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#marauders fanfic
sixlane · 1 day
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@croptopjames submission | 1.5k words | NSFW - dom/sub, praise, degradation, spanking, gagging
Dedicating this to euge @ecstarry for brainrotting with me and lune @sommerregenjuniluft because we talked about dancer james once. Love you guys <3
Regulus walks the length of the studio assessing the attire of his dancers. He has a strict policy of professionalism that he makes no exceptions for, and James has been pushing his luck recently. 
He had hired James as an apprentice only a few months ago, but he was already regretting the decision. Not because of James’ abilities, but because of his utter lack of respect. 
James is a brilliant dancer, don’t get him wrong. He came from the most prestigious modern dance conservatory in the country, and Regulus had managed to sign him right out of school. 
He’s inclined to say James wasn’t worth the work, but that wouldn’t be completely true. He may make Regulus’ life a living hell, but he’s fucking gorgeous on stage, all lean muscles and strong lines. It’s captivating to watch, even more so when he gets to see it up close. 
As Regulus makes his way across the room, he catches sight of James in the back sporting gray joggers and— he has to take a minute to register what he’s seeing. Is that a fucking crop top? 
James just flashes a knowing smirk, staring Regulus down. He’s been called out for wardrobe infractions at least three times this month, and it’s starting to get old. 
“Sirius,” Regulus calls out to his brother, but more importantly, his rehearsal director. “Can you start the warm up? I need to have a word with Potter.”
A few snickers sound throughout the studio because his employees can be fucking children sometimes, and Sirius nods, getting up from his spot on the floor. 
Regulus turns toward the door, knowing James will follow him, and makes his way to his office down the hall. 
He only has to stand behind his desk for a minute, arms crossed, before James waltzes in, closing the door behind him. 
“This is grossly unprofessional, you do realize that,” Regulus deadpans. 
“I do realize that,” James responds innocently, batting his lashes. 
Regulus runs his eyes over the man standing in front of him, something he didn’t want to do in front of everyone in the studio. 
The top hits a few inches above his navel and exposes the soft lines of his abs and a stripe of dark hair that trails beneath his joggers. 
“Eyes up here,” James says, bringing Regulus’ attention back to the matter at hand. 
He gives James a stern look and leans forward on his desk.
“How many times do I have to tell you this won’t be tolerated in my company?” he asks. 
James’ eyes darken and he leans forward to mirror Regulus. “Not sure. Will you tell me again?”
The audacity of this man… Well, Regulus thinks, maybe it’ll stick this time. 
He reaches across the table casually, stroking a hand across James’ face. The dancer leans into it, fluttering his eyes shut for a moment, before Regulus reaches around his head to grab a fistful of his hair.
James opens his eyes and a slanted smile pulls at his mouth.
“Keep your hands on the table,” Regulus says before pushing James’ head down onto his desk. “Don’t move.”
James goes willingly, bending in half over the desk like a dream.
Regulus walks around to stand behind him, admires the curve of his ass and the ridges of his spine where they’re exposed under his shirt. He runs his fingers over them, eliciting a small shiver from James.
Regulus dips his hands into the waistband of James’ joggers, sinking his nails into the soft skin, before roughly pushing his pants down around his ankles.
James’ breathing picks up, his anticipation getting the better of him. Regulus would love to draw this out, but he’s afraid he hasn’t got the time today.
He smacks James’ ass once, causing the other man to jolt and let out a soft whine.
“Stay quiet,” Regulus commands.
James nods in confirmation. A lie, most likely.
Regulus lets a finger wander through the cleft of James’ ass, circling his rim in slow and deliberate movements. He keeps his eyes on James’ face where it’s pressed against his desk. His eyes are shut, mouth open. 
“You’re so pretty like this,” Regulus says. “When you’re not talking back to me.”
James makes a needy noise pressing his hips back onto Regulus’ finger, searching for a fullness he knows is coming.
Regulus smacks him again across the same spot as before. “Don’t get greedy. You know how this works.”
James nods again looking at Regulus now. His pupils are absolutely blown and it’s all Regulus can think about. The desperate want in his eyes.
“Tell me,” Regulus instructs.
James rolls his eyes back as he starts to lightly circle his rim again.
“Words, James.”
“You’re in charge,” James breathes.
“And I can do whatever I want with you,” Regulus adds.
“Whatever you want.”
“Good boy.” Regulus pulls his hand away again, but James doesn’t get a chance to protest before it’s being pushed into his mouth. “Now suck.”
James moans around his fingers, hollowing his cheeks and making a show out of it. He knows this undoes Regulus every time, watching as he listens so well, follows every command. It’s a high he’ll be riding for the rest of rehearsal.
“That’s right baby, get them nice and wet for me,” Regulus praises, bringing his other hand up to grab at James’ hip, keep him from moving too much.
When spit starts to drip down his chin, Regulus pulls his fingers away, and the noise James makes is fucking filthy. A keen he’s sure the whole company just heard, and that just won’t fly. 
Regulus moves his hand from James’ hip up into his hair, yanking him back until he’s hovering above the desk.
“James, what did I fucking say,” Regulus hisses. “Do you need something in your mouth? Hm? Such a slut for it you can’t follow simple directions?”
James moans loudly, a please falling from his lips somewhere in there.
Regulus releases him and he falls back onto the desk with a whine. 
Going back around his desk, Regulus fishes through his bottom drawer with his clean hand, finding what he’s looking for. A dress code appropriate t-shirt he keeps for times like these, when James just can’t help himself. He shoves it in James’ mouth harshly then pats him on the cheek. 
“There you go baby. Now you can tell me just how much you like it.”
And James does without a second thought, immediately filling the room with muffled noises.
Regulus resumes his position behind the dancer, running his spit-slick fingers against James’ hole.
“Ready?” He asks.
James is a mess, barely there at this point even though Regulus hasn’t even done anything, but he nods anyway, and Regulus pushes a finger in slowly.
“Always so tight for me baby.”
“Mmph,” James moans around the shirt. He tries to fuck his hips forward into nothing, desperate for some friction against his neglected cock, but Regulus holds him still. He should know by now that he’ll stay untouched until Regulus allows it.
Once he feels James is ready, he adds another finger, leaning down to spit into the place where they slide into James. He increases the speed, crooking them to brush the spot that reduces James to a moaning mess. 
He sees James’ eyes roll back again as he makes a muffled sound, so debauched and fucked out already. 
For the first time, Regulus notices his own wetness pooling in his briefs, but he ignores it. This isn’t about him.
“Can you be a good boy and take another,” Regulus asks, and James nods enthusiastically. If he wasn't gagged, Regulus knows he’d be begging, has heard it enough times to memorize the sound.
Regulus pulls out completely, watching James’ hole flutter briefly around nothing, before pushing three fingers back in.
James balls his fists against the desk, barely moving his hips, trying so hard to be good. Regulus decides to cut him some slack.
“Fuck yourself on them baby, it’s okay.”
James obeys immediately, pushing his hips back wildly and making ungodly sounds that he wishes he could hear unobstructed. 
Caught up in the image of James losing control, Regulus reaches around to touch his neglected cock where it’s been leaking onto the floor. He collects the precome beading at the tip to soften the slide, and pumps James slowly in time with the movement of his hips.
“You close? Gonna come for me?” Regulus asks, sugar sweet.
James barely responds, but the crease between his eyebrows gives him away. Regulus knows it means he’s heading toward the edge of the cliff.
Quickly, before it’s too late, Regulus pulls his hand away, pulls his fingers out, leaving James empty and neglected once again.
He smacks James’s ass roughly, then digs his fingers into the flesh, punishing.
Leaning forward, he puts his mouth right up against James’ ear, “Only good boys get to come, James. I expect you back in rehearsal in five minutes wearing that shirt in your mouth.”
James sobs into the fabric, ruined and undoubtedly aching, and Regulus leaves him there to clean himself up.
Maybe this time he’ll finally learn his lesson.
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bellaxisworld · 2 days
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february 28, @jegulus-microfic prompt: remain. word count: 682.
The air is crisp and sweet with the smell of fresh fruit and wildflowers. Regulus feels overly warm from the overhead sun, slightly overwhelmed by the intensity, but he basks in every second of it. He wouldn’t change this moment for anything. 
James tugs on his hand and he turns, eyes shining with adoration as he looks up at him. James’ brown skin is golden in the daylight, and even he has a flush across his cheeks. He’s in his element, Regulus thinks, one with the sun. He wants to pause this moment and capture it, memorize it, hang it up and stare at it all day. He doesn’t think life has ever been this good, staring at and adoring the image of James Potter under the sun. 
James smiles and Regulus feels his heart squeeze in his chest, again overwhelmed by the pure aching infatuation he feels for him. He wants to touch the smile with his fingertips, just to make sure it’s real. He wants to grab the smile and wrestle with it, bruise it, maim it—because it is real, and he loves it, and he wants to feel it underneath his delicate, bruising hand. 
He refocuses on James, and looks to the trinkets and crystal rings he points at. He nods along and pretends to watch what James shows him, but really his eyes are always drawn back to James. 
They walk through the market, hand in sticky hand, and Regulus clings to James, fearful he’d simply float away if he let go any little bit. James is far too precious to him, he wouldn’t risk it. So he holds on tight.
They laugh, and they joke, and they share fruit-sticky kisses under the sun. They sip from a cold strawberry lemonade and skip along cobblestones, sharing smiles with strangers and petting every dog. James stops and picks the prettiest wildflowers to build a mini bouquet for Regulus. He shakes his head fondly and holds it close to his chest, prepared to protect and cherish every petal.
They come across a thick and shaded oak tree, and they stumble underneath, limbs overlapping and wrapped around each other. Regulus lay his head on James’ shoulder, and they listen to each other breathe. Their hands are intertwined, pale skin against golden, and Regulus thinks of it as its own masterpiece—the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, them intertwined. 
James makes Regulus laugh until both of their bellies ache, and he’s hot and his body feels heavy but he has never felt more love than now, and he wonders if it’s possible for James to plaster a permanent smile on his face. He wonders if he will ever stop smiling, giggling in the arms of James Potter. Because, that’s the thing—when he’s with James, he smiles and laughs until his cheeks hurt, (and that’s another beautiful thing, the duality of happiness and its sister anguish) but he never wishes to stray more than a foot away from James, so maybe he’ll always be smiling. The part of him that craves misery claws and scowls in his chest—but he finds smiling everyday is a small price to pay for the great love of his life that is James. 
Eventually, James pulls out a butterfly knife from his pocket, and he starts on the tree. He digs in and chips away at the bark, carving out the characters J + R. Regulus looks at it and feels the eternity of them wash over him—him and James, everlasting.
He rewards James’ act of romance with kisses and kisses and more kisses until the sun dips low, and the heat fades, but they laze about, content under the tree among the wildflowers. Regulus tastes strawberries and the feeling of forever on his lips, borne from messy kisses shared with James. 
The magic of the day never fades. Their once-adolescent love grows into something unconditional, and they do not stray far from one another. Even their initials remain long after, carved into the tree with careful hands, a precious moment stuck in time.
chapter 28/29 of february, i'm yours microfics on ao3.
i am trying HARD to finish this fic. i have been battling. im a month late but we're getting there, babes <3 one more microfic to go
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thelegitcasper · 3 days
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James Potter Birthday Stream?
hey marauders fans,
if i was to do a marauders themed stream tomorrow for james's birthday, would anyone wanna watch that?
it would be stuff like tier lists, uquizzes, other quizzes, making the marauders on infinite craft, etc. plus we'd obviously listen to my prongs playlist and i might even do a mild cosplay of him for the stream!
like or repost if you would want to watch something like this :D
(this stream may be moved to a later date so if you want to know when the stream is happening, follow my twitch @thelegitcasper)
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rabidlittlestrawberry · 15 hours
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wouldn't be a marauders fic without some Black bros angst
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wolvesandshine · 26 days
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Lily was the first to figure it out. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, after all she was known for coming in first in all her classes.
When James didn’t bother her for a week she thought he was planning something big. When he didn’t bother her for a month she thought he was finally giving up. When he showed up two months later with an apology, that’s when she knew.
He was over her. Fully and truly. Cause when James loved someone he loved them with his whole heart - which meant he had moved on to a new target.
So it doesn’t come as a surprise that when she goes into the potion room after hours to work on her extra credit assignment, she finds James making out with someone instead.
“So you do know where the potions room is.”
The happy couple jumps apart and James turns a sheepish look at her. That’s when Lily finally gets a good look at who James was with.
Black curly hair, regal features, slytherin tie.
She raises an eyebrow. “You never took things the easy way did you?”
James groans as Regulus laughs.
Lily smirks at Regulus. “Him going after you, I get. But you? You voluntarily chose him?”
“It was a lapse in judgement”
“Hey-“
They both ignore James.
It’s the start of a beautiful friendship.
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livinginshambles · 8 months
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I want to be loved first | James Potter
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Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 4.0k
Summary: Established relationship and angst: James still loves Lily, it's clear to you. You try to ignore the way your heart aches when you always seem to be second on his mind, knowing you will never compare to her and unsure how much more you can take.
Notes: Its happy ending again, sorry guys. I'd say no beta, we die like fred, but that feels too soon so anyway, spelling and grammar mistakes probably.
Masterlist
____________________________
People have often told you that you need to toughen up and grow a spine. That your lack of backbone had everyone trample on you like you were a crosswalk, and you could definitely say that they were right.
Perhaps that's why you were crying in the middle of the night because of James Potter. He was laying behind you, pressed against your back with an arm draped over you. His face was hidden in the back of your neck, breathing steadily against it as he slept peacefully, unaware of the heartache he was causing you when he whispered Lily's name. Again.
When he'd done it the first time, your blood had run cold, goosebumps showing up and littering your bare arms. Tears had prickled in your eyes at his barely audible, mumbled confession. "Love you so much Lily."
You had turned around to face him and your rustling had woken him up. Eyes still closed, he'd groggily shifted and pulled you against his chest. “Everything alright, love?”
“Yeah, just a nightmare,” you had responded in a small voice. Your answer had him finally open his eyes, somewhat concerned. He had lifted his arm to yawn against it and then settled it back on top of you in such a way that his hand had easy access to your nape, drawing circles in an attempt to calm you.
“I've got you, love. Nothing can hurt you, as long as I'm here,” he had assured you.
Ironic.
So now here you were lying down, your tears were freely rolling down your face and you were glad that the curtains of the bed were closed, leaving you in a private space, despite sleeping in the boy’s dormitory. It would be another sleepless night for you, it seemed.
When James stretched his arms to reach for you about four hours later, he frowned and sat up, confused at the lack of your presence. He pushed the red drapes aside and peeked into the room. Sirius was still asleep, face down. Peter was most likely curled up inside the pile of blankets on his bed and Remus was sitting up in bed, a book in his lap.
Even though it was the weekend, and you were anything but an early bird, you slipped out of bed in the early morning. You were sure that your eyes were red and puffy and didn’t want James to mention it.
He looked up when he heard James and raised his eyebrows in question when he noticed no one else behind him. “Have you seen Y/N?” James asked, sleep still heavily laced in his voice. Remus shook his head in thought. “No,” he whispered quietly, an eye on Sirius beside him. “I’ve been up since four in the morning though.”
James’ frown deepened. That meant that you had snuck out before that. But why? He got dressed impressively fast and descended the stairs to the common room. You were sitting at the tip of your chair, deeply engrossed into your transfiguration assignment, several books piled, some laying open, scattered across the small table.
You felt two arms securely wrap around you, almost melting in their designated position. “Morning,” James kissed your cheek.
You bit your lip, took a breath, and cast your hurt feelings aside. You turned your head and flashed him a smile. “Good morning, Jamie.” James took the opportunity of your head, tilted upwards at him, and dipped down to press his lips softly against yours, pecking you once, twice. “You’re up early,” he commented and nudged you. He slipped behind you, body fully relaxing into your back now.
“Couldn’t sleep,” you replied honestly and you leaned back into him. You laughed softly when you noticed his eyes drooping. “You’re tired, Jamie. Go back to sleep.” James made a sound but didn’t move, instead slouching even more against you.
“Hm, no, I missed you this morning. I’ll stay here,” he decided and drifted off to sleep. You didn’t doubt that he loved you.
“Go on a date with me next Friday,” James asked you while he was escorting you to your herbology class. You looked up at him surprised. “A date?” you dumbly repeated, trying not to be too excited about the prospect of a date. James usually ended up having things to do that he really couldn't get out of, so you would always end up canceling your dates.
James laughed and slung his arm around your shoulders. “Exactly. You and me alone. I was thinking of a picnic by the lake, no one else around, and maybe we could snog, but I’m also down to cuddle.” Your eyes crinkled up amusedly. “Don’t you have Quidditch, Jamie,” you raised your eyebrows. “You always have Quidditch practice after class,” you pointed out.
“Not next Friday. I already checked to make sure I didn't double book anything, and I warned Pads that I'm not taking on any new pranks until next week to avoid detention.” he grinned. “Friday will be one of those rare days when I have time to have my girl all to myself the entire afternoon.” His face then turned apologetic. “I know I don’t have much time to take you out, so Friday'll be perfect and I’ll make it up to you.” You threw your arms around his neck and hummed appreciatively in it. “I’d love that.”
James wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for a kiss. “Prongs!” Sirius shouted from a distance. “Everyone is already waiting for you for Quidditch practice, how far are you going to escort her? I mean the greenhouse is on the other side of Hogwarts, mate,” Sirius complained but he blew you a dramatic kiss that James waved away with a sour look.
“Go on,” you laughed and untangled yourself from his arms. He quickly pressed a kiss to your lips and sprinted off towards the Quidditch field.
James dropped into the seat next to you. “Long time no see, love,” he said. You snorted. “James, I saw you two hours ago.” James shrugged, and flirtily smiled. “I said what I said.”
Professor McGonagall entered the classroom and class started. You were jotting down everything she said in a neat handwriting, knowing that James would end up asking to lend your notes, of course by offering kisses in return.
You glanced beside you and were surprised to find him hunched over his notebook, scribbling away. Impressed at the thought that he was actually paying attention, you couldn’t help but peer down at his notes and saw that he was sketching a girl.
Though he wasn’t the greatest artist, you could clearly see that the girl on the paper looked nothing like you, and instead had features that were strikingly similar to Lily. When James looked up from his drawing and glanced to his right where she was sitting, her eyes focused on Professor McGonagall, you felt your heart constrict again, but still decided not to comment on it. He was free to draw whoever he felt like drawing, you reminded yourself.
Jealousy is ugly.
You were sitting in the library, helping a third year with Defense against the dark arts theory, when James barged in, earning several disturbed looks and a threatening glare from the librarian.
“James?” you called to him quietly and motioned for him. James’ eyes spotted you and he slid over to you, wringing his hands together, biting his lips and his eyes darting around.
“You’re nervous,” You remarked while you eyed him up and down. “Or you feel bad. What is it?”
James let out a deep sigh at your bluntness, though he supposed it would be better to get straight to the point. “We can’t go on a date next week, I’ve got prefect stuff, gotta patrol.” You stared at him, your disappointment was visible on your face and James looked at the ground.
“But you already had patrol this week? Isn’t it every other week?” You asked, a bummed out look on your face.
“Well, actually, Lily asked me if I could do rounds with her next week,” he admitted. “Her usual assigned partner was injured during Quidditch practice apparently.”
“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say. You were pretty sure she could ask anyone else for next week or just do the rounds herself as you’ve seen James do it alone for two weeks too when his assigned partner had gone home for a family emergency.
“Is it really vital that you have to go?” You couldn’t help but ask.
"I already said yes." James offered an apologetic smile. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We can go on a date the week after.” There was a pause and then, “Actually that’ll probably have to wait for the week after that.”
'Imagine having to schedule a simple date, three to four weeks in advance and even then not being guaranteed that nothing would come in between,' you sighed.
You shrugged, a sudden wave of defeat and exhaustion crashing over you. Why did you have to compete for your boyfriend in the first place? 'How tiring', you realized.
You waved him away. “It can’t be helped, I guess,” you somewhat coldly told him, and turned back to the student next to you who was awkwardly looking away. James stood next to you in silence for a moment, still looking at you. You looked up at the lack of the sound of receding footsteps and looked at him questioningly, waving your hand in a ‘what is it?’ manner.
“I can tell her no,” James said, something that looked like a pout on his face. He hated making you feel bad, despite constantly but unconsciously doing it.
“You don’t want to tell her no,” you retorted.
"I would for you.”
“Well, considering that you haven’t told her no by now and are instead here telling me that we have to rearrange our plans, I think you should just go help Lily with rounds.”
James was taken aback by your bitter tone, eyes immediately wide, alarmed that you were really affected by his decision. “Love, I-“
You waved your hand again. “No, I’m sorry,” you apologized before he could. You rubbed your eyes in an exhausted manner. Jealousy was not a good look, you reminded yourself again. “Just really looked forward to that picnic with just you and me.”
“We’ll still have that picnic another time though,” James tried to assure you, but you were no longer looking at him. He realized that the conversation was over and that you wanted to be left alone right now.
“I love you,” James tried one last time and you sighed. " I love you more.” Your words resonated even after James left, knowing that they might be more true than you wanted to admit. You cleared your throat and when you faced the girl next to you, she shot you a sympathetic look.
The last drop was during Potions class. Potions was something you were good at. Maybe not better than Severus Snape, but you did excel in it.
So, if there was one class in which you expected James to want to be your partner, it was Potions class. Perhaps it was arrogant of you to assume such a thing, because when Professor Slughorn had announced that everyone would be paired up, and asked James who he wanted to partner up with, you hadn't expected him to glance at Lily first, which resulted in Professor Slughorn pairing the two together before James could say your name, which in his defense, was what he was planning on saying.
Without sparing you a glace, he left your table to take the seat next to Lily's. Sure, it was mostly a miscommunication issue on Slughorn's part, but did James have to skip over so happily?
“Love you so much, Lily.”
The words repeated in your head when you saw him look at her so fondly and before you could stop yourself, you scribbled a message on a piece of paper, in which you asked him to meet you in the tower, before sending it his way.
You had clung onto James because you were absolutely in love with him and refused to lose him. But it really was a futile battle, you would never compare to her. His first crush, first love, first kiss if you count that one time during ‘spin the bottle’ and his first heartbreak. You’ll always be second, even if he genuinely loves you.
James snapped his head up at you from his attempted conversation with Lily when he got your note, suddenly remembering you, but you were laughing, engrossed in a conversation with a flustered Peter who had almost set the two of you on fire by adding the wrong ingredient. When you left class, you saw James and Lily still talking while calmly packing up.
James entered the tower, holding the note that you had passed him during class. He was smiling cheekily and quickly skipped over, arms ready to wrap around your waist as he leaned in for a kiss, no doubt thinking you asked him to sneak away for a snog.
“We need to talk,” you stopped him, and his grin fell from his face, a serious expression now adorning it. “Everything alright love?” he asked, an odd feeling growing inside of him at your tone. He was suddenly rather unsure if he really wanted to.
'Nothing better than to rip the band aid off', you thought.
“I want to break up.”
There was a long moment of silence while James was registering your words, repeating them in his head over and over again to see if there was any chance that he could have interpreted that incorrectly.
“What?” He eventually said out loud in disbelief. Though he wanted to step forward, reach for you and hold you tightly as if to show that he wouldn’t let you go, his body was inwilling to move.
“Why are y-, I thought we were good?” The crack in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by you. Your heart ached for him, but you were determined to stay strong and say your piece for once. To voice your thoughts and go through with tough decisions that you knew would be for the better.
“We’re not, James,” you sighed. “I know that you know that.”
James shook his head in denial. “No, I don’t know that,” he insisted. His brain was racking through all the instances where he did something wrong and - with the exception of next Friday's date - came up blank.
“But you love me,” he stated, mostly to himself, but it came out more of a question. “Of course,” you confirmed without hesitation.
James’ body finally unfroze, and he surged forward, his hands fumbled to hold your hands. “And I love you,” he stressed, panic starting to rise up. “I love you so much, I’ll take a Veritaserum potion if you want. I just, why would you-, I don’t understand the problem-,”
“I know you love me, James. The problem is that I love you so much more,” you calmly interrupted him. James’ eyes scanned your face to look for answers because none of it maded sense to him.
“I want someone who loves me as much as I love him. Someone who gives me all his love, not just a part that he managed to set apart for me too. And I want to be loved first. Not second. I don't want to be a consolation prize because your first option didn't work out.”
James’ eyes flickered in realization, but his head was still shaking in denial. “I am that someone,” he urged, trying to convince you. He shot you a pleading look. “I love you first, I swear.” He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, and you pulled it away from his grasp.
“Not first,” you shook your head sadly. “Not when you call for Lily in your sleep, and whisper that you love her.” You watch as James’ frown deepened, mixed expressions crossing his face in surprise, confusion and even bewilderment.
Would he not even admit it?
“Not when you have us rearrange our plans for her, when you draw portraits of her during class, or when you practically jump to be her potions partner. I'm not stupid, James. I see the way you look at her.” You continued to list off the things that happened just this past week, not even bothering to mention all the things that bothered you the past months. Your eyes looked sad and tired, and you took another deep breath. “So, I want to break up.”
James felt like crying, his mind thinking back to everything you said, and knowing that you were right. “I’m sorry,” he tried. “I’m an absolute twat, I know that. I promise you I don’t love Lily, she’s just still very important to me.” You offered him a sympathetic smile.
“I know she’s important to you, I just think that maybe you don’t know what or who you want. And I won’t share my boyfriend anymore, I’m selfish like that,” You joked halfheartedly. James didn’t react, save for wrapping his arms around you. You allowed James to embrace you and he buried his head in your hair, his eyes closed as if he wanted to go to sleep and forget this was happening.
“Okay,” James whispered. What else was he supposed to say?
You closed yours as well. James would get over you in no time, you were certain. You two hadn’t been dating for that long, and perhaps James could find a happy ending in Lily after all.
James had sort of avoided you after that. You thought he was doing it because he was angry, but in reality, he was just scared that he would burst into tears the moment he saw you, and he refused to watch you laugh happily, swatting your friend while he wanted nothing more than to hold your hand again.
His mind had completely become occupied by you and he stayed in bed over the weekend, mostly wallowing in self-pity and misery.
When Monday started, he had skipped all classes and only dragged himself out of bed for Quidditch practice and patrol with Lily. Walking next to her in silence, occasionally glancing at her, he felt his stomach sink again. How ironic that when he looked at Lily, all he could think about was you.
James walked through the corridor on Friday, on his way to the courtyard to meet up with Lily again to do rounds with her. He hadn’t been able to sleep peacefully without you. At first, he had been thinking about every instance where he prioritized Lily over you, and it had him curse himself out in his pillow. He missed you. It was so ridiculous, but he missed you to the point that he would curl up in bed with a stomach ache.
He had finally drifted off when at some point in the middle of the night, he had been shaken awake by Sirius.
“What?” James had asked, his throat dry and raspy. He’d looked around, disoriented.
“Thought you were having a nightmare Prongs. You kept mumbling her name. How much you loved her,” Sirius had handed James a glass of water.
James became wide awake and sat up straight in panic. “Lily?” He had asked Sirius, his stomach turning with nausea. He still couldn’t believe that he really talked about Lily in his sleep when you were lying next to him.
“What? No, Y/N’s name of course.” Sirius had corrected him. 'Of course,' James shook his head at Sirius’ words. “Figured you were reliving your breakup,” Sirius had explained.
James was looking through the passing windows of the castle where he could see the lake in the far distance. Suddenly something in his brain clicked. What in Godrick's name was he doing, avoiding you? Why was he giving up on you without a fight? You both loved each other; he was just the idiot who couldn’t sort himself out. But it didn’t take him longer than a terrible week to open his eyes.
James’ pace increased and he ran through the corridor. “No running in the corridors young man,” a portrait commented, but he paid it no mind.
Lily was already waiting for him and raised her eyebrows at his disheveled state and the basket that he was carrying. “I can’t do rounds with you today,” he puffed out. “I told Y/N that I would take her out for a picnic and then you asked me if I could help, and I agreed, but it’s so stupid because I should be-, I am choosing her,” James ranted. “I’m not letting you come first, or even second.”
Lily wasn’t really sure what James was rambling on about but gave him a kind smile, nonetheless. “Well, what are you waiting for,” she encouraged him. “Sounds to me like you shouldn’t be here, but somewhere else.”
“Yeah, I definitely should.”
You sat by the lake, skipping stones from a sitting position, not that you were having any luck. You hadn't seen James in a while because he avoided you, and you felt sadness wash over you. You were sure that he would get over you quick enough, but you wondered how long would it take for you to get over him?
You heard rustling behind you but kept facing forward. It was only when a delicious smell reached you, that you turned around, slightly annoyed that someone would really choose this spot to have an afternoon meal at when they could’ve sat literally anywhere else near the lake, as well as choose this moment when you wanted to act like a depressed main protagonist gazing in the distance.
You were, however, not prepared to see James stand behind you, out of breath and making his way over to you, a blanket and food spread out behind him. He didn’t really need to say anything. You understood from the way he showed up here, a hopeful expression on his face.
Your heart skipped a beat, and you got up, dusting yourself off.
"Hi," James breathed. An unsure smile formed on his face when you waved back. "I uh, I brought food." He awkwardly motioned to the picnic behind him and you couldn't help but smile at his adorableness.
“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else,” you couldn’t help but lightheartedly remark. James let out an airy chuckle, immediately relaxing at your open demeanor.
“100% sure I’m where I should be,” he affirmed. He considered his words and corrected himself. "Where I want to be."
His words had you take off in a sprint towards him and James opened his arms to catch you when you jumped, locking your legs around him. Ironically enough, it felt as if a weight had fallen off of James. His head fell against your shoulder and he shakily laughed while your blouse stained with tears of relief.
"I'm really sorry," he looked up at you, still holding you steadily. You leaned down to press your forehead against his, and your hands came up to his cheeks. "You made up your mind," you said, but it came out like a question, and James nodded hastily.
"And you'll make it up to me."
"Of course," he earnestly replied. "I want us. I'll fight for us." You closed the gap between the two of you.
“I love you,” he whispered breathlessly against your lips.
Not first or second, not more, most or less. He just loves you.
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angelfic · 9 months
Text
— CALM AFTER THE STORM
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pairing: remus lupin x reader
summary: the 4 times you hate each other, and the one time you don’t. alternatively, remus lupin is a pain in your arse and yours alone.
warnings: enemies to lovers, swearing, kissing, mention of blood and wounds, some bad writing as always which is unedited
author’s note: just a little e2l fic for my own indulgence as its my fave trope and its criminal how i barely have any e2l fics… also haven’t written anything in ages soooo enjoy!
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when he just has to be controversial
The sun was beaming, colourful rays reflecting over your book through the stained-glass windows of the Gryffindor common room as you lounged on the sofa with your head in Lily’s lap. You were barely paying attention to the chatter of your friends around you, choosing to focus on your copy of ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ and Marlene’s soft guitar playing. The lazy afternoon is a welcome break from the increasingly stressful N.E.W.T lessons that have had you all so exhausted, you’re not sure if Peter is asleep or dead from his curled-up position on the rug.
You don’t even realise someone is saying your name until Marlene tickles the sole of your socked foot with her guitar pick, making you yelp and draw your legs in from where they were previously tucked in between Marlene and her guitar.
“What was that for?” you grumble, nudging her arm with your foot.
Marlene smirks, nodding over to James. “He told me to get your attention. Didn’t specify how.”
You roll your eyes and turn on your side to face the boy in question, his grin unfaltering as he multitasks polishing the handle of his broomstick and talking to you. “Not my fault you’re dead to the world when you’re reading,” he says, matter-of-fact, continuing when you raise your eyebrows in impatience. “I was just wondering how you could look so interested in that book. Remus said he’d do my homework for a month if I finished it the other day and I couldn’t get past five arse-numbingly dull pages.”
You scoff, adjusting your position again to face Remus as well. “And why was Remus betting you to read my book, exactly?”
“It was my copy,” Remus replies, scribbling away on his parchment, cross legged on his chair, to undoubtedly finish the Potions essay that Slughorn had set yesterday. You’re transfixed on the way his hand is moving across the page for a second, unable to fathom how someone can have such messy handwriting. You aren’t surprised in the slightest that the next words coming out of his mouth are ones you disagree with. “I wanted to see how long he lasted reading the slowest-paced book in the world.”
You abruptly sit up at this, shutting your book and forgetting plans of relaxation.
“Hey, watch it!” Lily exclaims, lifting the bottle of black polish she’s using to paint Sirius’ nails from its balanced position on her thigh to avoid you spilling it all over her white top. “If you’re about to argue, please refrain from throwing things until after I’ve done the second coat of nail polish.”
You pointedly ignore this and narrow your eyes at Remus who, infuriatingly, still hasn’t lifted his head from his essay. “I’m surprised you found it hard to read such a slow book. Thought that’d be perfect for you.”
“Look what you’ve started, Prongs,” Sirius sighs, examining his nails.
Seeing the corners of Remus’ lips pull up into a slight smile at your comment just spurs you on in defence of the book you were previously enjoying. “Besides, it’s about a real-life teenager with real-life struggles, not The Hobbit on his latest adventure.”
“Who’s Hobbit?” James mumbles, scratching his head in confusion as Marlene just shrugs, equally oblivious.
“It’s overrated,” Remus insists, finally setting down his quill to look at you. The amused expression still hasn’t left his face and you make a noise halfway between a scoff and a high-pitched squeal of indignance. “Even James agrees.”
“Oh, and James’ opinion on literature is the standard now?” You raise a brow, tutting when James starts to protest. “The only book James has finished in the last six years was Quidditch Through the Ages.”
The way James slowly slides the aforementioned book under one of the sofa cushions doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone. Sirius starts snickering, much to Lily’s annoyance as she tries to control his hand. “She got you there, in fairness, mate.”
Sirius’ chortling seems to stir Peter from his sleep and he opens one eye to peer at you. Seeming to catch sight of your irritated expression, he frowns. “Are these two arguing like an old married couple again?”
“Merlin help us if these two ever decide to get married,” Marlene utters under her breath, bent over her guitar and avoiding the weight of your glare.
“Yeah, he wishes,” you grumble, shuffling around on the sofa to get back into a comfortable position with your book. Remus’ smile has only widened in response and he seems to enjoy your discomfort as you overcompensate for showing your annoyance by wriggling about.
“I dream about it every night,” Remus replies, dryly and Peter giggles below you before turning over to sleep again.  
You overcompensate a little too much by moving around, because Lily huffs from beside you and starts scrambling around for a tissue. “What did I say about the second coat?”
“I didn’t throw anything this time!”
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2. when he won’t let you give someone a black eye
Defence Against the Dark Arts is your favourite N.E.W.T subject for a lot of reasons. You enjoy the lesson content, it’ll be useful in future years, and it’s the one lesson you share with every single one of your friends.
You’ve gotten used to James and Sirius messing around while Professor Marigold recites fact after fact about spells and creatures and wizards of dark nature. Its like soothing background noise to you and your classmates who all concentrate in silence most of the time.
Which is why your quill stops on your page and leaves a growing ink blot when you hear snickering and whispers from the other side of the classroom rather than from in front of you where the marauders sit in a line.
The scoffs of disgust coming from Snape and Mulciber are loud enough to attract the attention of the rest of the students and even the teacher, who eventually sets down her piece of chalk in the middle of talking about Wolfsbane potion with an impatient sigh.
“Is there some sort of pressing issue that can’t wait until after class to discuss, boys?” Professor Marigold asks with a tone of ire that would impress Professor McGonagall. “Even Black and Potter have decided to give it a rest today.”
She’s not wrong, you think, noting how they’ve been less disruptive than usual for this lesson, probably tired out from setting each other’s robes on fire in Charms the hour before.
“The pressing issue is werewolves,” Snape mutters quietly, as though he doesn’t want to make a big issue but can’t stop himself from speaking up. “We should be learning more about how to kill them and less about the price of potion ingredients.”
Lily gasps from beside you and Sirius and James tense up at his words. Remus doesn’t lift his head, but you absently notice how his grip tightens around his quill when Peter nervously turns to him. Peter isn’t one for conflict and he’s always been nervous around this particular group of Slytherins, so you’re not surprised he’s anxious.
“Werewolves are still people, you can’t just go around killing them!” you find your mouth moving on its own, before your brain can catch up. When Snape turns to direct his scowl at you, its matched by your own as well as Lily’s disappointed frown. “They didn’t ask to be werewolves, they physically can’t help it! How would you feel if people wanted to kill you for not being able to control being such an arse.”
“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor Marigold warns, setting her stern eyes on you. You’re not one for disrupting lessons or getting into trouble, so when Remus turns around to look at you with a raised eyebrow, your cheeks start to warm and you stubbornly don’t look his way again.
Snape ignores her to continue glaring at you. “I don’t have the capacity to kill people in a feral rage now, do I?” His gaze flits from you to Lily and Marlene and then lingers on the boys. “Of course, you’re defending werewolves. It’s no surprise considering who you choose to associate yourself with.”
“Mr Snape.”
“You have no need to fly into a feral rage to kill people,” you reply, voice steadily rising in volume. Sirius and James turn their heads back and forth like they’re watching a tennis match and you know the only reason they haven’t piped up to agree with you is because they’re too entertained watching the way you’re about to jump out of your seat to pounce on Snape. “All you need to do is show someone your face for them to die of fright–”
“ENOUGH!” Professor Marigold’s booming voice cuts through the laughter of everyone on the Gryffindor side of the classroom and when you turn to look at her, you see even Remus’ shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. You’re not sure why this pleases you, but it doesn’t last long enough for you to figure it out before Marigold waves her wand in the direction of the door and sends it flying open. “Both of you will wait for me outside the classroom until the lesson has finished so I can discuss your appalling behaviour.”
You gape at her for a second, before relenting and grabbing your bag, not wanting to argue with her authority. Your friends have different ideas.
“That’s not fair!” Marlene exclaims, standing up in protest. “She didn’t even do anything wrong.”
“Yeah,” James agrees, also standing up. “Snape’s the one who was being an annoying pri–”
“Sit down, everyone,” Marigold cuts him off, pursing her lips. “Everyone except Mr Snape and Miss Y/L/N. Do not even think about speaking Mr Black, or I won’t hesitate to suspend your and Mr Potter’s Quidditch privileges until further notice.”
Sirius shuts his mouth after a nudge from James and you shoot your friends a grateful smile before making your way out of the classroom, followed closely by Snape.
The door shuts behind him and you don’t bother sparing him a glance before dumping your bag on the ground and leaning against a wall to focus your gaze on a suit of armour for the next five minutes. You’re about half a minute in when you notice that one of the hands are slightly wonky and the classroom door suddenly opens.
Remus, of all people, enters the hallway to join the two of you and quickly shuts the door.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, furrowing your brows and getting up from against the wall.
“Yeah, what are you doing here?” Snape sneers at him, and you give him a scathing look before turning to Remus for an answer.
Remus pointedly ignores him to stand next to you against the brick wall. “I just pointed out to Professor Marigold that you both have your wands and she may not have two students left out here by the end of the lesson.”
“I can defend myself,” you snort, folding your arms. You aren’t sure if you’re annoyed that Remus is insinuating otherwise, or if you’re touched that he doesn’t want you to be hexed into oblivion by Snape. “Especially from him.”
“Oh, I know,” Remus raises both hands in surrender as his tone becomes grave. “It’s not you I’m worried about, trouble.”
“Ha ha,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes at the nickname. He started it around a year ago when you got your first ever detention for helping Sirius and James Charm the Slytherin chairs to throw them off every time someone sat. Your friends had kept quiet about your involvement, but Peeves had spotted you, the nosy bastard. The nickname stemmed from the fact it was the first time you had ever gotten into trouble and it never failed to irritate you. “You better be careful I don’t hex you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of annoying you,” he says, but the serious tone of voice is ruined by the way his lips are twitching in an attempt not to laugh at you. “After what happened when I said I didn’t like that one Jane Austen book? Forget it.”
“Hey, you insulted one of my favourite characters,” you point out, resting a hand on your hip. “What did Emma ever do to you? You had that hex coming.”
“I had pink hair for a week,” Remus narrows his eyes at you, but you can tell he isn’t really angry. Although he refuses to admit it, you know for a fact he didn’t hate the pink hair considering how good he looked with it. An annoying indiscretion on your part. Remus looks behind you for a split second before leaning in a little to whisper. “I won’t get in the way if you want to turn Snape’s hair pink, though. Preferably a very bright shade of flaming, hot pink.”
At risk of your own cheeks flaming up from how close he is – really, what’s the need? – you shake your head let your hair fall into your face. Almost having forgotten Snape is also there, you start when he scoffs (for what you think is the millionth time this afternoon) and you sigh before facing him begrudgingly. “What now?”
“Couldn’t handle the content of today’s lesson?” he asks, tiling his head. You’re about to ask him what the hell he’s talking about before you realise, he isn’t actually talking to you, but to the boy behind you.
“Uh…” you trail off, not sure how to respond. All three of you currently standing in the corridor know that Remus is smart enough to tackle any type of content, especially something as memorable and interesting as werewolves.
Remus’ amused demeanour has been wiped away and you can’t determine his exact expression, but his voice is cold when he talks to you. “Just ignore him.”
“You and your group of friends can’t help themselves when it comes to defending strays and all sorts,” Snape continues, much to your confusion. “It’s not enough that you’re a group full of blood-traitors and mudbloods…”
Remus tenses up behind you and you find yourself frozen for a second.
The next thing you know, you’re lunging at the greasy-haired Slytherin with every intention of hurting his face with your fists, wand long forgotten. Your fingers barely brush his robes, however, when you feel yourself being hauled back by strong arms that wrap around your middle.
“Let go!” you snarl, enjoying the way Snape has backed away, eyes wide and worried. “Did you hear what he said? Remus, let me go.”
He doesn’t relent, still holding onto you when he leans down to speak in your ear. “You’ve already gotten into trouble. You’ll get into a whole lot more when everyone walks out to see Snape with a black eye and you with bruised knuckles.”
“Worth it,” you grit out, still pulling away from his grip and throwing daggers with your eyes at Snape. After a few more seconds of pointless struggling, you relax very slightly just to turn in his arms so you can direct your next words to him more pointedly. “Not only is he a slimy, blood-supremacist twat, but he also wants to kill a poor bunch of werewolves. We should be throwing him into the bloody Black Lake!”
“I know, I-” Remus is cut off when the door opens and students start flooding into the corridor to provide a barrier between you and Snape, indicating the end of the lesson. Remus finally lets you go when he realises you’re in direct view of Professor Marigold who stands behind her desk, waiting for you. “I had no idea you were such an advocate for werewolves.”
It’s the last thing you expected him to say and you immediately look up at him and frown. “Again, they’re people. They don’t deserve to be victims of prejudice just as no one does.” He doesn’t respond, staring at you with an unreadable expression and a hint of a smile. Your frown deepens in confusion. Was he… laughing at you? Especially after you had just gotten along. “I’m so glad you find me amusing,” you say, scowling and storming back into the classroom and away from Remus.
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3. when he's too good for flower crowns.
“Tell it again,” James insists, grin wide as ever plastered onto his face despite the withering look you send his way. “Getting a glimpse at even the possibility of Snivellus getting pummelled by Y/N would have made my entire year.”
“The galleons I’d give up to have been there,” Sirius releases a wistful sigh, closing his eyes as he lies down, facing the sun.
You hand him the daisy chain crown you just finished and he dutifully dons it. “I’ll alert the Ministry of Magic to order in a time-turner for an issue of utmost urgency,” you say sarcastically as you start on the next daisy chain. Sirius merely winks at you.
“I think you should’ve let her have at him, Remus,” Marlene states, unapologetic. You nod vehemently in agreement, a little too enthusiastically as you end up splitting a daisy down the middle.
Lily tuts, adjusting her own flower crown as it slips against her silky red hair. “I’m glad you didn’t. Godric knows what Professor Marigold would have done,” she shudders at the thought, ever the diligent student.
“Forget Marigold,” Peter chimes in. “Imagine what Professor McGonagall would have done.”
You don’t miss how he looks over his shoulder in case your head of house is taking a stroll along the grassy grounds.
“She would have combusted when you called him an ugly arse,” Remus pipes in, unhelpfully might you add, from where he sits slightly away from the group under a tree, reading.
The comment sends Marlene, Sirius and Peter into a fit of laughter – James is too busy staring at the way the sun is making Lily look ethereal and she’s too busy pretending not to notice while being secretly pleased. Doing a quick survey of your friends, you see everyone now has a flower crown except Remus. You make your way to the tree he’s resting against while the others chat, and sit yourself down with purpose.
Remus lowers his book very slightly to peer at you and your too-sweet smile. He raises a sceptical brow. “Should I be scared right now?”
You drop the fake smile and hold up your flower crown expectantly. “Everyone has one, but you.”
“How observant,” he says, setting his book down to look at you in mock astonishment. “Have the Aurors at the Ministry caught wind of you yet?”
“Don’t be a pain,” you groan, dropping it onto his open book. “I want everyone to wear one for the picture!”
Remus sighs, looking at the large camera over by your bag. You had saved up all summer to buy a magical camera to be able to take pictures of you and your friends in your final year at Hogwarts. The time you used your own muggle camera was a disaster of sparks and broken bits of plastic that took hours to mend. “I already agreed to your incessant picture-taking,” he reminds you, acting like it’s the most painful thing in the world. “The flower crown is not happening.”
“Fine, you miserable git,” you flick a handful of grass at him, sending him sputtering. “Now come and sit for the photo.”
You return to the group with Remus behind you and get everyone in position before hunting down someone to take the photo. Glancing around, you spot a close bunch of first-years and send Lily to use her Head Girl credentials (and warm and inviting personality, of course) to rope one of them into coming over.
“Okay, smile everyone,” you order, plopping down on the grass next to James. You elbow him in the ribs, not even having to look at him to know what he’s doing. “Stop looking at Lily and look at the camera.”
With a couple of mutterings and some nudging, the nervous first-year Hufflepuff girl shakily takes the picture and hurriedly hands you the camera in the middle of the picture sliding out of it. James and Sirius go back to playing with a golden Snitch while Peter watches, while Remus returns to his book.
Lily looks at the picture and coos over how cute everyone looks at the same time as Marlene complaining about her hair. You impatiently take the picture back to slide it into your photo album and something catches your eye.
Sirius is making a peace sign behind Remus’ head. His head that wears a flower crown.
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4. when he bleeds out on you.
You’re not sure what time it is – either very late at night, or very early in the morning. You do know, however, that you want to finish your Herbology essay so you can enjoy tomorrow (or today) and cheer your friends on in the Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw Quidditch game. You only have the conclusion left and you’re confident it’ll be done in the next ten minutes.
If you can find your damned quill, that is. You could have sworn you had it ten minutes ago, just before you snuck down to the kitchens to persuade the house-elves to give you the strongest cup of coffee they could make. You take a quick sip and grimace at the lukewarm temperature before setting it down and getting up to search. After turning every sofa cushion upside down, you go to crouch behind the sofa.
You hear the door to the common room being swung open and the hushed voices of the Marauders enter, but you don’t take too much notice as you squint for your quill. It isn’t unusual for the boys to be roaming around the castle at odd hours of the night, but a hiss of pain grabs your attention at the same time you spot the quill.
“Can you guys manage taking him up to the-” Sirius cuts himself off when your face pops up from behind the sofa. He freezes in his efforts to hold up Remus, who you notice is leaning on him and James and Merlin’s balls he’s covered in blood.
“What the fuck happened to him?” Your voice comes out weak as you walk over to the boys. Remus has deep, bleeding slashes over his chest and an assortment of little cuts on his face and hands. He seems barely able to keep his eyes open but when his gaze meets yours, he winces. He isn’t the only one hurt and you realise Sirius’ arm is damp with blood and trembling, the same going for James’ thigh. “What the fuck happened to all of you, oh my God…?”
“Peter, you were supposed to keep watch,” James hisses at the boy who looks like a deer in headlights. He looks a lot better than the others, with only a couple of small cuts scattered around his face and arms.
“She was behind the sofa!”
James’ leg buckles and you snap out of your state of shock to dart forward and keep him steady. “Right. Shit, okay,” you breathe out, holding off asking any questions to prevent anyone from bleeding out. “James, Sirius, set Remus down on the sofa and take off his shirt. Peter, help these two up the stairs and go find a first-aid kit or something.”
“We’ve got a couple in the dorm,” Sirius says, summoning one of them down with a quick Accio and handing it to you. He hesitates for a second, probably unsure if he should stay and explain things, before deciding to turn in the direction of the stairs with James as Peter rushes to help them up. “Look after him, please. We’ll be right back, Moony.”
“Take your time, I’ve got him,” you utter, already fiddling with the first-aid box and trying to open it with shaky hands. You’re no healer, but you know enough to panic when you see Remus has had his eyes closed for the last few seconds. “Remus, keep your eyes open!”
He groans, cracking one eye open to look at you. “I’m injured and bleeding out and you still manage to yell at me.”
“I wasn’t yelling,” you frown, unscrewing the bottle of dittany and scrambling for the cotton pads. You try to avoid Remus’ gaze because you feel extremely silly about being more panicked than him when he’s the one with claw marks down his chest. “Don’t move, or it’ll hurt.”
While dabbing the liquid onto the deep gashes in an attempt to close them up, you ponder on the fact that he probably knows it hurts from experience. You’re not completely clueless.
“What are you thinking?” Remus whispers in the stifling quiet of the common room, looking unsure.
You don’t cease in your movements, changing cotton pad after cotton pad. It takes you a minute to muster up the courage to meet Remus’ gaze again and this time he looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”
Remus gives you an almost imperceptible nod, like he doesn’t want to admit to it. You take a deep breath.
“Who else knows?” you ask calmly, as if you’re asking him about the weather.
“The boys and Lily,” he admits, swallowing hard. “Oh, and Snape.”
“Snape?” you exclaim, halting your dabbing to gawp at Remus. “I’m not saying you had to tell me or anything, but Snape?”
 Remus winces and you don’t think it has anything to do with his injuries. “In my defence he found out on his own and hates me for it,” he rushes out. “And it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you… I-”
“It’s fine,” you cut him off, waving him off and wondering how good you’re hiding the fact you’re a little hurt. “You didn’t have to tell me.”
“No, I wanted to. I did,” Remus insists, looking earnest. There’s something in his voice that’s a little pained and desperate that has you meeting his eyes. “I just couldn’t have dealt with it if you started looking at me differently. The boys and Lily sometimes do, y’know? Like I’m made of glass or something. It’s refreshing whenever you scowl at me or call me an idiot or an arse or a stupid gi-”
“Okay,” you stop him, stifling a grin. “I get it!”
Remus’ eyes flash with relief for a second before you notice doubt start to creep in again. “You don’t need to hide it, by the way. I won’t hold it against you if… If you’re scared or disgusted, or-”
“What?” you cut him off again and scrunch your nose in confusion. “I’m not scared or disgusted. Why would you think that?”
“You’ve been a bit too calm,” he points out.
Rolling your eyes, you grab a bandage to start patching up the worst of the injuries before you move onto the minor cuts and bruises. “I didn’t want you to think I was freaking out, or looking at you differently,” you quote his own words to him with a pointed look, making him smile again. “I don’t, you know. Think of you any differently, I mean.”
His expression is unreadable as he just looks at you and you just look at him, bandage hovering over his chest before his fingers come up to brush the back of your hand. He lightly holds your hand, softly running his thumb over your knuckle as his voice drops to a whisper again. “Thank you.”
You offer him a gentle smile, holding his gaze for a second longer before focusing on bandaging him up again. His hand drops to the side and you oddly find yourself missing his warmth. The large bandage adheres to his skin and you run your fingers along the sides to stick them down, feeling him shudder under your touch.
You quickly busy yourself with looking for more supplies in the kit to hide the way your own breathing has increased slightly. “Hey, anyway, I almost walloped Snape right in the eye for you. If that wasn’t any indication of my standing on werewolves, I don’t know what is.”
“Ah, my knight in shining armour,” Remus chuckles before breaking into a wheeze as the muscles of his injured abdomen contract. “Fuck, don’t make me laugh.”
“Don’t laugh at me then!”
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5. when you’re definitely not jealous… you’re not!
Three cups of coffee. You’re on three cups of coffee. It’s also the same number of hours you’ve slept and by Godric can you feel it in every inch of your body as the muted chatter of the Great Hall buzzes around you. Your head is in your hands as you contemplate stealing some Polyjuice potion and bribing a first-year to take a dose with your hair in it so you can go to bed and they can pretend to watch the Quidditch match.
You knock back the last sip of coffee when you sense a presence sliding onto the bench in front of you. Groggily setting the cup down, you see that its Remus. It takes a second to remember why this is concerning.
“Morning, h- Wait, what the hell are you doing out of bed?” you hiss, leaning forward to avoid anyone listening in. You scan your eyes over his chest, two seconds away from ripping his shirt off to check his bandages. “How are you even standing?”
“Relax, Florence Nightingale,” Remus says, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. He does his own quick sweep of the table and sees that most people are out in the Quidditch stands already, so he proceeds to pull the neckline of his shirt down slightly to reveal an already fading scar. No bleeding in sight. “I went to Madame Pomfrey with the boys this morning and she hurried up the process like she usually does. I feel achier than a 90-year-old woman with a metal hip, but the brunt of it is gone and Pads and Prongs are good as new.”
“Okay,” you say slowly, narrowing your eyes slightly. “If you’re sure you can sit out in the stands…”
“I can once I’ve consumed every cup of tea on the premises,” he says, reaching for the teapot. An annoyingly smug smirk starts to appear on his face while he pours. “What, are you worried about me, trouble?”
You scowl instantly. “No, I just don’t want you collapsing on me in the Quidditch stands while I’m cheering the boys on.”
“Right.” He hides his grin behind his cup of tea.
“Hey,” you mumble, nodding to Patricia Holloway who looks like she’s making a beeline to your table. More specifically, towards Remus. “Bright and cheery Hufflepuff incoming.”
“Merlin, it’s too early for this,” Remus whispers, taking another sip of tea before his face breaks out into a charming smile directed at the girl who slides into the empty seat next to him. “Morning, Patricia.”
“You look good today, Remus,” Patricia rests her elbow on the table and tilts her head to look at him with simpering eyes. It’s no secret Remus is good-looking and you’ve heard a million girls talk about him before. You’ve never seen any of them approach him yourself, though. You can’t say you enjoy it. “Are you… okay, Y/N?”
You didn’t realise you were scowling until she addresses you and you rapidly smooth out your expression, clearing your throat. Remus looks amused, which makes it harder to keep the scowl off your face. “Fine! I’m fine, just a bit confused since Remus looks half asleep,” you attempt a laugh through gritted teeth and are spurred on when Remus is actively trying to fight a grin. “And his hair currently makes him look like he’s been dragged through the Forbidden Forest.”
He can’t stop himself snorting at that, but Patricia just looks confused as though unsure how to react. She settles on a nervous little laugh, turning back to him. “I can fix that for you, here,” she says, scooting closer and starts to run her hands through Remus’ hair. You poke your cheek with your tongue, marvelling at how bold she’s being and how Remus is just sat there, still looking amused as ever. “There, what do you think?”
“A hairbrush couldn’t have done a better job,” you deadpan, softening your expression slightly when Patricia begins to look a little disconcerted. “You keep doing that, I’m going to head off to the Quidditch field.”
You all but storm out of the Great Hall, exhaustion having left you completely. It’s replaced by a newfound whirl of irritation that pools in your stomach and creeps up your throat, making you feel a little sick. It must be the coffee, you think, and you’re trying to remember if the beverage has ever made you experience this when all of a sudden there’s a hand circling your wrist.
“Stop, Y/N,” Remus says, a little breathless. You didn’t realise he’d run out after you and you feel bad about his injuries before your gaze snags on his newly tousled hair. “Godric, you walk fast.”
“I didn’t ask you to catch up to me,” you snap, purposely scowling this time. The cheeky bastard still looks amused and your irritation is growing faster than ever. “Besides, the match doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Plenty of time for Patricia to give you a whole new hairdo. Maybe she can give you plaits or– Why are you laughing.”
“You’re jealous,” he exhales with a smile, sounding positively delighted. Any feelings of concern have disappeared and are being rapidly replaced with wanting to thwack him upside the head. “Oh my God, you really are jealous.”
“Jealous, my arse,” you scoff, turning your back to him with every intention of speed walking out of the castle. His long legs keep up with you easily and he rushes in front of you to stop you going anywhere. You glare at him. “Leave me alone, Lupin.”
“Not until you admit that you’re jealous.” Remus is positively giddy with glee and you feel a flush of heat crawling up your neck. You set your jaw stubbornly and he’s incredulous as he shakes his head. “Merlin, you really have to argue with me on everything don’t you? I don’t care about Patricia Holloway and I’m glad you’re jealous. Means you’re less likely to break my nose when I kiss you.”
You barely get the chance to make an incoherent noise when Remus grabs you by the waist and presses his lips against yours, kissing you like he isn’t prepared to let you go anytime soon. His mouth slides hot and wet against your own and you gasp into the kiss when he nips lightly at your lip, your hands coming up to slide into his hair, making it unruly all over again.
Remus is the first to break apart, too soon, and you physically restrain yourself from chasing after his lips. He pulls back slightly, breathing fast to look into your eyes, searching for the answer you’re unable to speak yet.
“You… uh, I-I’m…” you trail off, dazed and breathless and head swirling with every emotion under the sun.
Remus laughs, pulling you impossibly close and leaving a soft kiss on your jaw, which doesn’t help your current speech issues. “If I knew that was all it took to shut you up, I’d have kissed you years ago.”
“Wha-!” You slap his arm, snapping out of the haze. You hide your current uncertainty behind a glare. It hit you like a ton of bricks, but you realised about five seconds into the kiss that you wanted Remus Lupin in every way, shape and form. You’re more than a little terrified, so what better defence mechanism than anger? “Why did you actually kiss me, you prick?”
“You are the densest, most clueless,” Remus begins, pausing to kiss you lightly a couple times when you start to scowl. “Most stubborn and most beautiful little witch I’ve ever known. And if you haven’t figured out after almost seven years that I love you, then I’m afraid we might have to admit you to St Mungo’s, because really-”
“Stop,” you whisper, lifting a finger to press against his lips, effectively silencing him. “You love me? You actually, seriously love me?”
He rolls his eyes and nods, like it’s obvious or something. You huff. “Then why have you been such an annoying pain in my bloody arse, Remus Lupin?!”
“Because,” he says, the word coming out muffled and you hastily remove your finger. “It was a good way to keep your attention. Plus, I like when you’re angry. It’s cute.”
You scowl without thinking and his smile impossibly widens.
“See?”
“Shut up and kiss me again,” you say dryly, pulling him in by the collar to give him a short, searing kiss. “Oh, and I guess I love you too.”
“So, no broken noses in my future?” Remus asks hopefully, softly sliding his nose against yours.
“No promises.”
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© angelfic 2023.
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bettysupremacy · 1 month
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Could I request something with James? Where reader lashes out at him and she had arguments with her ex a lot and expected this (her lash out) to get into a really big argument but he’s just like „okay noted“ and super kind about it (a little bit inspired by all my ghosts by lizzy)
(You can obviously change stuff to your liking and no pressure)
all hail lizzy mcalpine. i loved this request and i love james! thank you!
“Im serious, James!” You exclaim, a little louder than necessary. “I miss you! You’re always at practice, or with the boys, and I love the boys! But I miss you!”
He pauses in the doorway, startled by your reaction.
Remus and Sirius miss me too, you expect him to say, or rather, I can’t miss rugby cause you miss me a little more. You anticipate the sting of his words before they come, bracing yourself as you lean back against the kitchen countertop. They don’t come.
“And I miss your hugs.” You tear up pitifully, trying again, rather weakly, as he walks over. You don’t want an argument, but why isn’t it coming? “You’ve been gone so much. You know I hate doing the dishes.”
He grabs ahold of your elbow, his thumb digging into the crease as he pulls you close. Your palms dig into your eyes as your forehead dips against his chest. The way your shoulders shake aches him. He should never be the reason for your tears.
He’s been gone more recently, yes, and he feels terrible about it. If he’s not at rugby, the boys want to see him, and if he’s not with the boys, he’s at rugby. He’s missed you so much recently, he just didn’t know you mirrored his emotions.
“I’m the worst,” James says sincerely. “I didn’t know I was making you feel like this.”
“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, stress evident in your choked voice. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad or guilty, by crying I mean.”
He rocks you back and forth, arms securely over your shoulders. His embrace is a little tight, but this is the longest hug you’ve had this week and you can’t bring yourself to say something.
“Please don’t say that, please don’t feel bad for crying.”
“It’s totally manipulative though, I know, I’m sorry.”
He pulls back, searching for something in your eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s just-“
He looks so sad and confused as you pause midway. Helpless, like he doesn’t know what to do with you. Quietly, you feel bad for giving him the crease between his brows.
“You’re not mad?”
“Mad?” James appalls. “I’m going mad knowing I’m the dolt that made you feel like this.”
“James-“
“I’d totally beat someone up if they treated you like this, I would hate them forever.”
“Stop.”
“No, seriously!” He doubles down. “I would never forgive them.”
He’s so unapologetically him it aches you deeply. He’s rosy, smiles and boyish giggles. Warm in the summer, and warm in the winter. Radiating a kind of glow that only very special people are able to emanate. Sometimes you secretly feel like you’ll never be able to glow like him, but he always manages to bring it out of you when you’re around him.
You frown suddenly. “I’m so tired of missing you, Jamie.”
“I miss you too, lovely.” He’s serious again. “How can we get through this?”
You shrug, unused to this gentle treatment you so desperately deserve.
“Should we install weekly dates, hmm?” James asks. “We should, shouldn’t we?”
You shrug again feeling weak with emotion.
“Or tell the boys to bugger off,” he continues without giving you room to speak. “You’re much too kind to say it but I know, my love.”
You laugh quietly, nudging your cheek against his shoulder. He’s fond, smiling as he watches down to you.
“Oh, my girl,” he croons, grabbing your warm face to cradle. “Totally not to pull the victim card, but I missed you so much more.”
“Really?”
“I moon over you while you’re away. The boys are sick of it.”
He leans down nuzzling his cheek against yours, pulling back to kiss the corner of your mouth, the side of your nose, the apple of your cheek. You don’t know what to do with yourself, letting your wringing hands float up to hold his shoulders.
“Thank you for telling me.” He says honestly.
You reel earnestly. Only James Potter could thank you for trying to start an argument.
“You’re welcome.”
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leftwiththeriverr · 4 months
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Resting
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chaserofstars11 · 2 months
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JFP
whenever I see James' initials in a fic (jfp) I'm always like yeah, that's right. James fucking Potter. Everyone knows it.
It's even better when it's Regulus' tattoo
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appocalipse · 11 months
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RIGHT WHERE I WANT TO BE : ̗̀➛ SIRIUS BLACK
summary: it's only when lily accidentally spills amortentia on you and all you can smell is cigarettes and dog fur that you realize you're in love with sirius — probably the only person in the world you shouldn't be in love with.
"Oh, crap!" Lily seems on the verge of panic as she stares at the fresh stain on your clothes. "I'm so sorry!"
Somewhat shocked, you reach your hand to the front of your uniform and try to rub it away. It's no use. "It's okay," you assure her gently, relieved that the liquid didn't spill on the clean set of clothes you were folding instead, "it was an accident."
You put the clothes safely away in the trunk near your bed. They still have the fresh and clean scent of lavender. Your uniform, however…
Lily points her wand at your chest, and the stain quickly disappears. She had rushed through the entrance of the dormitory fast as lightning, crashing right into you and spilling…
Well, what exactly?
"Lily," you bring a hand to your own face, sniffing, then sniffing again. "What is this? It smells like a wet dog and-"
Your eyes meet and you immediately dislike the look on her face. Too much restrained excitement slowly bubbling up...
"-cigarettes…" you trail off, some sort of realization dawning on you way too late.
It can't be.
Lily bites her lower lip as if trying to hold back a smile. "Is that what it smells like to you?"
You also catch the scent of quill ink and freshly brewed coffee, so it can only be…
You put your hand away from your nose as if it's on fire.
"Tell me this is not what I think this is."
"If you're not thinking of Amortentia, then yes."
"Why would you brew Amortentia?!"
"For Professor Slughorn," she sees the confusion etched on your face and looks positively horrified. "Not for Professor Slughorn to drink! Ew! I said I'd like to try brewing one because it's, you know, a bit complicated and I've never tried before. He said he'd give Gryffindor some points if I succeeded. I didn't know you would… you know, smell Sirius."
"I never said I smelled him!"
"Okay! Okay," Lily raises both hands in surrender. Then, quieter, she adds, "You can pretend all you want."
You sigh. "Did you only have this vial?"
"Well, there should be some potion left in the cauldron, I think."
Great. An opportunity to escape this beyond strange situation. "I'll go get it for you."
"But I-"
You're out the Gryffindor common room before Lily has a chance to question your offer. The need to get away from that impending conversation is stronger than anything else right now.
Your heart is racing as you walk through the corridors of the castle, heading towards the dungeons, where Potions class usually take place. Each step is an effort to calm your turbulent mind and find some peace.
Upon reaching the Potions classroom, you welcome the silent space as you enter. The characteristic smell of magical ingredients and herbs fills your nostrils, bringing a familiar and almost comforting sensation… until you catch that smell. Amortentia.
You look around, searching for Lily's cauldron, which she mentioned leaving behind.
It's not hard to find; the smell is quite distinct, enchanting, all the things you love most in the world somehow united in a single aroma.
The cauldron is sitting on one of the workbenches. You approach cautiously, making sure not to knock anything over. Then you rummage through the shelves for an empty vial and pour some of the potion into it, feeling like you're doing something wrong even though Lily had Slughorn's permission.
The door opens, and you almost drop a row of glass bottles as you turn to look.
"What are you doing here?" he asks.
It's Sirius. Of course, it's him.
He closes the door behind him, and your heart skips a beat as it usually does whenever he's around. He's wearing the Gryffindor uniform, the first two buttons undone, revealing a patch of delicate skin just below his neck.
You don't need to wonder how he got there or why. Chances are, he extracted every piece of information he needed from Lily with little to no effort.
"What are you doing?" he asks calmly. You, on the other hand, don't feel calm at all.
"Nothing, just..."
"Just?" He takes a step closer, and you instinctively move away from the workbench, trying not to show the nervousness you truly feel.
"I just came to get something," you say.
Sirius gives a suspicious glance at the cauldron. "Is it a love potion?" He's a skilled wizard. Skilled enough to know the answer to that question, yet he waits for you to respond.
"Lily made it," you say defensively, holding up the vial containing the potion to illustrate your point unnecessarily.
"And what scent do you smell?" he questions, with a genuine curiosity in his tone that catches you off guard. "What does the potion smell like to you?"
"Lily told you," it's far from a question.
But Sirius has a knack for playing games.
"She told me what?"
"You know what."
This time, you step back as he advances, unable to help yourself, swallowing hard and Sirius notices. He takes another step forward, and you take another step back.
"Sirius," you warn.
In return, Sirius says your name, his tone lighter, more playful, soft as a feather. Then, another step.
You nearly bump your hip against one of the workbenches as you take another desperate step back. Sirius, being Sirius, raises an eyebrow, making no effort to hide his amusement.
It's unfair. It's simply unfair that he's so good-looking, starting at you without feeling the need to averting his gaze. "You don't have to do this," you find yourself saying.
Sirius seems genuinely puzzled.
"Do what?"
You steal a glance in your peripheral vision. The room won't go on forever; you need to say something to get out of this situation before he gets too close. You don't trust yourself near Sirius.
"Turn me down. Be all nice-" you stutter. He keeps advancing toward you. Back almost against the wall, you dodge another workbench and turn to the left, trying to prevent him from cornering you.
Sirius chuckles. "Is that what you think?"
"I'm a big girl. I can take rejection."
He glances in the direction of the cauldron. "Do you want to know what scent I smell?"
"No."
"Leather-"
"Sirius-"
"Gasoline," he raises his chin, nose in the air as if enjoying one scent after another. "Apple pie."
For a moment, you close your eyes. "Stop it."
"And lavender."
Your heart is pounding in your chest. He's not being serious, a little voice in your mind insists. It can't be serious. He's just teasing you... or maybe just being a good friend. Too good a friend.
It would be easier if he wasn't. If he were less kind to you, less handsome, less charming.
It's not easy.
You're breathless, trying to keep your distance from Sirius as he sets a slow advance, a constant tease. It's an internal battle between the desire to give in to the attraction you feel for him and the need to protect yourself — but the latter wins, for now.
"Sirius," you plead, your voice quiet, "stop"
He pauses for a moment, his gray eyes fixed on yours. "You think I'm joking, don't you? You think I'm just being nice?"
"I... I don't know, Sirius. It's so...confusing."
He takes yet another step towards you, his lips curling into a challenging smile. Always challenging. "Confusing or scary?"
The tension between you two is palpable, and you wonder if he can hear the rapid beating of your heart, threatening to break out of your rib cage any given moment. You know you're fighting your own feelings, afraid of surrendering to something that may - and probably will - end in heartbreak.
"It's not fair," you whisper, trying to keep your voice steady. "It's not fair that you're so... so-"
"So what?" he teases, closer. "So handsome? So charming? So... irresistible?"
You can tell he's somehow having fun. You don't understand how he can maintain a playful tone in a moment like this.
You catch a whiff of his cologne, feel the warmth of his body, and your heart races once again. If there's a way to prevent Sirius from getting what he wants, you don't know what it is. "So confusing," you finish, almost in a whisper. "You confuse the hell out of me."
Sirius pauses for a moment, his eyes locked with yours, and you momentarily catch a flicker of something deeper in this playful gaze. He slowly raises a hand and gently, gentler than ever, caresses your face, his fingers tracing a delicate path along your skin.
"I don't see how I could be confusing you," he murmurs, his voice soft and husky. "I thought I was being pretty clear..." It's teasing, of course it is; when it comes to Sirius, few things aren't.
But there's something else behind it, too.
The air grows heavier.
"You're not clear about anything, Sirius," you reply, your voice faltering slightly. "I never know what you're thinking. I never know what you really mean."
"Maybe you're just not paying attention."
You furrow your brow, confused by Sirius' response. He's playing with you, as he always does, but this time it feels more intense, more meaningful. You struggle against the temptation to give in completely, to say something you might not be able to take back.
"I do pay attention, Sirius," you respond, your voice showing determination you're not entirely sure you feel. "It's you who likes to make everything more difficult than it needs to be."
He moves closer once again, so close now that you can feel his breath against your skin, the tip of his nose an inch away from touching yours.
"Do you want me to be clearer?" he whispers, voice laced with a hint of his usual mischief. "Make it easier?"
You swallow, feeling your heart race. You know you can't admit your feelings for him, you can't let your defenses down. Not when he makes a point to hide comfortably behind a facade, away from anything that makes him feel vulnerable.
You need honesty.
"Yes," you whisper, your voice almost faltering. "Yes, I do."
Sirius pauses for a moment, eyes searching yours, and you can feel your breath catch in your throat. Then, slowly, he moves closer and closer still, until his lips almost touch yours.
There is a feeling that you can't quite put into words.
"I want you," he murmurs, an admission that hangs in the air like a charged electric current. "I want to be with you. I want you to be happy– I'll even accept your awful taste in music," he adds with a playful smirk, teasingly referencing your occasional guilty pleasure for a particular genre of music that he often mocks.
A laugh escapes your lips, a combination of relief and affection. His sincerity is pretty close to melting away any remaining doubts that linger in your heart. "I have great taste in music," you state playfully.
Sirius brushes the side of his nose against yours affectionately. "Sometimes," he gives in, voice filled with genuine warmth.
You lean into his touch, savoring the tenderness and intimacy of the moment. It's as if the world around you has faded away, leaving only the two of you in this bubble of shared emotions.
"Sometimes?" you raise an eyebrow, pretending to be offended.
He chuckles, a low and melodic sound that resonates deep within your chest, a sound you don't get to hear as often as you'd like. "You're lucky you're pretty," he teases, his voice filled with affectionate playfulness.
"Oh?"
"I have a soft spot for pretty girls."
You roll your eyes but can't help the smile that forms on your lips. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Black."
Sirius leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, pulling away with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Who said I was trying to get anywhere?" he whispers, fingers trailing along the curve of your waist, drawing you closer. "I'm already where I want to be."
Your heart swells with warmth, and you can feel a blush creeping up your cheeks.
"Smooth talker."
It doesn't sound like an accusation when you're about to kiss him.
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moonstruckme · 7 months
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hi mae!! i was wondering if you’d write poly!marauders x reader with some angst? maybe they’ve had an argument (they say something really hurtful to her) and reader wants to be left alone and they assume that she wants to break up w them? maybe some begging/pleading on their side pls
totally okay if you don’t want to write this<3 have a lovely day ml 🫶🏽
Hi sweetheart! Thanks for requesting and hope you're having a lovely day too :)
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words
It had started laughably small. Tensions had to have been high for awhile, you must just not have been able to see it, because you were all so ready to go off. Sirius had remarked that you’d left the living room a mess. You’d shot back that if he’d offered to make dinner, you might’ve had time to tidy. It had devolved into an argument about why you were so busy in the first place, even though he knew you’d been absolutely mobbed at work lately. You’d been getting more and more piled onto your plate, and you weren’t sure whether the higher-ups were testing you to see about giving you a promotion (or, Merlin forbid, firing you) or whether it was just a busy time of the year, but it didn’t matter because you loved your job and you’d do whatever it took to keep it. It didn’t matter to Sirius, either, apparently; what mattered was that you’d been spending more time at work, and when you weren’t there, you took your work home, always bent over your laptop instead of spending time with your boyfriends. 
When Remus and James tried to smooth things over, they only ended up getting dragged in too, and soon you were fighting about whether you should tell your bosses you couldn’t handle your workload (you’d rather cut off your left foot) and how they didn’t understand how important this was to you (they claimed they did) and that you were prioritizing work over your relationship and that they were needy for making you choose like that, and on and on with voices rising and tensions heightening until Sirius all but yelled, “I don’t care what happens to you at work, you shouldn’t want that more than you want us!”
You’d gone quiet. Everyone had. Remus and James seemed to know that he’d crossed a line with you, but they didn’t correct him. Their silence was clear enough: they agreed. 
Your body couldn’t decide between anger and anguish, and you’d worried that if you kept going, you’d scream at them. So you’d just said, “I can’t do this,” and left. 
You’ve been walking around for over an hour now. Aimless circles around your neighborhood and the surrounding streets. Lamplights are flickering on as twilight turns to darkness, the nighttime breeze cooling the teartracks on your cheeks. You keep turning the whole thing over in your head, but you can’t stop fixating on the last thing Sirius said and the other boys’ wordless agreement. Selfishly, it’s the first part that troubles you most: I don’t care what happens to you at work. Your work is endlessly important to you. Before you met the boys, it was nearly the only thing you were living for. You’d put years into school and menial, boring jobs to get the one you have now. You love what you do. Do they not understand that about you? You don’t get how they can claim to care about you, and not care about this thing that is at the core of who you are. 
Then there’s the second part. You shouldn’t want that more than you want us. As a statement, it’s true. But the implication is dead wrong. Because you don’t care more for your job than you do them. If you had to lose one or the other, you’d give up your job in a heartbeat. But as far as you know, you’re only at risk of losing one right now, so why can’t your boyfriends just sit tight for a couple weeks while you fight to keep it?
You’re hurting for yourself and for them, because how could they think that you don’t care about them? You feel like your heart is being cleaved in two.
When you arrive back at your apartment, you still don’t know what to do, but you feel calmer. You don’t really expect anyone else to have cooled down—Sirius especially, whose anger ignites quickly and takes time to burn out—and you don’t particularly want to keep arguing, but you will, until you all see each other more clearly. You’re ready to explain yourself better, to soothe and smooth over whatever you can. 
But when you open the door, the silence startles you. It’s like someone has sucked the air from your apartment, the atmosphere stale and morose.
James turns from where he’s sitting on the couch, eyes widening. “You’re back.” 
Remus appears, sitting up from where he’d been lying next to James, and Sirius emerges from your bedroom. Each of their eyes look as red as yours probably do, and the sight makes your heart feel heavy in your chest. 
“Y/N,” Sirius says, and it’s not so much the croakiness of his voice as the fact that he’s not trying to hide it that raises alarms with you, “I’m sorry. I went too far, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” 
“It’s okay,” you say without thinking, even though it hadn’t felt okay at the time. You’ll say anything to get him to snap out of whatever this is, the misery in his eyes unfamiliar and terrifying. 
“We shouldn’t have asked you to choose between us and your work,” Remus says, his features tight with something that looks like grief. “Do what you need to, just stay here with us, please.” 
You hesitate, feeling like there’s something you’ve missed. You hadn’t been gone too long, had you? Had they been worried you’d been hurt or something?
Before you can ask, James reaches out a hand to you over the top of the couch, and you step forward to take it, giving him a reassuring squeeze as his eyes well with tears. “We love you so much,” he says, uncharacteristically quiet, and you feel like someone has plunged a knife into your middle and twisted. “It’d feel so stupid to break up over the living room being messy. Let’s just talk this over, yeah?”
Your hand goes limp in his. “Break up?”
You get only blank looks in reply. 
“You’re breaking up with me?”
“Wh—dovey, no,” Remus sputters. “But aren’t…we thought you were breaking up with us. Weren’t you?”
“Of course not!” You press a hand to your chest, just to make sure your heart’s still going in there. “I was upset, but not…I was never going to leave you over it.”
“You said you couldn’t do this anymore,” Sirius says, almost disbelieving. 
“I meant the argument, not our relationship.” 
“Oh, fuck.” James throws his head back on the couch cushions with a relieved exhale. “So we’re all still together, just in a fight?”
“Just in a fight,” you agree, and you’ve never been happier to admit to conflict. You start towards Sirius, throwing your arms around his neck, and you can feel his shock as he stiffens, then brings his hands to your back. “I’m sorry too,” you say, letting go after a moment and turning so you can see all of your boys. “I didn’t mean to make you all feel like you weren’t important to me. I just wanted you to understand that my job is important to me, too. And I’m getting really scared that if I can’t keep up, I could lose it.” 
“Sweetheart.” James beckons, and you go into his arms, settling in. These are the kinds of arguments you like best; the ones where you all listen to each other, working towards a solution as people who love each other instead of opponents. “We don’t want you to lose your job either.”
“I don’t think this busy season will last much longer,” you say earnestly. “And if it does, I promise I’ll talk to someone and try to get a lighter workload. Do you guys think that you could give me a couple more weeks? I’ll try to be around more, but I just want…it’s important to me to be sure I’m going to be able to keep my job.”
Sirius huffs, going to sit in the chair across from you. “Well, it sounds so fucking rational when you put it like that.” He cracks a smile, and you return it hesitantly. “Yeah, I think I can manage a couple weeks. What about you guys?”
Remus hums his assent, and James nods eagerly, clearly ready to be done with the conflict portion of the evening. 
“Sorry I scared you,” you say, guilt still a dull ache in your chest. You kiss James’ cheek, and the skin there tastes faintly salty, but a dimple forms as he smiles at you. “I’m not going to break up with you guys, ever, but I swear that if I’m ever thinking about it, I’ll be more explicit.”
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bellaxisworld · 1 day
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february 29, @jegulus-microfic prompt: address. word count: 1,019.
James checks and double-checks the star shaped silver tag, glancing out the car window at the street sign. “Are you sure this is the right address?” he asks Remus, running a gentle hand along the black cat’s fur. The cat, Lune, purrs and pushes her head into his palm. He smiles, warmth blooming in his chest from her unabashed affection. They’d only just picked her up an hour ago, finding her stranded but clawing gently at their door. James’ heart immediately latched onto her, melting everytime she nudged him with her paw. 
“This is definitely the address from her collar,” Remus mutters, looking at the small flower beds lining the walkway. The home was rather lovely, looking strangely antique but well taken care of. 
James had no clue how Lune managed to find herself halfway across the city. 
He and Remus walk tentatively up to the green-painted door, and James already mourns the loss of Lune, aching with the thought of having to let her go. She’s curled up against his chest, eyes half lidded with sleepiness. James wants to hold on forever. 
The door opens, and James thinks his world realigns itself, or maybe it falls apart and rebuilds into something new, something utterly wonderful. 
The most lovely boy James has ever seen stands before them, pouting and adorable, with flushed cheeks and black curls ruffled against his forehead and around his ears. He looks rather disturbed that anyone dares bother him, and James thinks there should be art dedicated to the glory that is this man standing before him. James thinks he is the art itself. 
His pretty gray eyes widen almost comically as he sees the cat in James’ arms. 
James’s heart flips and turns and squeezes when he grumbles something unintelligible in French, and he’s silent, stuck staring at this beauty in awe. 
Remus clears his throat. “We found her clawing at our door this afternoon. I’m not quite sure how she made it to our part of town, but—”
“My idiot brother, that’s how,” the man says, rolling his eyes and huffing. James wants to touch and feel him under his fingertips, completely enraptured by this downright angelic being. “He was babysitting her this weekend while I was out of town. Obviously, he cannot be trusted with babysitting.” He reaches forward with pale hands to scoop her from James’ chest, but James is transfixed, lips parted as he thinks about the French lilt to the man’s words. He might be falling in love. 
Remus elbows him and he’s sharply brought back to reality, highly aware he was staring for a moment too long. He releases Lune to her owner’s arms, and she purrs again, nuzzling into the man’s neck. James is full of butterflies as he sees the man smile, hands lovingly cradling Lune. He feels less sorry for returning her, now that he sees the love she is returning to. 
James also plans on infiltrating the man’s life, wiggling his way into his beautiful arms, so he knows he’ll see her again. 
“Thank you both for bringing her home. It’s quite a ways from your home, I imagine, but your effort is very appreciated.” He speaks so formally, and James wants to dig his fingers into and tug and tug until something breaks. He’s feeling rather insane about this stunning stranger. “I’m Regulus, by the way. Your names are—?”
Remus chokes, coughing rather dramatically. “Regulus?” he croaks. “As in, Regulus Black?”
What a pretentious name, James thinks, again staring at him wistfully. Then— “Black? Like, Sirius—”
“I am Regulus Black, Sirius Black’s brother.” Regulus says, monotonously. Ah, the French makes sense. “Stupid bastard couldn’t even properly babysit my cat.” He huffs. “Are you all neighbors, then?”
Sirius Black is James’ enthusiastic French neighbor turned good friend. He was also blessed with unnaturally good looks, and James sees the resemblance now, looking at Regulus. 
Beside James, Remus blushes and mumbles, “Not my neighbor—” 
Sirius is James’ neighbor, and Remus’ current European conquest. How fitting, James thinks, for him and Remus both to fall for the Black brothers. 
James is free-falling off the deep end, preparing for a brutal fall. 
“I’m James,” he manages to say. Regulus’ rapt attention turns to him and he burns under it, feeling overwhelmed immediately. “Sirius’ neighbor.” He extends a hand and a smile, waiting for Regulus to take it. 
Take my hand, he begs in his head. Free fall with me. 
Their hands meet in the middle, and James swears he feels a spark ignite between them. He thinks he sees Regulus blush under his gaze. 
Their hands fit together perfectly, like puzzle pieces clicking into place. They both linger in the other’s touch, reluctant to pull away, brown eyes caught on gray ones, stuck in this charged moment. 
“Thank you, James,” whispers Regulus, and James grins, soaking up every second of his attention, feeling a rush of affection towards him. His name spilling from Regulus’ lips feels like a form of worship. 
James takes a leap of faith, free-falling off the very edge of which he was unprepared to fall from. “Can I get your number, Regulus?” Catch my fall, catch my fall, catch my— 
“Yes,” he breathes, hastily running into his apartment and returning with a slip of paper. He’s blushing fiercely, and James wants nothing more than to kiss his pink cheeks. He’s beautiful and soft, worth being cherished. 
James winks on his way down the steps, and when they make it into the car, Remus cackles. “Both of us! The Black brothers, James, both of them!” He’s wheezing. 
They drive off, and James looks back to see a black head of curls peeking through a curtained window. James smiles, and Regulus waves back, a soft smile tugging at his lips. 
If James is free-falling, so is Regulus—and that’s what love is all about, doing the scary things together. They’ll hold each other through the fall, and the crash might not hurt so bad. Maybe the pain will vanish with the first touch of a lover’s kiss. Either way—they’ll come out of it, together.
✩ part 29/29 of my microfic-fic on ao3: february, i'm yours.
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thelegitcasper · 6 days
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regulus to james
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imdamagecontrol · 2 months
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taken by the view
jegulus microfic. 2,990 words. nsfw. for @alarainai when they return from war, mwah <3 elementary teacher regulus, hot dad james, age gap, and parent-teacher conferences gone wrong (...right?). wrote this for fen after some silly brain rotting, but didn't know where to put it. so tumblr it is! enjoy <3
“Just down the hall and to your right, Mr. Potter,” the receptionist tells him. “He’s in room one twelve.”
“Thank you so much.” James gives her a warm smile before slipping through the double doors that lead into the school halls.
He rubs at the back of his neck, nerves bundled in his gut. It’s usually Lily who deals with Harry’s teachers. Not because James doesn’t have the desire, but because it takes a lot more to get Lily to fold. She’s violently protective of their son, who’s just turned nine and has as much attitude as his mother. Well, mothers. James sees a little of Lily’s and Pandora’s mannerisms in Harry now.
James wouldn’t be surprised if those mannerisms are the exact reason he received a call from Lily earlier asking if he could fill in for her at this parent-teacher conference.
“He’s just been having a rough go of it,” she’d said in between apologies. “I know you’re busy with trial, but I can’t make it.”
“It’s fine, Lils,” he’d told her earnestly. “I’m his dad. I don’t mind.”
And he doesn’t. In fact, he’s more than happy to do all of the Dad Things. He just has very little experience with this one, and Lily didn’t give him any tips for handling teachers who might not understand their son.
When he reaches Room 112, he knocks three times.
“Come in. It’s open.”
James takes a deep breath, loosens the tie around his neck to appear less Stuffy Lawyer and more Casual Dad, and pushes down on the door handle.
The room inside is lovely. The desks are arranged in neat double rows all facing a polished white board. One wall is decorated with the students’ most recent crafts, another is covered in old movie posters, and another houses half-height bookshelves bursting with picture books, chapter books, and even full-length novels. It’s tidy, with everything put neatly away, but still homely. It even smells of warm vanilla cookie and a hint of spice.
At the front of the room, tucked in the corner to give a view of the entire class, is an L-shaped desk. There are cabinets underneath covered in taped-on arts and crafts. I <3 Mr. Black! and Mr. Black is the best teacher! and a host of similar messages are haphazardly slapped all over.
But it’s not the room, or the decorations, or even the desk that gives James pause—it’s Mr. Black himself.
He sits with his fingers steepled under his chin. They’re long, adorned with silver rings, and James feels a flash of irritation. It’s impossible to tell if one of the ones on his left hand is a wedding ring. Considering James’ luck with dating these days, he wouldn’t be shocked if Mr. Black is married. Or, at the very least, has zero interest in men. Then again, it would be a double whammy if he is interested in men but is also married, and James is simply—
“Mr. Potter, are you quite alright?”
James realizes his mouth has been hanging open for God only knows how long. He snaps it shut. “Sorry,” he mutters, cheeks heating. “Long day. I’m Potter James.” He flinches. “Sorry, no. That’s not right. Mr. Potter. Oh, no. That’s—James. Hello. My name is James.”
What is he doing, standing here in his son’s English teacher’s classroom and acting a fool?
Mr. Black holds out his hand. James has to cross the room in quick strides to shake it. It’s warm in his, a firm grip. He tries not to think about it.
“I’m Regulus. Unless you’d prefer to call me Mr. Black?”
“I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you.” Oh, he’s flirting. He’s not meant to be flirting. Not with his son’s teacher. Who may or may not be married. Who may or may not be interested in men. James has been presumptuous, hasn’t he? Gone and done it again, then. Out of practice and—
“James? You can let go of my hand. Nice as it is, this is a bit long for a handshake.”
Death by a thousand cuts would be a preferred method of torture over this embarrassment.
With a sheepish grin, he lets go of Regulus’ hand. “Sorry. Quite a long day.”
“So you said.”
“Do you mind if I—?”
Regulus shakes his head and gestures to one of two seats across from his desk. “No, no. By all means. Do you want anything? Water? Coffee? Tea?”
“No, I’m alright. Thank you.”
A heavy silence settles between them until Regulus takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry to call you in on such short notice on a Friday. Though I believe I called your wife—”
“Ex.”
Regulus blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Lily is my ex-wife.”
“Oh. I didn’t—I’m sorry.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” James waves a dismissive hand. “It was amicable. Mutual? No need to apologize. But yes, her schedule is usually freer for these sorts of things. A rare occurence that she’s the busy one. Maybe I should apologize to you.”
Regulus’ brow arches under a curl that’s fallen over his forehead. James’ fingers twitch. “To me?”
“You’re stuck with me now.”
“No one said that’s a bad thing.”
James goes to war and back with how much effort it takes to keep his hands to himself over this comment. Seemingly unperturbed, Regulus continues on. He chronicles Harry’s misbehavior this last week, as well as his concern with where it might be coming from.
In truth, James is hardly listening. He knows Lily will ring his neck for it later, but it’s been a long day, he hasn’t had much luck in any department lately, and Regulus Black might be the finest thing he’s seen in a long, long time. He’s all sharp angles and shadow, but light hits the height of his cheekbones, the gray of his eyes. James has to stick his hands under his thighs like a kid who’s been told not to touch a shiny new toy.
Then there’s his voice, smooth as honey and just as sweet. Even when he expresses disappointment in Harry’s newfound penchant for talking back to teachers, James finds his thoughts drifting into dangerous territory. Territory that looks a lot like I wonder what he would sound like if I…
James needs to get laid.
Not by Regulus, per se. But also not not by Regulus, either. James is open to it. The twitch in his trousers when Regulus gets up and stretches to grab the classroom behavioral chart off the wall behind him, exposing a thin strip of his lower back, is enough for James to know he’s very open to it.
But he still doesn’t know if one of those damned rings on Regulus’ left hand is a wedding ring.
There aren’t any pictures, though that’s not atypical of teachers. Their private lives are their own. No need for students—or their parents—to pry. Maybe he’s not married, but dating. Committed. James feels that same irritation. Because of course a creature as lovely as this one isn’t single. He’s come to realize this is the natural order of things: the ones he wants? Spoken for.
This is the curse of his forties. It has to be. Lily met Pandora when they were in their mid-thirties. James bounced around, grumbling over drinks to both women when none of the people he tried felt right. Pandora would pat him on the back, and Lily would fix him another cocktail. Then James would go home, lie in bed alone, and glare at the ceiling.
It’s nice to have two teams to choose from, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the pool is any bigger. It just means there’s more for him to sample—and more for him to find disappointing. Unfulfilling. Lackluster.
Regulus Black is decidedly not lackluster.
He is, however, staring at James with a slightly alarmed expression. “Mr. Potter, have you been listening to a single word for the last ten minutes?”
“Honestly? No.”
Regulus goes red as a stop sign, but before he can say a word, James continues, “To be completely honest with you, I’m trying. To listen, that is. But you’re—You’re really lovely to look at. Did you know?”
Gray eyes go round. “I—What?”
“I’m about to flirt my way right into the sun, so I need to know if you’re married. Or dating. Or literally anything that will keep me from taking you on a date tonight.”
Regulus blinks several times. Slowly, he replies, “I’m not married. Or dating.” His tongue runs over his bottom lip, and James fights the urge to throw himself right on the floor. “Or anything that will keep you from taking me on a date tonight.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“But Harry—”
“Me and Lily will talk to him. He’s nine, but he’s smart. Sometimes too smart. We’ll make sure he understands consequences follow if he doesn’t behave properly in class.” James gets to his feet, practically bouncing. “So, what will it be? Dinner sound alright?”
“Wait, you were serious? Right now?”
James’ heart plummets. “Of couse I was serious. And yes, right now. Unless you have Friday plans, in which case tomorrow. Or the day after.”
“You don’t even know me!”
“That’s the point of a date, silly. Or, if you’d like, we can do brief introductions. Get the fussy bits out of the way.” James holds out his hand and grins. “James Potter. Lawyer, unfortunately. Recently forty, which is also a little unfortunate. I used to have lots of hobbies, but now I have a nine-year-old. Who’s great, by the way. Just…not in class, apparently.”
Regulus looks thoroughly taken aback. “We already shook hands.”
“Second time is the charm.” He grins when a warm palm slides against his.
“Regulus Black. Teacher. Not married or dating. Twenty-six, if that’s alright with you. Er, I have hobbies. Books, mostly. Wine tasting sometimes.”
“Italian sound good then? I know a nice place nearby.”
James decides he’ll damn near bend himself into a pretzel to see Regulus smile like this always.
“That sounds perfect.”
— 𖥔 —
It’s been a long time since James last slept with someone, so he’s pleased to know he’s still got it in him. Especially considering his forty-year-old body, much as he works to maintain it, is not nearly what his twenty-something-year-old body was. His bones protest a little more, and he’s been known to pull something on occasion.
Maybe it’s Regulus, who’s on him the second his front door closes, and the effect he seems to have on James. They spent the entire dinner chattering back and forth, laughing plenty, while the rest of the world seemed to not exist. And James, ever determined to be the gentleman, was fine with letting it end after dessert. At least, until Regulus leaned over the table, beckoning him close, and whispered, “Do you have Harry tonight?”
“No. Lily has him this weekend. Why?”
“Do I really have to spell it out for you, Mr. Potter?”
Which is how he finds himself attached to one very feisty Regulus Black, who’s just yanked at his tie, the buttons on his shirt, and the buttons of his trousers in less than a minute. The buttons and tie land on the floor of James’ foyer, only to be quickly followed by his dress shirt and nearly all of Regulus’ clothes.
“Not gonna make it to the bedroom at this rate, love,” James murmurs against Regulus’ mouth, walking them backwards toward the stairs.
“That’s fine. Stairs are fine.” Regulus cups James through his briefs, grinning at the whimper that falls from his lips. “Where the hell were you hiding this?”
“You’re flattering me.”
“Yeah, because you’re not fucking me. I’m getting impatient. If flattery gets you to—”
They make it as far as the first landing before James is inside him. He realizes his bedroom is right there at the top of the stairs, but Regulus has a mouth on him like no other. He tells James more, demands another finger, snaps, “I can take it,” and James is more than happy to deliver. Spit is not ideal when there’s a perfectly good bottle of lube some twenty feet away, but the withered sound from Regulus’ throat when James pushes into him might persuade him otherwise.
It takes a while, and they’re both sweaty, spent messes when they get there, but they do eventually make it to James’ bed—and Regulus doesn’t leave it all weekend.
— 𖥔 —
“Harry, get in the car.”
“No.”
James pushes his glasses up to rub at his eyes. “Harry James Potter, get in the car.”
“No.”
“Do I need to call your mother?”
“Go ahead. I’d rather talk to her anyway.”
Nine-year-olds are worse than any judge, James thinks. “Why are you acting like this? Didn’t your mother and I just talk to you about behaving?”
Harry glares at him from outside the car. He’s still too short, barely tall enough to see inside the window without standing on his tiptoes. “Yes, but did anyone talk to you about betrayal?”
“What?”
“Betrayal, Dad. Look it up.”
James sputters, his shock turning to a strangled laugh. “Harry, what are you—”
“You stole him from me!”
There are other kids still coming out of the school, and at Harry’s outburst, they turn to look at him in alarm. James’ expression mirrors that of a hundred other nine-year-olds when he blinks at his son. “Stole who?”
“Mr. Black! My English teacher! You stole him from me! I was supposed to marry him and I told Ron all about it because I like him so much and you stole him!”
This was not in the parenting books. Not a single thing in the world could’ve prepared James for this. Harry is bright red, his glare has intensified, and James is at a loss for words. Over Harry’s shoulder, he catches sight of a now familiar head of wild dark curls. Regulus watches the scene unfold with a bemused expression.
It’s been two weeks since he spent an entire weekend at James’ house, and he’s spent many nights at James’ since. Whenever he has the entire house to himself, he also has Regulus. He’s made sure Regulus doesn’t cross paths with Harry. Not yet, anyway. So why…?
Harry is still sputtering. The anger of a nine-year-old is something fierce, James realizes as he dials Lily’s number.
“Hello? James? Is everything alright? Did you pick up—”
“Why is our child yelling that I stole his teacher from him?”
“Because you did!” shouts Harry, banging a fist against the side of the car. “He stole him, Mom! Didn’t even ask! You told me to always ask permission, but he didn’t!”
In the distance, Regulus claps a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking. James fights the urge to stick out his tongue and scowl. There are far too many eyes on him now that Harry is making a proper scene.
Lily laughs through the car speakers. “Ah. I forgot to tell you that he heard me and Pandora talking about it the other night. Turns out he has quite the crush on Regulus. You know how kids can be. He just admires him is all. But he’s quite upset about the whole thing. It’s his first heartbreak, so handle it gently.”
Well. This both does and does not explain a damn thing.
“Harry,” James hedges, leaning over the center console, “I really, really am sorry I stole him from you.” He glances over Harry’s head to see Regulus has wandered a bit closer. Within ear shot. “I know I should’ve asked you first, but I really like him, too. A lot, actually. Do you think you could please find it in yourself to forgive me? Just this once?”
“No.”
“Harry.”
Harry lifts his chin defiantly. “Fine. But I’m still his favorite. He told me so today. He even gave me extra stars.”
“That’s okay. I don’t have to be his favorite.”
“Good, because you’re not.” To James’ surprise, Harry yanks open the door and climbs into the backseat. He buckles himself in with a huff. “Can we get ice cream before we go home? I think I need it.”
Just like that. James shakes his head with a soft laugh, but not before he meets Regulus’ gaze. He watches with a warm, amused smile. Mouths, Call me later, and winks when James nods, smiling back.
— 𖥔 —
“For what it’s worth,” Regulus tells him some hours later, “you’re my favorite.”
James looks down at the man draped over him. Their legs are tangled together underneath the sheets, and their skin is still sweat-slicked. “Do I get extra stars?”
“For that performance? Absolutely.”
“So what you’re telling me—” James rolls them over and settles between Regulus’ thighs, “—is I’ll get extra stars each time?”
Regulus scoffs. “You’re full of yourself if you think I’ll give you extra stars every time.”
“But you will, won’t you?” James delights in the surprised yelp Regulus lets out when James maneuvers them, gets Regulus on his stomach. Settles between slender thighs once more, his tongue already trailing over every vertebrae. He sits back on his heels, one finger trailing through the cleft of Regulus’ ass. “This is quite the view, you know. It might even be my favorite, second to your face.”
“Shut up,” Regulus mumbles into the crook of his elbow. The tips of his ears are red. “Are you sure you have the stamina for more?”
“Is that meant to be an age joke?”
“Maybe.”
“Give me a minute. But in the meantime, I know you’ve got more in you. Don’t you, love?” James presses his thumb to Regulus’ rim and laughs when Regulus shudders, his hips pushing back. “Thought so. And just so we’re clear—Are you listening?”
Regulus’ fingers fist in one of James’ pillows. “Yes.”
“Good. Then just so we’re clear—you’re my favorite, too.”
Regulus doesn’t leave James’ bed much during this weekend, either.
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wolvesandshine · 2 months
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“What the fuck are you doing here.”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Thought it would be fun to freeze my arse off in the cold today.”
James scoffs disbelievingly. “It’s 5 in the morning!”
Regulus just raises his eyebrow. “And?”
“Why aren’t you asleep?”
“I could ask the same thing.”
James groans out loud in frustration. “This is such a waste of time.”
“Glad we could finally agree on something. Now get out, I have to get back to training.”
“Shouldn’t you be focusing on how to kill muggles instead with your death eater friends?”
Regulus stiffens at that, anger coursing through him. “Not everyone has the luxury of choices like the gryffindor golden boy.” Regulus glared at Potter. “Some of us have to work for it.”
James goes to argue but there’s something off about the sentence. “Slytherin has beaten everyone else by miles since you became a seeker.”
Regulus looks at him like he’s the slow one. “That’s not going to cut it. I need to be signed on full time by a professional team this time next year.”
And suddenly - it clicks. James looks at the boy in front of him, really looks at him for the first time, finally understanding the desperation with which regulus plays, the ruthless efficiency combined with skill and hours of training.
This isn’t a game to him. It’s his way out.
part 2
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