials, Farber, a 13-year veteran of Ladder Company 8, climbed through a kitchen window and, despite carrying with him a heavy burden of alienation, managed to see all three members of the family to safety.

“He came out the front door with a body slung over each shoulder, and seconds later there was this big fireball and beams started falling and the whole thing caved in,” neighbor Judy Neal said. “When it was all over, he just sort of stood there emotionless and silent, as if nothing had happened at all.”

“I think I even saw him shrug,” she added. Full Story

[dismalflo]

hiii!! i love your writing! i was wondering if i could request something with poly!marauders where reader is having a multiple-day episode where she just stays in bed and cries and can’t seem to do anything? i think that they would be good about trying to help her without pressuring her

i deal with that stuff especially in the summer and i think the hurt/comfort would be so cute

no pressure of course i know it’s kind of a heavy topic, have an amazing day!!

Hi, love! thank you for requesting <3 i hope this is the kind of thing you wanted

poly!marauders x fem!reader ✩ 1.9k words

cw; depression

The warmth of the room feels cruel, almost mocking. The air is heavy and stale from stillness and you know it’s because you haven’t summoned the will to get up and crack a window. Even the idea of moving feels like it would drain the last bit of strength you’re clinging to.

There’s guilt too, thick and low in your chest, compounding the numb weight that's settled over you. The boys – your boys – never signed up for this. For the version of you where everything feels unreachable, everything except the sadness. So you pushed them away.

Rationally, you know that only made things worse. But you’d convinced yourself you deserved the isolation. You remember how James’ face fell when you asked them to leave you alone – how it crumpled under the weight of helplessness. Remus and Sirius hadn’t looked any better, but they knew this territory. They've wandered it themselves, and maybe that’s why they didn’t protest.

You hate this version of yourself. You wonder if, with a little luck, your bones might fuse right here, locked in place so you'd never have to move again. You feel ridiculous. Small.

A wash of light spills into the room, startling you out of your thoughts. Remus stands in the doorway, silhouetted for a moment, then quietly walks in, a glass of water in his hand. He sits on the edge of the bed, folding one leg beneath him so he can face you. His free hand gently brushes your hair from your face.

“Hi, dove,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” you rasp back, your voice rough from disuse, the shadow of a smile tugging at your lips.

He smiles too. It’s soft and sad and not nearly as bright as usual. You must look a mess.

“Can you sit up and drink some of this for me, lovely girl?”

You shift, the scratch of sheets beneath you suddenly deafening in the quiet. Muscles ache and a dull throb passes through you from being still too long. But you sit up, slowly, the motion ungraceful and tired. Remus moves with you, steadying the glass so water doesn’t slosh over the sides as he hands it over, his hand warm at the back of your neck.

It tastes like nothing and everything. Cold and clean, cutting through the film in your mouth and the weight in your throat. You drink it all.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, just enough praise to feel like something, but not enough to make you shrink from it. His thumb brushes against your jaw before he leans back a little, giving you space but not going far.

“Y’know how Jamie bought enough bananas for all of Britain?” he begins, eyes flicking toward the window, where the curtains are drawn.

You hum a soft, “Mmhmm,” already imagining James’ sheepish grin and his arms bracketed by tote bags.

“Well,” Remus continues, a little more animated now, “they all went brown too quickly and he wouldn't let Sirius throw them out. Kept saying they shouldn’t be wasted.” He huffs a laugh under his breath. “So now we’ve got three loaves of banana bread. All of them with chocolate chips.’”

You don’t laugh, exactly. But your lips curve, not the ghost of a smile this time, but something real. Small and fragile. You look at him, and he’s watching you, something soft flickering in his eyes. Relief, maybe. Or hope.

You shift your legs beneath you.

“Did he burn them?” you ask, voice raspier than you'd like but steady enough.

Remus smiles again, eyes crinkling faintly at the corners. “Only one. Sirius keeps making fun of him for it.”

You sit with the empty glass in your lap for a minute after Remus finishes speaking, thumb tracing the rim slowly, quietly.

You swallow around a lump that isn’t quite sadness – more like uncertainty – before glancing up at Remus again. He doesn’t rush you. He never does. His hand is still resting loosely on your ankle, anchoring you without pressure.

“…Do you think,” you begin slowly, voice catching a little, “Do you think they’d mind if I came into the living room for a bit?”

His brow furrows, not from confusion but concern. “Mind?” 

You look down at the duvet, picking at a loose thread. “Because I told them to go. And I know that was–it wasn’t really fair. I just didn’t know what else to do.” The words tumble out, half-formed. “Are they angry?”

There’s a pause. Then a warm weight settles next to you again, and Remus is reaching out to gently tilt your chin so you’ll look at him.

“They love you, I love you,” he says simply. “They’re not mad. They just want to be here for you, we all do.”

You nod slowly, still unsure, still wading through that murky middle ground between wanting comfort and fearing you don’t deserve it. But Remus smiles like it’s already decided, like the hardest part is already done.

“C’mon then,” he says, standing and offering you a hand.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to take it, but because your fingers feel clumsy and you’re half afraid you’ll fall apart if someone holds you too carefully. But you take his hand anyway, and he squeezes once, grounding you.

Remus walks close without crowding, letting your pace set the rhythm. When you pause outside the door, his hand slips from yours to rest lightly on the small of your back.

Inside, you hear Sirius grumbling something in French, followed by James groaning when he doesn’t understand. All of you have taken to learning little bits here and there with Sirius as your teacher.

It makes you smile.

You take a breath. Then another. And step inside.

The room is warm, in a different way to the bedroom. The afternoon light slants in golden through the half-open curtains. Sirius is sprawled sideways on the sofa, all long limbs and sleepy eyes, a blanket draped over one shoulder. James is sitting on the floor overlooking a notepad laid out on the coffee table.

The second they clock you in the doorway, everything stills.

Sirius sits up straighter, his eyes soft, cautious, like he’s afraid too sudden a move might scare you off. James blinks once, then straightens so fast it’s almost comical.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Sirius says gently, his voice quieter than usual but still unmistakably him.

 And before your brain can talk you out of it, your feet are moving, bringing you to the sofa. You settle beside Sirius, tucking yourself gently into the crook of his arm.

He doesn’t say anything else. Just curls that arm around your shoulders and pulls you in, slow and careful, like you’re something precious and he’s terrified of cracking you open.

You close your eyes. It feels safer here. Warmer. Maybe you haven’t ruined everything after all.

You glance up at James, who’s still sitting there, looking like a very large puppy waiting for instructions. You can see him itching to ask, before he does.

“Do you want anything, angel? Cup of tea maybe?”

You let out a breathy little huff of air – something like a laugh. Sometimes, you think, James’ only desire in life is to make sure the people he loves most are well cared for and looked after. He does it well. 

You give him the smallest of smiles. “Remus said you made banana bread?”

Sirius snorts beside you, the sound low and delighted. “Just here for the banana bread, you minx.” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, tucking you in a little tighter.

You close your eyes as Sirius tightens his arm around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer, the warm pressure of his embrace a gentle weight that feels just shy of grounding you. 

James’ voice cuts through the calm, light and teasing, “I’ll be right back, angel. You’re in for a treat.”

He disappears into the kitchen, and you hear the telltale scrape of the oven door opening, the soft clink of plates and the faint hum of him moving about, preparing. Sirius doesn’t speak at first, but you feel his gaze lingering on you. His thumb runs absent-mindedly along the edge of your arm, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of your sleeve.

“It’s a good job you’re having some now,” he finally says, voice laced with an amused undertone, “I don’t think it’s going to last long. It’s his best yet.”

You blink at him, eyes heavy. “Really?”

“Mmhm,” he replies, the teasing lilt in his voice giving way to a touch of pride, “I told him so too.”

A small, genuine smile slips onto your face. You know what Sirius’ praise looks like, it’s usually a silly amount of kisses and a few cheeky comments.

As if on cue, Remus appears at the doorway, his frame lit by the soft, golden light filtering through the curtains. In his hand, he holds another glass of water, freshly refilled. You hadn’t even realized you were thirsty again, but as soon as you see it, the weight in your throat suddenly seems more pronounced.

“Here you go, dove,” he murmurs, crossing the room calmly and handing it off to you, his fingers brushing yours. He settles into the armchair across from the couch, his long legs folding beneath him.

You take it from him gratefully, bringing it to your lips. The coolness of it against your parched throat is a relief. You take a sip, and as the water slides down, the haze in your head clears just a fraction.

Sirius’s voice, now a little quieter, takes on that same careful, almost protective tone. “Let me hold it for you.”

Without a word, you pass the glass over to him. His fingers wrap around it securely, holding it in place as you rest against his side again. It’s the smallest of gestures, but it’s kind and sweet and entirely unnecessary.

James returns with a plate, steam still rising from the banana bread. The smell – rich and sweet with a hint of chocolate – hits you before you even see it. You sit up just enough to take in the sight of the loaf, golden and slightly uneven, with just the right amount of gooey chocolate chips poking through.

“There you go, love,” James says softly, his smile wide and boyish, as he holds the plate out to you. “Fresh out of the oven.”

You take a small piece, breaking off a chunk and bringing it to your mouth. The texture is perfect, soft yet just a little crumbly. It’s comforting.

“It’s really good, Jamie,” you say, the words slipping out before you can think to second-guess them.

James’ face lights up at the compliment, and you can’t help but notice the way his shoulders seem to relax a little, like your approval matters to him more than you even realized.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replies, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

You laugh softly, the sound light and quiet in the stillness of the room. You feel a flutter of warmth in your chest at the ease with which they all care for you.

You take another bite of the banana bread, letting the sweetness melt on your tongue, and let yourself be. You know you’ll likely retreat again, but it’s nice to know they’ll be here no matter what.

masterlist <3

[moonstruckme]

Inspired by this adorable fic by @inkdrinkerworld <3

cw: hospital, mention of surgery, reader has a fear of anesthesia/being unconscious

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 940 words

You wish that stupid heart monitor would stop exposing you to everyone in the hospital wing. 

“You’re fine.” James rubs his palm over your heart consolingly. “Deep breaths.” 

You inhale, and he does it with you, you feel his chest expand against your back. James got into bed with you soon after you got here, when you wouldn’t stop trying to get up and pace the room. After your IV was put in, Sirius threatened to sit on you if you tried to get out of bed again. James is a nicer compromise. 

“This is so stupid.” Your exhale comes out in a disbelieving huff. “I don’t even have to do this.” 

“Dove, you’re already here,” Remus reasons. “You’ve come this far, let’s just see it through. You’ll be alright.” 

Truly, you’re not sure how you wound up here. When your doctor recommended you for surgery, you said you’d think about it, but you were lying. You knew it, your boyfriends knew it, your doctor probably knew it too. Going under was something you had no intention of ever, ever doing. You didn’t know if the problems you were having would persist without the recommended procedure. You almost didn’t care. The one thing you knew for absolutely sure was that you did not want it to happen. 

And yet, it began to. All it took was one evening of lovingly made hot cocoa and sweet-talking from James to get you to set up the appointment. From there, the date marched continually closer, and all your boyfriends had to do was keep you from backing out. To their credit, they’ve had extraordinary follow through. Suddenly you find yourself in a hospital bed waiting for a surgery you could swear wasn’t going to happen. 

“You don’t even have to stay the night,” Sirius says. He’s sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs against the wall, undeterred by the plastic arm digging into his thigh. “We’ll have you home by dinnertime. Focus on that, doll.” 

“I want to be home now,” you mumble. You know you’re acting childish, but you’d rather gripe than cry, and the way you’re feeling those are your only two options. “Are we sure I can’t be awake?” 

“You don’t want to be awake.” James kisses behind your ear. “It’s quite bloody. You’d think it was gross.” 

“Don’t scare her,” Remus cautions quietly. 

You talk over him. “I’d rather be grossed out and know what was happening.” 

Sirius leans forward to grasp your hand, shushing you. “You already know what’s going to happen, baby. We’ve been over the whole thing. Do you want to hear it again?” 

“No.” In truth, hearing about the procedure had grossed you out. But that’s not your main issue. Tears prick your eyes. 

“Hey,” Sirius says softly. His thumb runs over your knuckles. “You’re okay. You’re going to be just fine. Home by dinner, remember?” 

“I just… “ You pull in a wavering breath. “I really don’t like the idea of being unconscious while people poke and prod at me, and I can’t wake up. It freaks me out.”

“No one is going to poke or prod at you.” Remus is leaning his forearms on his knees, eyes honey soft. “It’s a routine procedure. They do it all the time, it’s their job.” 

“I’d just feel better if I could be awake.” 

“It’d be so much scarier if you were awake. This way, you only go to sleep, and the next thing you know it’s done.” 

“That’s the worst part, though. It’s not like I can wake up even if I want to. I’ll be completely helpless.” 

“Sweetheart, no one is going to hurt you.” 

“I know that.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks gently. 

You shut your eyes, tipping your face down as tears start to drip from your nose. 

“Baby,” Sirius coos. His fingers feel cool against your cheek, cupping so he can kiss between your brows. James hugs you tighter. “Oh, shh, shh. I’m sorry you’re so scared, sweet girl. It’s really not so bad as you’re thinking.” 

“Can you come with me?” you whisper. It’s not the first time you’ve asked, but you’re hoping this display of obvious patheticness will sway things in your favor. 

“You know we would if we could, doll. They’re really strict about who’s allowed in the room.” 

You nod, taking in a ragged breath. 

“We’ll be with you until you go in,” James offers, “and as soon as you wake up. You’ll get to meet your anesthesiologist before, too. Her name’s Kara, she’s a sweetheart.” 

That James knows the person trusted with putting you out does comfort you some. He pats your chest with his hand over your heart, gentle and rhythmic. Slowly, it lulls yours into complaisance. Your heart monitor stops its ratcheting. 

“Breathe.” James exhales slowly. “We won’t let anything happen to you. You’re in good hands, angel, I promise.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, opening your sore eyes. “I know I’m being crazy.” 

Sirius is squatting by your bed now. He tuts, quick to right you. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’re scared, it’s fine. I wish you weren’t because it’d be easier for you, but it’s not your fault.” 

“You’ll feel better once you’re in there,” Remus promises. “Really, lovely, it’s so much less daunting than you’re imagining it to be. It’s going to go by so easily. And then we’ll be with you, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you sniffle. 

“What do you think?” James presses his cheek to your ear, pleasantly warm. “You think you can go an hour without us? You’ll be okay?” 

You make a low, reluctant sound. “Maybe.” 

“There’s our girl.”

[godricgryffinsnore]

Hi Della!

I've been going through and reading all your one-shots recently and I absolutely adore them, so I was wondering if you would mind writing one based on this prompt:

James Potter falling for a Hufflepuff he just keeps happening to 'run into' in the kitchens. Ice-cream kisses and quiet evenings <3

Strawberry Kisses and Stolen Spoons ♡ : A James Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : James Potter x fem!hufflepuff!reader

summary : In the quiet of late-night Hogwarts, sweet treats and chance encounters stir up something unexpectedly magical between two students who just keep bumping into each other. 🍓✨

warnings : Excessive giggling, blushing, Marauders being insufferable, reader falling hard, James Potter being ridiculous in love. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's notes : UGH BABE!!! THIS ASK WAS SOO CUTE I COULDN'T RESIST WRITING THIS IN A SINGLE DAY. And while plotting, I was hopelessly falling in love with James Fleamont Potter more and more. I mean? Who can even resist him..? Definitely not me.

word count : 1k

main master list <3

banners : @uzmacchiato and @cafekitsune

It started—like all catastrophes and love stories do—in the middle of the night, and with a stolen spoon.

The Hufflepuff kitchens were silent, bathed in the golden warmth of sleepy candlelight. You tiptoed in with your cardigan slipping off one shoulder and your hair in a sleep-mussed mess, craving nothing more than a scoop (or five) of the house-elves’ infamous strawberry ice cream.

And then you heard it. A crash. A clatter. A very loud “BUGGERING HELL—!”

You spun around and came face-to-face with a wild-haired James Potter, one socked foot tangled in a tea towel, holding an ice cream tub as if it were sacred.

“Oh—uh, hullo,” he said, eyes wide behind his glasses. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You’re holding my strawberry ice cream,” you deadpanned, pointing an accusing spoon at him.

“I am,” he nodded gravely. “And I’m very sorry, I didn't realize I’d stumbled into a crime scene.”

You laughed, completely helpless against the lopsided grin he flashed you. Merlin, he was cute. In a manic, over-caffeinated kneazle sort of way.

That night, you shared the ice cream and laughed into the soft silence of the kitchens. He kept offering you more than your fair share, and when your spoon accidentally brushed his, he gasped like he’d just touched a ghost.

You didn’t know it then, but James Potter fell in love with you the moment you snorted ice cream out of your nose.

── .✦

Night Two.

He was already there. Sitting on the counter, legs swinging like a child, waiting with two spoons and an ice cream tub so cold it fogged his glasses.

You raised an eyebrow. “Stalking me, Potter?”

James clutched his chest. “Is it stalking if it’s destiny, darling?”

You rolled your eyes, but sat beside him anyway. He scooted closer. Your knees bumped.

"You're absurd."

“And yet you’re here,” he grinned.

── .✦

From then on, it was every night. Sometimes he brought treacle tart. Sometimes you brought pumpkin pasties. Once, he attempted to bake cookies and nearly set his sleeve on fire. (You saved him, and he called you his “goddess of confections” for a full week.)

He started telling stories. Ridiculous, exaggerated tales of Quidditch practice, Remus getting a love letter from Snape, Sirius hexing McGonagall’s chair to meow every time someone sat on it. You giggled until your sides hurt.

And then there were the kisses.

It started with whipped cream on your nose. He leaned in, eyes sparkling, and pressed his lips to the tip of your nose like he couldn’t help himself.

“Got it,” he whispered.

The next night, it was chocolate sauce on your lip. A slow lean. A breath between you.

And then—soft. Sugary. Sweet.

Ice cream kisses. Like stolen stars in the quiet dark.

── .✦

Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor dormitory:

“I swear to Merlin, he smells like strawberries,” Sirius muttered, sniffing James’s collar.

Remus looked up from his book. “Again?”

“He’s obsessed,” Peter added. “All he does is mope and write bad poetry.”

“I AM A POET, PETER,” James bellowed dramatically from his bed, quill flying. “SHE HAS SUNLIGHT IN HER LAUGH AND HONEY IN HER SMILE—”

“You’ve got ice cream in your soul, mate,” Sirius snorted. “And whipped cream for brains.”

── .✦

You noticed the change too. The way he started walking you to class “accidentally,” popping up beside you like an overly excited golden retriever.

“Funny seeing you here,” he’d say every time, without fail. Even if you were in the Hufflepuff common room.

He always carried a spoon. “Just in case.”

You laughed until your cheeks hurt. Blushed until your neck warmed. He was relentless in the most ridiculous, charming way.

And you were falling.

Slowly. Steadily. With every late-night dessert, every spoon duel, every time he looked at you like you were magic made real.

── .✦

The Night It All Fell Apart (And Then Fell Together):

You didn’t show up.

James waited. For two hours. Ate half a tub of mint chocolate chip in despair.

When he returned to the dorms, Sirius looked up and said, “She’s probably busy, mate.”

“Busy?” James wailed. “Busy?! We are meant to be! I’ve had dreams about our wedding! The cake is strawberry. You’re all wearing yellow suits.”

“You’ve lost it,” Remus said fondly.

“I’m in love, Moony,” James declared. “Do you know what that means?”

“It means he’s going to write another terrible sonnet,” Sirius whispered to Peter.

── .✦

You showed up the next night.

His hair was a mess, eyes tired, tub of rocky road in hand like a sad little offering.

“Hey,” you said, breathless. “Sorry I missed yesterday. Had an Arithmancy essay.”

James blinked.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” he said, and tackled you into a hug so tight you almost dropped your spoon.

You laughed, head tucked into his neck, and whispered, “You missed me?”

“Like a dementor misses souls, love.”

“That's…dark.”

He pulled back to look at you.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, suddenly serious, fingers brushing your cheek. “I know I’m an idiot. And a bit dramatic. And I eat too much sugar. But I—Merlin—I’m head over heels for you.”

You didn’t say anything. Just leaned forward and kissed him.

He tasted like rocky road and hope.

── .✦

Bonus: Gryffindor Common Room, the next morning.

“He’s glowing,” Sirius hissed. “Glowing, I say.”

“Strawberry lipstick stain,” Peter added, pointing at James’s collar.

Remus looked up from his essay. “How many tubs of ice cream have you shared now?”

James, eyes dreamy, replied, “Seventeen. And a half.”

Sirius groaned. “That’s seventeen brain cells lost.”

“Worth it,” James sighed, kicking his feet. “She called me sweet last night.”

“You are sweet,” you said, poking your head into the common room. “Especially when you’re flustered.”

James’s head whipped around so fast, he nearly fell off the couch.

“See?” he said, beaming. “She loves me.”

And Merlin help you, you did.

Even if he still brought a spoon everywhere.