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lydiasfalling · 16 days ago

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so adorbs

video games, james potter

james potter x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ james x fem!reader ... a night with james as he plays video games. established relationship + domestic fluff. that's literally it

word count ༄ 813

nora’s notes ༄ i forgot how to write help

James is still yelling at Sirius when you get out of the shower. You pause in the doorway of your bedroom to watch him nestled into the beanbag below your bed, chestnut hair turned blue in the light of the TV. A fondness travels across your face, molding into a smile as you absorb him.

“No, no, no, go left,” he instructs, fiddling with his controller. “I’ve got five guys on me, Padfoot, hurry up.”

You’re not sure what he’s playing and, honestly, you don’t really care. Not as much as you do about how warm and lovely he looks in the shirt you bought for him last year, a slash of his stomach golden against the white fabric.

You toss your towel to the side—you’ll deal with it later—and walk back to climb over him, hair still wet against your back, arms stretching around his neck. He automatically adjusts to let one arm slip around your waist. You were right that he’d be warm. He’s like a beam of sunlight in human form, and now he’s serving as your personal heater.

“Hi,” you whisper, accepting the kiss he offers you, lips puckered.

“Hi,” he says back, his eyes immediately sliding to you. He smoothes a kiss across your shoulder. “Do you want me to stop playing?”

“No,” you promise. You rest your cheek right at the crook of his neck, nose resting against his skin. He smells like cinnamon sticks straight out of the jar and vanilla and the tang of firewood and every good thing you’ve ever had in your life. “I just want to hug you.”

He tilts his head so his face presses against yours in acknowledgment. You can feel his smile against your cheek. It makes you smile too.

“How was your shower?” He asks, half as a pleasantry, half because he loves hearing your voice. “Lonely without me?”

You smack his bicep without any real malice, a snort flying to accompany it. “As a matter of fact, yes, absolutely.”

“I knew I should’ve joined you,” he tsks before he starts rapidly pressing buttons on the controller, muscles flexing as he leans forward. “C’mon, c’mon. Let’s go.” His arms pump up. “Hell yeah, honey, did you see that? Easy.”

You grin at his excitement, turning your head to look at the light soak his face. His tongue’s poking the side of his cheek in concentration, glasses slipping down his nose. You push them back up for him.

“Your hair’s still wet.” He frowns, one big hand coming up to examine the ends as if in disbelief. He pulls off his headphones and sets them besides you two.

“I was too tired to dry it,” you murmur, returning your face to its previous spot slumped against him.

“Do you want me to?” He dots a kiss to your hairline. “I can get the hair dryer. I’ll figure it out.”

You smile at his sweetness. “Thank you Jamie, but it’s okay. I’ll survive.”

“You’ll catch a cold,” he worries.

“It’s okay,” you promise.

He opens his mouth, about to say something else, when a voice wriggles through the headset: “Get a room.”

“Hi Sirius,” you say in response. Out of James’ friends, Sirius and Remus are your favorites. Sirius put you to ease right when you met him, joked about James, let you into the group with no hesitation. He had a velvetness to him, but also just the right amount of edge.

“Hi mon amour,” he purrs, a smile woven into his tone. “You two keep it PG. I can hear everything.”

James snickers. “Please, Pads. You are the least PG person on the planet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius gasps, mock offended. You can picture him on the other end of the phone, mouth dropped into a pink gasp.

“You know exactly what that means,” your boyfriend says, clicking to start a new game.

There’s a rustle, then: “Babe, James is slut-shaming me.”

A sigh from both ends of the call. The sounds of a lanky man sitting next to his boyfriend.

“Hi Remus,” you breathe. Being this close to James is intoxicating. It should be considered Melatonin to be pressed against him like this, like you fit together, not just as a puzzle but as that last piece that makes a clicking sound as you push it in. You’re languid, now, you can’t tell where the two of you separate, if you’ve just merged into one being.

“Hi,” Remus chuckles.

They move onto another topic of conversation, maybe back to the game, but your head’s heavy and your eyelids are too, and James’ arm is snaking around to the valley of your back, smoothing down the bottom of your shirt, so how could you not let them rest now?

His fingers comb over your hair, tangle through the ends. “Go to sleep, lovely. I’ve got you.”

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tags: @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac @treefairy-28 @lolwey @callsignwidow @navs-bhat @hisparentsgallerryy @brxght-world @grxcisxhy-wp @luvv-danielle @idkman5353 @just-here-for-ff @rubyinthebooks @laurenzitaa @ariesandwolves @wasiasproject @starkluvrr

#i love nora! 💒#nora's scribbles ᝰ.ᐟ #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #harry potter #the marauders #lydiasfalling #real #lydia’s moots ! ✦°．•

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lydiasfalling · 22 days ago

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OPHELIA || D.M

pairing: draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader

trope: unexpected, slight enemies to lovers, grumpy x sunshine

warnings: none that I am aware of !

a/n: i heard that there is a lack of fics on here so i came back and I MISS DRACOTOK SO BAD so happy august !

The air in Hogwarts carried a crisp edge, like the first breath of autumn had slipped through the castle’s ancient stones. You tugged your yellow-and-black scarf tighter around your neck, the Hufflepuff common room’s warmth still lingering on your skin as you stepped into the corridor. The lanterns flickered, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts across the walls. It was late—too late for a sensible Hufflepuff to be wandering the halls—but you’d left your Herbology notes in the library, and Professor Sprout’s quiz tomorrow was a beast you couldn’t face unprepared.

You didn’t expect to see him. Not here, not now.

Draco Malfoy leaned against a pillar just outside the library, his pale hair catching the torchlight like a halo gone wrong. His Slytherin tie hung loose, the knot half-undone, and his posture was all sharp angles—shoulders stiff, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He looked like he was waiting for something, or someone, and the way his gaze snapped to you felt like a spell hitting its mark.

“What are you doing out here, Badger?” His voice was low, laced with that familiar sneer, the one that made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite name. He always called you that—Badger—like your house was some kind of insult, a soft thing to be mocked.

“Library,” you said simply, refusing to let his tone burrow under your skin. You’d learned by now that Draco thrived on reactions, on the spark of irritation or the flush of embarrassment. You wouldn’t give him either. “Forgot my notes.”

He scoffed, pushing off the pillar with a grace that was almost annoying. “Typical Hufflepuff. Always scrambling at the last minute. Don’t you ever plan?”

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes. They were gray, like storm clouds, and just as cold. “Don’t you ever not lurk in dark corners like some kind of gothic novel villain?”

His lips twitched—barely, but you caught it. A crack in the armor. “Witty for a Hufflepuff. I’m almost impressed.”

“Almost?” You raised an eyebrow, stepping past him toward the library doors. “I’ll take it.”

He didn’t follow, but you felt his stare on your back, sharp as a quill’s point. Draco Malfoy hated you—or at least, he acted like he did. It had started in third year, when you’d accidentally bumped into him in the Great Hall, spilling pumpkin juice down his pristine robes. You’d apologized, of course, but he’d looked at you like you’d committed treason, hissing something about “clumsy Hufflepuffs” and storming off. Since then, it was like he’d marked you as a target for his disdain—snide comments in Potions, pointed glares in the corridors, the occasional hex that you always managed to dodge.

You didn’t hate him back. You couldn’t. There was something about him—something brittle beneath the venom, like glass pretending to be steel. You saw it in the way his hands fidgeted when he thought no one was watching, or how his eyes lingered on the Quidditch pitch after everyone else had left, like he was searching for something he’d never find. You weren’t sure why you noticed these things. You just did.

Inside the library, the air was thick with the smell of old parchment and ink. You found your notes wedged between two herbology textbooks, exactly where you’d left them during your frantic study session earlier. As you tucked them into your bag, you heard the door creak open behind you.

“Still here, Badger?” Draco’s voice slithered through the quiet, and you turned to find him leaning against a bookshelf, arms crossed again. He looked out of place among the dusty tomes, too polished, too deliberate.

“Thought you had better things to do than stalk me,” you said, keeping your tone light. You weren’t afraid of him—not really—but there was a tension in the air, like the moment before a storm breaks.

He stepped closer, his boots silent on the stone floor. “I don’t stalk. I observe. And you’re… an unfortunate subject.”

You laughed softly, surprising yourself. “Unfortunate? That’s a new one. Usually, it’s just ‘annoying’ or ‘useless.’”

His eyes narrowed, but there was something different in them tonight—something less hostile, more curious. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re not supposed to be here.” He gestured vaguely at the library, the castle, maybe the world. “You’re too… soft. Too sunny. It’s infuriating.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. “Infuriating? Draco, I’m just trying to pass Herbology. I’m not out here plotting your downfall.”

He snorted, but it lacked its usual bite. “That’s the problem. You don’t plot. You don’t scheme. You just… exist. All earnest and kind and—” He cut himself off, his jaw tightening.

“And what?” you prompted, stepping closer despite yourself. The library was silent except for the faint rustle of pages and the distant hum of the castle settling into night. You could feel the weight of his words, the ones he wasn’t saying.

He looked away, his fingers twitching at his side. “Forget it.”

“No.” Your voice was firm, surprising even you. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to throw out half an insult and then walk away. Say what you mean, Draco.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, and for a moment, you thought he might hex you. But then he sighed, a sharp, frustrated sound, and ran a hand through his hair, mussing the perfect strands. “You’re like… honey,” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear. “Sweet and warm and everyone loves you. And I’m—” He stopped, his expression twisting.

“You’re what?” you asked, softer now. You weren’t sure why your heart was pounding, why the air felt too thick.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved closer, close enough that you could smell the faint cedarwood of his cologne, see the faint shadows under his eyes. “I’m not like you,” he said finally, his voice low, almost raw. “I don’t get to be like you.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. “You could be,” you said, barely above a whisper. “If you wanted to.”

He laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “You don’t know me, Badger. You don’t know what I’ve done. What I have to do.”

“Then tell me,” you said, and you meant it. You didn’t know why you cared, why you wanted to peel back the layers of Draco Malfoy when everyone else had written him off as a lost cause. But you did. You always had.

He stared at you, his eyes searching your face like he was looking for a trick, a lie. “Why do you care?” he asked, and for the first time, there was no sneer, no mockery. Just a question, raw and unguarded.

You hesitated, then decided to be honest. “Because I see you. Not the Slytherin prince, not the bully. Just… you. And I think you’re more than you let people believe.”

Draco’s breath hitched, and for one fleeting moment, you saw something unguarded in his eyes—something fragile, like a crack in a frozen lake. Then it was gone, replaced by the familiar steel of his defenses. He took a step back, putting distance between you, as if your words had burned him.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice sharper now, but it trembled at the edges. “You think you see me? You see what you want to see. Some pathetic, redeemable version of me that doesn’t exist.”

You didn’t flinch. You’d heard worse from him before, and you’d learned to let his venom slide off you like rain on a windowpane. “Maybe,” you said softly, holding his gaze. “But I’m not wrong about you, Draco. You’re not as cold as you pretend to be.”

He laughed, a jagged sound that echoed in the empty library. “You’re delusional. A proper Hufflepuff, through and through—thinking everyone’s got a heart of gold if you just believe hard enough.” He sneered, but it felt forced, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You stepped closer, closing the gap he’d tried to create. “I don’t think you’re gold,” you said, your voice steady. “I think you’re… complicated. And I think you’re tired of pretending you’re not.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might turn and leave, disappear into the shadows like he always did when things got too real. But he didn’t. He stayed, rooted to the spot, his eyes locked on yours. The air between you felt charged, like the moment before a spell is cast, and you could hear your own heartbeat in the silence.

“Why do you keep doing this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “Why do you keep talking to me like I’m… like I’m worth something?”

Your chest ached at the question, at the raw vulnerability he was trying so hard to hide. You wanted to reach out, to touch his arm, to ground him in this moment, but you didn’t. Not yet. “Because you are,” you said simply. “And I’m not afraid of you, Draco. I never have been.”

He stared at you, and for the first time, you saw something shift—something real. Not the sneering Slytherin prince, not the boy who threw insults like hexes, but just Draco. Tired, scared, and carrying a weight you could only guess at. His hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for something—maybe you, maybe something else—but he curled his fingers into a fist instead.

“You should be,” he muttered, but there was no venom in it. Just exhaustion. “You should stay away from me.”

“Maybe,” you said, echoing your earlier words. “But I don’t want to.”

The library seemed to hold its breath, the flickering lanterns casting soft light across his face. You could see the war in his eyes, the push and pull of wanting to believe you and the fear that he couldn’t. You didn’t know what he was running from—what secrets he carried that made him so sharp, so guarded—but you knew he was hurting. And you knew you couldn’t fix him, but maybe, just maybe, you could be there.

“Draco,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He flinched, like your words were a spell he hadn’t expected. For a moment, you thought he might snap, might lash out with one of his cutting remarks. But instead, he let out a shaky breath and looked away, his shoulders slumping.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice raw. “There’s things I can’t tell you. Things I won’t tell you. I’m not… I’m not good, Badger. I’m not like you.”

You took a chance, stepping closer still, until you were close enough to see the faint freckle on his cheek, the one he probably didn’t even know he had. “I don’t need you to be like me,” you said. “I just need you to be honest. With me. With yourself.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and it felt like the world tilted. His eyes were stormy, full of things unsaid, and you could feel the weight of them pressing against your chest. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. It was barely a touch, but it sent a shiver through you, like a spark of magic.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the silence. “I don’t know how to be… anything else.”

“Then let me help,” you said, and you meant it. You didn’t know how, either, but you knew you wanted to try. For him. For the boy who hid behind sneers and sharp words, who carried a burden too heavy for his shoulders.

His fingers curled around yours, just for a moment, and it felt like a promise. Not a grand one, not a vow, but something small and fragile, like the first bud of spring. Then he pulled away, stepping back, his mask slipping back into place.

“Don’t expect me to go soft,” he said, his voice regaining some of its edge. “I’m still me.”

You smiled, a small, knowing thing. “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a flicker of something lighter in them, something almost like amusement. “You’re impossible, Badger.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” you shot back, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Now, are you going to keep lurking, or are you going to walk me back to my common room? It’s past curfew, and I’d rather not get detention because of you.”

He snorted, but he fell into step beside you as you left the library, the castle’s corridors stretching out before you like a maze of secrets. The silence between you was different now—not heavy, not tense, but soft, like the quiet after a storm. You didn’t talk much as you walked, but you didn’t need to. His presence was enough, the brush of his sleeve against yours, the way his steps matched your own.

When you reached the Hufflepuff common room, hidden behind a stack of barrels, you turned to face him. The torchlight painted him in gold and shadow, and for a moment, you thought he might say something—something real, something that would change everything.

Instead, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. “Don’t get used to this,” he said, but his voice was softer than usual, almost teasing.

You grinned. “Too late.”

He shook his head, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips as he turned to leave. You watched him go, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the corridor, and you felt something settle in your chest. Not love, not yet, but something close. Something like hope.

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tags: @lydiascabinsix @lydiasfalling @laufeysvalentine

#bring back dracotok #harry potter #cowboylikemac #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco fic #draco malfoy imagine #draco fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy #i love mac! 🎀#lydia’s moots ! ✦°．•#lydia’s recs ! ✩˚｡⋆

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