#Harry Potter x Reader

[snowluvvie]

you’re one of those girls that’s always batting your eyes at Harry. not cause he’s the chosen one, just cause he’s hot. he tells you Luna fixed his broken nose and you say somethin cute like “aww thank god, wouldn’t wanna mess up that face!!” and he gets all flustered and kinda stutters a little bit and then says “yeah.. uh yeah.. thanks? thanks.” you’re making his no-longer-broken nose a whole thing. you’re doting on him, dabbing blood off of his face with a cloth in the common room bathroom. you’re just really close to eachother’s faces on accident and the real mystery of the day is who kissed who first? doesn’t matter, y’all are kissing. his blood is on your face but it doesn’t slow either of you down. his hair is so soft when you tangle your fingers through it. whatever. you’re making out with Harry Potter while blood is dripping down his face and you’ve imagined kissing him sooo many times but it still manages to be better than you thought it would be, and he’s shocked it’s happening at all cause you’re so hot. when you guys pull away and he sees the little smear of blood across your lips and nose he’s profusely apologizing knowing damn well he’s just getting harder the longer he looks at you. he’d never tell you that, though

bonus, he’s lamenting to Ron later: “what the hell was i s’posed to say? aye, you look bloody hot with my blood all over your face? she’d think i was stark raving mad!” and Ron’s going “you never know what birds are into these days, mate” shaking his head and shrugging

[jenislurking]

as a reader myself i can't imagine complaining about fanfiction.

heads up:: complaining about what you can't find under the x reader tags won't make it any easier to find. and also as someone who used to write...do you know why most writers started writing? because they couldn't find the content they wanted to read

so for the love of GOD PLEASE shut up about the lack or overload of smut or fluff or whateverthefuck.

writers aren't your fucking genies and all your fanfictions wishes aren't obligated to come true because you whined under 100+ x reader tags.

[godricgryffinsnore]

Felix Felicis & Far Too Many Kisses ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x female!reader

summary : When Harry takes a dose of Felix Felicis, everything goes too right—including his relentless affection for the reader. With way too many kisses and a chaotic amount of charm, she’s left to handle a very lucky (and very annoying) boyfriend, all while trying not to fall even harder for him. Fluffy, funny, and filled with mischief.

warnings : Excessive fluff, Mild kissing (lots of it, actually), Light teasing/banter, Overwhelming amounts of Harry being too charming, Slight secondhand embarrassment, Golden Trio chaos. Please let me know if I missed any.

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

word count : 0.6k

main master list <3

banners : @dollywons and @roseschoices

The day began with golden sunlight and a suspicious grin.

Harry Potter had taken Felix Felicis.

And you—you had made the fatal error of meeting him in the corridor between Transfiguration and Charms, where his lips were already pursed like he was about to give you a blessing. Or a headache. Or both.

“Darling,” he said, in that suspiciously sweet tone that usually preceded chaos, “Did you know the stars aligned today just for your smile?”

You blinked. “Harry. Did you take Felix?”

He grinned wider. “Maybe a little.”

“Oh, Merlin save me.”

You turned, ready to walk away before he could stick his luck to you like a stubborn spell—but you weren’t fast enough. He caught your wrist with that maddeningly boyish charm twinkling in his eyes.

“Wait, wait, just one kiss for luck!”

“That’s not how that works.”

“It is today.”

Before you could retort, he leaned in, kissed your cheek, and then your nose, then your forehead, and finally your lips in a series of rapid-fire affections that left you sputtering.

“Harry!”

“I’m in love with the sound of you being flustered,” he murmured dramatically. “It’s almost as good as flying.”

“Honestly,” you muttered, cheeks on fire, “someone take this potion out of his system before I hex him into next week.”

── .✦

Later, in the Gryffindor Common Room…

Ron was trying not to laugh. It wasn’t working.

“Mate, you’re glowing,” he said through snorts. “He actually sparkled when he walked in, didn’t he, Hermione?”

Hermione, nose deep in Hogwarts: A History (abridged edition), huffed. “Felix Felicis does not cause bioluminescence, Ronald. That’s the charm of confidence radiating. Honestly.”

��Radiating like the bloody sun,” you grumbled, curled up in a red armchair while Harry attempted to fit next to you. You nudged him off. “Go be lucky somewhere else!”

But he only laughed, delight curling like sunlight on his tongue.

“You love me.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“You adore me.”

You pointed a finger at him. “Harry James Potter, if you kiss me one more time—”

He kissed you.

Again.

Right in front of Ron and Hermione.

It was warm and sweet, like honey dripping off late-summer bread, and he smiled so dreamily when he pulled away you almost forgot to be mad. Almost.

“Harry,” Hermione warned, “If you keep acting like this, Professor Slughorn will find out you’ve taken the potion.”

“I want him to find out,” Harry declared with a noble puff of his chest. “I’ll tell the whole castle I’m lucky and in love.”

Ron tossed a pillow at him. “Please don’t. Some of us are trying to keep our dinners down.”

── .✦

Much Later, as the sun set over the Astronomy Tower…

You finally dragged him up and out of the castle, hoping the fresh air would cool the golden madness burning in his veins. Instead, he spun you under starlight like the universe belonged to him and he was showing you your kingdom.

“Isn’t it glorious?” he whispered, staring at the sky like it owed him a favour.

“You’ve kissed me twenty-seven times today,” you said, arms folded. “Twenty-seven, Harry. I’ve counted.”

“I’m trying to break a record.”

You glared.

He leaned in with that dopey, dazzling grin. “Twenty-eight?”

You sighed. But there was no malice in it—just fondness blooming, soft and reluctant, like petals in springtime.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m insufferably in love with you.”

He kissed you.

Twenty-eighth time.

You melted, just a little.

Fine. Maybe lucky potion Harry wasn’t that bad.

But Merlin help you if he ever took another dose.

── .✦

Bonus:

The next morning, Harry trudged into the common room looking like a damp sock. The luck had run out. The confidence was gone.

You smiled sweetly.

He blinked at you. “What… did I do yesterday?”

You raised your brow. “You kissed me twenty-eight times, compared my eyes to starlight, and tried to serenade me with a broomstick as a guitar. Twice.”

He groaned into his hands. “Kill me.”

You leaned in.

“Kiss me first.”

His head snapped up, wide-eyed.

“…Really?”

You smirked. “This one doesn’t count. You’re not lucky today.”

“Oh,” he whispered, pulling you in. “I am, actually. I’ve got you.”

And for once, no potion was needed.

[rainydayathogwarts]

always the prefects bathroom - harry potter

summary: despite harry potter's presence in the prefects bathroom, you aren't stopped from taking a soothing bath wc: 1016 cw: making out, like super brief handjob it doesn't really count

You hadn’t expected the prefects’ bathroom to be occupied, hence the reason you were standing with a bag over your shoulder with your showering necessities. However, at the sight of Harry Potter in the giant, soapy tub with his head laid back on the cold tiles, you were immediately whining “Oh, come on!” Harry was instantly jumping up with a surprised noise, both hands immediately flying to make himself somewhat decent. Not that you could see his dick past all the bathtub’s soap, nor that you were looking.

“Who showers in here naked?” You immediately judged, gesturing to the vast bathroom “Everyone knows that Moaning Myrtle is the biggest perv.” You scoffed nonetheless, rolling your eyes and making your way out of the bathroom. “No, wait!” Your footsteps halted, and you curiously looked back towards the boy who lived. “Um, you can join. I won’t try anything weird.”

You watched wearily as he dragged his boxers into the tub, his movements telling you that he was putting them back on. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted or flattered, Bbut you weren’t about to waste an opportunity for a luxurious bath, even if it meant sharing it with Harry Potter. So you quickly stripped your clothes off, and Harry shamelessly drank in the sight of you in a bikini as you stepped into the tub.

Why did he think people showered in here naked?

The tub was big enough for you and Harry to sit on opposite sides with plenty of space between you, given how spacious the circular tub was, but you took a seat surprisingly close to Harry, watching his face for a moment before taking your book out of your bag and humming in satisfaction at the water’s warmth.

Harry cleared his throat before looking away from you and busied himself by staring at the stained glass windows of the bathroom. He couldn't help looking back at you though, watching as you flicked onto the neck page of your book, your soapy arms glistening as the sunlight hit you from the right angle, creating a rainbow of colours over your skin. “It’s a little difficult to focus when you’re staring so hard.” You put your book away to return Harry’s stare, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Sorry, I’m not quite used to sharing a bath with someone.” You hummed, raising an eyebrow at the bespectacled boy. “I’m sorry, is this too sexual for you?” Harry is quickly blushing at your comment, shaking his head at you and gulping thickly. You laughed, swimming closer to him in the bath’s shallow waters. “You’ve got soap on your glasses, by the way.” You stated, sitting back on your knees in front of him, which gave you more height in the tub.

Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn downwards to where your chest was barely peeking out of the water, the curve of your breasts in your bikini top catching his eyes. “Mhm, maybe Moaning Myrtle isn’t the only pervert around here.” Harry gasped at the comment, watching as you pulled your hair into a makeshift bun at the back of your head before letting it go again. How could you say something like that while looking so unbothered? “I didn’t mean to!” Harry cried, abruptly looking away from you. Your laughter had his head snapping in your direction instantly though, as you muttered. “Well, I don’t mind it so much when it’s a handsome man like yourself.”

Harry didn’t know what overtook him. Was it the fact that the pretty prefect everyone thirsted after was flirting with him? Was it the fact that you were giving him the tiniest bit of attention? Was it the fact that you were half naked in a bathtub with him? Well, whatever it was, it had him launching forward to press his lips against yours. He froze for a second, his earlier words ringing in his own head.

‘I won’t try anything weird.’ But did it really matter when you were pulling him closer to you and deepening the kiss?

The boy groaned, hands naturally settling on your hips and dragging you towards him until you were planted on his lap. You moaned softly into the kiss, hips dragging against Harry’s. He gasped, parting his lips to greet your tongue in his mouth. His tongue glided against yours harshly, fighting for a dominance you instantly acquired by snaking your hand into Harry’s hair and tugging softly.

Harry was instantly growing hard underneath you, but who could blame him when there was so little separating his cock from your greedy cunt, grinding down on him so desperately. “Please.” Harry muttered into the kiss. You giggled, hand trailing down to grasp the elastic band of his boxers before finally moving past, your fingers wrapping around his hard cock to tug on it once, twice.

But before you could pull your bikini bottoms down, the door rattled again as someone entered the bathroom. “It’s always the fucking prefects bathroom.” The person groaned, causing you to shoot away from the gryffindor boy in front of you, water splashing loudly around you. You cleared your throat, even as the person walked out of the bathroom, leaving you alone with Harry again.

Despite everything, you abruptly stood up, wrapping your towel around you as Harry stared at you with his jaw slack. “You know, I don’t sleep around with people I’m not dating.” But Harry almost let out a laugh at how incredulous that sounded when you were only seconds away from sinking onto his cock. Harry stood up, walking towards you and pulling your towel off your skin, leaving you in your bikini again. You gasped sharply as Harry tugged you back into the bath, letting out a squeal as the water crashed around you and Harry trapped you between his body and the edge of the bath tub.

“Okay,” he started, “So let’s say this is our third date, and tomorrow I’ll take you for a forth.” The boy didn’t hide his grin when you desperately pulled him back in for another kiss.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin

[theodorenmyth]

Oh my gosh, can we please get a part three of a sky without you fic or a drabble, perhaps? I love your writing so much 🤞

Like Theo and reader gotta go on a little date at hogsmeade when it's time to go on the trip after those weeks without each other and maybe their friends watching them? The golden trio seems to like teasing them lol

If your request are still open, of course. Love you and have a nice day!

The cold air smelled like butterbeer and snow.

Your gloved hand swung lightly between you and Theodore’s, your fingers just barely brushing his. You weren’t holding hands yet—not quite—but the air between you was thick with the warmth of something rekindled.

Hogsmeade looked like something out of a painting, all snow-dusted rooftops and strings of fairy lights tangled between shops. Couples huddled close. Laughter spilled from the Three Broomsticks.

But none of that mattered. Because you were smiling.

Laughing again—really laughing, that wide, bright grin that made your eyes crinkle and your nose scrunch. The one Theodore used to dream about when you weren’t speaking. The one he was scared he’d never get to see again.

“I still think the snowman I made last year was better,” you teased, sipping your butterbeer as you leaned against his arm.

Theodore rolled his eyes. “That ‘snowman’ looked like a melting pudding.”

“It had personality!”

You laughed harder when he choked on his drink. Across the street, not-so-subtle whispers rose from a group of students loitering by Honeydukes.

“I give them five minutes before one of them kisses the other,” Ron muttered.

“Four,” Hermione corrected, eyes gleaming behind her scarf. “Look at how Y/N’s leaning into him.”

Harry just smirked. “Mate’s glowing again.”

Back by the fire outside the tea shop, Theodore finally gave in. He reached out and gently slid his fingers through yours. This time, you didn’t just let it happen—you squeezed back, smiling into your cup.

“I missed you,” he said, voice low and a little hoarse.

You looked up at him, golden in the light, eyes full of warmth. “I know. I missed you too.”

And when you leaned in to kiss his cheek, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, Theodore swore the stars couldn’t hold a candle to you.

The moment you pulled away, you spotted the little enchanted photo booth tucked between Zonko’s and the post office, your eyes lit up.

“Theo. Theo, look,” you gasped, tugging on his sleeve like a kid in Honeydukes for the first time.

Theodore blinked at it. “You want a picture of us?”

“Duh. It prints in Polaroid style and the frame is literally covered in stars.” You tilted your head, flashing him the grin he hadn’t seen in what felt like lifetimes. “Please?”

He didn’t say anything. Just opened the curtain with a little sigh like he was being so put upon, even though his heart was doing flips. “Alright, alright. Come on, stargazer.”

You practically skipped inside.

The seat was tiny, barely big enough for the two of you, which meant you ended up practically in his lap, laughing as the curtain swayed behind you. The booth whispered a countdown—“Three… two… one…”

Click!

You grinned wide, holding up a peace sign, your cheek squished against Theodore’s. He didn’t smile in time, caught mid-blink, but he didn’t care. Because your laugh filled the space like music.Click!

You poked his cheek this time, teasing. “Smile, Theo. You’re supposed to look like you like me.”

He scoffed, but his grin gave him away. “I like you too much. That’s the problem.”

Click!

The last frame caught it—your face still and soft, looking at him like the stars were behind his eyes, and Theodore looking right back. That frame printed slower. The border twinkled.

You pulled it out of the slot and stared at it in silence.

“Merlin, we’re cute,” you whispered, then gasped. “I’m putting this in my journal.”

Theodore flushed. “You're not going to—”

You kissed his cheek again before he could finish. “Too late. It's already my favorite photo in the world.”

And it was.

Because for the first time in weeks, you looked golden again. And Theodore Nott finally got to keep a memory that didn’t hurt.

[bethsvrse]

“Their eyes locked from across the room”

[fromduck]

Me with you guys simping over hot men

[colmiillo]

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory

[summermp3]

𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗉𝗂𝖽 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁, 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾…𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖾! (𝖱𝖾𝗀𝗎𝗅𝗎𝗌 𝖡𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋)

→ In which you and regulus Black are very similar

→ tropes: troubled teens, assumed mutual pining.

→ warnings: Strong language, strong mentions of parental abuse, reader has a panic attack over parental abuse mentions, Regulus smokes, smug!Regulus. minors dni

→ Pairings: Regulus Black x Fem!reader

→ word count: 1450

not proofread, I'm sorry

Something people at Hogwarts don't talk about, is how slow the days feel until the holidays begin...and when the days feel slow, people tend to gather in the library to help pass time.

Or so you thought, if so. Why was it only you and Regulus Black in the library? Had he been studying? Perhaps that's why he happened to pass you in marks on the test last week.

You sigh and walk past him to the end of the table he's sitting at, about two seats away.

"Afternoon..." he greets, turning the page of his textbook. You look up, confused. Why was he talking to you? "Afternoon...?" You mutter, pulling out your potions study book. Almost hoping, he didn't say anything else.

"Do you...want some..help?" You thought it almost found like he was struggling to speak, as if his throat had suddenly become the most painful thing in his body. "You seem like you don't want to." You respond, staring him in the eye.

"I just wanted to know...how's my brother?" You looked away, Sirius had directly told you not to talk to his brother. Because he'd probably report back to their parents, "he's good I think? Happy." You weren't exactly sure if he was but that's what you had seen.

"Does he seem, regretful at all? Guilty?" Regulus licks his lips, breaking the eye contact to look at the door entrance to the library. "I-I don't know? I've been trying to avoid him I guess" You confess.

"You used to be close." He states. "Used too, we haven't talked for a while...they all thought I needed a change and I disagreed" you attempted to smile but your throat started hurting and eyes almost welled. "Is that why you're so reluctant to going home for the holidays?" That seemed to struck a nerve for you, he noticed it too.

"I don't know what you're talking about, I decide to go because I can...and you, you go home because that's your decision....and, you have a home to go back to." Regulus seemed very impressed that you had managed to suppress your feelings, smiling smugly. "Yes, my decision." He laughs.

"Why do you want to know about Sirius anyway? Ask him yourself." You shut your textbook, now fully immersed in what he had to say. "No, he doesn't want to hear from me...maybe I'll talk to potter, those two are very close" Regulus writes something on his hand that you can't see but you assume it's a reminder. "I don't know if James will talk to you, he doesn't like you very much." Your words don't shock Regulus, not at all. He just rolls his eyes and nods "yes, as if that much wasn't apparent."

Within the next second, the library doors opened and the Marauders come in. You immediately open your study books and pretend to be fully focused on it.

"What are you doing—" Regulus is then cut off by his eldest brother, storming past to you. "Hey gorgeous, busy?" He asks you, taking the seat next to you and completely ignoring his younger brother across the table.

"A little, Why need something?" You fake a smile and answer with a sweet voice, very different from the slow monotone one you used to talk to Regulus a few moments ago. "I just wanted to talk about..." he looks at Regulus. "Our offer" James cuts in.

"Oh yeah, really I don't need anywhere to stay I promise...my place is fine, I don't mind it." It almost killed you to lie, but being a burden for someone else's family just hasn't seemed like your cup of tea.

"I really think you should take the offer sweetheart—" Remus voice always soothed everything to you, but in that moment you just couldn't breathe and the room seemed to be closing in on you. "I'm fine! I promise..." you stand up, air going anywhere but in your lungs and your legs seemed to carry themselves to the corridor bathroom stall.

"Alive in here?" You almost panicked when thinking it was one of the Marauders but instead to hear it was Regulus slow voice. "I can't breathe." Hyperventilating almost to the point of tears, the stall door slowly creaks open.

In front of you is Regulus Black, dressed in a long sleeved white button down with one sleeve rolled up, the other covering his forearm while also being untucked over his black trousers, Slytherin tie matching his green belt and finally the cherry on top, his black unkept hair that hadn't looked like that a few moments ago falling over his freckles.

"You can talk, so you can obviously breathe." Merlin...what a dickhead.

"Why are you even here!? This ain't helping me!" You clutch your heart as if it were going to explode in your chest if you let go. "Keeping you company, making sure you don't actually pass out considering it's looking that way." His face was all serious which made you panic more  "What!" You shout.

"Yeah, I'm kidding." He teeth-smirks and giggles to himself. "Sirius was right, you are so insane." Your breathing hadn't slowed but you felt your brain slowly accepting the fact you're safe, Regulus slides down the bathroom stall wall to sit across from you...knees and feet touching from the small area.

"Take your hand off your chest...that's a start." He instructs, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his trouser pockets. "Want one? It'll calm you." His eyes shoot up to lock in with yours, you can't even imagine how disgusting and sweaty you look right now.

"I don't smoke..." you tilt your head down, almost afraid of the bathroom lights. “Well then, you can watch me smoke.” He decides for you, bringing a lighter out the same pocket.

“Is Potters offer what I think it is?” Regulus mutters through the lit cigarette in his lips. “Yeah…he wants me to live at his house instead of mine.” You confess, trying to tuck your knees in slightly but nothing can stop the touching happening in between you both.

“Like what he did with my brother?”

“Same premise, yeah.”

“Why don’t you? It seems like a better choice…it was for Sirius.” Smoke bellowed in the air, with the no airflow it just made the clouds stay still. “I don’t need it, you both—Sirius had it worse than I ever will.” At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“Don’t feel like your problems are less than someone else’s.” Regulus pulls the stall door shut with his non cigarette holding one, now completely enclosed in together.

Like a form of trust.

“I was angry when Sirius abandoned me in that house, I thought that he left because he must’ve had it worse than me…when it doesn’t matter who had it worse, because he still left me there.” He sighs, pressing the bud of the cigarette into the stall wall right next to your head, the smell moving through your senses.

“And I would’ve literally killed…to have a friend like a Potter to do something like that for me, but you know…obviously the opportunity was never offered.” This was a conversation you had never seen yourself having with Regulus of all people, but really. your glad it was with him, with someone...like you.

“But the point is…take the chance, If you knew for sure something would go wrong. you wouldn’t be so scared to take the risk.” He leans back into the wall.

“I hate you.” You say, although you both know it’s definitely not true. “People hate individuals like them” He said shrugging to himself.

You reach out your hand, which practically lands in his lap due to the close proximity, however he tries his best to take his hand in yours anyway.

“I’d only take the risk if you came with me…obviously your own situation isn’t ideal.” Regulus shakes his head. “That wasn’t what I was hoping you’d take out of that.” His thumb strokes over the back of hand, it’s calming and you almost don’t even remember your panic attack from minutes ago.

“I’d feel awful if you told me all that and I didn’t do anything about it…I mean who am I? Sirius Black?” That makes him laugh, letting his head fall into his lap laugh. But still keeps a grip on your hand. “Yeah…who would wanna be like that wanker right?” he says through chuckles.

“So, what you wanna do?” You finally ask.

“See how James and Potter are when you tell them you aren’t going anywhere without me.” Is the only thing he can think to say

“Never going anywhere without you again” you bring his hand to your cheek.

And he knows that he’s willing to take that risk with you.

[got-the-cheese-touch]

More Than a Name - prologue

Harry Potter x Sirius Black's Daughter!Reader

slowburn harry potter x reader

summary: your childhood is tragic. but then you meet Remus Lupin. and he helps you plant roots.

content: angst will turn into fluff, dw (wolfstar if you stare really hard at it for too long) try to find the all the young dudes reference.

a/n: okay, here's the prologue. i'm really nervous, i've never shared my writing so hopefully it's not shitty.

trigger warnings: this contains pretty heavy stuff!!! reader was told she had hallucinations. abuse in a hospital/foster care setting. mentions of her mistreatment. remus was not mentally well after sirius died, so there are some mental health issues implied. user was put on meds and therapy testing. its character development, y'all i swear i have a plan. no use of y/n, i describe the reader being small (only because she's a little kid rn)

word count: ~ 4k

ty to @thecutestgrotto for the dividers <3

Your childhood was one that was void of certainty. You existed through suitcases and trunks that were never unpacked. A bedroom never decorated. A plant with no roots can never truly grow. You yourself were the result of something short lived. A one night stand. Your mother was young when you were born. Too young to want to keep you. Your father? As tangible as the wind itself. You were told he was arrested before he could meet you, before he could take you in. (You’d learn later that he cried harder when he heard you were in the muggle foster system than when he learned his sentence for Azkaban. He knew what happened to young wizards on their own.) If only he could have protected you from the inexplicable events that wreaked mayhem wherever you went. 

Hospitals would diagnose you, medicate you, and try to pick your brain. Hippie foster families would try to meditate away the craziness in your mind. Hallucinations, they said. A teenage girl running straight into the brick wall dividing platforms at King’s Cross. A woman that became a cat. Owls flutter about during the day. They were all things that should’ve been cured by pills. Foster families were frightened by your condition. Hospitals were perplexed. Special homes wanted to cure you with alternative practice. (The smell of sage still makes you want to vomit.) 

But it all changed the day two, kind looking men came and visited you in the St. Bernadette’s Home for Mentally Troubled Youth. The last resort. You sat on the bed, waiting for a med call. Your legs kicked impatiently, your arms were scarred and you picked nervously at your skin; so far in your own haze that you didn’t see the door open. You had scars from injection treatment, punishment from teachers, from angry foster parents, or the cruelty of other children. You were unhealthy. Your hair was wild, so were your eyes. His eyes. It startled Remus when he saw just how much you resemble your father. That wildness in your eyes, the way you sat with a bouncing leg. He saw your scars and the bruises around your wrists from being roughed by medical staff. He wanted to throw up. 

The creak of the wooden floor startled you. Your eyes shot up, expecting to see the angry glare of a doctor. Instead, you saw two strangers. The first was an old man with a long white beard. You were never lucky enough or so well behaved that you got visits from Santa Claus but you guessed that this is what he’d look like. He was thinner than the magical man who delivered gifts, though. He smiled at you and tilted his head, correcting the small glasses he wore on his nose. He looked at you like he knew you all your life, like he had known you before you were born. Trailing a bit behind him was a taller, nervous looking man. His sweater was pushed to his elbows and you saw his skin was scarred like yours. But his were older, deeper. Like he had tried to claw his way out of his skin. He had curly hair and sharp eyes. Not unfriendly, you thought, but withered. Like he spent his whole life waiting for a rest that wouldn’t come. When the older man spoke your name, you almost didn’t recognize it. 

You hadn’t heard your name spoken so softly. It was foreign. 

He sat down next to you and shook your hand. It was the first touch that you felt in a long time that wasn’t punishing. 

“I am Albus Dumbledore.” He said with a smile, like he’s letting you in on a secret. “Do you know who I am, young lady?” he chuckled softly when you shook your head. “No? I figured.” 

“Sir, we don’t have much time.” The nervous man’s voice was rasping and cozy. Like a scratchy woolen blanket, you thought. 

“Yes, yes,” Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively, turning back to you “I’ve come to take you away from here, child. I’m terribly sorry I took so long. I’ve only just come to learn about your state here, please forgive me.”  He truly sounded regretful. Like he himself had scarred you. “How would you like a new school? A new place to live?”

“What- Take me away?” You said, scrambling up, panicked. They’d take you to another hospital, somewhere worse. You always went somewhere worse once people picked you up from your foster homes and schools. “No, no, please I’m doing better. I'll do the therapy, the- the testing. I can’t- please, please- I’ve been trying-” Your breath was shaky, pleading. The tall man with the sweater looked away.

Remus wanted to cry. He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to focus on anything except the fact that you were Sirius’s daughter. That you were so much like him. But you weren’t like the bright, lively boy whom he spent his youth with. You were like the dull, timid creature who survived hell in Grimmauld place. 

“I promise you, it will be better, child. I can’t explain much now but we know the place for you, alright dear? You’ll be hurt no longer, I swear it.” the old man held out a wrinkly pinky finger, adorned with rings. A promise. You didn’t trust him, but you knew that adults didn’t like when you didn’t follow what they said. You looped your finger around his and nodded. 

Minutes later, you were out of the gloomy brick building that was St. Bernadette’s. You packed up your suitcase (not much packing was needed) and you were out. Just like that. The two men had stepped away from you for a moment. The taller one was upset. The two talked in hushed voices. 

“Professor, I- I can’t. In my state? I’m not- not fit for a child, let alone Sirius’s child.” You didn’t know who Sirius was. 

“You’re the closest family she has now. Her and Harry, poor things.” You didn’t know a Harry either. “There will be help for you, Remus. When your condition flares up, she will be in good hands. Hagrid can watch her, so can Minerva. But we cannot have her in a Muggle’s care any longer. Look at the poor thing.” Dumbledore placed a hand on Remus’s shoulder. “I trust you with this Lupin; he would’ve trusted you too.” With that, Dumbledore strolled inside, to talk to the doctors, you assumed. 

You were sitting on the steps outside of the building as the old man talked with the doctor’s inside. Next to you, the tall man who had yet to speak to you sat on the step. You learned his name was Remus. His long legs stretched in front of him. He said your name, just as gently as Dumbledore had.

“How old are you, mate?” He asked, glancing over at you, moving your small suitcase out of the puddle you had put it down in. You thought for a moment.

“I’m six and a half.” You replied. You weren’t sure if you really had gained that half of a year but the number made you sound older, stronger. It seemed to take something out of Remus though. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. He looked tired again.

“Merlin, Padfoot, what have you done?” He said to himself. Six years. Six years since James and Lily. Six years since Sirius. Six years since that cowardly rat, Wormtail disappeared. Six years old. She's so young, he thought. The two of you sat in silence for a few moments. 

“I was a lot like you, you know.” He said, not making eye contact. “I went to a school like this one. Where people tried to help me but never could.” He pulled at a weed that sprouted between the cracks of the step. He turned it between his fingers before tossing it. 

“Is that where you got those scars?” You ask. Your voice was quiet but curious, you didn’t want to offend him.

“Some of them. But most of ‘em have faded.” He didn’t offer any more explanation than that. You didn’t pry. He pulled out his wallet. It contained a few bills you didn’t recognize, an old train ticket, a few coins, and a crumpled up photo. He slid out the page and unfolded it, holding it out for you to see. The bodies on the page seemed to move. You needed your medication, your hallucinations were vivid. Almost real. “Look here, kid.” He pointed to a figure “Here I am,” he slid his finger to another figure on the paper, the face too old and blurry to make out. “That there is Sirius. That’s your dad.” You stared at the shifting figure. You didn’t have the chance to say anything. Dumbledore walked outside, slipping what looked like a stick into a pocket of his robe. How silly, you thought. 

After a word with Remus, Dumbledore had seemingly vanished out of thin air and you walked hand in hand with the tall man, away from the terrible building. You got onto a train with him, still waiting for the moment you’d learn about the new trial they’d test on you or the new medicine that would make you stop hallucinating. You fell asleep curled up into the seat. Remus felt a tug at his ribs. You were too much like Sirius. 

When you woke up, you were in bed. It was small but it was more comfortable than any bed in any hospital you'd ever been in. When Remus checked in on you, he explained a few things. You were going to live with him for a while and that you should try to call this place home.

He made you toast. He spread out four different kinds of spread on each corner and cut it nicely. Moony toast, he called it. You ate it alongside him quietly. You’d be happy to stay with him if you could eat toast like this. 

“Are you my new dad?” You asked between bites. This made him flinch. He thought about what to say for a long time before he sighed. 

“Just eat your toast, mate.”

Life with Remus wasn’t easy, but it was happy. You finally had roots. You laughed with him and he’d patch up your knees when you fell. He’d disappear for a few days every month and he’d come back looking hurt but you got used to it. Besides, kind people watched you while he was gone. Sometimes, a cat would just sit on the window and watch you when you were alone. She would let you pet her while Remus went on day trips to get his own medication. You thought it was weird but you couldn’t complain.

For the first time, you had your own room. You decorated it with Remus, too. You folded paper and made little garlands. He gave you some posters from your dad. He gave you lots of Sirius’s stuff, in fact. Your favorite was an old worn leather jacket. It swallowed you up but you would use it as a blanket at night. You imagined your dad wearing it. It made Remus happy when you wore it. So you rarely took it off. You also got lots of photos. Boxes of them. Some were taken from Sirius’s camera, which Remus kept for himself. This time, when you saw some of these photos moving, you learned they weren’t hallucinations. 

When you were old enough, Dumbledore came back. You remembered his kindness so you trusted him fully when he explained to you about wizards and witches. You were sad when you learned of your father and his crimes. Remus tensed when Dumbledore explained this.

Dumbledore told you everything, not even leaving out Remus’s lycanthropy. You never felt frightened. You loved your Remus. (You finally understood why the people that looked after you in his absence called him Moony.) For the first time, you weren’t afraid when you learned about a new school for you. Hogwarts was a magical school. One without doctors or therapy trials. You were excited to go and you would count the days to receive your acceptance letter.

The only upsetting thing, surprisingly, was when you realized that you weren’t a psycho. 

That you never hallucinated or needed therapy. 

You didn’t need to go through all of that testing.

The homes, the abuse, the scars and bruises.

You bled for nothing.

You weren't a kid who needed to be hit, you just needed a parent.

When he saw the look on your face, Remus became upset at this. He didn't like to think about what you went through. Didn't like thinking about the time before you were a silly, crazy kid. When you were small and bruised and looked like a caged animal. Like a wild dog.

Remus wiped his cheek.

You were mad. Mad at your teachers and doctors and previous foster parents. You were mad at your dad. Very mad at your dad. He couldn’t be there for you so you suffered. It’s his fault you were a wizard, it was his blood that made you be this way. It's him who made you see these things, so you blamed him.

Remus told you stories about Sirius to try to reassure you about your father. That he was good. He was funny and bright and just like you. It didn’t help though. You still resented Sirius. Maybe he wasn’t a killer, but he wasn’t there for you like he should have been. You heard stories of his family and friends. How he was a prankster. You loved to hear stories about him. Not because of your affection for your father, though.

You liked to hear stories of Sirius because Remus was happier talking about the past. He looked younger and brighter, a weight lifted when he told his stories. He darkened when you asked where his friends were; where Lily and James were. (You got him to tell you the full story a year later. He was adamant that your father wasn’t a killer. You agreed. Sirius Black wasn't guilty. After all, your Moony wouldn’t speak so fondly of a murderer.)

When you turned eleven and your letter for Hogwarts finally came, you were sad to leave. You were given a magic wand from Dumbledore which you were very scared you were going to break. You got books and supplies, all from the headmaster. You even got a nice letter from the cat who would watch you sometimes while Remus was away. This confused you. Apparently she taught there. (How a cat could teach a class at a school, you had no idea) This made Remus chuckle. "Good old Minnie." He murmured. You had no clue who Minnie was.

You packed up your bags and trunk. (which took a lot longer than it had in the past) and you went with Remus to the famed platform where a train would take you away to Hogwarts. You were scared. You didn’t want to be sent away again. Remus was reassuring, holding your hand the whole time. Even as you heard the train approaching the station. You noticed the looks people gave the two of you.

People who knew the tragedy of The Marauders, people who thought they knew the loss. Remus shrugged it off. “Just people I haven’t seen in a while, kid. Don’t think too much about it.” 

  He gave you explicit instructions. He showed you a newspaper and pointed to the boy on the cover. He was scrawny and he wore wire framed glasses. He had stringy brown hair. Harry was his name and Remus told you to find him quickly and become his friend. He was James and Lily's son.

He said you’d do each other some good; being tied together by the fraying strings of a friendship so close, it may have been a family. Harry was alone and you understood being alone. 

The train whistled, signalling the need for students to board. You looked at Remus and you started to cry. He pulled you into a hug. You didn’t realize he was crying too until you felt the wetness of his tears against your shoulder. He sniffed as he held you tightly. He loved you. He was just as much your father as Sirius was.

As he held you, he thanked whatever was up in the universe for sending you to him. He was on the brink of giving up when Dumbledore urged him to come save you from the terrible institution. Your childlike chaos filled the halls of his home that were once stuffy with grief. He once prayed and wished that he could look into Sirius’s eyes again - to hear his laugh. You gave him that. 

“Okay, kid” He pulled back from you and put his hands on either side of your head, kissing your hair with his eyes shut. You cried, looking up at him. He clutched onto Sirius’s leather jacket, Pulling it over your robes. It was still big on you but it wasn’t blanket sized anymore. Merlin, he really didn’t want you to leave. 

“Will I ever see you again, Moony?” You sobbed, looking up at him. You were desperate not to leave. 

His heart cracked. You thought he was sending you away for good. He said your name with a sniff, hugging you as another tear slipped “Oh, my dear of course you will. You’ll be home for Christmas, I promise.” He looked at you with an intensity, memorizing your little face before he had to say goodbye. With one last tight hug and a kiss on the head, he sent you off and watched as you scuttled into the train. 

Once on board, you were met with so much energy. Older and younger kids in a bustle of movement. You had never seen so many children so happy. Sure, you met kids at your past institutions but they were never lively. All of them were as beaten down as you used to be. But these kids, all dressed in robes like your own were joyful. You walked nervously down the line of compartments, Remus’s words looping through your mind. Harry Potter, just find Harry. He’ll be your friend. It’s in your blood. 

You passed some menacing kids in dark robes with green. They were calling other kids on the train names that you didn’t understand but you decided that you wanted to stay under their radar. You saw a couple of teenagers bullying a younger boy holding a toad. You decided then that you didn’t like those people wearing green. They all seemed dreadful.

After you passed all the horrible green-robed students, you were frantic to find an empty compartment. All of these kids already had friends. Your only friend was Moony, you didn’t know the first thing about meeting other people. Eventually you found an empty compartment and you sat down alone. You held on tightly to the leather jacket over your robes, knuckles white as you watched the landscape pass.

You were used to the silence, the hum of the car relaxing. But you didn’t get much time to revel in your lonesome because the compartment opened and a small boy stepped in shyly. The one kid on the train that you knew. 

He was thin with unbrushed hair. He looked like the man in some of Sirius's polaroids, you thought. Except his eyes. They were a stunning green.

“Is it okay if I sit with you?” He asked, pushing up his glasses, the nosepiece held together with tape. You nodded. “I’m Harry. Harry Potter.” He held out his hand for you to shake, which you took, greeting him as he sat down. He was just as nervous as you. But he seemed happy, excited.

You were just dreading being away from the only home you’ve known.

“It’s nice to meet you,” You said after you introduced yourself. “I was told to try to find you.” Harry was worried. He thought you’d barrage him with questions about the Dark Lord or ask him confusing questions that he didn’t understand. But instead you smiled nervously. “Our dads were best mates when they were in school.” 

Harry smiled. 

AAAH, if you read this far thank you. i really think this could be a cool series and i like how i'm planning to write the characters.

please tell me if you like this and if I should write the next chapter that's been brewing in my mind cauldron.

peace and love <33

(likes are appreciated but i'll fall in love with you if you reblog)

[jenislurking]

me maladaptive daydreaming about the most recent ff i've read (i need psychological attention not an iphone)

[tacobacoyeet]

Could I request a fic about George x Muggle!reader? Like she stays and works in the little village near the Burrow. Could either be snippets of them throughout the years having little flirty talks and slowly turns into a George feeling protective/scared for her safety kinda thing. Fluff/smut/angst/maybe happyending? That I'll leave up to you if this isn't too much of a ask!

Absolutely love your work!

flour and flowers | george weasley x reader

a/n: writing a bunch today to distract myself from the day's events. thank you for the request and your kindness! hope you like it :)

warnings: a cross between implied smut and actual smut, mentions of grief, not proofread

The first time George Weasley saw you, you were balancing a tray of teacups in one hand and flicking a disobedient curl out of your eyes with the other. Your fingers moved with the practiced grace of someone who knew how to carry comfort in porcelain. The sunlight caught the edges of your hair and made your smile look warmer than the tea you were serving. You stood outside the village café—chipped pastel paint, a hand-drawn chalkboard sign still smudged with yesterday’s specials, and the smell of something sweet curling through the air like it was trying to lure people inside.

He’d just popped down from the Burrow to run an errand for Molly, not expecting anything more exciting than a loaf of bread and a scolding for forgetting the milk last time. But then he saw you—sunlight on your shoulders, shoes scuffed from too much walking, your laugh spilling out like it belonged in the air.

You didn’t notice him at first. Just another stranger with freckled hands and storm-worn eyes. But when your gazes met—something in your chest fluttered. Like the world paused to see what you’d say first.

He slowed down, just slightly. Told himself it was curiosity.

Told himself a lot of things that day.

You noticed him, of course. Tall, red-haired, freckled all over with that vaguely chaotic glint in his eyes—the kind of man who didn’t exactly blend in. You offered him a smile out of politeness. He blinked like he hadn’t expected it.

“Tea?” you asked, voice light. “Or are you more of a coffee and chaos type?”

He huffed a laugh. “What gave me away?”

You shrugged. “The hair. The grin. The air of impending mischief.”

He took a step closer, nodding toward the tray. “Those for customers or is one of them a peace offering?”

“Depends,” you said. “You planning to stay a while or just here for the bread and doom?”

George smiled. Fully. The kind that showed teeth and softened him around the edges.

“Maybe both,” he said. “But if I’m going to be doomed, might as well be with a cup of something sweet.”

From that moment on, George only ever stopped at one place to pick up bread.

Didn’t matter if the other shop was closer. Or cheaper. Or didn’t make him feel like his chest might cave in every time you smiled at him from behind the counter. He came back anyway.

Sometimes he bought things he didn’t need—an extra croissant, a jar of local jam, a scone you said turned out too flat but still tasted fine. But mostly, he came for the way your voice smoothed out the sharp edges in his head. The way your laughter cut through the fog he still lived in, even years later. Sometimes he didn’t buy anything at all. Just sat out front with a cup of tea and let you talk to him about things that had nothing to do with magic or war or anything that had broken him before. He listened closely. Memorized the shape of your sentences, the way you tapped your fingers when you were excited, the soft hum you made when you stirred your drink. And with every word, every passing moment, something unnamed began to stitch itself back together inside him.

You didn’t know who he was. Not really. And he liked it that way.

Still, there were things you noticed.

He always stood with one shoulder tilted just slightly forward, like he was shielding something—or had once been forced to. There was a soft scar tucked behind the mess of curls on the right side of his head, where one ear should’ve been. You never asked about it.

The air around him always felt... different. Like it held a memory you couldn’t name. Like the warmth of his smile came from somewhere far away, carried on something heavier than it looked.

He laughed with you. Teased you. Rolled his eyes dramatically when you forgot his favorite muffin. But behind every grin, there was a flicker of something else. Grief, maybe. Or guilt. Or the echo of a name he hadn’t spoken out loud in a long time.

He came in more often as the weeks went by. Never said why. Just appeared like the wind—one minute the café was quiet, the next, the bell above the door chimed and there he was with a smirk and a sarcastic comment about your apron.

Sometimes you’d catch him staring out the window with a far-off look, like the village wasn’t quite real to him yet. Like he was still waiting for something—or someone—to tug him back into the storm.

Once, when it rained and no one else came in, you let him linger long after closing. You talked about stupid things: the worst thing you’d ever baked, his distaste for mint in desserts, a goat from the next village over who kept escaping. He laughed, really laughed, and then went quiet, like it surprised him.

Another time, he brought you a flower he swore he didn’t pick on purpose. It was crushed, a little muddy, and stuffed inside a napkin.

“Don’t get used to it,” he said.

But you kept it anyway. Pressed it between the pages of your recipe book. Every time you caught a glimpse of the browned, brittle petals, you smiled. Your fingers would sometimes linger on the page longer than necessary, tracing the soft edges as if they still held the warmth of his hand. It made your stomach twist, in that way beginnings always do—nervous and hopeful and quietly sweet.

The more he came around, the more he softened. Not all at once. Not loudly. But in small, steady ways.

He started fixing things—your sticky back door hinge, the café’s squeaky chalkboard sign, the wobbly stool by the window he always claimed as his. He never asked. Just noticed. Just did. And when you caught him at it, sleeves rolled to the elbows, wand tucked out of sight but clearly used, he’d shrug like it didn’t matter—like it hadn’t taken him an hour and a half to charm the latch back into place just right. Once, you found a small stack of napkins folded to level the back table leg. On one, he’d doodled a tiny magpie.

He started asking things, too. Quietly, like it cost him something. If you’d always lived here. If you ever wanted to leave. If you were scared to be alone at night. What your favorite song was. What your worst day looked like.

You caught him humming once. Under his breath, half-conscious of it. A melody that didn’t belong to the radio or the street—just something he was keeping close. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to scare it away. But something about the sound of it—gentle, aimless, half-happy—stayed with you. It echoed in your chest long after he left that evening, like the warmth of it had threaded into your ribs and settled there. You wondered what memory it belonged to. Or if maybe… it had something to do with you.

And slowly, you became part of the way he healed. Not by doing anything big, not by demanding he be different—but just by being there. Being warm. Being constant.

He stopped bracing when you touched his arm. He started remembering how you took your tea. He stayed longer. Looked lighter.

You weren’t magic. Not like him. But you felt like a kind of spell anyway.

---

He realized it on a Tuesday.

He’d been walking down the main lane into town, already half-smiling at the thought of seeing you, maybe teasing you for your questionable muffin-of-the-day choice—when he saw it.

The café was dark.

The lights were off. The chairs inside still up on tables. The chalkboard sign outside had been knocked over, lying face-down in the dirt.

Something in his chest snapped to attention.

He picked up his pace without thinking, scanning the windows, checking for movement. Nothing. No soft music, no scent of baking, no warm hum in the air that usually buzzed with your presence.

Then he heard it—from a passerby at the grocer’s doorstep.

“Shame about the café. Robbed last night, I heard. Poor girl must’ve been scared out of her mind.”

He didn’t hear the rest. Not really.

His hands were already shaking.

Because he didn’t know where you were.

Didn’t know if you’d been hurt. If you’d cried. If you were alone when it happened. If you were still alone now.

And that helpless, breathless ache clawed its way back through him.

Because the last time he’d loved someone enough to fear losing them, he had.

He didn’t think. Didn’t stop. Just moved.

Through the square. Past the post. His boots hit the pavement too hard, his breath shallow, heart thudding loud enough it might as well have been shouting your name.

The baker saw him and called something out—he didn’t hear it.

He rounded the corner toward your flat above the café, his hand already on the railing of the steps before his brain caught up. One breath. Two. Then he knocked.

And when you opened the door, eyes puffy, sweater too big, hair undone from what must’ve been a long and sleepless night—he couldn’t speak.

You blinked at him, then tried to smile. “Hi.”

He swallowed hard. “You’re okay.”

You nodded. “I’m okay.”

And then he was pulling you in, arms wrapped tight around your shoulders, his face buried in your neck like the world had stopped spinning and he needed to feel gravity again.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to.

Not yet.

Inside, the flat is dim—curtains drawn, a half-finished cup of tea gone cold on the table. You close the door behind him, the latch clicking into place like a sigh. Neither of you speaks at first.

He doesn’t let go.

Not until your hands come up to rest on his back, and even then, only enough to pull away and look at you—really look.

“Did they hurt you?” he asks, low. Rough.

You shake your head. “No. Just broke a window. Took the till. Some stock. I wasn’t here.”

Relief floods him so fast it feels like weakness. He sinks onto the edge of your couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

You watch him for a moment. Then sit beside him. “George?”

He looks up. His eyes are too bright.

“I—I didn’t know where you were,” he says, and it’s like the words rip something open.

“I thought—God, I thought I was going to lose you, and I didn’t even—”

He stops himself. But his hands find yours. Threaded. Tight.

“I don’t think I can do that again,” he admits. “Lose someone I—”

You squeeze his fingers.

“I'm here,” you whisper.

And this time, when he leans in, it’s not with panic. It’s with promise.

His lips brush yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast. Gentle. Testing. But once you respond, his restraint slips, just a little—your mouths part, meet again, deeper this time. His fingers knot themselves in your hair, and your hands find the edge of his shirt, anchoring him to you.

The kiss turns hungry in a heartbeat, built from everything unspoken and aching. Your bodies shift closer, knees bumping, breath warm and shared, and when he moans softly into your mouth, it sends a bolt of heat down your spine. You gasp against him, fingers curling at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up, needing more—needing him.

His thumb grazes the underside of your jaw as he pulls back for only a second, eyes searching yours, glazed with want. “Is this going to be okay?” he murmurs.

You’ve wanted him for so long it feels like it’s woven into your blood. Like every soft glance and crooked grin and half-step closer was a stitch, and now you’re coming apart to make room for him. Your body aches for him, not just with need—but with something fuller. Something that feels dangerously close to love.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

And you kiss him like it’s the answer to every question he never dared to ask.

You’re not sure who exhales first, but the sigh between you is shared, warm, heavy with everything you haven’t said aloud.

When he pulls back, it’s barely an inch. His forehead rests against yours. His thumb still moves in slow circles at your side.

“Tell me this isn’t nothing,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, barely breathing. “It’s everything.”

He kisses you again.

Not tentative this time—there’s a hunger to it now, an ache that’s been building under every laugh, every shared cup of tea, every moment you made him feel like someone whole. His fingers slide under the hem of your sweater, slow and reverent, like he’s asking permission. Like he’s afraid if he rushes, it’ll all disappear.

You nod before he even says a word.

That night is soft. You take your time, like the two of you are learning a new language written in breath and bare skin. He kisses the slope of your shoulder, the bend of your knee, murmurs something indecipherable against your stomach that sounds like worship. You drag your fingers through his hair, pull him back to your mouth, feel his weight press into you like he’s trying to be rewritten by your body alone. The rhythm you find together is slow, reverent—like memory, like healing. He touches you like he doesn’t believe he’s allowed.

You let him.

You tell him he is.

And in the morning, the sun paints gold across your floorboards, catching on the curls at the base of his neck where he sleeps, half-tangled in your sheets.

You wake before him. Watch his chest rise and fall, slow and steady, one hand curled loosely beneath his chin. He looks younger in the light—unguarded, almost boyish, like the weight he carries has finally been set down for a while.

Something in your chest swells. You press a kiss to his shoulder, light as air, and whisper his name just to be sure it’s real.

He stirs. Wakes slowly. Stretches. Blinks at you like he’s still dreaming.

“I want to try something,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Try what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just slips out of bed, bare feet padding over wood, and reaches for his wand from where it rests on the windowsill. You sit up, blanket clutched to your chest, watching as he steps into the patch of sunlight by your window.

He closes his eyes. Breathes.

He thinks about the way you looked at him last night. About your hands in his hair. The sound you made when he whispered that you mattered. The way it felt to finally, finally be held without fear.

When he opens his eyes, he lifts the wand and speaks—clear, quiet, certain.

“Expecto Patronum.”

And for the first time since Fred, something silver and stunning bursts from the tip—light and wild and alive.

It takes the shape of a magpie.

He turns to you, eyes glassy, smile trembling.

You don’t say anything. Just reach for him.

And he comes home to you all over again.

-----

tagging: @hanneh69 @jamespotteraliveversion @glennussy

[msmk11]

Lol I love this

sev's essay - harry potter

summary: maybe you shouldn't have left your summer homework for the last minute. at least you're not the only one though... wc: 0.6k+ this is also platonic!golden trio, established relationship with harry and reader. part of my wolfstar!daughter au :)

With a loud groan, you sunk into the chair you were sitting on in the middle of your living room, dragging the sheets of parchment underneath the table with you. You should have done the homework sooner. You should have done it sooner and should have probably listened in class when Snape told you where you could find the notes for this chapter. He was going to kill you if you came empty handed. Worse, he would humiliate you if you turned in a rubbish essay.

“You alright, love?” You perked up at the sound of your dad’s voice, briefly forgetting that your parents were sat just a couple of meters away from you, cuddled up on a couch while having a cup of tea. Kicking at the floor underneath you, you pushed yourself back up on the chair, nodding. Remus had sensed your irritation a long time ago, but he didn’t want to comment, didn’t want to make you feel worse.

Sirius shrugged into Remus’s arms, muttering “Probably Snape’s essay.” “It is Snape’s essay! It makes no sense! I- I’m going to ask help from Harry.” As you shoved your feet into your slippers, carrying your essay in one hand and quill and ink in the other, you made your way to the back door, missing Remus’s comment of “He probably didn’t know there was homework!” But Sirius slapped his arm lightly. “Let her. He’ll make her feel better about herself.”

You walked down the couple of meters down the open field to the Potters’ back door, knocking softly on the glass window to alert anyone inside before letting yourself in. James and Lily were in a similar position to your parents, sat on their couch whilst playing a game of chess. “Knight to E5.” Lily muttered, watching triumphantly as her knight knocked James’s horse.

“Hiya sweetheart!” She greeted, turning her attention to you. “Hi! Is Harry here?” And as though you summoned him, Harry came skipping down the stairs, a pencil and parchment in his hand. “I was just coming to find you.” He admitted, raising his parchment up to grab your attention.

“Did you do Sev’s essay?” You asked as a greeting, and Harry threw his head back in defeat. “I’ll give you one chance to guess what I was coming to ask you about.” James laughed from his place on the couch, extending an arm towards you at the hopeless sigh you let out. “Let me take a look, I might be able to help.” You and Harry shot each other a look, but trudged over to his dad either way, holding out the paper with the essay question on it.

Lily peeked over the piece of parchment, furrowing her eyebrows as she read the question. The couple was silent, confused looks over taking their features. You stifled a laugh, watching as James ran a hand through his wild hair, lips moving silently as he read over the question again. “This is N.E.W.T level, right?” Asked Lily for clarification. You and Harry nodded in unison.

“If aunt Lily doesn’t understand, who will?” You pondered in exasperation, but a silent answer floated in the air. You and Harry turned to look at each other in synchrony, and you grimaced at the boy.

“She’s gonna kill us if we come asking her.”

“Not if Ron got to her first.”

Snatching the parchment back from James’s hands, you ran towards the fireplace with Harry, yelling out a “Thanks!” as he tugged you into the fireplace along with him. He released a handful of floo underneath your squeezed bodies, announcing Hermione’s address so that a cage of green smoke surrounded you.

When your feet reconnecting to ground underneath you, you dusted yourself off before stepping into the living room of the Granger household. A laugh immediately escaped you as you spotted Hermione and Ron sitting at her dinner table, stationary scattered on the wooden surface in front of them. Well, at least you and Harry weren’t the only ones who waited until the end of summer to complete your assignments. Hermione barely glanced up before she sighed.

“You too?”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin

[mentally-in-northern-italy]

a lover’s ruse — c.d. [1]

Summary: Your agonizing courtship and Cedric’s need to spite his ex are both ailments that have a very simple cure: a fake relationship, obviously.

Requested: read the request here

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x fem!gryffindor!reader

Word Count: 3.9K

A/N: I'm so sorry guys. This has been such a long time coming, I'm not sure people are even waiting for this anymore. But this is the first part and I'm thinking of turning it into a full-fledged series. Second part of the fic WILL be out as soon as I'm done exams.

—

The first few dates were bearable enough  — if you squinted hard and counted the silence as a virtue. 

The next few were nothing short of painstakingly harrowing. And that’s being kind.

This one, however? It made you seriously contemplate lunging over the walls of the Astronomy Tower and meeting Death, himself, halfway. Little else could offer greater reprieve, in your mind, from this. 

The setting should’ve been romantic, in theory. The night was still, but not stiflingly so, and the moonlight danced around the top of the Tower teasingly, doing little to illuminate the dark. If he stepped into a crevice where the light didn’t reach his face and you tuned him out just enough, you might even call the view beautiful. But, you soon found out – only a few dates in – no view could be described as such when you have Trevor Selwyn standing next to you.

Trevor Selwyn should’ve been a perfect match, in theory. An avid member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight –  there was little else that could prove more pertinent to families, like yours, with snobby ideals of purity and the measures necessary to maintain it, generation after generation – a Slytherin, an athlete (he doesn’t like mentioning that he’s a substitute player, on his best days), and a prefect. And, as you soon found out – only one date in – he’s also an utter and complete idiot.

So, you should’ve said no, in theory. Kicked and flailed your arms like a petulant child, screamed and wailed and protested when your parents when they proposed a courtship between the two of you. You should’ve told Trevor himself that he possessed the tact of a Cornish Pixie and the wit of the dimmest of trolls. But, as you soon found out (after the wailing episode) – absolutely zero dates in – Trevor is nothing but persistent and your parents anything but unwavering in their resolve. 

“I’ve met the Minister once,” he remarks out of nowhere as he looks off, off of the edge of the tower with all the regality of an acclaimed emperor. 

You hum in response. You haven’t said a word all night and he hasn’t noticed a thing.

“Granted, I was only two but I recall the Minister telling my father –”

“I think I should head back, actually,” you interrupt before the anecdote can truly begin. There are a few things you’ve learned about Trevor so far but none of them are as glaringly consequential as this: if he starts talking about his father, he won’t be able to stop. Escapades from Uagadou, his adventures in Egypt warding off curses and serpents and the magical scrolls of Machu Picchu –

“Oh,” he furrows his brow as if deep in thought and you almost laugh. That boy has never had a thought in his life. 

“I don’t want to be late for prefect patrols is all,” a faux sweet lilt to your voice doesn’t do much to subdue the frown on his face. 

He nods curtly. “I’ll walk you back.”

Your refusal is automatic. “I think I’ll mana–”

“It’s no problem,” he starts walking towards the stairs and you’re left with no choice but to follow.

On any other occasion, the walk would’ve taken mere minutes. The hallways would’ve been something theatrical, a soft fusion of candlelight and the streaming moonlight at this time of night. With Selwyn by your side, however, the minutes seemed like hours, and the candlelit corridors, usually golden and warm, felt like the dull glow of a waiting room. Your shoulders ached from how stiffly you held herself as each step echoed louder than the last, as if the castle itself was sighing in disappointment and disdain.

“I had an enjoyable time tonight,” Trevor started when you finally reached and you tried your utter best to hide the discomfort when his clammy hand reached for yours. He brought it to his lips and pressed a single kiss on it before you gave him a tight-lipped smile. You expect him to then turn and go, to walk back down to his own common room but he stays standing there, his face blank. 

“Me too,” you smile, in hopes that this was the confirmation he was after. Another lesson you’ve learned about the boy has been this: nothing else pleases him as much as validation does. 

He gives some semblance of a smile back. You blink. The next thing you know he has started to lean in and his eyes are fluttering shut and his slightly puckered lips are mere inches from yours now and the ridiculousness of it all proves too much to bear – you guffaw in the most obnoxious way possible. A mixture of anger and hurt crosses his face before he retreats and you’re unsure of how to recover.

“I’m so sorry,” you cover your mouth and try to stop the laughter. “I– I just thought of a funny joke. I’m so–”

“Fix your hair, would you? It looked atrocious today,” he quips quickly to gain control of the situation back. The last thing you’ve learned about the enigma that Selwyn is is this: his superiority cannot be challenged. If it is, he will try to establish it again – by insulting you in the most seemingly hurtful manner. 

It doesn’t quite have the desired effect. You snort at his attempt and suddenly the laughter has returned. He exhales once out of his nose as he turns to go but not before calling out, “I will pick you up at the same time tomorrow night. Don’t be late.” 

The laughter dwindles at the thought of enduring this again. “I’m busy tomorrow!” 

“Don’t be late,” he calls again. 

“Charming,” you hear someone call from behind you and you can tell who it is without having to turn and look at his annoyingly perfect face. His clever quips usually carry the extraordinary ability to irk you to no end but after the night you’ve had, they seem especially akin to knives on a chalkboard. 

You can picture Cedric Diggory’s earnest yet irritating smile he seems to wear at all times, the kind that makes his honey-coloured eyes crinkle in the slightest way at the edges with no difficulty. You can picture his perfectly ironed robes, clad with pins and awards he has won over the years and his hair that falls in place like dominoes. There’s only ever one way to describe him: pristine. Always. 

Though you’d never cared much to exalt him to the status of an academic rival, it’d be foolish to call him anything else. He had a way about him that reeked of complete and utter competence at everything, which indubitably invited a certain degree of resentment from everyone. You were no exception.

And not only did the universe seem keen on making an already-horrible night worse by scheduling him as your prefect patrols partner tonight, it also seemed quite keen on wanting to humiliate you in front of him. 

“The gossip that you are, Diggory,” you huff with biting sarcasm as you finally turn to face him. “Using your patrols as a way to spy on unsuspecting young lovers. Classy.” The break of his grin is almost blinding and you have to avert your gaze to avoid damage to your visual field.

“Nothing else entertains me these days as much as your courtship, I’m afraid,” he jests, slipping an easy hand into his pocket. “If you need more time together, I understand. I’m perfectly capable of completing the patrols on my own tonight.”

With your face aflame, you shoot him a look and begrudgingly start walking beside him, arms crossed tightly over your chest like a shield and footsteps hitting stone a bit too sharply. 

“How kind of you.” You say curtly and make it a point to walk a few steps ahead of him. He doesn’t seem particularly perturbed by it: he follows a few steps behind you, but the smugness radiating off of him envelops you nonetheless. 

“You can laugh, you know,” you say again after a moment of silence. You have long-since learned that the best way to avoid embarrassment is to submit to it. You’ve been courting Selwyn long enough to know it – sheepish smiles exchanged with classmates when he pecks you on the cheek in the hallways, mortified but apologetic grimaces whenever he tries to clasp your hand in his as he walks you to your common room after supper. Judgment – if it must be served – is best served plainly. Overtly. 

He shakes his head in amusement as he finally catches up and walks in step with you. “Now, why would I laugh? That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“That was humiliating,” you mutter under your breath before you can stop yourself. 

Cedric’s amused smile wavers as he glances at you with something you hope isn’t sympathy. And as much as you hate to say it, it wouldn’t be something you would put above him – for all the determined rebuttals and rivalries in class, Cedric has only ever been infuriatingly kind. “I think Selwyn might be a tad bit more humiliated than you, [Y/L/N].”

“Good. If he ever tries to kiss me again, I might hex him into oblivion and end up as a headline in the Daily Prophet.” 

His amusement returns and you’re glad. You’re not sure how to interact with him beyond the usual teasing remarks. “Would it be in bad taste to say that I'd quite want to see that?” His smile only grows when you roll your eyes. “Will you be doing that tomorrow night then? Shall I call the reporters?” 

You make a face. “You won’t be grinning that wide when I send a dementor after you from Azkaban, Diggory.”

“Send one after Selwyn. He’s in need of a good kiss.”

Your lips twitch at the joke and Cedric notices the slight movement. You press them together before a full-fledged smile can appear on your face and Cedric revels in it. “You’re not funny.”

“Yes, I’m sure Selwyn’s funnier,” Cedric teases. 

“Still not funny.” You take a few quicker steps to walk in front of him again, having had enough of his teasing for the night. 

He catches up again and has no particular difficulties keeping up, no matter how much you try to hasten your steps. “Forgive me for prying –”

“I won’t.”

“But, why Selwyn?” The question’s sincerity catches you off-guard.

“What?”

“I just mean – I find it hard to believe that you’re… devoid of options. So…why him?” He picks his words carefully, as if he’s weighing them in his mouth before letting them fall out. And perhaps it was due to the late hour or the undeniable warmth that Cedric’s eyes perpetually hold, but you actually considered giving him a sincere answer. 

“He’s–” you pause as you vow to yourself this would be the last display of vulnerability Cedric would be getting from you tonight. Your voice drops despite yourself, and you find your fingers fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. Something about Cedric’s quiet attention makes the truth feel heavier than usual. “He’s my parents’ choice. They want me to graduate with a prospect secured.”

His eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. “If a courtship is what you’re after, I’m sure you’d find better prospects in – pardon my bluntness – anyone else.” His teasing cadence has dropped altogether now and you wrinkle your own eyebrows in confusion as you consider the notion that Cedric might actually be trying to help you. 

“It doesn’t matter who–” you pause again. “I don’t plan on marrying him, Cedric.”

Cedric frowns. 

You go on, “I’m only ‘courting’ him until graduation to subdue my parents. I won’t marry him so it doesn’t matter who it is.” You squirm in guilt as Cedric stays frowning. “And I realize it’s cruel to string him along – I do – I just – I don’t know what else to do.” 

Cedric nods after a while – a slow, courteous nod that indicates he understands but wholly disagrees with whatever you’re saying. It’s a nod you’ve seen from him when he proposes a rebuttal to whatever alternate answer you’ve proposed in class, an alternate solution to a problem and admittedly, a much more pragmatic one.  He opens his mouth to voice it before the sound of giggles fill the empty hallways from around the corner.

You both exchange a prefectly look with each other, acknowledging the obvious student out of bed, awaiting a scolding for being out past curfew. Before you two can approach to see who it is, they turn the corner themselves.

“Evelyn,” Cedric breathes out in surprise as your gaze lands on the familiar brunette-haired girl in your year, her hands firmly clasped in Damien Avery’s, matching love-sick grins plastered on both faces and lipstick stains on the latter’s neck. With their hair dishevelled and robes askew, they blink in stunned silence.

You purse your lips as you look between the two, realization cresting at once. Though Cedric’s dating life was never a particular topic of interest, you immediately recognized the girl as his girlfriend, Evelyn Waters. 

Well, ex-girlfriend as of two weeks ago. 

“Ced,” his name falls from her smudged, lipstick-stained mouth softly, her eyes widening slightly. She hastily straightens out her robe and runs a hand through her hair. “I–”

Cedric clears his throat awkwardly as he shoots Avery a lingering glare. “It’s an hour past curfew–” He manages to get out, his voice unbelievably even. He keeps his eyes on Avery, not sparing Evelyn another glance. 

“I’m a prefect, Diggory. I think we’re fine,” Avery dismisses, stepping around him. He tugs at Evelyn’s hand.

Cedric steps in front of him again, towering over the shorter boy with ease. “Forty points from Slytherin,” he says simply, his eyes uncharacteristically stoic.

Avery scoffs and looks at Cedric in disbelief. “Yeah?” He sneers. “Are you going to take another forty for theft?” 

Cedric exhales heavily through his nose at the implication. The night air has suddenly chilled and the tension is so thick, it makes it hard to breathe.

“You know… considering…everything.” Avery smirks, gesturing subtly to Evelyn’s hand he still has clasped within his own. Evelyn watches the exchange silently.

“Considering everything, Avery,” you finally find your voice in the uncomfortable silence and step forward. “I’ll be taking another hundred points away from Slytherin for your misuse of prefect privileges. Expect to hear from Professor Snape tomorrow when I formally file a complaint.”

Avery turns to you, his goblin-green eyes staring into yours for a minute before he narrows them. “This isn’t your fight, [Y/L/N]. Stay out of it.”

“I think you,” you jab a hard finger at his chest, pushing him away slightly, “should stay out of the hallways after curfew. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” You grab Cedric’s arm and tear him away from the pair. 

He doesn’t protest when you begin to lead him down a random set of stairs to get away from the scene of the stiff confrontation. Cedric walks a few steps behind you wordlessly as you chance periodic glances to make sure he’s still following. After a few moments, you slow your gait so he can catch up with you.

“Hey,” you jostle him out of his thoughts which seemed to have permanently etched a furrow in his brows as he shuffled his feet across the stone floor.

He sighs, running a quick hand over his face and then stuffing it back into his pocket. “You didn’t have to enjoy that quite so much.”

You frown. “Enjoy what?”

“Do you not normally enjoy my humiliation?” He asks with a teasing lilt in his voice, but the humour stops short of his eyes. You can tell his mind is still stuck elsewhere, replaying that scene over and over. 

“I’m not a sadist like you,” you quip. 

He offers you a quick smile as if to confirm receipt of your well-intentioned humour, but doesn’t say much else. You walk in uneasy silence once again. 

“She’s an idiot,” you say finally. “Just– for the record.”

“Hm.” He smiles wryly again but his eyes hold a heaviness that you don’t like. You can tell the breakup took a greater toll on him than he has let on the past few weeks. And you’re not exactly sure why that weighs down on your heart.

“Seriously, Diggory,” you sigh. “She’s an idiot for breaking up with you and she’s an idiot for getting with Avery.”

He exhales a quiet laugh. “Yeah.” 

The heaviness still hung in the air despite your attempts at trying to provide Cedric an outlet to let out his frustration. You scoff internally at his staunch unwillingness to talk ill of anyone – not even his ex-girlfriend who moved on from him in a blink of an eye. You think again of Cedric’s genuine interest in your ‘Selwynian’ plight. You sigh once before shaking your head. Were you really about to help Cedric Diggory?

“You know what? You need to stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Acting like it doesn’t bother you,” you hit him lightly on the arm. “It bothers you, right?”

He holds your gaze for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Suppose it does.” He admits quietly.

“Do you want her back?” 

He frowns at the question. “What–”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he breathes out after a while and looks away, as if embarrassed at the confession. You can tell he’s fidgeting with his pockets nervously. 

“Then, make her jealous,” you say. “I saw how she was looking at you. She knows she made a mistake. But she won’t admit it because that’s not how it works. Make her jealous and she’ll have to admit it. It’ll get it out of her.”

He looks at you in amusement. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to help me or sabotage me.”

You scoff. “Accept the generosity before I change my mind.”

He shakes his head with a bitter smile, clicking his tongue against his teeth quietly. “That won’t work, anyway.”

“It will,” you assert. “Trust me, Diggory. It will.” 

He shakes his head again. “I don’t even know how to–”

“Date someone else,” you supply easily.

“I don’t like anyone else.”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “No shit. We already established that you still like Evelyn.”

“So, I ask out a girl I’m not actually interested in?” He asks in disbelief, discomfort evident on his face. 

“Yeah,” you shrug. 

He frowns and pauses, glancing at you with confusion. “That’s cruel beyond belief, [Y/L/N].”

His admonition makes you pause, too. The familiarity of the proposal strikes you at once. It was exactly what you were doing – stringing along a clueless Selwyn until graduation and then breaking his heart without a second thought. The cruelty of it all had always been a nagging thought – but its noise had been distant and dull. It was now ringing in your ears however, your skewed perception of morality hitting you at once.

“It’s not– cruel.” You try to tell yourself, more than him. “It–”

“It’s heartless,” he says again, matter-of-factly. “This, and what you’re doing to Selwyn, by the way.” 

You sigh at his moral policing. You knew he was right, but Selwyn was a problem for another night. 

“Fine,” you relent. “How about a girl who agrees to be your fake girlfriend?” 

He scoffs lightly. “If that were so easy to find, wouldn’t you have gotten a fake boyfriend already?”

You both stop walking at the same time, your footsteps coming to a screeching halt simultaneously. It was almost as if Cedric’s words had materialized and turned into physical roadblocks. His gaze slowly turns to you, honey-brown eyes landing on yours, but you’re already watching him in stunned realization. 

“[Y/L/N] –” he begins thoughtfully.

“No. No. Absolutely not.” That look in his eyes — the one like he’s already decided. Like he’s already seen this through to the end. It makes you nervous in a way you can’t name. You start walking ahead of him rather quickly but he catches up to you with no difficulty once again. His long strides match your pace perfectly.

“This was your idea–” He tries to reason again, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing off the walls as he chases after you with a walking stride.

“My idea– was not for us to do that–” you huff out as you keep up the pace, unrelenting.

He finally catches up to you and reaches for your arm, his hand closing gently around your elbow. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt through you, halting your steps more effectively than his words ever could. “It makes sense.”

You blink, momentarily thrown. “No–” 

“You won’t have to be needlessly cruel just to keep a prospect around–”

“Cedric.”

“And I won’t have to heartlessly pretend to like a girl who doesn’t know I’m pretending,” his hands find your shoulders. “It makes sense. You know it does.”

“I won’t–”

“And no more nightly dates with Selwyn,” he interrupts. “No more dodging his kisses.” 

That finally shuts you up. You shake your head though you can’t find the words to protest anymore. Cedric decides to sweeten the deal further.

“No life sentence in Azkaban, either.”

“Shut up.”

His lips tug upwards slightly and your eyes can’t help but catch on the movement. You let your eyes roam over his face — annoyingly symmetrical, irritatingly warm — and suddenly it hits you how easy it would be to fall into this lie. How dangerously tempting it is to pretend.

“No one would even believe it,” you say weakly. “We hate each other.”

“You mean you hate me?” He smiles dryly. “Because I don’t recall ever hating you.”

You avert your eyes before you start tracing his smile lines again with your gaze. “I just mean– we’re always at each other’s throats.” 

“That makes it more believable, don’t you think?” 

You shake your head, closing your eyes. “It’s a bad idea–”

You don’t get to finish your sentence before a familiar owl flies overhead and perches itself on the ledge next to you, clutching a letter. It doesn’t take long for you to realize who it’s from – the intricate green envelope and Selwyn family crest catching your eye immediately.

Cedric raises an eyebrow as he holds back a smirk. You grumble under your breath before plucking the letter from the owl begrudgingly. 

“Aren’t you going to open it?” He questions as he stifles a smile.

“No,” you huff in annoyance. “He … sends these every night. A ‘goodnight poem’, he calls them.”

Cedric doesn’t say anything, his grin already revealing he knows what your next words will be. 

You glance at the letter again — Selwyn’s cursive looping like a snake about to bite. What were you even doing?

You sigh, knowing exactly what this meant. “Fine. Let’s do it.” You cast the ignition spell, watching the green wax seal curl into smoke. “Let’s date.”

He blinks. “Wait — really?”

 “Don’t make me change my mind.”

 His grin returns, slow and lopsided. “Pretend to date,” he corrects.

“What?”

“We’re pretending,” he says cheekily, your cheeks aflame at his teasing cadence. "Don’t fall in love with me, [Y/L/N].”  

With a determined roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel. “As if, Diggory.”

Second part coming soon!

[berilaksl]

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

notes ! sirius black x f!reader, fluffy and might be slightly witty

warnings ! none yet whipped sirius I guess?? fluff slightly suggestive

The Hogwarts library was unusually quiet for a Wednesday afternoon, though the distant tapping of enchanted quills and the occasional sneeze from the dust-riddled stacks kept it from being entirely silent. The smell of parchment and ancient ink mingled in the air like perfume—comforting to some, suffocating to others.

You sat cross-legged at your usual corner table, the one tucked beneath the arching stained-glass window overlooking the Black Lake. Your fingers delicately flipped a page of “Runes of the North: Decoding Pre-Wand Magic”, your brow furrowed in concentration. A soft hum of your favorite self-soothing melody left your lips. Your eyes danced across the worn text with intense focus, every now and then mouthing a translation to yourself

So, of course, this was exactly when he decided to strike.

“So this is where the cleverest student in the castle hides…”

You sighed. Not again.

“Hello, Black,” you replied, not looking up. “If I stay very still, maybe you’ll think I’m a statue and leave.”

Sirius let out a bark of laughter — low and amused — and walked around the table to sit across from you, sliding into the chair like he belonged there.

“Tempting, but I’m far too enchanted. I’d probably end up serenading the statue.”

“Do it and I’ll Petrify you for real.”

“Kinky.”

You gave him a flat look, lifting your eyes just long enough to scowl. He gave you a grin that could melt chocolate frogs.

“You’ve really got to stop chasing me around the castle like this,” you said, calmly returning to your runes textbook. “It’s starting to look desperate.”

“Says the girl who hasn’t accepted a single one of my five — no, wait — six date proposals.”

“Exactly. You’d think you’d take the hint.”

“And miss out on the slow burn enemies-to-lovers arc we’ve got going on?” he quipped, leaning back in the chair and watching you with open amusement. “It’s practically Hogwarts folklore now.”

You blinked slowly. “We’re not enemies.”

“And yet you stab me with words like that.”

“Sirius.”

“Yes, love?”

You pointed your quill at him, exasperated and flustered. “Stop calling me that.”

“Make me.”

You gave him a long stare, then slowly turned back to your notes. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he said, voice dropping just a little as he rested his chin on his folded arms, “you never hex me. Which tells me you’re at least slightly fond of me.”

“No, it tells you I have self-control.”

Sirius chuckled. The warmth of it settled somewhere beneath your ribs, annoying and persistent.

For a while, he was quiet. Just… sitting there. Not fidgeting, not whistling, not pushing further. Just watching your quill glide across the page, occasionally glancing at your brows when they furrowed in thought.

And that — the silence — was somehow worse.

You looked up suspiciously.

“Are you actually being quiet right now?”

“I’m behaving,” he said, straight-faced. “Remus told me to try it. Said it might make me more appealing.”

You snorted despite yourself.

“He also said,” Sirius added with a mock-thoughtful tone, “that my charm was wasted on someone who values peace, intellect, and academic rigor above all else.”

“Sounds like he knows me better than you do.”

“Unlikely.” He tilted his head. “I know, for instance, that you bite your lip when you’re trying to remember a translation. That you tap your quill three times before committing anything to ink. And that you smell like old parchment and something floral — lavender, maybe?”

You blinked. For a moment, your heart jumped.

Then:

“So you’re stalking me now?”

“Only academically.” He smirked. “Ravenclaw curiosity. I’ve caught it.”

You tried — really tried — not to laugh. But the twitch at the corner of your mouth betrayed you.

And he saw it. He always saw it.

“There it is,” he said, sitting up straight like he’d just won a prize. “The smile. My favorite subject.”

You exhaled, setting your quill down. “Sirius, for the last time—”

“You’re not going to date me. Yes, I know.”

He stood then, brushing invisible lint from his sleeves with a dramatic sigh.

“But I reserve the right to be hopelessly enchanted and incredibly annoying about it.”

Before he turned to go, he added, without looking back:

“See you tomorrow, same table. I’ll bring you tea this time.”

You blinked after him, stunned by the combination of chaos and charm he always left in his wake. Your friends often teased that you were unshakeable — that you could hold your ground against even a Veela’s pull.

But Sirius Black?

He was going to be trouble.

Big, grey-eyed, endlessly smiling trouble.

[slytherinsimp12]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ 𝐼𝓃𝓀 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈 ౨ৎ˚⟡˖

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You and James have been friends since first year. You both would spend majority of your time together due to quidditch practice. Somewhere along the way, you started to develop feelings for him. You would never assume he felt the same way towards you, even though he flirted with you mindlessly and came up with clever excuses to be around you, you never assumed he would like you any other way than as a friend. All that changes one night, when James finds your diary.

Warnings: Fluff and Kissing.

Author’s note: Hey lovelies, this was originally supposed to be a smutty fanfic but I decided to write the clean version first. If this does well, I’ll write the ‘spicy’ version 🤭. Comment if you want the other version and to be added to the tag list💌Happy reading <3

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with energy after a Quidditch match victory. James Potter, sweaty and exhilarated, looked more beautiful than usual. You watched him slip away from the crowd to grab a Butterbeer, joining you at the snack table.

“That was a nice save towards the end, Potter. I thought you were going to fall off your broom for a second.” You said.

“Fall off? Please, I had it completely under control. The dramatic dive was for effect. You know, to impress certain players” He smirked.

“Oh? And did it work?” You laughed.

“Depends… were you impressed?” He said, leaning in closer to you. A shiver ran down your spine, this is how James was. Friendly flirting until the other person was completely flustered. You should have gotten used to it by now, but you didn’t. You were anything but used to it.

“Maybe a little. But I was mostly impressed you didn’t hit your head again. That’d be, what, the third time this term?” You said, brushing him off.

“Ouch.” He groaned, dramatically clutching his chest.

The celebration continued till 1 am that night, at some point, you, James, Sirius, Marlene and Mary ended up in Sirius and James’ dorm.

“Right, it’s getting late. Me and Mary are gonna head back to our dorm, coming y/n?” Marlene asked.

“Yea. James, is it alright if I leave my bag here? I promise to take it first thing tomorrow.” You said, little did you know that was going to change your entire relationship with James Potter.

The next morning, you woke up with a horrible migraine. Still, holding up your promise, you made your way to James’ dorm, half asleep, to collect your things.

“James?” You called, before entering the room.

“Come in.” He said from inside.

His hair was messier than usual, his face a mix of surprise and sleep. He was sitting on a chair with his legs on the bed, holding up a diary, grinning like he had just found gold.

Oh for Merlin’s sake. Your diary. How could you be so stupid? You had totally forgotten your diary was in your bag, but you didn’t expect him to go through your things.

“What the hell, James?” You said, anger edging in your voice.

You marched over to him, trying to snatch the diary away, but he pulled it out of your reach.

“James Fleamont Potter, you give that back right now!” You screamed.

James laughed, “Relax, I only read… like, two sentences. Three tops. One might’ve mentioned someone with ‘wild hair and a hopeless ego.’ Ring any bells?” He said coyly.

A red blush crept up your face and made its way to your neck.

“You. Are. Utterly. Unbelievable.” You spat.

“Oh, come on, it’s kind of flattering. You wrote about me! That’s practically a love letter in diary terms.” He joked.

“It is not! Now give it back!” You demanded.

“Nuh uh” he teased, childishly.

“I also called you ‘a walking disaster in Quidditch robes.’ Did you read that part?” You asked, annoyed.

“I knew you noticed my robes! You do like me.” James said, gasping dramatically.

“James” you groaned, getting more and more embarrassed now.

“Hey—don’t be embarrassed. If I had a diary, you’d be in it. Probably underlined. With little stars and everything.” He joked, stepping closer.

He handed you your diary back, his fingers brushing yours just a second longer than they needed to.

“I didn’t read anything else, promise.” He said.

“Thanks…” you whispered.

There was a pause, neither of you moved. The room was quiet, except for the crackle of the fireplace. You could hear James’ heartbeat, his breath and you could feel his closeness.

“You know…. I was half- hoping it was about me, when I found it.” His voice was quieter, as he took a small step closer.

Your eyes searched his, looking for truth.

“Why?” You asked.

“Because I’ve been walking around pretending not to feel what I feel. And it’s exhausting, honestly. I’m James Potter—I’m not built for subtle.” He answered.

“That is definitely true.” You said, smiling and rolling your eyes.

“So if you’re pretending too… I don’t know. Maybe we can stop. Just for a minute.” He pleaded, taking your palms in his.

He was so close now. Close enough for you to see the freckles under his eyes, close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheeks, close enough for you to smell his scent.

His voice dropped lower, barely a breath.

“Is it so terrible? Liking me?”

“No. It’s terrifying.” You admitted.

James’ hand slips up to your cheek, his thumb brushing your jaw, you lean into him instinctively. He closed the space between the two of you, placing a warm kiss on your lips. It was soft, but a little hesitant at first, like the both of you were trying to memorise this feeling. His lips move against yours gently, like a question being answered with every second you didn’t pull away.

You break apart, just barely, your foreheads rest together, and he’s smiling like he’s completely undone.

“Took you long enough.” You smiled, breathless.

“Oi—I was being respectful. Chivalrous. Noble Gryffindor and all that.” He countered.

“You read my diary, James.” You defended.

“And I’d do it again if it brought me here.” He grinned, wrapping his arms around you.

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