I Love This THANK YOU SM

i love this THANK YOU SM 😭😭 <3

(harry potter x reader)

your laughs echoed through the walls and you were sure you’d have multiple noise complaints from your dorm neighbours trying to sleep by the morning, but right now, you really couldn’t care less.

you and harry were having one of your sleepovers, they happened even more frequent now that you were together, and not ‘just friends’. he’d come to your dorm most of the time, you’d pick a film, raid the kitchen and use all the blankets you could find in your room to cuddle into together.

he’d only moved his hand across your waist slightly, it wasn’t even intentional, but you jolted anyway, and it sure caught your boyfriends attention.

“are you alright love?” he asked you, angling his head downward a little to see you better.

“m’fine, sorry i dunno what happened..” you answered him, tilting your head up a bit.

but once again, his hand which was resting across your waist, moved, just a little bit, as he was readjusting his position, and you flinched, a noise close to a squeak barley leaving your mouth.

he stopped, but then although you couldn’t see it, a smirk made its way onto his face.

suppressing a laugh he nonchalantly started playing with the hem of your sweater, your eyes still on the screen watching the movie, he moved his hand up so it was resting on your waist underneath the sweater, lightly massaging the area, relaxing you, until-

a loud laugh left your lips and your wriggled around, you looked like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide and shocked looking up at harry.

he had a wide smile, “y’alright there honey?” he chuckled.

“don’t you dare harold- i mean it, y’know i hate tickles” he does know that, you’ve told him multiple times before when he’s done the same thing, does he care? no.

he just starts tickling that one spot on your stomach that makes you shriek and keeps on going.

harry was grinning like a madman, laughs escaping his lips almost as much as yours, you were jerking all over the place, giggle shouts filled with pleas to escape the torture of his tickles.

i’ve fallen in love with every rose i’ve ever seen

will forever be astonished & made better by the kindness of friends

once again i am in love with this man

Even on your Worst Days (tasm!PeterParker x Reader)

Summary: Maybe you were imagining things, but the hugs you gave Peter each night seemed to be getting longer. His hands seemed to linger on your waist, sometimes inching ever so slightly lower. Tonight, his lips had brushed the top of your head.

You told yourself it was nothing but gratitude. Nothing but the circumstance of two single people sharing 500 square feet.

Words: 3.9k

A/N: cursing, eviction, money problems; friends to roommates to lovers; making out; implied one-night stand; non-graphic/implied masturbation & nudity; canon-typical blood and injury; mentions of food & alcohol; no one knows how to talk about their feelings; idiots in love; fem!reader

Day One

You stood outside Peter’s apartment, confused. You were fairly certain this was his apartment, the one you’d been visiting for the past two years that was perpetually messy and never quite fully stocked with groceries. This was the apartment where you and Peter marathoned Lord of the Rings—extended editions—on New Year’s Day. It was where there was a large dark spot on the countertop from the time Peter had accidentally set down a pan from right inside the oven onto the laminate and it was where you had collected most of the hoodies that made up the majority of your wardrobe, courtesy of Peter’s closet. So, unless you’d somehow walked into an alternate universe, this was definitely Peter’s apartment.

Because of this, the glaring yellow eviction notice taped to the door made your stomach churn.

Then you noticed the padlock, which had been attached to the door and subsequently broken, and you sighed, pushing open the door and stepping into the dark apartment. It was despairingly empty and the sight made your breath catch in your throat.

“I’m the bedroom,” Peter’s voice called out from the tiny room at the back of the unit. You wondered how long it had been since his Spidey-senses picked up on you contemplating his front door, though you supposed it wasn’t his door anymore.

You crept into the bedroom, the one where you’d fallen asleep too many times to count, waiting for Spider-Man to return from patrol and turn into your best friend again. Peter was there, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest.

You’d seen him beaten and bruised and bloody. But you’d never seen him look so broken before.

“What happened, Pete?” you asked, sinking down to the floor beside him.

Peter chuckled darkly. “It’s been a bad day.”

“Seems like it would take more than one bad day to end up at this,” you said quietly, gesturing helplessly around the empty room. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

Day Four

You were always up early on Saturdays, your internal clock not quite able to break the habit that your cell phone alarm had ingrained into you over the course of the weekdays.

Rolling out of bed, you stretched and curled your toes into the warm carpet on your bedroom floor. There was sleep clinging to your lashes and you rubbed it away as you slipped into a sweatshirt and yoga shorts, debating if you wanted to force yourself to go on a run or take a bubble bath.

You opened your bedroom door, careful to stop it just before the hinges creaked in protest as they always did, and stood in the frame for a long moment, looking out into the living room.

Peter was asleep on your couch, his hair rumpled and his lips slightly parted. It had taken a lot of convincing and cajoling to get him to agree to stay with you, but you were glad for it because none of his other options were quite so bright and for as much as he didn’t want to worry you, he didn’t want to worry May even more.

You watched as Peter shifted in his sleep, his fingers flexing around the pillow he’d managed to salvage before all his stuff landed in the alleyway behind his old place.

In that moment you decided that neither a run nor a bubble bath would have your attention that morning. No, you were going to make pancakes. Blueberry, because they were Peter’s favourite.

Day Nine

You saw Mrs. Barton, the elderly woman who lived down the hall, in the mailroom that morning. You’d always been friendly with her, watching her cats when she went to visit her daughter and happily accepting the cookies she brought by your apartment when she was baking.

But today she stopped you as you flipped through junk mail and bills and the latest issue of National Geographic.

“Sweetie,” she cooed, “I met that dear boyfriend of yours yesterday. He was so nice, held the elevator for me and…”

“My b—?” You began to interrupt, but Mrs. Barton was not in the least deterred.

“And so handsome dear, good for you.” She patted your shoulder and gave you a little wink and then she was gone before you could correct her. There was a small part of you that felt a thrill, that liked the idea of Peter being mistaken for your boyfriend.

Day Twelve

Peter snapped a photo of you while you were reading. You looked up at the sound of the shutter clicking and raised an eyebrow. You’d long since grown used to the candid photos, but that didn’t stop you from teasing Peter about them.

“More material for my sp—” he began to deliver his usual response but you threw your book at him. He, of course, caught it deftly.

“Don’t you dare say it,” you said darkly. Peter laughed and tossed the book back at you.

Day Sixteen

“BOO!”

“Fucking hell!” You screamed, arms pushed out in front of you, hitting at your invisible attacker in the darkness. You heard Peter laughing uncontrollably and you groped for the light switch, flipping it on to see him doubled over in amusement.

“What the hell is wrong with you Parker?”

“You should have seen your face, Y/N,” Peter gasped, a look of mock horror written on his features as he tried his best to imitate you.

“We can’t all see in the dark,” you sassed, flicking him in the side of the head.

“I know,” he grinned devilishly, rubbing where your finger had nicked him, “One of the many perks of being me.”

Day Twenty-Four

Peter made you dinner that night. It had been a long day at work and the case you were putting together for your boss, to take down a known drug dealer targeting teenagers, was looking grimmer each day. You hated knowing that someone who had done something horrible would walk because they knew how to play the system, how to find guys to take the fall. You hated it so much, the injustice of it all.

“It’s not much,” Peter said as he brought two plates of spaghetti to the sofa, “But I made it with love.”

“Gross,” you muttered, sticking your tongue out at him playfully. Peter rolled his eyes and reached over to mess up your hair.

“Don’t lie,” he grinned, giving you a cheeky wink, “My love makes everything better.”

You nodded absently and when Peter asked what was wrong you unloaded, letting all your frustration out. He listened, quietly, intently.

Day Twenty-Five

The law firm was abuzz the next morning when you entered with your latte and your nose cold from the crisp air.

“Did you hear what happened?” Martin, the other clerk working on this case with you, asked. You shook your head and he shoved a newspaper in your face.

There, on the front page, was the bad man you’d told Peter about last night. Except he was all webbed up to the side of a building, evidence of his crimes splayed on the ground before him.

“Our Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man really came through,” Martin laughed at your expression, mistaking your wonder for disbelief instead of gratitude.

“He sure did,” you whispered, folding up the paper and tucking it into your bag.

Day Thirty

Peter had started to leave Post-It notes around the apartment, each with a terrible pun scrawled across it in his messy hand.

You found one stuck to the jar of peanut butter as you were making lunch.

I heard a rumour about peanut butter but I’d rather not spread it.

You smiled, eyes rolling as you put the jar back in the cupboard, Post-It still attached.

Day Thirty-Three

Maybe you were imagining things, but the hugs you gave Peter each night before you went into your bedroom, leaving him on the sofa, seemed to be getting longer.

His hands seemed to linger on your waist, sometimes inching ever so slightly lower.

Tonight, his lips had brushed the top of your head.

You told yourself it was nothing but gratitude. Nothing but the circumstance of two single people sharing 500 square feet.

You told yourself all of that even as your hands dipped below the sheets, as your fingers dipped below the elastic waist of your underwear.

In the living room, Peter pretended not to hear the sharp increase of your heart rate, the quiet hitch in your breath. He covered his head with his pillow and pretended not to wish it were his fingers making you writhe on your sheets.

Day Thirty-Four

Breakfast was awkward. Peter wouldn’t meet your eye, so you knew he’d heard you last night.

Fucking hell, you berated yourself, of course he did! He has super-human hearing.

You were so preoccupied in your own thoughts you missed the way Peter looked at you across the table, his tongue running absently over his lips.

Day Thirty-Nine

A loud crash on the fire escape made you drop the glass of wine you were about to indulge in and you cursed loudly, heart thundering in your chest as the glass shattered and white wine splashed up onto your legs.

Another curse escaped your lips as you stepped on a shard of broken glass, stumbling and hopping to the bedroom with blood gushing from your foot.

Peter was there, half in and half out of the window, his mask off and his hands shaking. His nose was bloody and his lip was split and he looked like he got the living shit beat out of him. Suddenly, the shard of glass impaled in your foot didn’t seem so bad.

When he was fully in the window, you could see that he'd been shot, grazed by a bullet on his left arm. It made you choke on a sob as you limped to the bathroom together, leaning on each other.

You helped him out of his suit and into the shower, the steam filling the room as you stripped down to your underwear and crawled into the shower beside him, both your backs against the cool ceramic tiles. Your blood mingled with his as it swirled down the drain.

When all was said and done you hugged him, kissed the top of his head.

“What are you doing?” he asked weakly, a strained smirk on his face.

“Being affectionate,” you whispered, still fighting back tears.

“Oh god,” Peter chuckled, but his grip around your waist tightened. “Then I must be dying.”

“Don’t joke,” you said softly. You shook your head and led him to your bed, despite his protests, tucking him in. And you fully intended to go back to the kitchen, to clean up the broken glass and then crash on the couch but Peter pulled you down and put his arm around you and then you were falling asleep next to your—your best friend, right?

Day Forty

It was a one-time thing.

Peter waking up and running a thumb over your cheek. You needily drawing yourself closer to him.

Peter kissing you, once, tentatively before taking your hooded eyes and bitten lip as an invitation to continue hungrily kissing your lips and jaw.

It was a one-time thing.

Breaking apart for air as Peter’s hands slipped up your camisole and your hands slipped down his pants.

It was a sloppy, short-lived one-time thing, interrupted by a sharp knocking on the door.

Mrs. Barton had made more cookies and was dropping them off. Peter answered the door and from your spot on the bed, trying to steady your heartbeat as you straightened your shirt, you heard her tut softly. “You look flushed, dear, are you running a fever?”

Day Forty-Three

“I was thinking we could get dinner sometime.”

You were midway through a conversation with Martin when the suggestion fell from his lips.

You took a minute to survey him, his lean frame and well-trimmed beard, his bright blue eyes and aquiline nose. He was handsome, smart, friendly, everything you’d ever imagined in a boyfriend. But he wasn’t—no. You stopped that thought before it had a chance to fully form.

“Oh, uh, yeah, cool! Let’s do that.”

Martin smiled at your accepting his offer and prattled on about the details, though you were only half-listening.

When you got home that evening, Peter was sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs back and forth. Queen’s greatest hits was playing on the living room speakers and Peter had a pad of paper on his lap, scribbling away furiously. He looked up as you walked in and tossed the pad aside.

“I’m thinking of adding eggs to our ramen tonight,” Peter laughed, “Spice things up a little bit.”

You looked at him, at this boy who was a frenetic ball of energy, whose hands tapped along the kitchen counter, whose head bobbed as he spoke and whose eyes searched your face, forehead creasing when he noticed your expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied, too quickly. Peter frowned, jumping from the counter and stepping closer to you, fingers poised to tickle. You shot him a warning glare and he wiggled his fingers impertinently, undeterred.

“It’s nothing, I promise,” you repeated, “I just need some air. I think eggs in the ramen sound great.”

You went out onto the fire escape and pulled out your phone, texting Martin: hey! something came up. can we do dinner another time?

You had no intention of there ever being another time but you’d never been one to dole out rejection head on.

Your screen lit up just a moment later and you read the incoming text: no problem, hope you’re okay! txt/call if you need anything

You gritted your teeth. What you needed, no one could provide except yourself. Some backbone, some courage, some absolute recklessness. You needed to tell Peter how you feel, but you also needed to not lose your best friend.

Day Fifty

“They cut my stipend.” Peter closed the door with more force than necessary, the framed art on the wall rattling slightly.

From your spot on the couch, your shoulders squared, mouth creasing into a deep frown. “What? They can’t do that!”

“They can. They did.” Peter let his messenger bag fall to the floor and stood completely still for a long moment, his hands clenched into tight fists. You wanted to scream, to stomp down to the university and smack some sense into the grants officer. Peter was doing good work, brilliant work—how could they?

You stood, hurrying to Peter’s side and wrapping your arms around him. He remained stiff in your hug and you frowned, wishing you could take all his sorrow away.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” you whispered, wanting him to fold into you, to lean on you. But he remained hard and distant until you let him go.

That night, when Peter returned from patrol—when Spider-Man crawled through your window—there were tears in his suit and you could see the dark scarlet stains of blood across his abdomen.

Again, you were on your feet in a moment, the routine of bringing him to the bathroom to be washed and patched up well-rehearsed by now.

“You can’t throw yourself around just because you had a bad day,” you said once you’d settled Peter into your bed, where he’d been spending the night more and more frequently. You were a little miffed at his carelessness and let it come through in your tone. Peter scoffed.

“It’s more than a bad day, Y/N!” He threw his arms up in frustration, hissing when the action irritated one of his wounds. After a pause, he continued, voice deflated. “I’m tired of feeling like a burden.”

“You’ll never be a burden, Peter. Not to me.”

He kissed you once on the lips, hard and passionate, pent up and frustrated. You sat, somewhat shocked, as he turned away and pulled the blankets up over his head.

Day Fifty-Eight

“I’m sorry about last night.”

When you woke up, eyes bleary, the first thing you saw was Peter’s face, his gaze soft and focused on you. His hand came up to run over your arm gently. You wondered if he was talking about his reckless behaviour or his kissing you.

“Don’t worry about it, Pete,” you said quietly, stifling a yawn. “How are you feeling?”

“Spider-Man can keep taking punches and get back up so I guess I can too.”

You smiled, knowing that was Peter’s way of telling you he’d be just fine.

Day Sixty-Six

You were seeing less of Peter since he’d picked up a new research position to make up for the cuts to his main funding. He looked tired when you did see him, dark circles growing under his eyes.

He started sleeping on the couch again, and you took this to mean that whatever might have been happening between the two of you was dead in the water.

You knew it was a shitty thing to do, but you texted Martin about dinner.

Day Sixty-Eight

Peter was eating Cheerios from the box when you walked in wearing the same clothes he’d seen you in yesterday. He gave you an appraising look and you shrugged, slightly embarrassed at having been caught.

No words were exchanged, though if you’d had a Spidey-sense, you might have heard the uptick in Peter’s pulse, seen the twitch of the vein in his neck, smelled the ooze of protectiveness that clung to his skin.

But, as you walked to the bathroom to shower, you noticed nothing, not even Peter’s darkened eyes boring a hole into your retreating figure.

Day Seventy

“I'm going to see a place tomorrow,” Peter said as you came out of the bathroom, hair wrapped in a towel and wearing his plaid pyjama bottoms beneath your oversized NASA t-shirt.

He looked so happy and even though you could feel your heart sinking, you smiled. But Peter was a good actor and you were none the wiser.

“That’s awesome, Pete!”

“Want to come with me? See if it gets the Y/N stamp of approval?”

No, no, no.

“Yeah, for sure! I’ve got nothing but laundry to do tomorrow so please save me from that fresh hell.”

Day Seventy-One

On the subway ride back to your place, you felt like you’d been sucked into a dark tunnel of uncertainty. Beside you, Peter was prattling on about the apartment he’d taken you to see, his leg bouncing excitedly as he spoke. “I like it! Think I’ll sign the lease. Call the agent when we get back home.”

Your heart lurched at his use of the word home. Because he was right—home was no longer just your apartment. It was that space filled with him, with his citrus and cinnamon scent and his loud laugh and his snarky comments and his dedication to doing laundry because he knew you hated it and his moments of accidentally staring at you and falling asleep together and waking up together and—

“It seemed dark. And cold.” You spoke quietly, a soft shrug in your shoulders.

“You didn’t like it?” Peter asked.

You shook your head. “No. No I didn’t.”

Day Seventy-Four

“That’s the tenth apartment, Y/N!” Peter was exasperated as you both took the elevator back up to the apartment you’d come to think of as his as much as yours.

“I just don’t like them,” you said cooly, “I can’t explain it.”

“I think you can,” Peter said accusingly, arms crossing over his chest. “I think this isn’t about the apartments and it’s about…”

His voice trailed off and your eyes narrowed at him. “About what, Peter?”

He rolled his shoulders, tense and ready to spring, his tongue darting out to roll over his top teeth. Then you were pinned against the glass siding of the elevator, Peter’s arms on either side of your head and his knee wedging itself between your legs. His lips were an inch from yours and you sucked in a terse breath.

“Don’t,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure what you were telling him not to do. Don’t kiss me? Don’t make me fall even more in love with you? Don’t leave me?

The ding of the elevator, the hiss of its doors opening, tore Peter away from you.

Back inside your apartment, you retreated to the bedroom. You heard the front door open and close and Peter was gone, though you weren’t sure where.

Day Seventy-Five

You were buried in paperwork, files strewn across your desk, when your cell phone sounded with that special ding reserved entirely for texts from Peter. You slipped the device from the pocket of your pants and lit up the screen.

Come down to the lobby? :) ;)

You were on your feet in a moment, wondering why Peter was visiting you at work. Sure, he met you for lunch some days, but it was only 10 in the morning. A coil of fear loosed itself in your stomach. What if he found a place? What if he’s moving out?

When you got down to the first floor of your office building, you immediately noticed Peter, not because he was the only person not dressed in a suit, but because of the comically large teddy bear he was holding. You couldn’t help but to laugh as your feet carried you toward him.

“Do I even want to ask?”

Peter grinned, reaching out an arm as you neared and snaking it around your waist. “I could have gone with flowers, but this makes more of a statement.”

“Oh?” you arched an eyebrow at him, not pulling away from the way he held you although people were starting to look. “A statement about what?”

“That I’m beary sorry I’ve been a roommate of the worst koal-ity and it’s been grizzly having to put up with me.”

“Dear god,” you giggled, “That was paws-itively unbearable.”

Peter laughed and, if possible, pulled you closer. His lips found the shell of your ear and pressed a soft kiss there. “I mean it, Y/N. My feelings for you have been all kinds of messy and I just—”

“Pete,” you cut him off, pressing a hand into his chest and curling your fingers into the hoodie he was wearing, “You were right though. That it’s not about the apartments. I, uh, I like living with you.”

“Even though I snore louder than you?”

You rolled your eyes, but nodded. “I like being with you, Peter.”

Day Eighty

You woke up to lips brushing against your cheek, a thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand. As your eyes fluttered open, you saw Peter opposite you in bed, chest bare and hair rumpled from sleep. It was like deja vu, except this time you knew you’d be seeing the same thing over and over and over, for years to come.

“Good morning, roomie,” Peter grinned, kissing your forehead, where your brow furrowed.

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”

“It depends,” he winked, “I could go with ladybug for a bit. And maybe one day I’ll change it up to wifey. But for now…”

“Shut up,” you murmured, wrapping an arm around Peter’s neck and pulling him close, pressing your lips to his.

Roomie, you thought, smiling into the kiss. Had it ever really been that simple?

Taglist: not added yet because Tumblr hates me. I wanted to post this even though my blog is broken/shadowbanned/something so whatever. If anyone manages to read it, I hope you love it. I'll reblog it later once this shit is solved & tag all you amazing friends.

the art of letting go; jp x sb x rl

pairing: james potter x sirius black x remus lupin

synopse:  James always wants to take care and love the others so much, that he sometimes forgets to do so with himself. thankfully, he has two amazing boyfriends to do so.

warnings: slight angst, panic attacks, self hate kinda, poly relationship, maybe peter redemption, hurt/comfort, too many italics

word count: 4k

a/n: long time no see :) literally love the idea of these three together. i’ve only read things where james is the one putting sirius and remus back together, so why not change that? also, if you don’t like, don’t read.

James always felt a necessity to care. To give. To love.

He had been this way since a little boy; always making sure his mum, Euphemia, and his dad, Fleamont, were alright, and helping with everything he could. 

This need only grew when he went to Hogwarts and met his friends, Peter, Sirius and Remus. Lily, Marlene, Dorcas. Even people he didn't know that well, from other houses. 

James always wanted to take care and love the others so much, that he sometimes forgot to do so with himself. 

. 

James had been feeling blue for a few weeks. Not that it mattered, his problems were nothing compared to the others. 

When Peter felt insecure about his body, James was there to tell him he was awesome, and that not everyone could have the same, intitulated perfect, body shape. He even got Peter going out with a pretty Hufflepuff in the meantime. None of the Marauders have been seeing much of Peter lately. 

When Sirius was enraged and frustrated with another less than caring letter from Walburga Black, James was there to make him smile again and go to the Honeydukes with him, just to cheer him up. James was there to hug him and tell him that he loved Sirius, and that he would always have him. Sirius never would stop grinning for the next few days when James was like this; always by his side, or on his lap, hugging him constantly.

When Remus was feeling closed off from the world, mind travelling back to dreadful bright moon nights, James would hold his Moony, would lull him to sleep and try to do his homework. James would fold his socks. James would convince the House Elfs to make Remus' favourite chocolate cake, and he, Sirius and Remus would stay up together, sharing cuddles and hugs (and kisses). 

So, yeah. James really should pull himself together because he didn't have the right to feel sad. To want to cry. To want someone to hold him instead. He had lovely parents, he was a star player in his quidditch team, girls and guys threw themselves at him left and right, and he had the bestest friends and boyfriends anyone could ask for. He had the perfect life, he always heard. 

"Honestly, James, you're just so amazing. I don't know what I would've done without you. You're just so perfect, your life's perfect," Peter once commented. "And you're really smart, which is also cool and-" 

James then tuned him out. Peter was lately spending less time with James, Sirius and Remus. James logically knew why; he had a girlfriend, he had made new friends, he wanted to give the rest of the Marauders space for their relationship. He had even started to sleep in Longbottom's dorm, which had a free bed, and the two of them had become the greatest of friends. Logically, James knew this. 

But, at the same time, he couldn't help but feel like he made something to draw Peter away. Like James failed. When, in reality, Peter would always be grateful to James to pull him out of his shell, and find the relationships that he was longing for. He had a beautiful, kind girlfriend. He had other friends. He felt at home with the Marauders. The bitterness that sometimes Peter would feel disappeared completely. Peter would always be grateful for having a friend like James. 

James just didn't understand this. And for that he would always disagree with Peter- James really wasn’t amazing. 

. 

At first, he could fake it. The sadness and the growing despair inside him. He would smile, he would joke, he would be confident. Even Padfoot and Moony, the ones that knew him the most, the ones that he loved the most, didn't really notice something at first. And why would they? Even James didn't know what was wrong. If he ignores it, it will go away, he's sure.

However, slowly, Sirius and Remus realised that something was wrong. They just didn't know how truly wrong it was. 

The first time it was after a Quidditch game against Hufflepuff. They had lost, and it was thanks to James. At least he thought it was. He couldn't get one goal right, and their point disadvantage was so big, that even after the red seeker catched the golden snitch, it wasn't enough to win. 

Remus thought it was just a bad game, even though he did find it odd. He couldn't see James' face from the standards, so he would have to wait until he could hug both of his boyfriends to give his signature comforting smile and say 'Don't worry, next time it will be better'. 

He had been waiting outside of the Griffindor's locker rooms, where the team would shower after the games, for about 15 minutes now. 

The door opened and Remus turned his head towards it's way, expecting to find a wet haired Sirius with his arm around a pouting James. Instead, he only found a frowning Sirius, and no James. 

"Where's Prongs?" Remus asked, raising an eyebrow and opening his arms for Sirius. Being the tallest one with 6'3, Remus leaned his head on Sirius's, kissing his hair. Sirius, not very much behind on the height department being only 2 inches shorter, nuzzled his nose on Remus' chin. 

"Something's not okay, Moony," Sirius closed his eyes, frown deepening. 

"Watchu' mean?" Remus said, still looking towards the door to see his other love. 

"Prongs. James. His eyes... he was really sad." 

"Well, I mean, it wasn't the best game, I know, but-" 

Sirius pulled back slightly, mouth still frowning and eyes swimming with worry. "It's not that, Moons. He was just... I don't know, you'll understand when you see him, but he just kept his eyes down the entire time, said to the team that he was sorry for disappointing us, and went to the shower. He's still in there. He told me to come get you and for us to go get dinner and that he would meet us in the dorm. Something's not okay, Remus." 

It was now Remus' turn to frown. This wasn't like James. After a bad game, James would get out of that locker room, his hair wet and messy, glasses crooked, and his arms crossed, all while pouting like a child. He then would come into Remus arms, and ask demand him to carry him towards the dorm, not carrying who saw them. Sirius would be close behind, talking exasperatedly and dramatically about the game to Remus and James would sulk and hide his face on Moony's neck, while his legs would wrap around his waist. Being the smallest of the three at 5'10, this really wasn't a problem for Remus. 

But this didn't happen. Sirius and Remus shared a worried look but went to the Kitchens, hand in hand, to go get dinner and bring it to their dorm. They asked for an extra treacle tart for their bespectacled boy. 

And when James finally got there, almost half an hour later, with his eyes lost and a tired smile, neither said anything. They only held him and kissed him throughout the night.

  . 

  The second time it happened was during Transfiguration. It was known that James Potter was quite good at it, and it never failed to make Minnie very proud (insert a rolling of eyes and a reluctant smile by the elder professor). 

They were being given back their papers, the ones they did the previous week. McGonagall said that she was proud of the class, that they all did good. When it got to James' turn, she gave him the smallest smile, and continued to give their papers away. A big, bold red 'A' was written on the corner of the page. Acceptable. 

Huh, James thought. Okay then. He usually got an O, as he always did outstandingly well in these, but apparently he really wasn't that good. 

"Hey, Potter, how did you do? An 'O' again?" Lily Evans exclaimed from a few seats at the front, turning around and flashing her daring but nice smile. They had studied together for this paper. James noticed the 'O' on her paper. 

Students were talking excitedly to one another, eager to show their good grades. James looked at her and smiled weakly at her, but to others it seemed more of a bashful smile. "Not this time Evans, got an 'A'." 

He noticed the noise lower slightly, his friends  glancing his way with a curious look. Lily was surprised, but tried to hide it by shrugging it off while saying something akin to "Oh, that's also alright then". James knew she didn't mean it, but it sounded a little condescending, like when you're talking to a small child. He looked down at his red 'A' again. 

He was a good friend. He was good at Quidditch. He was bright at Transfiguration. At least he thought so. As the days passed, James was starting to doubt it. 

He missed the look Sirius and Remus gave him from each of his sides. He didn’t really notice the arm Sirius wrapped around his waist or the hand that Remus was now stroking. James could only hear the blood rushing through his ears, and he lost himself in his own head. He almost didn’t catch the dismissal from McGonagall. He unwrapped himself from his boyfriends hold and rushed out of the classroom, his paper grasped tightly in his hands. His ears were ringing, he didn't hear the calls of his name; McGonagall wanted to talk to him, having noticed his growing silence in her classes. Lily wanted to apologise, for having come off as rude, when she saw the glare Sirius sent her way. Peter wanted to show James his 'E', excited for his good grade. Dorcas and Marlene wanted to go on a walk, to tell him the newest gossip. Sirius and Remus just wanted their Prongs back, but he didn't hear them at all. 

  . 

  "I am scared, Rem," Sirius quietly admitted that night. 

"I know, Pads. Me too," he whispered, still running his fingers through James' raven hair. 

It was almost midnight. Peter was spending the night with his girlfriend, and while Sirius and Remus loved Peter, they were quite happy for the privacy. Especially now. 

James was on top of Remus, head resting on his chest. His back was towards Sirius, who wrapped his arms around James torso, cuddling into Remus' side. They had only found James hours after the Transfiguration incident, hidden under his Invisibility Cloak on his bed (even though it was their bed, transfigured into a bigger king size, so the three of them could sleep comfortably together). 

"I don't know what's wrong. He won't talk to me. To us. I just want our James back, Remus," Sirius continued, voice quivering from the lump in his throat. His eyes were suspiciously watery. 

"I know, love, I know," Remus sighed tiredly, kissing Sirius on the lips and pressing a long kiss on the top of James' head. 

Neither said anything when a lonely tear escaped James' eye. 

. 

Christmas was approaching now. Classes were ending today, and most of the students were happy to go back home and see their family. 

It was breakfast, and James was sitting next to Remus, Sirius across them along with Peter and Frank. James was munching on his toast quietly, head leaning on Remus' shoulder, while Remus wrapped his arm around James' waist. 

It was obvious to everyone now that James Potter was not okay. But one look at Sirius and Remus' faces and their opinions and thoughts would be immediately shut down. 

The boys were talking with Lily, Marlene and Dorcas when an owl came in and dropped a letter on James' lap. James cleaned his hand with his napkin and opened a letter that was clearly from his parents. He couldn't wait to go home. That was probably all he needed, to go home for a few days, and when he came back he would be completely normal again. At least, what was normal for James. 

He knew that his boyfriends were worried, if the constant affection and reassuring "I love you"'s were anything to go by. He loved them so much it hurt him, and he hated himself for doing this to them, but he couldn't do anything about it. He didn't know how to. James didn't even know what was wrong with him, why he was sad. 

James felt his heart stop at his mother's writing. 

  Dear, 

Your grandfather Henry passed this previous night. Monty and I will travel to London, for his funeral, this afternoon. It may be better for you to stay this Christmas at Hogwarts, sweetheart, as we'll only be back by next week to sort everything out.

We're really sorry dear, We promise we'll make up to you. Say sorry to Sirius and Remus for us, our celebration will have to wait. 

We love you. Merry Christmas.

Mum and Dad. 

  Oh. Okay then. 

James heard Remus' sharp intake of breath from beside him. He knew he was reading from over his shoulder. 

"Jamie-" 

"S' okay, Moons," James said, slowly removing Remus' arm from around him. 

"No, please wait-" Remus tried once more, reaching his arms towards his James. His James that was hurting badly and he couldn't do anything to stop it. 

The slight desperation in Remus' voice startled the others; if the usual calm and collected Remus Lupin was that worried, it was definitely not good. 

"I'll be right back, Rem. Don't worry." 

And with that James left the Great Hall. 

  .

  Hogwarts was almost empty by the end of the afternoon. The majority of the students went back home. Sirius and Remus stayed, refusing to go anywhere. 

The Gryffindor Common Room was filled with Christmas decorations to the brim. The light was dim, candles flying around. The harsh rain and wind from outside filled the silence. Being the only one there, Sirius was cuddled up under a big, cozy blanket, his and his boyfriends favourite, on his favourite sofa, looking longingly at the fireplace. He was waiting for James to return from wherever he went to hide. Remus was finishing his shower back in the dorm. 

It had been a while since Sirius was happy, as he couldn't when one of his favourite two persons wasn't. The quidditch game, the one where all of this started, had been today three weeks ago. The full moon was a week after that. It has been a difficult month in general. 

No matter how much he thought, Sirius didn't know what was wrong with James. He had always been proud of himself when it came too reading Remus and James. He knew them like the palm of his hand, they were his soulmates. It made him anxious not knowing what was wrong with one of them. 

The sound of a portrait opening shook him out of his thoughts, and Sirius snapped his head in the sound's direction. 

There, looking completely exhausted, was standing James Potter. His eyes were red, as if he'd been crying non-stop for hours. His breathing was loud, and Sirius was sure his lover's heart was beating way too fast. 

Sirius Black was completely terrified because, as he'd come to realise, James Potter was reaching his breaking point. James opened his mouth and Sirius held his breath. 

"Where's Remmy?" He asked quietly. So quietly that Sirius only heard him because they were the only ones there. Because the only thing that could be heard was the distant sound of rain and ravished breaths. Remus by now must have finished his shower. He must have, Sirius thought. 

"He's just finished showering, Prongsie," Sirius's voice trembled slightly. He was sure that still, James didn't notice. 

"Oh," his voice was soft, resembling the one of a small, innocent child, "Okay." 

James looked out of the window, eyeing the rain. His mind was slipping, James realised. James felt small and sad and desperate and so tired. He wanted to count the tiny drops of rain that were painting the dark sky. He wanted to scream. He wanted Sirius and Remus. His ears were ringing again and James would've laughed at the thought if he could. They have been doing that quite much lately. 

"I'm sorry-" James' voice broke. "I'm so so sorry, Siri. 

And James finally let go.

  .

  Sirius saw James fall to his knees, Sirius saw James crying. The crying became almost immediately heart wrecking sobs. 

Sirius jumped, and ran the fastest he ever had towards James. "Oh, my love," Sirius cried and pulled James into his arms. James gasped and pressed himself hard into Sirius body, as if trying to get out of his own and mold with him. Sirius was also crying in pain, as he could now see all of the despair James was in, but also in relief because he knew that this was necessary. James needed to break so he could heal. He needed to let go, and Sirius and Remus would be there to help pick up the pieces. It really was what he needed, what they all needed. 

"Sirius," James called, body trembling, crying hysterically. 

"I'm here, James, I'm here." 

Sirius couldn’t really register his voice yelling for Remus. He picked James up, and walked the fastest he could to their dorm. 

When he got there, Sirius threw the door open with one hand, the other still carrying James, who had legs wrapped tightly around the others waist, arms around his neck, hands mindlessly pulling at his hair, eyes tightly shut as the pain consumed him. James' sobs wouldn't subside, and his voice would be calling for either Sirius or Remus, saying that he was sorry and that he needed them and that he couldn't and that he was sorry again. 

"Remus!" Sirius frantically called. "Remus, Remus!" 

Remus rushed out of the bathroom shirtless, only having time to pull up his grey sweatpants. The sight in front of him would forever be the most heartbreaking thing in his life. Sirius with his eyes wide and hair completely messy, with tears running down on his face. His expression was of pain and fear. In his arms was a desperate James that sobbed and called for him, clinging to Sirius as if he needed him to survive. It was probably true anyway. 

"Remmy, please, I'm sorry-" James continued, stuck in his own mind. 

"I'm here baby, I'm here," Remus immediately rushed towards him, taking James into his arms to give Sirius some rest, and cupping his swolen, wet, red face with one hand. "You're okay now, Jamesie, we're here and we're not going anywhere. I love you." 

Remus went to their bed, holding James tightly. He leaned his back on the headboard, keeping James on his lap. Sirius went to the bathroom and he came back with a soft towel, tissues and a glass of water. He put all of the items on the little table besides their bed and pressed himself into Remus' side, who let go of his arm to wrap around the balck haired boy. Sirius pressed his face into the back of James' neck, kissing and murmuring words of love into it. He felt James' frantic heartbeat start to slow down after a few moments that seemed too long and Sirius released a sighed of relief. Remus, who was previously nuzzling his nose on James' head, threw his head back, leaning it on the headboard as well, looking tired. 

No one said anything for a few moments. The boys were waiting patiently for James to get out of his head, to collect his thoughts, to calm down. Sirius laced his fingers with Remus', who squeezed his hand. 

"It-it started at the beginning of-of November more or less," James started, stuttering and fumbling over his words. Sirius put his arm around James' belly, and stroked the exposed skin, as his hoodie had rolled up. "I just- started to feel over, overwhelmed at taking care of everyone, and I felt sad. But, but I thought it wasn't important compared to all of the-the shit you two and the others have to face sometimes. So I just ignored it and, and kind of suppressed it." James furred his eyebrows, trying to concentrate, but the trembling of his voice didn't seem to want to stop. 

"Shh, it's alright, baby, don't worry. Take your time," Remus quietly, but lovingly, reassured. 

James nodded, cuddling more into Remus' warmth and grabbing the hand Sirius had on his stomach. " And it just- and it just kept getting worse. I just kept feeling more sad , and I was just so afraid of hurting and disappointing you..." He trailed off, lonely teats still running through his face. "I guess I just stopped caring about me, to the point where I didn't know what to do." James' voice broke and his lovers held on tighter to him. 

He paused for a few seconds before he continued. "And when I went back to the Common Room, and saw Pads all cuddled up with our blanket... and, and he was frowning and his eyes were sad- I couldn't help but blame myself and feel like I disappointed you, and all of what I was trying to hold together these past few weeks just- just snapped." 

"Oh, love, " Sirius sighed, stroking his thumb over the hand he was holding. Sirius then sat up straight, turned James back to Remus' front, and moved so he was right in front of the other two. He then grabbed James' face with both of his hands, while Remus wrapped his arms around James' waist and rested his face on James' shoulder. "I want you to get this through inside that thick head of yours, alright?" Sirius quietly demanded. "You should never ever feel like you don't matter, okay? Your feelings are just as important as Moony's and mine. You shouldn't feel like you don't matter, my love, because you do." 

Remus lovingly kissed James' neck. "Padfoot's right, Jamie. And you could never disappoint us, baby, we love you so much." 

James nodded softly, trying to get their words inside. Yeah. He can do that. He teared his eyes from Sirius' handsome face and looked down. Wow. I am such a fool.

"James." Remus murmured, noticing his boyfriend getting lost in his mind again. He continued to press small kisses to the raven haired boy. First his neck, then behind his ear. His jaw, his cheek, his temple and his hair. Just letting him know that he would always take care of his boy. Remus and Sirius would show James forever that he matters. That he is loved, that he is bewitching, smart and beautiful. Never again, Remus repeated in his mind.

Sirius lifted James' head once again and stroked his cheek adoringly. His hazel eyes were slightly dazed as he looked at Sirius. James gave him the littlest and sweetest smile. He looks so small, Sirius' mind echoed. And so precious. His boyfriend was absolutely adorable like this. In Remus' lap the size difference stood out; his hair was a mess and his glasses were crooked. His eyes were reddened and occasional sniffles were heard. His oversized black hoodie made the scene all the more cute. Not resisting, Sirius kissed James deeply and delicately, still stroking his face. Remus sighed contentedly and continued to press small kisses to whatever skin came across.

They stayed like that for a while. Throwing meaningful words of love and touches of affection. It was not until James finally slumped against them, with closed eyes and slow breaths, that Remus and Sirius pulled back and layed down, pressing James between them before all of them went to rest.

Sirius kissed Remus forehead and Remus kissed Sirius lips. Both of them pressed many tiny kisses into James' head, watching a peaceful smile appear. And it was then that it was clear:

James would always be okay, with his Remus and his Sirius, as long as he learned to just let go.

everyone agrees that james potter gives the best hugs; they are warm and strong, you even feel his smile on the neck. it's comfortable because is james