#a muggle

[twink-remus-lupin]

youtuber au

remus runs a book review channel that has slowly been turning into a drama and rant channel

sirius and james run a joint prank channel but it’s significantly more humane than most of the popular ones (they also mostly prank each other and nothing is staged)

lily runs a true crime channel that collabs with remus frequently for special horror episodes

peter is a gamer and actually has the most subscribers out of all of them for his valorant streams

snape has multiple hate blogs for each of them

[zlarirosa]

draco's first time eating muggle burger...without cutlery

(ps. he liked it a lot, much to his dismay)

[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Y/n, whispering: you know I love you, right?

Draco: why are we whispering?

Y/n: so Harry thinks we're conspiring against him

Draco: oooh

Harry: what are they talking about?

Snape, having heard everything: murder

[ellecdc]

HEAR ME OUT

former fboy barty who is now madly in love with reader and reader is like his first actual serious girlfriend

ARE WE SEEING THE VISION

I'M SEEING THE VISION HERE YOU GO; also, it's a continuation of this post but can be read as a standalone

Barty Crouch Jr x fem!reader who doesn't do 'casual' [1k words]

CW: brief mention of past harassment, mention of past sexual encounter but nothing explicit and SFW

Barty said goodbye to Evan in way of putting his hand against his mouth to get him to stop talking and then shoving his face away from him as he started taking purposeful strides for you.��

He’d only opted to come to class today in hopes of seeing you, and he’d only deigned to hang around afterwards so that he could talk to you after you finished speaking with the Professor.

Barty had been struggling to get you out of his mind for over a week now ever since you approached him in the club asking him to pretend to be your boyfriend, which ended in a very enjoyable romp afterwards.

And he’d be lying if he wasn’t hoping for another tryst as he pulled the door open for you before you’d even had a chance to push it; a look of wary surprise crossing your face before it melted into a smile.

That smile made him feel funny. 

“Well hello, my darling girlfriend.” He teased as he fell into step with you. 

“Hello, Barty.” You chuckled as you gently nudged him with your elbow. “Alright?”

“Fantastic, thank you. I’ve been thinking about the fun we had the other night.” He said as he moved to stand in front of you, smiling in that way of his that he knew usually got him what he wanted.

You simply smirked knowingly and raised an eyebrow at him. “What? Fleeing from a bar without paying your tab?”

Barty scoffed and waved you off. “My dad owns that bar, it’s fine. No, I meant what happened afterwards.”

You hummed in acknowledgment as you scrutinised him. “You mean when I thanked you profusely-”

“-multiple times-” Barty amended, earning him a salacious grin from you.

“-multiple times, for saving me from that creep?”

“Precisely.” Barty agreed with a nod. 

“That was fun.” You admitted, to which Barty quickly agreed. “But I don't think so, Barty. Sorry.”

“Oh… oh! Okay…erm, may I ask why not?” He sputtered as he took two long strides in order to catch up with you as you continued walking across campus. 

“You may.” You relented simply, smirking when you saw Barty roll his eyes from your periphery. 

“Okay…why not?”

“I…listen, I had fun and I don’t regret it, but I don’t usually do…casual.” You admitted, looking embarrassed for all intents and purposes as you stared down at Barty’s shoes and chewed on your lower lip. 

“Casual.” Barty parroted, fighting the urge to relieve your lower lip from its torment and, perhaps disturbingly, afflict it to his own torment. 

“Right, I…I don’t usually do casual sex, that was uhm…that was a one time thing for me.” 

“Oh, so…so, you only have sex when you’re dating someone?” Barty concluded.

“Right.”

“Great. Go on a date with me.” 

You barked a laugh as you continued walking, only to turn and see that Barty wasn’t following nor was he laughing as he was really quite serious.

“Are you-…you’re not serious, are you?”

“Mmm, nope, I’m quite serious, actually.” He responded.

“Barty.” You huffed somewhat chidingly. “I’ve never once seen you speak to the same girl twice. Well, save Meadows, but I’m quite certain she likes girls, so.”

Barty simply shrugged at you, not seeing at all what the issue was here. “There’s a first time for everything, no? I’m standing here talking to you for a second time, am I not?” 

“I’m just…I’m looking for something serious, Barty.”

“I can be serious!” He argued rather petulantly. 

“I’m not going to ask you for something you might not be capable of giving me.” You sighed.

“Are you challenging me? Is this a challenge? Because I’ll have you know I’ve never once lost a bet.”

“I’m not challenging you, Barty.” You laughed affectionately at him. “Monogamy and commitment isn’t your thing, and that’s fine! I’m not judging you or blaming you at all; I just think we might want different things.”

Barty stepped forward so that he was standing but a few inches from you, forcing you to look up at him. “Well, what I want is you.”

“You want me right now.” You whispered back; some of the fight clearly leaving you as you searched between his eyes.

“I’ll prove it. Let me prove it to you.” He insisted, daring to push some of your hair falling from its restraint away from your eyes. 

You sighed somewhat sadly as your bottom lip threatened to jut out. “I’m not worth breaking your rules for, Barty.”

“I think I can decide that for myself, no?” He murmured back.

He had to admit this is the softest he’d ever been with anyone before, but it was also the softest he’d ever felt with anyone before.

He didn’t usually get caught up on people; not like this, not like you. 

But you awoke something inside of him that night when you darted out of the sea of bodies like he was the last life raft of a sinking ship, your eyes wild and desperate as you clung to him.

He was always down for a ruse, so when you’d asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend he was more than happy to cause a little chaos. But when he’d heard you were scared, harassed, bothered? Well, the deep, black, protective rage that had him nearly fusing your body to his was something completely foreign to him.

He wanted more of it.

He wanted you.

And if this is what you needed from him? Well, he’d be that for you. 

“Teach me? I’m a quick learner, rather clever too.” He asked as he tilted your head up by your chin and forced you to look at him. 

“I…I don’t want to be an experiment.”

“I don’t either.” He agreed. “I just want you to be mine.”

You searched his eyes for a few more moments before letting out a dramatic sigh. 

“Fine, but I will be teaching you and there will be a quiz at the end of this so do keep up.” You hollered at him over your shoulder, though your small smile gave away the fact that it was all for show.

“Don’t you worry, treasure; I perform very well on tests.”

[ivmaruva]

The Rockstar Draco/Journalist Hermione brainrot persists. 💀📝

What is he whispering to her? In my mind he’s telling her about ALL his piercings…

[dreamcubed]

you need to calm down | theodore nott x reader

song; you need to calm down [taylor swift] pairing; theodore nott x fem!muggle-born!reader genre; e2l, smut, angst word count; 5,9k timeline; subsidiary 8th year warnings; swearing, alcohol consumption, implied drug consumption, hook-up, drunk sex, piv, oral sex (male and female receiving), discrimination (muggle-borns), smoking, violence, blood, mentions of the war, arguments, yelling summary; after returning to hogwarts for a subsidiary 8th year to make up for the loss of 7th year due to the war, you are a completely different person, and muggle-born-hating theo finds himself obsessed with you

masterlist

"stressing and obsessing about somebody else is no fun."

MINORS DNI!!! 18+ content.

————————————————

In the time that the Second Wizarding War had been going on, you had been absent from Hogwarts, attending a muggle school under a fake name. Also in that time, you had changed significantly, partially to help your cover, but also because you had made muggle friends with similar styles and decided that you loved it. There were no uniforms at muggle college, so you were able to explore. These days you loved having black hair, having both your septum and nose pierced, and dressing almost entirely in black.

Your witch friends hadn't recognised you when you showed up at the Summer party you had received an invite to, after Voldemort was defeated and you were able to come out of hiding. The party you were attending was for seventh and eighth years— eighth year being introduced as a subsidiary for the education lost last year. Even most of those who had attended seventh year elected to return, as the final exams had never taken place, and what they had learned had been heavily rooted in the dark arts.

The party was booming, the walls of the massive house shaking with the sound of the music. You had consumed your fair share of alcohol, amongst other things, and had enjoyed catching up with everyone you had missed so dearly.

And that was when you saw him watching you.

Theodore Nott, a Slytherin boy in your year, who was from a wealthy pure-blooded family. A cigarette hung from his lips, and the smoke billowing around him sent a shiver up your spine. He was a sexy man, personality aside, and intoxicated you conveniently forgot about his attitude towards muggle-borns. Fuck, maybe he had changed?

He started approaching you, eyes raking up and down your accentuated figure, and he lingered a while on your fishnets. When he was close enough to talk, he said a simple statement, "I've never seen you before."

Theodore Nott hadn't changed. Not one bit. While he had never wished death upon muggle-borns like Voldemort, he had despised them— viewed them as lesser than he. He had seen you, laughing with your friends and seductively moving your hips, and assumed you were from the year below. You knew in that moment that he didn't recognise muggle-born goody-two-shoes Y/N L/N.

But, you were too drunk to ignore the red flags.

"No?" you murmured, "What are your first thoughts?"

He smirked, "I think I'm in for a very interesting night."

You chuckled, "I'll say."

His hands found your hips, and he began swaying with you to the music, which made you move your body closer to his. Even in the warmth of the room, the heat of his body hit you like an electric spark, coursing through you— straight to your core.

He moved even closer, his hot breath fanning against your neck as his hands moved round to your back. Then he lifted his head, his lips close to yours, and you let your eyes flutter shut as the kiss began. It was passionate: a hazy, powerful passion that had every hair on your body standing on end. His hands lowered to your ass, and squeezed, bringing a gasp from your lips, which he took as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

All of a sudden, he pulled away, only to whisper in your ear, "Wanna find somewhere more private?"

"Lead the way," you said breathlessly, and he took your hand in his.

Neither of you knew whose bedroom you had ended up in, but it was empty and had a lock on the door, so it was ideal. Sure, a little unlocking charm could get someone in, but hopefully they would realise what was going on inside if the door was locked.

Theo wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours again, pushing you back until you fell on to the bed, pulling him with you. He moved down to your neck, kissing and sucking in a manner that would definitely leave hickeys, before he returned to your lips. You tugged at his shirt, and he let you pull it over his head, revealing a toned chest and arms that had you drooling.

He smirked at your loss of composure and beckoned towards your shirt, "Your turn, miss."

This time, you smirked, and held up your arms to allow him to remove your upper body clothing. First your tight black mesh top, and then your bra, freeing your boobs for him to gaze at. "Look who's drooling now."

Your statement made him snap out of his shock: clearly the sight of your nipple piercings had been a new experience for him. He attacked your lips with a new fervour, then moved down to suck on your nipple and its barbell. Gasps escaped you at the sensation, and you arched your back up instinctively.

"You're so sexy," he stopped for breath, complimenting you, "How have I never seen you before?"

Your breath hitched, and for a moment the reality of the situation came back to you. Just as quickly, though, it left again, as he began work on your other nipple. It was a wonderful feeling, but you needed more, so you pushed him over until you were on top and began unbuckling his trousers.

His dick was big and thick, and you could tell by the glint in his eyes as he looked down at you that he knew and was proud. You shook your head, bringing your lips to the tip and pressing a gentle kiss. Your teasing didn't last for long, however, as you soon gave into the urge to take it into your mouth. He groaned deliciously in response, and you took that as your cue to lick a strip up the side as you began fondling his balls.

"Just like that, baby," he moaned, making you realise he hadn't even asked for your name.

You took him in your mouth again, this time going as far down as your throat would allow, feeling the urge to gag building up in you. His louder groans made the effort worth it, though, as you deepthroated him. Pulling away for breath, you looked up at him with doe eyes and said, "If I'm sucking your dick, you might as well eat me out." And with that, you pulled your tights and panties down, leaving only your skirt on, before sitting on his face assertively.

The action made him groan more, and you leaned down to continue work on his dick as you felt him find your clit almost immediately. His tongue ministrations had you moaning around his dick, making you begin grinding on his face out of reflex. If you weren't drunk, you wouldn't be nearly this shameless and forward.

To his credit, he ate you out like a man starved, and it wasn't long before the pleasure became so much you had to give up on his dick and give in to the sensation.

"Fuck, Theo, I'm gonna come," you moaned, and his movements only got quicker, until you felt your core tighten and then release. Your body convulsed as he rode you through the high.

Eventually, you got off his face.

"D'you have condoms?" you asked, knowing he hadn't yet finished and also that you weren't yet satisfied.

"Always." He reached for his trousers over the side of the bed and pulled a condom out of his wallet.

You took it from him, tearing the packet with your teeth whilst making eye contact, and carefully sheathing his dick. His breath hitched once you were done: the only warning you got before he got up and pushed you down on to all fours, lining himself up behind you. The push in wasn't difficult, since you were quite well prepared, but it was still sensationally tight for him.

"Fuck, baby," he grunted, pushing in the last couple inches, "You feel so fuckin' good. So wet for me."

In reply, you moaned, and he took that as his cue to begin moving.

He pushed up your skirt to slap your ass, leaving a red imprint on your cheek, before gripping your hips and picking up the pace. You became a mess beneath him, even more so when one of his hands snuck around to begin rubbing circles on your clit. The bedsheets were crumpled in your hands with how tight you were gripping them, but Theo didn't stop.

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna-" he cut himself off with a grunt.

"Me too," you squeaked out.

"Come with me." The assertive way in which he said it had you falling apart yet again, and by the way his movements were becoming sloppy, you could guess that he was too. When he then collapsed next to you, you knew that your guess had been correct.

Turning to lay on your back, you let out a content sigh.

"You know my name," he said.

You chuckled breathlessly.

"Who are you?"

You shrugged, deciding that you had given yourself enough time to regain your composure and getting up off the bed to clothe yourself. "You'll see," you said as you pulled your final clothing item back on.

And, with that concluding comment, you left Theo speechless on a random bed of the host's house.

***

You told no one of that night, deciding that you didn't need to hear your friends say what a stupid idea it was for you as a muggle-born to fuck a pure-blood supremacist. You already knew that yourself, but that didn't stop you from dreaming about how his tongue felt against your pussy, or how his hands felt on your body. Merlin, it was the best sex that you had ever had, and it just had to be with someone who would never want you again after finding out the truth.

It was on the train to Hogwarts that you saw him next. Despite how excited you were to return to the castle after over a year, the anxiety of your next meeting with Theo had been consuming you. And, in a lit up train in your classic school uniform, you were a lot more recognisable than in the dark in your own clothes. Especially considering you were with your friend group.

You stared at him as he stood in the doorway of you and your friends' compartment, with Mattheo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire stood behind him. They were likely on the hunt for some younger years to belittle.

"Well, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes has certainly changed a lot, hasn't she?" Riddle chuckled from behind Theo, who was simply staring at you with widened eyes and a clenched jaw.

"Theo? Mate? You alright?" Berkshire asked, snapping his friend out of his daze.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," he said dismissively, "Let's go."

His friends appeared confused, but didn't question it.

Your friends, however, did.

"What the fuck was up with that?" your best friend, Elena, asked, "Is the man scared of a couple piercings or something?"

She didn't even know what she was saying when she said that, you thought to yourself, thinking back to his reaction to your nipple piercings. You simply shrugged at her, "He just hates to see a muggle-born succeed."

Everyone agreed with hums, and the conversation shifted to other subjects.

***

Theodore Nott had spent the last two weeks of Summer wondering what the fuck the mysterious girl he fucked at a party meant by, "You'll see," and then following that up with a wank using memories of you. But, in that moment, stood in front of you on the Hogwarts Express, where you were in better lighting and more recognisable attire, he felt the world crash down around him.

How had he fucked a mudblood? The one thing that was ingrained into his brain since childhood to never do? Ever? The worst part is, he hadn't just liked the sex, he had loved it. He had already had numerous wet dreams about your lips and your boobs and your ass. And now? Now he had to push all of that aside because he couldn't ever fuck you again.

He just couldn't.

"Theo- Earth to Theo," the voice of Lorenzo next to him brought him from his thoughts.

"What?" he snapped back.

"What's got you so worked up?"

Mattheo chuckled, "Can't you see him staring at mudblood L/N? I can't tell if you wanna kill her or fuck her."

That statement earned Mattheo a glare from Theo.

"Maybe both?" Lorenzo suggested, making them both laugh.

"Who was it again that you hooked up with at the party?" Mattheo asked before shovelling food into his mouth.

"He didn't say, remember? Said she never told him her name."

"It doesn't matter," Theo spat.

Lorenzo and Mattheo exchanged looks as realisation dawned on them, and they both slowly turned to Theo who was still glaring daggers in your direction.

"No, you didn't..." Mattheo said first.

Theo said nothing.

"You fucked a mudblood," Lorenzo stated, finishing Mattheo's thought.

"You didn't realise it was L/N," Mattheo continued.

"She'd changed a lot, okay?" Theo said angrily, "I thought she was from the year below or something."

His two friends began howling with laughter, meanwhile Theo sat brooding in silence at the Slytherin table.

***

Saturday rolled around, and you were relieved to be able to shed the school uniform and tug on your clothes that had become an important part of you. Thankfully, Hogwarts hadn't been too strict about your piercings, in fact you had even received compliments from some professors. But, honestly, the rules weren't all that strict since it was still a sensitive time with many grieving from the war.

The Summer weather was still lingering, and you basked in the sunlight as you walked down one of the open hallways, watching first years giggling amongst themselves as they played with their new magic skills. It brought a smile to your face, to see things returning to normal; you had missed Hogwarts dearly while you had been away, not knowing how long you would have to remain in hiding. You had even begun applications for muggle university— because, really, how could you have known whether it would be one year or ten before you could freely be a witch again?

You turned a corner, and in your drifted thoughts, didn't notice the person walking around the other way until it was too late and your shoulders had shoved against each other.

"Shit, sorry," you muttered, realising all too late that it was Theo. He was glaring at you, just like he had at every meal and every class you shared all week.

"Watch where you're going, mudblood," he snapped.

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled, "Wasn't a problem three weeks ago."

"Never speak of that," he said lowly, his voice threatening.

"Why? Annoyed sex with a mudblood was good?" you retorted, and then you found yourself pinned up against the wall.

"Watch your mouth, miss."

"Don't you mean 'baby'?" you smirked, relishing in the way his eyes darkened.

You almost missed the way his gaze flicked to your lips, but then he pulled away, refusing to look at you.

"Fuck you, L/N," he spat, storming off, and you watched in amusement with your back still against the wall.

***

Theodore Nott was livid. Absolutely livid. You wound him up in the worst way possible, only for him to try and scare you- fail- and then find himself wanting nothing more than to smash his lips on to yours. When you reminded him of the pet name he used while you were fucking, the blood in his body rushed straight to his dick: the feeling of his arms gripping yours and the close proximity had felt electric. Your very presence set him on fire in every single way possible.

He hated every second.

With previous hook-ups, he had hooked up a few more times with them until he had gotten bored and moved on to the next. Before he found out who you were, he had been planning on doing the same, and now the fact he couldn't was driving him crazy. He thought about you every minute of the day, every minute of the night, and- unfortunately- whenever his hand was wrapped around his dick. And, after his interaction with you in the hallway, he knew that he needed a good fuck from at least a half-blood, if not a pure-blood.

Yes, that was all it was, his body was desperate for sex and as you were the last person he fucked, his thoughts simply went to you first. That was all it was.

Definitely.

***

Potions lesson on Monday rolled around quicker than you would have liked, but it wasn't all bad, as Slughorn was a nice enough professor. You sequestered yourself next to your best friend, ready to begin the lesson. He had promised you all your first practical lesson today, and you were excited to use a cauldron again after so long.

The only real downside of the class was that Theo was in it, and he seemed even angrier (if that was possible) than he was last week. His eyes were pinned on to you like you had murdered his family. You shrugged it off, setting up the work station while Elena went to fetch the various ingredients that you required.

Meanwhile, Theo sat across the class from you, feeling incredibly frustrated. Saturday night, he had tried to fuck another girl, but he couldn't get himself hard until he imagined that she was you. And, even then, he couldn't finish. His imagination couldn't go as far as making her feel and act like you, after all. Now, all he knew, was that you were his enemy, and his remedy. And you had the audacity to act so calm and unbothered all the fucking time.

"Your obsession isn't healthy," Mattheo spoke from next to him, dumping the potion ingredients on the table.

"It's not an obsession."

"What is it, then?" his friend scoffed, "Love?"

Theo furrowed his eyebrows.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Mattheo watched as Theo rose to his feet and began haphazardly chopping ingredients, the tiny knife taking the brunt of his anger.

"If it's affecting you so bad, just fuck her again."

"She's mudblood."

"It's not like you're impregnating her," Mattheo reasoned.

Theo sighed deeply, "It's not that simple. I've had it trained into me since birth that we don't associate with mudbloods."

"Well," Mattheo shifted on his feet, "Parents aren't always right."

"Since when did you sympathise with them?"

"I don't- I just," Mattheo muttered something inaudible to himself, and then said, "I don't want people to think I'm my father."

Theo said nothing.

"I'm just saying, mate, your mother's dead and your father's in prison for life— who gives a fuck what they think?"

"It's the principle."

"What even is the principle?"

"What would Draco think? Lorenzo? All of our friends?"

"Draco's not the man he was before the war," Mattheo said quietly. He knew better than anyone, being Draco's cousin, he had grown up with him due to his parents' absence. "I'm just saying. Maybe we should leave some beliefs in the past."

"You've gotten soft," Theo grumbled, "Just last week you were shitting on me for fucking her."

Mattheo shrugged, "Force of habit, I guess. I've just been doing a lot of thinking lately."

"That's rare."

"Shut up."

***

Truth was, despite all of Theo's dick behaviour and discrimination of your kind, you still found yourself waking up in a sweat thinking about his hands roaming your body. That goddamned Slytherin was the bane of your existence and the reason for your catharsis. He had diseased you, plagued you. He was a parasite that you couldn't get rid of, that was eating away at your sanity. What happened to your self respect? To your pride? You got fucked into heaven, that's what. And now your sexual urges were spreading like fire all throughout your bloodstream.

Wanking didn't feel the same anymore— your fingers didn't hold the electricity and passion that Theo's did. You craved him like a drug: and that's exactly what he was. He was something you shouldn't do, something that was bad for your health, but something that could have you seeing stars. Why did he have to be a blood supremacist?

But would it feel this intense if he wasn't? Maybe you two being forbidden, being star-crossed, was the reason that it made you feel so alive. You loved the fact he stared at you, even if it was with fury so powerful it made his whole body shake. It made you feel as if you had gotten to him the way he had gotten to you.

Just one taste of heaven had left you wanting to experience it a thousand times over.

"Get your shit together, Y/N," you cursed to yourself, forcing yourself out of bed.

"What was that?" one of your dorm mates asked.

"Nothing," you replied, "Just going crazy."

"Aren't we all?" she agreed.

***

"Party in the Slytherin dungeons tonight," Pansy stated to you one hellish week later.

You blinked at her, "And I'm invited?"

The girl nodded, evidently feeling awkward, "A lot of us are trying to- uh- make amends with mud- muggle-borns."

You raised an eyebrow at her near slip-up.

"Look- I'm- I'm sorry for how I treated you in the past," she said, actually appearing genuine, "It wasn't right."

"Um, thank you," you replied hesitantly.

"I know I don't speak for all the Slytherins, but a lot of us have done some thinking over the Summer," she continued, "We've lived in an echo chamber for too long."

That you agreed with.

"And, honestly, I think you're really cool- and I hope we can be friends."

You were taken aback by her words, never imagining that a pure-blood like Pansy Parkinson would be saying such words to you. But, maybe, forgiving her wouldn't be such a bad thing. "I... forgive you, I think," you said slowly, "I hope we can be friends too."

She gave you a small but warm smile, "Thank you. Will I see you there?"

You nodded cautiously, "Yeah, I think so."

"Great, uh, come say hi when you get there."

And with that, she disappeared, leaving you in a state of shock and confusion.

***

"Why are there so many mudbloods here?" Lorenzo asked irritatedly, sitting down on the sofa next to his friend group.

"Be civil, Enzo," Pansy gently scolded, "They're witches and wizards just like us."

"But they're not, though. Right, Matt?"

Mattheo shrugged slightly, "I'm with Pansy on this one, I think."

"See, Enzo? Even the Dark Lord's son agrees with me."

Mattheo grimaced at being reminded of who his father was.

"What about you, Theo?" Lorenzo asked.

But Theo wasn't listening, too busy glaring at you with his jaw clenched as you entered the common room, dressed up in an annoyingly similar way that you were back at the Summer party. Lorenzo followed his gaze, but he already knew where it would be leading to.

"Theo is not the person to ask," Blaise chuckled, appearing out of nowhere and sitting next to Theo, "I reckon he's about two interactions with L/N away from saying 'fuck it' and accepting his fate."

"What fate?" Theo snapped.

"The fate of falling in love with a muggle-born," Pansy said with a giggle.

"I'm not falling for her."

"Yeah, you just think and talk about her all the time," Draco, who had been quiet the whole time, spoke.

"Do you not have a problem with it?" Lorenzo asked Draco.

The blond boy shrugged, "I have a lot of regrets regarding muggle-borns. I don't want anymore."

Lorenzo groaned.

"Times are changing, Enzo," Pansy said gently, "I think you should change with them."

The man scowled and stormed off.

Meanwhile, you had finally spotted Pansy across the room, surrounded by the Slytherin boys— including Theo. You took a deep breath, deciding for the sake of a potential friendship you would have to bear it and fulfil her request of saying hi. You arrived at their group moments after you had seen Berkshire leave angrily.

"Uh, hi," you said to Pansy.

"Hi," her face lit up, "Have you got a drink? I'll get you one."

"Oh, thank you."

"It's no worries— make yourself comfortable," she then turned to the boys, "Play nice."

Mattheo raised his hands in mock surrender, but all Theo did was keep his eyes glued on to you.

Zabini shifted along the sofa, gesturing for you to sit in between him and Theo, which you cautiously accepted. The second you felt the warmth of Theo's thigh brush against yours, sparks jolted through your body, and you nearly jumped. You could have sworn you heard his breath hitch, too. This was the first time in two weeks that he wasn't looking at you, instead his eyes were trained ahead like he was retaining every ounce of self control within him.

"The sexual tension is suffocating," Mattheo remarked, standing up to go after Pansy.

His statement seemed to fuel the flame that you had desperately been trying to keep dim inside of you, and suddenly staying sat next to Theo seemed like an entirely impossible task. You were not nearly drunk enough for this. Thankfully, Pansy returned quickly with Mattheo lingering behind her, and she handed you a glass.

"Firewhiskey and coke," she said simply.

"Thanks," you accepted the glass, and downed the entire thing, "I'll get another one."

You left them all, hearing Pansy scold Theo for scaring you off, but you could still feel his eyes burning holes into your back. Just a couple more drinks and then you would join the dance floor, you decided.

And there you soon were, grinding up against a Hufflepuff boy with liquid courage flooding through your veins. You had just about managed to push Theodore Nott to the back of your mind, but you knew that it was only a temporary fix. This Hufflepuff boy was attractive, but he didn't set you alight.

"Someone's jealous," Blaise chuckled, watching as Theo glared daggers at the boy you were dancing with. Ever since you had joined the dance floor, he had been necking back drinks like his soul depended on it, and it just might. With every gulp, he was feeling more reckless and dangerous. "Accept it, mate, you're in deep."

Theo let out a sound that bordered on a growl.

"The only thing stopping you is yourself."

And as Blaise's words sank in, and the Hufflepuff boy appeared to be going in to kiss you, something snapped within Theo. In a flash, he was on his feet and taking large purposeful strides in your direction. Then, the Hufflepuff boy was torn from your side and being punched directly on the nose with such a force he toppled over. He didn't even get a chance to fight back as Theo continued to hit him, merciless in his moves.

You stood in shock watching the scene unfold before you. After what felt like forever, Mattheo and Lorenzo showed up, pulling Theo off the poor boy who had done nothing wrong.

"What the fuck was that for?" the boy yelled, blood pouring down his face.

Theo said nothing, glaring at him as he finally stopped fighting his friends' grip.

"You need to calm down, mate," Mattheo said sternly, digging his fingers into his friend's bicep.

"Theo." You said, unaware what your intentions were when the name slipped out of your mouth. Regardless, his eyes snapped to yours, appearing to soften slightly as he observed your fearful stance.

What was stopping him, really? Did the purity of his bloodline really matter to him that much?

"I think you two need to talk," Mattheo said firmly, "And I think one of you in particular- not naming any names- needs to get over his own bullshit excuses and give into what he wants."

Theo's bloodied hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you in the direction of the Slytherin dormitories. You didn't fight him, strangely feeling your fear slip away despite what you had just witnessed Theo be capable of. When you were stood in his empty dormitory, face to face, you knew that you would have to be the first to say something.

"You were jealous," you said it as delicately as you could.

He said nothing, not even looking at you. This made you angry— enraged, even.

"Fucking look at me, Theo!" you screamed, "You haven't had any difficulty with it all week— staring at me like I'm the shit on your fucking shoe!"

His eyes locked on to yours.

"If you regret fucking me, just say it!"

"I don't regret it," he said, his volume low but tone dangerous, "Everything I've been raised to believe wants me to regret it but I can't."

You stood, stunned at his confession.

"I need you like I need water, you're an itch I can't scratch," he was stepping closer to you, making you step back, "You make me feel fucking ecstasy and misery all at once."

Your back hit the wall, and he grabbed your wrist again, bringing it to press against his crotch.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" he said darkly, "I've never been so hard in my life."

You gulped, "I'm not just gonna be another of your bitches, Theo, so forget it." Even though you wanted it so bad, and you were dripping from your core.

"That's the thing, L/N," he chuckled sinisterly, "I don't think I could ever get enough. I don't think anyone else will be able to satiate me ever again."

You jaw dropped.

"I think..." he continued, "...that you're a drug I got addicted to after only one hit."

You closed your mouth, looking up at him expectantly.

"And I don't think I ever want to be sober from you."

"But, I'm a muggle-born-"

He cut you off by slamming his lips on to yours with such furious passion your mind became hazy as you eagerly returned the kiss, lifting up your arms to wrap them around your neck. For a moment, he pulled away, just to whisper, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I don't think I care. I think I just want you in every humanly possible way."

"Then have me," you murmured.

It became a blur as his lips crashed on to yours yet again, and he picked you up by your thighs with his blood stained hands, leaving imprints on your bare skin through your fishnets. He moved you over to his bed, kissing down your neck while he blindly reached for the hem of your top. He wasted no time in pulling it off, along with your bra, so he could continue kissing down your body.

You relished the sensation— savouring it— feeling like you were the only girl in the world. Theo was treating you with such roughness and yet such care, like he had tunnel vision for you and only you.

He pulled off his shirt, before moving down to pull down your skirt, fishnets, and panties all at once. You watched breathlessly as he dived into your leaking pussy and ate you out like a man starved. He groaned, murmuring, "I've missed this taste so fucking much," before continuing his ministrations, eliciting the filthiest moans from you that had ever been produced. This felt even better than the last time.

"You are my goddess," he licked up your pussy, "And my devil."

He began sucking on your clit, and your body felt as if it was lifting from the bed as your orgasm hit you like a shockwave, coursing through your body and sending you to places you had only brushed against before.

"Fuck, Theo," you moaned, "Please fuck me."

The man didn't need telling twice, unbuckling his belt and kicking off his trousers. He didn't waste any time going to his bedside table to grab a condom out of the drawer, tearing it open and pulling it on in record speed. You would have helped him, but your orgasm had you borderline paralysed.

And, then, he was lining up in front of you— for the first time in his life, all he wanted was to fuck missionary. He wanted to see your face (and your nipple piercings that had him drooling) and he wanted to see your expressions as you came undone below him. To him, this was the most intimate that you could get in sex, and he only wanted that with you.

He groaned louder than he had ever groaned when he let himself push inside you, knowing that no other pussy would ever feel as magical as yours. Knowing that he should never have even considered depriving himself of this for some stupid blood purity reasons.

"Fuck, baby, you feel fucking amazing," he breathed out. You reached your arms up, gesturing for him to come down closer to you.

Theo obeyed, kissing you as he began thrusting, while his bloodied hands explored every inch of you, leaving a trail as they went.

"I'd rub your clit, but I don't want to get blood there," he said through heavy pants. You couldn't help but let out a small giggle, moving your own hand down to aid yourself along.

Your moans increased tenfold, as did his pace, and it wasn't long before he was biting down on to your neck in order to contain the groans that were fighting their way out of him. Who would have thought that such plain love making could make him feel so on top of the world?

"Theo- I'm gonna come," you choked out, and the way his teeth sank deeper told you that he was going to as well. As you both reached heaven in unity, he gave up suppressing his moans, and gave you the most melodious earful that you had ever heard as his movements became sloppy and tingles spread through your veins.

Eventually, he collapsed on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, stroking his hair gently as you lay in a post-sex haze.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, making your brain short circuit.

"You what?"

"I'm sorry for being a pretentious asshole."

A smile creeped on to your face, "So, is this just a sex thing, or...?"

"Fuck no," he snapped, "I need you all the time. You're mine."

"So, it's a girlfriend boyfriend thing?"

He froze, but then relaxed, and said into your neck, "Yeah, I guess it is."

"You guess?"

He sighed, "Well, you've ruined me for anyone else."

————————————————

masterlist

written; 07/04/2024 —> 08/04/2024 published; 10/04/2024 edited; —/—/——

[pretty-little-mind33]

Ice Hockey James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You wait for your boyfriend after his game — In the same universe as Suburban Legends

Genre: Fluff <3

Warnings: muggle au, college au, swearing

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

You stand in the lobby of the rink, your arms are crossed across your chest and you're cursing yourself for only wearing his jersey instead of something warmer. Still, you smile. How can you mind when you can remember how happy James looked when saw you in the stands?

You pace around, waiting another few minutes until you start to become impatient. All his teammates have left the rink, which is something you know because you've counted each of their high-fives.

You have only been dating James Potter for a month now, but his teammates act like they've already taken you in as one of their own. 

"I didn't think you'd wait for me this long." you hear him. His voice is a little hoarse and he's rotating his shoulder around as he grimaces.

"Is your arm okay?" you ask, standing up and meeting him in the middle of the lobby. He was shoved pretty hard into the plexiglass and you look up at him, concerned. 

His lips curl into a little smirk, "Worried about me, Y/l/n?" He whispers and leans in close.

"As your girlfriend, I feel like if I wasn't worried then we'd have a problem," you chuckle and roll your eyes at his insistence to continue calling you by your last name. He says it's a habit but you're convinced he just likes to see you flustered.

"Come on I'm starving," you take his hand and try to lead him towards the door. 

"Shit," James groans, "I forgot my gloves in the locker room," 

You drop his hand and turn around, crossing your arms. "Are you seriously making me wait for you longer than I already have?" 

He shakes his head with a smile, "No. You're coming with me this time." It's his turn to take your hand and he practically pulls you to the locker rooms. 

"Jamie, slow down," you say.

Suddenly, you're pressed against the wall of the empty hallway as James's arms cage around your head. His hockey bag had fallen onto the ground and he leans his head downwards so that you can look into his eyes. His eyes shine and he's giving you the most obvious, "I wanna to kiss you," pout. 

"What are you doing?" you feign coy behind a laugh as he slides his hands down to the side of your head and cups your cheeks in his hands. He's so close it's incredibly intoxicating.

"Kissing you?"

You smile, nodding, and he leans down to kiss along your neck. His hips press into mine and you think I've finally lost all sensibility. "You drive me insane — you and my fucking jersey," he whispers as his kisses move upwards and his knuckles skim the fabric of his jersey near your breasts.

"You're the one who wanted me have it."

"Yeah, to wear around your dorm—not during my games," he says and his hands climb up the wall again as you look up at him, "If your plan is to distract me when I'm supposed to be paying attention to the game, you should know it's working more than it should…"

You grin and stare at him with wide eyes. You make sure to chew on your lower lip so that you're doing exactly what you know turns him on. "Seems like a misunderstood then," you say, "Still, I didn't think you would have a problem with everyone knowing I'm yours, James." 

Something snaps inside him and that's when he kisses you. 

It's raw and rough, but the way his strong arms wrap around you waist to pull you closer is gentle and you melt into his arms. Wantonly, you run your hand through his hair. The dark brown locks are slightly messy from being under his helmet and when James feels me pull on them, his breath jumps in his throat,

"Everyone already knows you're mine." He whispers and then continues to kiss you.

You pull him even closer and with his good arm, he wraps one of my legs around his hip. You're both so engrossed in our activity you, unfortunately, don't hear footsteps until, James's coach clears his throat,

James stops kissing you and carefully lowers your leg onto the ground. He hides you behind him as you turn around, his cheeks crimson from embarrassment, as you attempt to calm your internal panic. 

"Hey," James says, weirdly casual.

"Rink is closing, Potter. Go home." His coach says and you peek at him from behind James's shoulder. He sees me and sighs, "You too, Y/n."

"Will do, sir." James says. Quickly, he lifts his bag back onto his shoulder and holds your hand. You mumble a small, "sorry" as you walk by his coach but you don't think he hears you considering you can't even bear to look at him. 

Once you're back in the lobby, you bury your head in your hands, "I'm so embarrassed," you groan. James laughs and rubs your shoulders.

You look up at him and frown, "This really isn't funny."  

"Coach doesn't care. I promise." James reassures you.

"Why? Is this not the first time he's caught you kissing someone here?" you ask, sounding more jealous than intended.

James's expression softens and, holding your hips, he pulls you close enough to kiss your forehead, "How many times to I have to promise you I'm not, and have never been, a player?" 

You nod, smiling guiltily, "Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have asked that, I'm sorry."

"Water under the bridge, Y/l/n," James jokes and kisses your temple. He swings his arm around your shoulder, "I remember someone said they were hungry, shall we eat now?" 

"Wait, what about your gloves?"

James grins wolfishly. "Oh, those are in my bag, I just wanted to make out with you."

tags: @mischievousmoony, @sayitlikethecheese, @longlivedelusion, @fangirl-swagg (pretending like i didn't just forget this until now!!)

[littlewinnow]

Au where the malfoys move away from the manor, scorp goes to preschool (harry + albus r there too??) and they explore the muggle world???

[mischievousmoony]

𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜

⟢ james potter x reader ⟢ your boyfriend walks a drunk you home ⊹ 773 ⟢ warnings/tags: intoxication

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Babyyy wait,” you whine, tripping over your own two feet as you walk down the abandoned streets of London.

You lean against the bricks of a random townhouse, swaying slightly. James’ hand, which hasn’t left the small of your back since you two left the bar, presses against you more firmly while his other raises to grip your waist, effectively steadying you in place.

The pair of you are heading home from a long night out with friends. Well into the A.M., James made the decision to bid your friends goodnight when he interrupted a game of ‘who can drink more’ between you and Sirius.

“What is it?” he asks, eyes carefully studying every inch your face as if your expression will reveal all of your thoughts and worries.

“M’shoe’s untied,” you mumble, looking down at your white trainers, scuffed from the way you’ve been kicking your own feet as you stumble home.

James’ eyes follow yours, “Oh, I’m sorry, love,” he murmurs, pressing an affectionate kiss against your temple as his head comes back up. He takes in your surroundings quickly, his eyes landing on the front steps to the townhouse you’re planted against.

“C’mere,” he says, wrapping his arm tightly around your waist to lead you to the stone stairs.

He eases you down on the second step, not before brushing any dirt or debris out of your way, and kneels before you.

James makes quick work of your shoelaces, checking in that he hasn’t drawn them too tightly before he finishes looping them through.

You mumble a complaint at the second tie, changing your mind about the tightness as you uncomfortably wiggle your foot in your shoe. Without a shred of frustration, James unties your shoe and loosens the laces before he starts again.

“How’s that, love?” he asks, his fingers pitter pattering against the firm leather that encases your toes.

You wiggle your foot again before deciding, “Better,” with a pleased smile playing at your lips.

“Alright,” James says, his voice gravely as he pushes himself up into a standing position. He holds both of his hands out to you, “Let’s get you up now.”

You place your hands in his large ones, but just ask he starts to tug you up, your arms go slack.

James breathes out chuckles of amusement. “You’ve got to help me some, love.”

“‘M tired,” you complain, your body following suit as you hang limply from James’ hands.

His eyes are soft as he watches you sink into some strangers front steps. Any other person would probably be quite annoyed trying to usher a drunk you home, but James is filled with nothing but an unwavering adoration for you.

“The sooner we get you up, the sooner we get you in bed,” James says in a lilting, convincing voice.

“Could just sleep here on the pavement,” you decide, your eyes fluttering in a series of exhausted blinks.

If it comes down to it, James would be resolute about carrying you home and letting you sleep in his arms, but he tries one more tactic before resorting to that.

“Think about this, though, if we get you to our warm bed we can wrap ourselves up in our cozy blankets,” his tone remains soft and compelling, “and I’ll get to hold you and run my fingers through that pretty hair.”

You stir at his words, holding onto his hands a bit firmer.

“Yeah?” you wonder.

“Yeah, my love. So, what do you say? Will you let me take you home so I can hold you?” James gives your hands a loving squeeze.

“Mhm,” you hum, your head bobbing in a nod as you finally brace yourself to be lifted.

James bares his teeth triumphantly. “Here we go,” he warns before tugging to you your feet.

You stumble into him, but James is ready to catch you as his arms wrap protectively around your waist.

He arches his upper body away from you so he can get a good look. One of his hands comes to the side of your head to smooth out your hair affectionately, “Ready to keep going?” he asks.

You hum another positive response and James pecks you twice, once on the forehead and then he can’t resist planting another on your lips.

He swivels, pressing his side into yours as his protective arm remains clasped around you, and begins leading you back down the street.

“Let’s get you home now,” he whispers lovingly.

“Where you’ll play with m’hair?” you verify, your drunken words melting together lazily.

His throat rumbles with tender laughter. “Yes, love, where I’ll play with your hair.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[choccy-milky]

Babes you got my foaming at the mouth every time you post or update! This new chapter was so precious!!

Modern AU where the only thing that’s different was instead of an illustration of Sherlock Holmes, it’s a picture of Banana Pumpkinpatch

GIRL THE WAY I GOOGLED "BANANA PUMPKINPATCH CHARACTER" BEFORE REALIZING YOU MEANT BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH LMFAOOO 😭😭😭 but aww THANK YOU💖and this is amazing i had to draw it as soon as u sent it, i love that cloras love for sherlock holmes also works in a modern au setting. CLORAS LOVE FOR SHERLOCK IS ETERNAL

(and yes seb would read/watch it bc of her)

[ginevrapng]

harry would simply refuse to pull out. the first time you said harry didn't need to put a condom on while having sex he was in heaven. you just feel so good around him, so wet and warm, he could stay inside you all day. this is one of the reasons why he wouldn't pull out.

the main reason being though that filling you with his cum gets him hard again almost immediately. he loves watching his cum spill out of your body before he pushes it back in with his fingers, bringing you to another orgasm as he mercilessly plunges his fingers back inside you. he loves knowing that he could knock you up, creating a family with you. he's considered swapping your birth control pills with sugar pills but doesn't want to risk you finding out, he knows eventually it will happen. it will stick. until then every night he'll cum deep inside you.

[charlie-jl]

My contribution to @marauderswithpalestineproject

Prompt #227 : “Sirius and Remus meet cute at a yarn shop, muggle au, hea”

I was so excited to see this prompt by BrigidFaye, it was a pleasure to work on!

I wanted to include more of a comic/story aspect where the two of them reach for the same yarn (cliche, ik), so just imagine that happened 🩷

Close ups:

[cardansriddle]

Sugar - (tom riddle x fem!muggle!reader)

Summary: Perhaps it was an accident. Or perhaps the fates were mocking him. He had not meant to venture into the little coffee shop and he had most definitely not meant to return. But he kept coming back and the waitress kept putting sugar packets near his coffee every damn time.

Warnings: Tom gets possessive halfway through so it's pretty tame for him. not proofread. oh also self-indulgent crime & punishment debate (got a lil carried away).

A/N: 5.5k words but it's kinda mehh. to the person who requested this, i hope you enjoy it at least a little &lt;3

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom felt as if he was a solitary figure in a world hushed by the winter's harsh embrace. With each step he took away from the desolate building of grey against the pristine canvas of winter, he felt lighter. He did not cast a look back towards the orphanage looming behind him, instead focused on the sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet as they led him further into the dark street cloaked in a thick layer of snow.

The wizard knew if he spent another moment in that cursed place he would have lashed out and killed someone, so he had hastily thrown his coat and emerald scarf around himself before slamming the door shut behind him. 

Two more years. He thought to himself. Then he would be out and would never be obligated to return again. Perhaps he would even burn the place to the ground if his plans worked out in his favour. 

The air was crisp, and his breath materialized in front of him with each exhale. His eyes quickly scanned the narrow empty alley for a suitable quiet place where he could pass his time. There was nothing interesting, except for the tiny bookstore nestled in the corner of the street that emitted a warm, golden light through its window. Tom quickly decided it would do, and he strode towards the place with purpose. A small bell chimed as he entered the place, which he quickly realised was a bookstore with a cosy coffee shop tucked inside. 

He inhaled the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of weathered books. Before he could lose himself entirely in the intoxicating symphony of scents, a sudden, loud thud echoed from behind the counter, jolting him from his reverie.

"Blimey!" someone cursed, their voice slicing through the tranquillity. Tom found himself rooted to the spot, curiosity piqued, as a figure suddenly emerged from underneath the counter.

It was a girl. Unabashedly, his eyes traced the lines of her features, noting the delicate curve of her jaw and the cascade of hair that framed her face. He assumed she was around his age if not younger and he stared at the girl as she rubbed her head, wincing when she hit a particularly soft spot before she realised that she was not alone in the shop. She froze like a deer caught in the headlights and he watched as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. 

Tom, still an observer, saw more than just the blush; he discerned the subtleties of her response, the way her eyes momentarily widened before seeking refuge elsewhere, fingers fidgeting with the edges of her knitted cardigan.

She attempted to compose herself and met his eyes. "Oh! Sorry, sir. How may I assist you?" She asked cheerfully, resisting the urge to duck her head down to avoid his intense stare.

He crossed the small distance to the counter. "I'd like a coffee. Black."

"No sugar?" she inquired, to which Tom raised a single brow. Her blush deepened as she quickly averted her eyes from his face.

"Right, of course. You may take a seat while I prepare this for you." With a nod, she hurried to fulfil his request, leaving Tom alone with the lingering scent of coffee and old books that were now intertwined with a pleasant smell of vanilla and sweet— 

It was her perfume, he realised with a start.

He hastily removed his coat and scarf before plopping down on the nearest armchair. His gaze remained fixed on the girl, absorbed in the rhythm of her practised motions as she prepared his drink, her movements seemingly both effortless and comforting. There was an almost lazy grace to her actions and he continued to watch as she sang under her breath so softly if he had not been staring so intensely, he would not have picked up on it. 

He wondered how he had never noticed this place before. He had been passing through this little street for as long as he could remember but for some reason, he had only stumbled upon it today. His sharp eyes darted around, instinctively searching for traces of magic, half-expecting the discovery of a hidden passage to the wizarding world but he quickly realised the place was undeniably, disappointingly muggle. 

Muggle.

He tore his gaze away from the girl at the mental reminder of what she was. He fished out a book from his bag and opened it to occupy his mind. 

The subtle shuffle of her approaching steps drew his attention back to the present, and he met her gaze as she placed the steaming cup of coffee before him. A sugar packet sat innocently beside it. His eyes lingered on the packet for a moment before lifting coldly to meet hers.

She, however, was undeterred by the intensity of his glare. “In case you change your mind.” She smiled at him softly before turning on her heel and walking back.

His gaze lingered on her retreating figure, and then, almost involuntarily, it dropped to the innocuous sugar packet.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom did not know why he had returned. Truthfully, he had not even noticed his feet had led him here until he was in front of the familiar wooden door that led into the coffee shop. Perhaps he had thought more than he should’ve about the disgustingly soft smile of that girl for the last five months. She was an insolent muggle, yet here he was, walking into the place as if he had never left. 

The seasons had blurred since he had last been here. Winter had long surrendered to the warmth of summer. He had to spend at least a month in the orphanage, and he was hoping Malfoy would invite him over for the rest of the summer. 

The place was just as he remembered it. The only difference was the lack of Christmas decorations. He faltered only slightly when he took notice of the girl behind the counter, already staring at him. She had not changed much. Her face was the same, less pale perhaps, but the same, nonetheless. The oversized knitted sweater that once enveloped her had been replaced by a little white sundress, and his gaze involuntarily lingered on the exposed smooth skin.

“Welcome back!” She greeted him cheerfully, and he was not surprised she remembered him. “What can I get you?”

“Black coffee,” he replied curtly

She nodded as if she was expecting it. "Coming right up." Gently shutting her book, she gracefully moved towards the coffee machine. Tom's eyes couldn't help but trail to the volume she had been reading, and to his pleasant surprise, it was Dostoyevsky. He had not pegged her as someone who would enjoy Russian literature, with its weighty and morally morbid themes. In his mind, she seemed more likely to be a Jane Austen enthusiast, with her intricately written romances and flowery prose.

“It’s 'Crime and Punishment'." He suddenly heard her soft voice declare, and he looked away from the book to give his attention to the girl. Then feeling as if she had said something silly, she blushed and looked away quickly. "Though I'm sure you figured that. I just wondered why you look so surprised." 

He replied before he could tell himself not to. "I did not imagine you as someone who would enjoy this." 

Emboldened at his words, she turned to face him, a hand casually resting on her hip as she sported a cheeky smile. "Am I to presume you imagine me often?"

His sharp inhale was audible as he absorbed the unexpected shift in her demeanour. He had not expected this shy, timid girl to tease him so boldly. She was a little vixen.

But he did not give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. A lazy raise of his brow was the extent of his acknowledgement before his gaze wandered towards the rows of bookshelves, feigning indifference. "Do you have another copy? Perhaps I shall like to reread this evening."

She frowned, walking over towards the table he had occupied last time to set his coffee down. He grimly took notice of the sugar packet placed near it. "I'm afraid not. But you can have mine." 

"No, that is quite alri—" He began to decline but she had already crossed the small distance between them and was holding out the thick book. He hesitated for a moment before his fingers closed around the object, careful to avoid touching hers. 

The girl smiled and walked away before he could even say thanks. Not like he was going to. 

Settling back into the soft armchair, he opened the book only to freeze at the sight of a name scribbled on the front page and he knew it belonged to her. The wizard rolled the name around in his mind and determined that it suited her. He stared at her name for a minute longer before turning the page and delving into the content of the book. 

He had been so immersed in the story that he had not noticed how the time had passed. The gradual hush of the coffee shop's ambient sounds finally penetrated his concentration, and he distinctly heard the girl approaching him. 

"I'm sorry to disturb you but we're closing in five minutes." She looked at the book in his hands. "You may return it once you're done." 

He hummed and looked down at where he had stopped. 

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."

He wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something. 

Tom found himself caught in the silent narrative of this stranger's presence.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He returned the next day.

She looked up to see him enter, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled up. 

Tom placed the book on the counter. 

"You finished it in one day?"

He shrugged. "I'm a fast reader." 

She gave him a small smile, turning to make his black coffee before he could ask for it. "Every time I reread it it takes me a few days." She paused for a moment, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "The usual?"

He nodded. "The usual." He debated whether or not to voice his next question, and decided one conversation with the girl would not hurt.

"Why do you read it so often?"

"Each time I find new details that make Raskolnikov's character more complex. Each time I discover these small little things I missed the last time I read it becomes so much better. Plus I enjoy his moral dilemma."

He hummed, his curiosity piqued. He took his usual seat and watched as she brought his coffee and set it down in front of him. "Enlighten me." He gestured towards the seat in front of him. She hesitated only for a second before taking a seat. 

"Raskolnikov is obviously a complex character. His actions are driven by a desire for power and superiority, a belief that he is exempt from conventional morality. However, one could argue that his internal struggles and eventual remorse suggest a more nuanced exploration of morality." 

Tom furrowed his brows. "I see him as a product of his environment, a desperate man driven to extremes by the harsh circumstances he faced. His morality shifts to the other side of the spectrum." 

She cocked her head to the side, and he could see her getting slightly frustrated. "But morality is not just a spectrum; it's a complex interplay of values, societal norms, and personal convictions. Raskolnikov's guilt stems from the clash between his actions and the intrinsic moral compass within him. It's the consequence of recognizing the weight of one's choices."

He scoffed before he could stop himself. "Morality is subjective. What is right for one may not be right for another. Raskolnikov was weak and he was an idiot. Guilt is a useless emotion and it is for the weak."

Her expression remained unwavering. "But perhaps it's that recognition of guilt that separates the morally discerning from those who lack empathy. The fact that you can't comprehend his guilt doesn't make it foolish. It makes it human."

Tom's eyes narrowed a glint of impatience in his gaze. "Human or not, guilt is a hindrance. It's a sentiment for those too feeble to rise above their actions. If I were to make a difficult choice, I would do it without hesitation, without remorse." 

He only realised the slip of his tongue after the words left his mouth. He stilled, gauging her reaction yet her response was measured but firm. "Raskolnikov's guilt is a testament to his humanity, his ability to grapple with the consequences of his choices. It's what sets him apart from those who operate without remorse." 

"But—"

"So what you're saying is you would kill and feel no remorse?" She cut him off.

Yes.

"You do not understand." He did not intend his tone to be so harsh, yet the words left his mouth coldly. She visibly withdrew and nodded stiffly. "Right. Enjoy your coffee."

He opened his mouth to say something but realised for the first time in his life he did not know what to say. 

He was left staring at the cursed sugar packet she had left near his coffee again.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He did not return the next day. Nor the day after. Or after.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Two weeks passed with no sign of him.

And then she saw him step into the coffee shop. He walked in with determination. He walked up to the counter, meeting her gaze with an intensity that mirrored the unspoken tension between them. "I'd like a black coffee," he said, his tone even, though a hint of something lingered beneath the surface. 

She nodded, her expression composed but guarded. As she prepared the coffee, the air seemed charged with unspoken words. Her usual cheerful smile was notably absent. The absence struck him, and he realised he had enjoyed her smiles.

When she placed the coffee in front of him, there was a palpable pause. He glanced at the sugar packet, a subtle acknowledgement of the lingering disagreement. Without a word, he took it, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he poured the sugar into his coffee. 

She looked at him, her gaze unwavering, before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He returned the next day. And the day after that. And for the rest of summer.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

The next time he stepped into the familiar place, winter had covered the city with a snowy blanket once again. It had been a year since he first discovered this little place. And he had not seen his little waiter since he left for Hogwarts in September. 

When he walked in, her eyes lit up visibly. "Hi!" She waved at him with a bright grin. 

"Hello." He greeted as he unwrapped his scarf and settled in his usual seat. In a matter of minutes, she was bringing him his usual order. She was back to wearing her warm knitted sweaters. "How did you enjoy the book?"

"Oscar Wilde never disappoints," he said. She hummed in agreement, pleased at his words. He watched as her hands dropped to fidget with the bottom of her sweater. "You wish to ask me something." He stated. "Ask."

"Do you study in a boarding school?"

Tom hesitated only for a moment before replying. "Yes."

"Oh. Well, that explains the months of not showing up."

"Were you expecting me?" He teased her with an amused smirk, taking delight in the way her cheeks reddened. 

"I was just wondering that is all," she admitted, a hint of curiosity peeking through. Tom observed her, noting the return of the timid, shy girl from their first encounter. It amused him how a few teasing remarks could momentarily whisk away her fiery boldness. He couldn't help but wonder what it would take to awaken it once again.

"And do you wonder about me often, little vixen?" he added, a playful glint in his eyes.

She blushed harder at the nickname but then as if a thought had struck her, she straightened and Tom watched as she visibly mustered up her courage. "I actually was wondering your name."

He bristled, but she must have not noticed because she continued. "I suppose I have not given you mine either." She mused out loud and announced her name to him. "But I thought it bizarre that considering all the time we've talked we never got around to that. Friends who do not each other's names." The girl laughed at the last notion and only then she realised that Tom had remained unnervingly quiet throughout the exchange. She raised her eyes from the frayed edges of her sweater, and the sight almost made her take a step back. His eyes had darkened, and she could have sworn she saw them flash red. There was no warmth, no familiarity in his gaze. 

"Are you alright?"

Suddenly, he rose from his seat, an ominous tension permeating the air as he advanced towards her with every word. "We are not friends. You dare to think I would be friends with the likes of you?" His words were sharper than the keenest of blades, cutting into her with merciless precision. "Foolish, little girl," He spat out before grabbing his things and storming out of the place. As the door closed behind him, the little coffee shop seemed to exhale, the echoes of his harsh words lingering in the hushed aftermath.

She stood frozen in her place, helpless against the storm of emotions and the tears that began to veil her vision. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom fumed for months after their last encounter. How dare the ignorant muggle insinuate that they were friends? He scarcely considered his Knights of Walpurgis as his friends, and she thought she would just appoint herself the title? Who did she think she was?

"Mate, you alright? You've been unresponsive for a while." Malfoy nudged him slightly, attempting to draw his attention back to the present.

Tom made a noise of acknowledgement before mentally shaking the image of his little waiter— no, not his, he berated himself— from his mind. 

But no matter how he tried, he could not. He could not just banish her from his thoughts. He knew a part of him, a rather embarrassingly large part of him enjoyed her company, her passion, her conversations— just her. 

And there, tucked away in the recesses of his trunk, lay her damned book— a taunting reminder of her. The temptation to burn it, to obliterate any remnants of her from his life, danced on the edge of his thoughts. He had shoved away, out of sight if only just to save himself the fury, the anger, (the longing).

He wondered if she was going through the same turmoil as him. He hoped she was. She had no right to make him feel this way and get away with it unscathed. 

But she was too enticing to give up. He did not know what it was about her. She was a muggle, an ordinary, plain girl working at a forgotten little cafe. Sure, she liked books, but so did a lot of other people. Yes, she was pretty, but so were a lot of other girls. But none could even come close to stirring his emotions as she did.

Perhaps it was the ease with which she conversed with him. Or the entirely too cheery smiles. Or her endearing knitted sweaters— though he secretly favoured the sundresses.

He, of course, knew what it was. He had tried to deny the idea to himself, but there was no escaping it. Tom had never been able to be unequivocally authentic with another individual before. From his early childhood, he refused to allow anyone close to him. He never lowered his walls and rejected anything that would yield a genuine connection. It was refreshing with her. He had no cause to uphold a curated facade.

Had she not been a muggle, he would entertain the thought of her bewitching him. He would have been convinced the girl put some spell on him or slipped a potion into his drink. 

It was maddening. 

She was maddening.

He sighed upon realising that he had spiralled again thinking of her. He needed to return the book, and maybe that would ease his mind. Perhaps once he was rid of her possession, she would not haunt him anymore. (Though he knew he was only trying to reassure himself with the last thought.)

As summer loomed around the corner, it felt both too distant and too imminent, mirroring the paradox of his tangled emotions.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

The sound of her laugh rang out before he could even close the door behind him. His head snapped up so fast it was a wonder he did not get whiplash. But there she was, his little waiter, chuckling delightfully as some boy spoke lowly from behind the counter. Chuckles escaped her lips, and she bit down on her lip in a futile attempt to stifle the laughter, her hands deftly at work preparing a drink. Despite her efforts, laughter bubbled forth once more, forcing her to set the cup down to avoid any potential spills.

An immediate surge of anger coursed through him. Who was this boy? What business did have with her? What right did he have to elicit such genuine laughter from her? (Most importantly, how dare she replace him?)

Tom swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting to gather himself into some semblance of a composed, unaffected man that he most definitely was not at that moment. With a loud, purposeful cough, he sought to catch her attention.

She spun around, the practised smile reserved for customers settling onto her face as she readied herself to serve him. However, the smile swiftly vanished the moment her doe-like eyes locked onto him. She looked like a deer caught in headlights as she stared at him, wide eyes roving over his face as if to confirm that he was really standing there, in front of her, and was not a figment of her imagination. 

Because despite their last encounter, despite the anger, and the hurt she had felt, she kept hoping he would return. She kept imagining him standing there, with his ridiculously fancy scarf as he spewed out an apology. She had delved so deep into her fantasies involving him that now that he was actually there, she did not what to do or to say. Her tongue was tied, and her brain was fogged. What was she supposed to say?

It seemed he decided to grant her mercy and be the first to break the tense silence.

“Hello.” 

“Hi.”

He shuffled closer, though his steps were unsure, unlike his usual confident strides that she was used to seeing. “I wished to return your book.” He declared yet made no move to reach into his bag for the said book. He allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of her, her eyes that always seemed to glisten, her hands that were always fidgeting, her little sundress that he was afraid would drive him to insanity, (and her lips that he wished he could press against his own just so he could find out what they felt like, tasted like.) He shoved the last one into a drawer in his mind and locked it away. He could not fantasise about her. She was a muggle. He could not stoop so low as to hold affections for a muggle girl.

“Did you enjoy it?” The girl asked tentatively as if afraid one wrong word would set him off, have him spitting more harsh words that would dig deep into her skin and remain there. 

“As always.” He replied. Because every book she gave him held another meaning. She was a clever girl, choosing the ones that she knew would have him coming back with a strong debate prepared in his mind. They always seemed to stand on opposite sides of every argument that the books posed, ensuring that their discussion would get heated, exciting, and thrilling. 

While Tom vehemently disagreed with her views, he found pleasure in the way her mind worked. He admired her quick-wittedness, her ability to counter every argument he posed. No one else had engaged him in such stimulating conversations. She was a breath of fresh air, a captivating force he wanted to inhale and never release. He yearned to suffocate in the essence of her being, to be consumed and to consume in return. He wanted to own her— that irrational desire to keep her for himself was always there in the deeper parts of his mind that he was scared to venture into.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She responded but he could detect the subtle undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice.

He hesitated. “May I have one black coffee?” He was extending an olive branch, and while it was not an outright apology, coming from Tom, it was a whole declaration. 

“It’s five minutes until closing time.” 

She would not be swayed so easily then. 

Fine. Tom thought. He would make her come to her senses. 

The boy who he had forgotten was still there suddenly came to stand next to him. Tom eyed him with disdain, his features curling into an unimpressed sneer, raising a lazy brow.

“I’ll help her close up, mate. You can leave now.” 

“Daniel, that is not necessary.” She muttered, glancing between the two men nervously. Daniel? Tom clenched his jaw, enraged. In his absence, it seemed she had gotten on first-name basis with a boy. His mouth soured with the taste of betrayal at her blatant ignorance. How could she discard him so easily? Had she not suffered all these months at the mere thought of him? Had he been alone in his suffering?

“No,” Tom stated flatly. “You will leave.” He told the boy then turned to face his waiter. “We will talk.” 

“Tom, I do not think—”

He cut her off with a hiss. “It was not a request.”

Daniel seemed wholly displeased. He opened his mouth to argue, but his girl beat him to it. “It’s okay, Daniel. I will see you some other time.”

“Whatever he has to tell you, surely he can say in front of me.”

She shook her head gently, trying to dissuade him. “It’s a matter between him and I. I would rather talk privately.” 

Tom looked smug as he faced Daniel again, struggling to contain his smirk. He could see the indignation clear on the boy’s face as his eyes flickered dubiously between her and Tom. He knew the wizard was no ordinary acquaintance of her, he could feel the palpable tension in the air like a wolf. 

Tom, of course, wished to push his buttons further, just to have the last word. “You heard her. Leave.” 

Daniel scoffed. “I will see you tomorrow then.” He muttered and with one last long look, he squared his shoulders and left the café with as much dignity as his wounded pride could muster. 

As the door shut with a final thud, they were left in pregnant silence, both unsure of the dynamics at play between them. The air in the café hung heavy with unspoken tension as if the silence itself had taken on a weight, pressing down on them both. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than usual, each second echoing in the quiet space.

She was the first to cave. "Well? You wished to talk." Gesturing towards him with a hand expectantly. "Talk." 

Tom inhaled sharply, and for the first time in his life, he did not quite know what to say. How to proceed. 

"Who is he?" The question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. 

She raised a brow. "Seriously? After how you walked out of here last time I would think your choice of words would be different."

"Different? I hardly think the question was unfair."

She huffed impatiently, discarding her apron as she turned from him to put everything away for the night. "Of course. How foolish of me to assume that you have no business inquiring about my life when we are not even friends." She chuckled bitterly. "You made the notion quite appalling if memory serves me right. You wish to know who is Daniel? For all you know, he could be my fiancee. Would it matter? No. Because you and I are hardly acquaintances." 

An unfamiliar feeling began coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he suddenly felt sick. She briefly turned to fix him with a pointed glare and froze at the look on his face. The dancing flames of the candles seemed to mirror the flickering emotions in Tom's eyes—flames of irritation, discontent, and an unexpected pang of jealousy.

Tom could scarcely believe his fate. How was it that he— the most powerful wizard of his generation— had succumbed to the pathetic disease of— what was it? Desire? Lust? Infatuation? Such mundane urges were beneath him, he had no wish to pursue anyone or anything that was not remotely related to his quest for power. Yet there she was. In her infuriating fucking dress and those innocent eyes. Did she even know what sort of turmoil she had caused him?

All of a sudden he felt exhausted, defeated. His shoulders sunk visibly as he ran a hand through his hair. He would use a hundred of her sugar packets in his coffee if it meant she would just grace him with her bubbly smile again and just— just what? Leave him be? He did not want that. Treat him as if nothing had happened? Maybe. Release him from whatever enchantment she put him under? Yes.

"What do you want from me?" He asked at last, frustration clear in his voice.

She regarded him with disbelief as she rounded the counter to stand directly in front of him. "What do I want from you?" She repeated incredulously. "I want an apology! I want an explanation! I want—" she sighed, cutting herself off before she could finish the thought. "You cannot just show up here demanding things and ordering people around after how you treated me last time. If you wish to continue this conversation, you will apologise to me."

"You want me to say sorry?" He took a step towards her.

"Yes!"

"Fuck your apology." 

Before she could register what was happening, Tom closed the minute distance between them and caved into his desire. He grabbed her face, fingers threading through her hair, and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was not gentle; it was a collision of pent-up tension and bottled-up desires.

Tom's lips moved fervently against hers, pouring his frustration into the act. It was a silent declaration that transcended the boundaries of his complicated inner turmoil. Tom knew that. But he could not pull away from her— not after having tasted how her lips feel like. 

Her hands, which had hovered hesitantly in the space between them, found their way to his shoulders, fingers gripping the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer. 

She felt—tasted like God's favourite nectar, sweet and addictive and he knew he would never get enough of it. She might not have been a witch, but he was bewitched by her. 

As they broke apart, breathless, the air between them hung heavy with the residue of their shared kiss. He dared not to ease his hold on her, only stared at her with darkened eyes, taking delight in the way her lips were bruised, and puffy, all because of him. But it was not enough. He needed to mark her for all to see. 

He dove into the tender skin of her throat like a man starved, teeth sinking into her flesh with no warning, and a sick sort of satisfaction washed over him at the muffled moan that escaped her mouth. He sucked on the skin until he was sure there would be a purple mark blooming on the spot before running his tongue over the flesh to soothe the sting. He did not waste any second before moving to mark another spot.

"I do not even know your name." She managed to choke out in between her whimpers, hands moving of their own accord to tangle in his hair, and a particular tug had him growling deep in his throat. 

"Tom." He whispered, pulling away from her neck only to return his lips to hers. "Say it. Say my name." He murmured in between the kisses, pushing her back until her back was pressed against the counter. He easily picked her up to place her on the surface, his fingers trailing along her thighs to her knees to nudge them apart so he could stand in between them. 

"Tom." She breathed out in a daze, and he smirked in delight. 

She was his. He had already branded her, and he would do much more to ensure she knew it was him she belonged to. 

He leaned to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. "I hope you know there is no going back from this. From me." He whispered, fingers slipping under the strap of her dress and dragging it down her shoulder slowly. "You are my dirty little secret now. Mine."

She shuddered under the weight of his words but he was already snaking his hand around her throat as his lips found home on her own once again.

No going back.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

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[ellecdc]

Heyyy! I’m usually a silent tumblr warrior but omg I keep coming up with so many different Au’s in my head. 🙈 Also I love your writing it’s godsent. 😏

Tonight I was thinking of Model!Reader x photographer!Remus 😖💔. Who are like totally obsessed with each other and are always supporting their careers. Remmy getting sooo many candid photos of reader and using them in his portfolio. Along with them both going to each others viewings/ runway shows. I just can’t omg so many possibilities ..🥲

~🪼

this is so. stinking. cute. the second I received this I had to send it to @maladaptiveescapism (my muggle AU queen who gifted us all the beautiful, beautiful man that is chef!sirius) and she came up with the SWEETEST meet cute. thank you for sharing this prompt, lovie!! I hope I did it justice <3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader who ends up being Remus' big break [2.6k words]

CW: fluff, swearing, reader has a dog and he's adorable, meet cute, fame

Remus needn’t look in a mirror (or one of the windows of the shops on the street) to know that his nose was pink; he had always been very sensitive to the cold, and it was only exacerbated by his love for it.

It was his favourite time of year; waking up in the morning when the ground was still covered in shimmery frost before turning into a misty fog as the sun poked its way through trees and buildings. The trees and grass were still grasping desperately at the shades of greens that it usually wore, but the leaves - determined in their journey - insisted on turning various shades of oranges, yellows, reds, and browns.

Remus loved them. 

He also found that people were perhaps their most beautiful when cold - he hardly ever left for his morning walks without his camera, which also meant he left for his morning walks without a pair of mittens or gloves which might impede his ability to control the lens and shutter - and there was something about the cool air that brought out the most beautiful colours in not only the trees, but also of the people. 

And Remus yearned to capture it.

He’d found a beautiful elderly man enjoying a mocha outside a small coffee shop who he chatted with for a while before he asked him if he’d be okay to take some pictures. Every crinkle near the corners of his eyes was evidence of laughter and joy, every wrinkle between his brow a testament to years of consideration and thought, every divot around his mouth was a story he shared, a kiss he gave, a meal he enjoyed. 

Every deep line on the man’s face - Albus had been his name - told a story, and Remus was lucky enough to have captured even a fraction of it with his camera. 

Remus’ fingers were struggling to thaw out in his pockets as he took the long way home - traversing through the quiet park in the centre of the city which was slowly becoming more lively as the morning wore on and the sun rose higher, though it was still quiet enough for Remus to enjoy. 

Some days he had more luck than others, not because there was a lack of beautiful people - because there was surely no shortage of that - but rather nothing that inspired Remus to create. 

Some days it frustrated him, and some days he was able to remind himself he was really doing this for fun and not being paid for his portraits save what small income he made through creator perks on various social media platforms. 

How nice it would be to get paid for his portraits, though. 

Remus had paused in his walk to bend over and pick up a disposable coffee cup from the sidewalk to put it in a rubbish bin when he spotted the perfect picture. 

There was a wrought-iron and wooden slat park bench a few paces away from the footpath in the park sitting in a lone ray of sun that managed to force its way through the treetops as if some deity had placed a spotlight on it to ensure Remus would notice it.

The patch of grass that the sun was kissing was melting into its usual green whilst the grass surrounding it was still its unique combination of dark sage, green, and silver courtesy of the autumn twilight.

A senior looking dog - a border collie, if Remus guessed correctly - attached to a simple red lead seemed to have found himself a good stick for chewing as he basked in the sun, the lead looped gently around the wrist of his person who sat on the bench with a ratty looking paperback in their hand. 

You were ethereal. 

You had one hand shoved into a knitted mitten whilst the other held your book, though a second mitten sat ready should you no doubt decide your free hand was too cold and needed to switch. You had multiple layers on and a comfy pair of shoes. Clearly out for a walk yet knowing that your dog did less walking now-a-days and spent more time in sunny spots with a nice stick, you came prepared with a novel to enjoy the transitionary season much the same way Remus did. 

And you were stunning.

You looked like a sip of warm apple cider, like the trees had parted their branches just to give the sun somewhere to direct its warmth and light, like the sun came out only for the chance of seeing you.

Remus actually took a look around him to see if anyone else was seeing what he was - nothing short of a masterpiece - but the masses appeared wholly unaware that they were in the presence of something hallowed. 

He lost his nerve more times than he could count as he tried to convince his boots to take him in your direction, to start up the conversation the same way he always did with every other stranger he stopped on the street to take their picture. But this felt different, you were different, you-

…were looking over at him; your dog ceasing to chew on his stick in favour of staring intently at Remus alerting you to the fact that you had an admirer (at best, or a stalker at worst).

To avoid looking like the latter, Remus forced his feet to bring him to you, smiling at you as you marked your place in your book and closed it before offering him a wary smile of your own. 

“Pardon me, I’m terribly sorry to intrude, but, erm, well-” sodding son of a bitch, stick to the script, “my name is Remus and I’m a street photographer, I uhm, I take portraits of people I pass on the street and post them to my socials.” He offered awkwardly as he pulled out his phone - numb fingers nearly dropping it as he raced to try to prove to you he wasn’t some creep with a long-distance lens on his camera hanging around public parks - wincing as the end of his sentence lilted up in the form of a question. 

“I couldn’t help but notice you and your dog, here,” he pushed on, said dog still watching him carefully and tilting his head at the end of every one of his sentences, “and you look beautiful- or, rather, it makes a beautiful picture! I, well, I guess I was wondering if you’d mind if…I took your picture?”

And by some absolute twist of fate, you had the good graces to simply smile at him like he wasn’t some awkward bumbling fool which only served to make you even more beautiful as you handed him his phone back.

“That’s really cool, Remus,” you offered, sounding as though you were testing how his name felt forming from your lips as you made eye contact with him, “thank you. I’d be happy to be your model.”

“Brilliant.” Remus let out with a breath of relief. “Now are you and…” he paused as he gestured toward your companion. 

“Ziggy.”

“...Ziggy a package deal or should I ask him his rates?” 

You let out a bubbly laugh which encouraged Ziggy to sit up - albeit slowly due to his age - and cock his head at you. 

“What do you say, Ziggs?” You asked the canine who cocked its head the other way. “Do you want to model too?” 

As if the dog knew you were waiting for a response, he let out a polite bark before laying back down. 

“Well there you have it, Remus; we’re all yours.” 

The picture returned to its previous perfection; between you returning to your novel sans one mitten and Ziggy’s focus back to his treasure, Remus was able to capture you exactly how he wanted. You were wearing a soft smile which only grew when Remus nearly bumped into a jogger in an attempt to get a different angle. 

You held your book to your mouth to hide your laughing as he called a hasty apology to the girl who barely slowed down on his account, and he shot a cute picture of you like that, too; your eyes full of mirth and crinkling at the corners in a quiet laugh at his expense. 

Remus was infatuated. 

It felt blasphemous in some way, but Remus had to admit he was very chuffed to have an excuse to join you on your alter bench, pretending as though you leaning into him - for warmth or for a better view of his camera screen, he wasn’t sure - didn’t make him feel like his heart was trying to exit out of his throat as you sung your praises for the pictures. 

“Remus.” You hissed as if you really couldn’t believe your eyes. “These are really good! Oh my god…”

Remus chuckled awkwardly as you brought the camera closer to you, ultimately forcing Remus to breathe your air as the camera strap pulled his body closer to yours. 

“You’re very talented.” You added earnestly  before looking up at him with something akin to awe. “Do you have a portfolio?”

“Erm, well,” he mumbled, suddenly very aware that he was nearly on top of a relative stranger in this public park at about 8:30 in the morning, “I…sort of? I mean, I have my socials.”

You nodded at him and looked back down at his camera before passing it back to him. “Are you going to post these?” 

“I’d very much like to, if you’re okay with that?” 

“Please do.” You agreed readily. “Do you tag people in your portraits?”

Remus nearly snickered as he thought of Albus this morning who seemed completely perplexed by the phone in Remus’ hand let alone by the concept of social media. “Sometimes; not everyone I photograph is online. Would you like to be tagged?”

“Yes please.” You beamed at him; Remus’ fingers itched to lift his camera back up to capture you like this, too. Fuck, you were beautiful. “My mum’s always saying she doesn’t have nearly enough pictures of me.”

“Well we can’t have that.” Remus chuckled as he pulled out his phone and opened the notes app so you could add your Instagram handle. 

“It was very nice meeting you, Remus.” You offered, and Remus felt something close to shock at how truly sincere you sounded. “You should be charging people for that.” You added, gesturing to the camera hanging from his neck. 

“I could always start now.” He offered in jest, and he was rewarded again by your bubbling laugh; Remus felt nearly torn at having to leave, every shift of your face and expression begging to be photographed, and every muscle in his body begging to do the photographing. 

But when he offered you a smile and a slightly awkward wave as he walked away  - the sound of your laugh still  echoing in his mind - he wondered if maybe, in some universe out there, there was a version of him that got to commit every expression that crossed your face - to memory or film, either would suffice. 

𓆱𓇢𓆸𓆱𓇣𓆱𓇢𓆸𓆱𓇣𓆱

The following day, Remus couldn’t escape the office meeting quick enough; his phone buzzing incessantly the last twenty five minutes of the forty five minute planning session - that he was supposed to be taking dutiful notes throughout - burning a hole through his trouser pocket and into the muscle of his thigh. 

35 missed calls from Sirius.

12 missed calls from James

Sirius: answer the fucking phone, you sod!!

Sirius: when the fuck did you take these!?!? (4 attachments)

Sirius: Lupin I STG

James: Lily is freaking out!!! Did you get an autograph??

James: who am I kidding. You had no idea, did you?

“What the fuck…” Remus murmured under his breath as he scrolled through the notifications on his lock screen, blushing something fierce when a coworker brushed past him reminding him he was supposed to be being professional which generally meant not swearing. 

The second Remus stepped onto the pavement outside of his building, his phone started ringing again. 

“What the fuck is going on?” He answered instead of saying ‘hello, Sirius; alright?’. 

“What the fuck is going on!?” Sirius barked back. “How about you tell me when the fuck you met Y/N L/N!?” 

Remus felt his eyebrows cinch as he pulled his phone from his face when another text came in. 

Lily: I’m so fucking jealous right now!

Lily: also, I should probably say congrats; I’m sure this is going to be great for your career!

“Remus!”

“Christ, Sirius, I’m here.” Remus muttered as he brought the phone back to his ear. “But I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Son of a bitch.” Sirius muttered on the other end of the line. “The pictures you posted yesterday!”

“Of the man? Or-”

“The bird! Remus! Y/N L/N!”

Remus suddenly realised why the name sounded familiar; it had been your instagram handle.

“Oh! Do you know her?”

“Do I know her? Mate, she’s fucking famous.”

“What?”

“She’s a sodding model! She’s been in Sports Illustrated, walked in New York Fashion Week and Paris Fashion Week, she was in a music video recently; fuck who was the artist…”

“Wha- what the fuck? How did I not know this?” Remus asked dumbly. 

“God, you’re thick. Did you not notice the fucking blue checkmark next to her name on instagram when you tagged her?” 

Remus was so glad Sirius couldn’t see him right now; he always felt properly chastised when it was Sirius handing his ass to him, but this felt bigger somehow. 

“Well… I don’t know, I’m verified too but that doesn’t mean anyone knows me!” He argued half-heartedly; he really hadn’t noticed…

Sirius snorted. “Yeah well, everyone’s gonna know you now, mate.”

“What do you mean?” Remus asked sternly.

“I mean” Sirius started theatrically “that she’s shared your original post to her story and posted your pictures to her page and tagged you as the photographer. She only posted it two hours ago and it already has almost 70,000 likes. Have you not looked at instagram?”

“Sirius, I work in a fucking corporate office, I can’t be on my phone all of the time.” He spat rather petulantly. 

“Bully for you.” Sirius muttered in response. “Check now then.”

Remus stole himself as he closed the call screen that simply consisted of a terrible picture of Sirius before opening up instagram. 

The notification tab simply read 100+, but when he moved to view his profile he realised he had gained nearly 10,000 followers just since leaving for work this morning. 

“Jesus…” Remus breathed out slowly. 

“You might want to put a portfolio together, mate.” Sirius offered, tone still slightly teasing, though the edges were softer and Sirius’ pride was nearly palpable even through the phone. “This might finally be your big break.”

All because Remus had noticed you - a beautiful girl - in the park with a book and a dog sitting in a lone ray of sun that managed to force its way through the treetops… as if some deity placed a spotlight on it to ensure Remus would notice. 

And of course he noticed you; how could he not?

I'd be happy to be your model. Do you have a portfolio? You should be charging people for that.

This might finally be your big break. 

Little did either of you know that you would end up being Remus’ big break.

[santaasi]

raison d'être

pairing: james potter x shy!reader

summary: james potter never thought that the most terrible day of his life could give him a new reason for existing

warnings: muggle au, fluff, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i’m alive!! but i feel like with all my uni and graduating stuff i just lost inspiration. but i promise that very soon there will be more fics! love u all. have a good time readings my new work <з

JAMES POTTER HAS NEVER BEEN A LOSER. On the contrary, his life has always been like an endless lottery win. Ideal and loving parents, who provided him with everything he needed and supported him at every step. Friends who were always there for him even in the worst. A perfect career in sports that was only going uphill every day and promised to take James to new heights. James Potter was a golden boy who always seemed to be surrounded by a halo of luck. In all his twenties, he didn't know what failure and lose were. Troubles avoided him and it was something familiar to him. That's why when everything went wrong on one of the most important days of his life, James was taken aback.

It was one of hundreds of other summer days when the weather in London was pleasing with its sunshine and warmth. And that was the day James Potter overslept for the first time in his life. And it would be fine if he was late for training or a regular meeting about plans for the week, but… James Potter overslept and was late for a meeting with their future sponsors, who would decide the fate of the team and its entry into a more perspective professional league.

But apparently this was not enough for fate (if it ever existed). The fate decided to mock James more by taking all his luck and replacing it with failure. Because as soon as he left the house and got into the car, it didn't start, although last night, when he returned from another get-together with Sirius and Remus at the bar, everything with his car was fine. He had to ride in a completely packed bus, breathing in sweat fumes and feeling someone's elbow dig into his lower ribs. By the time he got to the bus stop, the air in his lungs was starting to run out. And besides all that, James had to walk the long way to the sport base to protect his ass and buy coffee for everyone at the meeting, to pretend that this was what he had planned from the very beginning. It was Sirius's plan, which, to James' great surprise, sounded really good for the first time in what seemed like forever. But instead of going to the usual café on another street, James ran into a new coffee shop, which was right next to the sports base, which decently helped to shorten his time.

A bell rang over James's head as he entered a softly lit, bright space with a couple of tables and guests who were sitting here, working and drinking pleasantly smelling coffee. For a very recently opened place, the coffee shop probably really had a lot of popularity in the area. James covered the distance from the door to the cash desk in a couple of steps and opened a dialogue with Sirius, quickly rattling his order to the barista, whom he did not even deign to look up at.

"’m sorry, could you repeat the order more slowly? This is my first day and..." you whispered softly, biting your lip uncertainly, and James looked up. His gaze is full of anger, which made you swallow a lump in your throat.

You've never been good with people. Large crowds scared you, and even with your close friends you preferred to message rather than call. But when life shook you up and the deadlines for paying for college were already burning, you had to get over your fear and be interviewed at a new coffee shop near your house, where an employee was urgently needed. A week ago, you were over the moon when you were accepted. The job didn't seem difficult and learning the basics of barista work was even interesting, and most importantly, the customers were all friendly. And you even have a hope that working with people won't be so bad. But as soon as you were faced with James Potter's eyes full of irritation, all hope for something good immediately disappeared, replaced by fear and nervousness.

"Or... or I can call another more... experienced specialist..." you began softly, stumbling through the words.

When James Potter entered the café, he was really annoyed because of the plans that didn't go the way he wanted. But as soon as his gaze meet your frightened doe eyes, his face immediately softened and all the emotions that he had experienced before faded into nothing but pure adoration.

You were beautiful. No. You were lovely. You looked like a small frightened deer that has met a hunter in the forest. Innocent. Sweet. Elegant. James Potter didn't know that there were perfect people in this world, but looking at you, he was convinced of it. His world seemed to stop for a second, concentrating only on you and on awkward lowering of your stunning eyes and how you bit your lip and how your thin fingers was nervously fidgeting with the bottom of your apron.

You cleared your throat and said something. James didn't hear it. He was consumed by you. He wanted to get to know you. Beautiful pictures were already playing in James's head, like movie stills of how he would ask you for your phone number and how you would smile and hand him a crumpled tissue, which he would, of course, keep all day as the apple of his eye. He has already imagined your date. How he takes you to one of those silent film festivals that were taking place in London right now. How you will chat for days on end without thinking about anything. How at the end of the evening he will take you home and slightly bending down, the distance between you will be reduced, and then…

As soon as you turned around to leave, James immediately fell out of his fantasies, quickly trying not to let you leave. He reached across the counter and grabbed your wrist, forcing you to pay attention to him again. But as soon as he realized how uncultivated he was by violating your boundaries, he immediately took his hand away, stuffing them into the pockets of his jeans, guiltily lowering his eyes to the floor. It was not typical for James Potter to blush, but he could feel the heat rising up his neck, scorching his cheeks.

"Um... sorry... I-I can repeat the order," James said nervously, and you noticing his change of mood and awkwardness relaxed a little, listening attentively to his order once again.

You quickly handed him the check and asked him to wait next to the pick-up counter, smiling sweetly, which made James's heart skip a beat. He nodded wordlessly and swallowed, still feeling the tingling in his hand where your fingers touched his skin.

Waiting for his order, James couldn't take his eyes off you. Everything in him screamed that he should come up and ask you out or ask for your number, as he had done hundreds of times.… But he couldn't... something was stopping him. And so when his name came off your lips (he didn't think that his own name uttered by someone could make him almost faint) and you handed him a bag with his order, all he could do was whisper a quiet "thank you" and leave the coffee shop without even turning around.

He spent the rest of the day as if in a dream. James was sitting in a meeting trying to concentrate on the important things, but all he could think about was your smile, which made his heart skip a beat. At practice, James was also distracted, as if hearing your sonorous but soft voice everywhere, the memory of which made his body goosebumps.

James Potter spent the whole day in a daze until a bell rang above him and the door closed behind him with a thud. The cafe was empty, the chairs were raised on the tables and the one who completely confused his thoughts stood with her back to him, quietly humming some remotely familiar song playing on the radio. You slowly swayed your hips, moving backwards, mopping the white tile floor until your back hit James's hard chest. You suddenly screamed loudly and turned around, covering your mouth with hand in shock. James ran a nervous hand through his hair and frowned slightly.

"Sorry, I thought you were still working, I came in... to buy something to drink," James quickly rattled on one exhale, meeting your gaze.

You blinked quickly a couple of times, trying to move away from the shock that you experienced from an unexpected meeting with a visitor. In him, you immediately recognized the guy James, whom you first dubbed the last jerk that came to ruin your first working morning, and then you noticed how cute and sweet he was when a blu sh appeared on his cheeks and immediately melted away.

"No, no, we are still working... there were just no visitors and I decided to start cleaning early… But you can order... it's okay," you assured him, giving James a soft smile before turning around and standing behind the counter, putting the mop aside.

James looked at the menu carefully, and then at you. There was silence in the coffee shop for a couple of seconds, and you felt your cheeks start to burn from the piercing gaze of his coffee eyes. You slowly lowered your gaze, trying to hide a silly smile.

"What do you recommend?" clearing his throat, James asked without taking his eyes off you. He wanted to stay in your company as long as possible and get to know you better. At least for a little bit. "What's your favorite drink?"

"Hmm... I'm not a big fan of coffee," you thought, looking over your shoulder at the menu. "That's why I would recommend herbal tea with raspberries and mint..." you nodded, concentrating on the guy standing in front of you again and smiling. "Well, it's also my first day and I'm not sure I can make you a good coffee... so tea would be the safest option," you joked, biting the inside of your cheek.

James laughed hoarsely, throwing his head back and you shyly lowered your head, hiding the blush that became even brighter on your cheeks. James was the epitome of what the perfect man looked like in your fantasies. Slightly curly hair, warm brown eyes that when he smiled seemed to be able to warm the whole world and round glasses that brightened his face and gave him even more charm. Such a handsome guy must have had an equally beautiful girlfriend. You thought, but quickly pushed these thoughts away from you. He was just a client, you shouldn't have worried about these issues.

"Then I'll have tea... yeah... I'll have tea with raspberries and mint," James said, calming down a little, adjusting the rim of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, which had slipped off.

You nodded and turned away, brewing James your favorite tea, making yourself one cup along the way. He was lost in thought again, watching you do your job carefully and with concentration. Your finger was slowly sprinkled with herbs, mixing them with mint leaves and dried raspberries, along the way he noticed how you brought the herbs to your nose, inhaling their fragrance and gently smiled to yourself. You looked more relaxed and peaceful than you did this morning when James scared you with his impetuous words.

"Herbal tea with raspberries and mint for James," you announced the order as if there was someone beside the two of you, and James smiled brightly at you.

His hand lingered on yours for a couple of seconds longer than necessary, and you felt your heart begin to beat faster in your chest. There was not enough air in your lungs, and it was only when James took the cup of tea from your hands that you were able to take a ragged breath that did not pass James by. The guy grinned, sipping a drink from his mug.

"Wow, this is really good! I like it," James said enthusiastically, looking right at you. His brown eyes seemed to look straight into your soul, and you swallowed nervously again, licking your lips, feeling how for a second his gaze dropped just below your eyes.

"Thank you..." James tilted his head slightly to the side, looking at you expectantly.

You said your full name softly, and James seemed to echo it, tasting it. You were quickly caught again, feeling your fluffy eyelashes tickle your cheeks. James shook and lowered his head, trying to hide his spreading grin. Apparently, he was not the only one in this cafe who was fascinated by his interlocutor.

"Well, thank you for the delicious tea. See you tomorrow, love," he winked at you before leaving the cafe.

The endearing name came out of James's mouth so easily that for a second you were taken aback, standing rooted to the spot behind the cash desk with your mouth open, like a fish jumping onto dry land. But at the last moment, a quick goodbye escaped your lips, more like the creak of a door, and the ringing of a bell announced James's departure.

Through the big window, you watched him walk slowly along the street lit by lanterns, smiling like a madman and slowly sipping his tea, and something jumped in your chest.

You put your hand to your chest, feeling your heart beating hard against your rib cage, and then wrapped both hands around your cheeks, which pleasantly cooled your heated skin. And the only thing you could think about, standing in an empty coffee shop, looking at the door through which James came out, was that the barista's job might not have been so bad. At least as long as James appears in front of you, it definitely won't be bad.

And in order to see him again tomorrow, maybe you'll switch shifts with Marlene.

But only 'maybe'.

thankx for reading <3

for the first time in month, I had so much fun writing these one shot. so I hope you enjoyed it too. you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

- your santi 🪐

masterlist

[banana-ge-ge]

Art request for Severus’ birthday: Teen muggle Sev in an emo rock band

YES. Though he looks more like a young adult here but still, YES.

Pose with reference!