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buckysleftbicep · 1 month ago

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letters through time (2) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: 1940s!bucky barnes x modern!fem!reader

warnings: bucky being an absolute flirt, some angst

summary: you find a letter from 1944 hidden in the old brooklyn apartment you moved signed by one james buchanan barnes. you write back, he did too, and somehow, across decades, you both fall in love.

word count: 1.8k

author's note: chapter 2 is here!! i love this chapter so, so much and i hope you do too! thank you for stopping by my loves! i miss 40s!bucky so much.

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It became a ritual.

Each morning, before brushing your teeth or even checking your phone, you opened the drawer.

Sometimes the letter was already waiting—tucked beneath the linen cloth like it had grown there overnight, the envelope still warm from some invisible warmth. Other times, you had to wait. Hours. A day. But it always came.

And with every letter, Bucky Barnes became less of a ghost and more of a person.

You learned the rhythm of his days. The sharp whistle that pulled him from his bunk before sunrise. The sound of boots slamming against pavement during drills. The warmth of the boys in his unit, the fear of the war hidden behind their jokes, the quiet way Steve carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint.

You told him about your own days. The museum. The cataloging. How every box of artefacts made you feel like you were touching echoes of a time you now saw through his eyes.

You joked about your coffee addiction, the neighbour’s cat who acted like it owned the hallway, and the fact that you were talking to a man who was born before sliced bread became a thing.

He told you he found that hilarious.

March 19th, 1944 Sweetheart, You said people in the future are obsessed with their coffee, right? I’m starting to think I was born in the wrong era. But you wanna know the real reason I wake up smiling lately? It��s you. Your words. Your voice in my head when I read your letters. I never thought paper and ink could feel like a heartbeat. I asked Steve what he thinks about writing letters to a girl from the future. He laughed and told me if anyone could charm a girl, it’d be me. So. Here I am. Trying. Yours, Bucky

Somewhere between shared stories and inside jokes, your letters turned soft.

You told him about your favourite books. The first time you got your heart broken. That sometimes you felt a little lost, like you were floating through life without knowing where to land. You asked if he ever felt the same.

He did.

You asked what scared him most.

Not coming home. Forgetting who I am, maybe. Being forgotten. Losing people I love. Losing myself. Does that count?

You wrote back that of course it counts. That he wouldn’t be forgotten. Not by history. Not by you.

He sent a dried daisy once. Pressed between the pages of his letter. He picked it, he said, from a patch behind his barracks, just for you. It arrived crisp and pale, as if time hadn’t dared touch it.

You said you like soft things, doll. Thought you deserved something pretty. Hope the flower’s not too crushed, I’m better at shooting targets than pressing petals. I like thinking of you with something I held in my hands. Makes this whole crazy thing feel real. You feel real to me, (Y/N).

You read that line more times than you meant to.

And then one night, after a long shift at the museum and the kind of quiet that makes you feel a little too alone, you sat down at your desk with a pen in your hand and a question you weren’t sure you should ask.

You asked him for a photo.

It felt like you were crossing some invisible line. But the way your chest fluttered when you read his letters, the way your cheeks warmed at his teasing, it made you want to see him. Not the black-and-white image in a museum. Not the name in a textbook.

Him.

You folded the letter before you could change your mind and tucked in a polaroid, nothing dramatic. Just you in the corner of your room, soft light spilling across your face, your favourite sweater slipping off one shoulder as you smiled, small and uncertain, into the lens.

You slid it into the drawer and closed it gently. You didn’t expect anything to happen.

But the next morning, when you opened it again and there it was.

March 24th, 1944 Hey there, gorgeous. Is it allowed for a guy to be knocked breathless by a picture? ‘Cause I think I forgot how to breathe the second I saw you. You're beautiful, (Y/N). There’s this look in your eyes, like you already know me. Like you’ve been waiting for me. You asked for a photo, so I’m sending one. Just me, back behind base, jacket half-off because Steve said I look less like a “buttoned-up cadet” that way. Punk said I should look like the guy writing love letters to a girl in the future. He’s not wrong. Thought you should see the face that’s been stealing your time, sweetheart. Do I get another photo in return? Maybe one where you’re smiling that secret little smile you keep mentioning in your letters? Always yours, Bucky

You pressed the photo to your chest the moment you saw it.

He was handsome, of course, broad shoulders, a strong jaw, that soft curve of a smile. But it was his eyes that got you. Cerulean-blue and impossibly warm. Kind in a way photographs rarely captured. Like they weren’t just looking out, but looking at you. Through paper. Through time. Through everything.

You wrote back with shaking fingers and told him he wasn’t playing fair.

I don’t think you know what you’re doing to me, Bucky Barnes. Your letters make my heart race. And yes, I’ll send another picture. But only if you promise not to fall in love with me too fast. Kidding. (Sort of.) Yours always, (Y/N)

After that, the letters got flirtier.

You called him trouble. He called you trouble he’d gladly ruin himself for.

You teased him about the way he laced his boots after he sent a picture of himself leaning against a wall behind base, jacket slung over one shoulder, boots perfectly tied like he’d stepped out of a training manual.

You really lace them like that every day? you wrote back. No wonder Steve calls you a tightass. You joked after he had complained in the last letter about how Steve comments about his boots and how he laced them.

He replied that a man needed to be ready for anything. Especially if he was trying to impress a girl from the future.

He teased you in return about your obsession with peanut butter and how it came up in almost every letter, how he still couldn’t wrap his head around it being spread on toast.

Can’t wait to try it, he wrote, especially if you’re the one handing me the spoon.

You asked about his childhood.

He told you about Coney Island. Stealing candy from the corner store. Watching fireworks with Steve every Fourth of July. His first kiss at sixteen that made him laugh afterward because he sneezed mid-way through.

You told him about your favourite street vendor, how you always bought two hotdogs and left one for the homeless man at the subway entrance. You said it reminded you that kindness still existed in the world, even when everything felt overwhelming.

Bucky’s reply came back with a line that made your breath catch.

You're the kind of person I fought this war for. You make me believe there’s still good waiting for us on the other side.

You didn’t sleep that night. Not really.

Just reread the letters under your covers like a lovesick teenager. Smiling into your pillow. Laughing softly at his dumb jokes. Heart aching at his soft words. And slowly, slowly, something bloomed.

You were falling for Bucky.

A man eighty years out of reach. A soldier caught in the pages of history. And yet, the way he wrote to you… the way his words wrapped around your heart like warmth in the cold.

It felt real.

And terrifying.

But you didn’t stop writing.

One night, you asked him a dangerous question.

If we could meet one day, if somehow the world let us, what would you want to do first?

His answer came in the next letter, scribbled quickly, like he couldn’t get the words down fast enough.

I’d want to touch your face. Just to make sure you're real. Then I’d probably kiss you. Slow. Like I’ve been waiting lifetimes. We could walk through Brooklyn, hand in hand. You could show me the future, and I’d show you the places where I left pieces of myself. I don’t know how this happened, doll. But I think I’m falling for you. Hell. I know I am.

You pressed your fingers to your lips as you read, like it might soften the ache building in your chest.

He was falling for you.

And god help you because you were falling too.

March 28th, 2020 Dear Bucky, I find myself thinking about you all the time. When I pass old brick buildings. When jazz plays from passing bars. You’ve become a part of my days without me even realising it. I fall asleep thinking about your words. I wake up hoping for another letter from you. And when everything around me feels too loud, it’s your voice in my head that quiets it. There’s something about the way you write, the way you talk to me like I matter, that stays with me through my day. It lingers and it reminds me of the warmth left behind after a fire. I keep your daisy tucked in my favourite book, it's delicate and a little crushed, but I love it because it came from you, because you thought of me. Maybe this is fragile and maybe it’s impossible too. But it feels real. And I don’t want to let it go. I don’t know what this is, not exactly. But I know how I feel when I read your letters. And Bucky… I think I’m falling for you too. Yours, (Y/N)

The reply didn’t come the next morning.

Nor the day after that.

Your heart twisted with worry. Every moment without a letter felt like a thread unraveling from your chest. But then—on the third day, you opened the drawer and found an envelope.

Thicker than usual.

And when you unfolded the pages, your heart nearly burst.

March 31st, 1944 Sweetheart, I’m being deployed. Steve and I are heading to Austria. Orders just came in. We leave in a week. I didn’t want to tell you at first. Didn’t want to break what we’ve built. But I can’t lie to you, I don't want to. You asked what I’d do if I could meet you? Well, I’ve started asking around, talking to Howard. He’s the smartest guy I know. He thinks that maybe there’s a way. A way for me to get to you. He said he’d help me, when we make it back. So, I’m writing this with hope, (Y/N). Hope that when this war ends, when I’ve done what I have to do, I’ll find you. Please wait for me. Yours, always, James

James.

You clutched the letter to your chest, tears stinging your eyes.

You whispered his name like a prayer.

And wrote back with your heart in your throat.

taglist: @ndanddnd @darling-eos @alikkatz @creepybake

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lupinsversion · 9 months ago

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𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐝

• summary: when james finds himself talking to the other marauders about reader.

• contains: lovesick james potter, fluff

• word count: 493

masterlist || requests

James lounged in the common room by the fireplace, a goofy smile on his face as he thought about the girl who had completely captured his heart. The other Marauders: Sirius, Peter, and Remus noticed his smitten expression and exchanged knowing glances.

Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes and chuckled. “Look at him, all lovesick and heart-eyed."

Sirius smirked, raising an eyebrow at James' dreamy expression. "Oh, someone's got it bad," he teased, his gray eyes sparkling with amusement. "I've never seen you like this, Prongs.” He added, the nickname carrying a hint of friendly mockery.

Remus chuckled lightly, leaning back against the chair he was sat on. "You've fallen, and fallen hard," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and affection.

James' cheeks flushed slightly as the Marauders called him out on his smitten state, but he couldn't deny the truth. He was completely smitten, and he couldn't stop the happy thoughts that filled his mind. But he tried to play it cool. "Oh, shut it, you lot.” He retorted with a sheepish smile, trying to regain a sliver of dignity.

Sirius chuckled, the smirk still playing on his lips. "Face it, Prongs, you're whipped.” He teased, enjoying having the upper hand in the playful banter.

Remus glanced back at James with a perceptive gaze, noting the speed at which James had fallen head over heels for this girl. "You know, Prongs, you fell for her like a ton of bricks," he pointed out, his tone laced with amusement. "I've never seen you this smitten this quickly before."

James leaned back against the couch, a silly smile still on his face. "Yeah, yeah, I know. That lil' shit tripped me, and now I can't seem to get her out of my head." He spoke in an overly affectionate tone, his words dripping with smitten adoration for the girl.

Sirius' smirk widened at James' confession, amused by his smitten state. "Oh, so she's a little heartbreaker, eh? Got you on your ass quicker than a bludger to the head."

James chuckled at Sirius' observation, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "You know what's even funnier? She actually tripped me. Our first meeting, and she literally sends me toppling on my ass."

Sirius burst out laughing, the image of James being tripped by this girl was too humorous to not find it hilarious. "Oh, that's brilliant! Tripped you, eh? How very...graceful of her.” Sirius teased with a smirk.

Remus chuckled lightly, enjoying the playful banter. "Seems like she left quite the impression, Prongs. First meeting and you already fell for her, quite literally.” He quipped, a smile playing on his lips.

James rolled his eyes playfully, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. "Oh, shut it, Moony. It wasn't my finest moment," he joked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "But you know what they say, all's fair in love and war. She got me fair and square."

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moonstruckme · 2 months ago

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also new idea,

jilly x reader-

reader stayed up all night reading as is clingy and sleepy the next day. but tries to act like they weren’t awake all night and play it off!

Thanks for the request lovely!

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 983 words

Your kitchen smells like warmth and Sundays. James’ trapezius is the perfect pillow for your cheek, shifting every now and again as he pushes bacon around in a pan with your arms slung around his waist. He’s telling you about some thing which happened to Sirius a dozen years ago and is undoubtedly hilarious, but his words hum together with the sizzling of your breakfast into a comforting din.

You hardly register the sound of your front door opening until Lily is slipping past you to set a pint of orange juice in the fridge.

“They were nearly out,” she says.

“Ooh.” James is far too lively for half nine in the morning. “Did you nab the last one?”

“I did.”

“There’s our girl.” He transfers his spatula to the opposite hand to reach for a high-five. Lily rolls her eyes but taps his palm gently. James keeps beaming nonetheless.

Your girlfriend unclips her hair from where it’s wound up behind her head, shaking it out at the roots. You and James stare.

“I love it when she does that,” he murmurs.

You hum, transfixed.

Lily’s eyes roll again—at this rate, she’ll have worn them out before lunchtime—but her cheeks color faintly. “Stop it,” she says.

“Likely,” James scoffs. “Kiss?”

You spot the flicker of defiance in her eyes, the half-second wherein she considers holding out just to make a point, but ultimately Lily leans forward, kissing him chastely on the lips. She moves to you next.

“You’re quiet,” she observes softly as your lips part, her thumb stroking down your cheek. You lean into the touch.

“It’s early,” you say.

You’re considered by soft, discerning eyes. “Are you feeling alright?”

You do your best to curve your lips into a reassuring smile. “Mhm. Just lazy.”

“I thought you were falling asleep on me a minute ago,” says James. He gives your hands, intertwined across his abdomen, a loving squeeze. “Why don’t you go rest on the couch, angel? This’ll be ready in just a minute.”

You sigh as you let him go. “So eager to be rid of me.”

“I just know she wants to watch her show,” he teases. Lily presses a kiss into his cheek before leading you over in front of the telly.

Your girlfriend is a current events junkie. Most mornings you come into the sitting room to find her already watching the news, tsking quietly to herself while she munches on a piece of toast. She’ll stay right there until she has to go to work, and on the way she’ll listen to a podcast to catch any highlights she might have missed on the local channel. Sundays, it’s back-to-back-to-back news programs for most of the morning. Lily loves it, and you and James—well, you just love indulging Lily in anything she likes, really.

“Sure you’re alright?” she asks as you cuddle up against her side, pulling a throw from over the top of the couch.

Really, sometimes you think your girlfriend is too clever for her own good. Or yours, apparently.

You twine your fingers with hers, saying, “Mhm,” just as the morning’s breaking story comes on, and then she’s distracted.

James comes in with breakfast a short while later. He lifts your legs to settle in underneath them, and you hum gratefully as you bite into your bacon. With Lily’s hand clasped with yours and his forearm laying across your calves, you’re the picture of contentment. James makes idle comments about which actors the newscasters look like, and Lily corrects him when he gets all the Chrises mixed up.

“Surprised you haven’t gone and got that book you’re obsessed with yet,” James teases you as two government types debate a financial issue you don’t think you could grasp on your best day. You’re hardly conscious as you stare at the screen. “You really must be tired.”

“I’m done with that one,” you mumble.

“What?” He sounds surprised. “I thought you really liked it.”

“Oh. Yeah, I did.” You realize what you’ve just admitted. “I meant that I finished it.”

James’ eyebrows make an appearance over the rims of his glasses. “I forget how quick you are sometimes. Weren’t you only, like, midway through after dinner last night?”

“Yeah…”

You can practically feel Lily’s attention shifting to you. “Sweetheart,” she says in a tone both dreading and knowing, “how late did you stay up reading last night?”

“It was,” you hedge, “a really good book.”

“Mhm,” she hums, prompting. “And when did you go to sleep?”

Your voice quiets. “I didn’t.”

Lily seems vindicated, but James’ mouth pops open in utter astonishment.

“The whole night?” he asks. “You read until morning?”

“I finished it just a little while before you woke up,” you admit.

“I thought your eyes looked red.” Lily wraps an arm around your shoulders, laying a heavy kiss on your head. You all but melt into her side. “You should have said, love. It’s the weekend; there’s no reason we can’t have a nap.”

James rubs underneath his glasses. “What am I going to do with the two of you?”

“Me?” Lily asks defensively.

“Oh,” your boyfriend levels her with a look, “don’t think I’ve forgotten that I had to come pick you up from work at nearly two in the morning last month after you wouldn’t come home.”

“That was completely different!”

“Never in my life have I had the desire to stay up for an entire night. And to read! Lovie, if you’d been out at least I could understand…”

“No you wouldn’t,” you say. “You’d still want to come get me.”

“True,” James concedes. “Maybe it is better that I’ve chosen such nerds.”

“It feels like he’s trying to insult us,” you murmur to Lily.

She shrugs. “I take it as a compliment.”

James grins, leaning over to kiss her and then you in turn. “I know you do, lovely.”

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prettydaisygirl · 2 months ago

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Hiii can u maybe write about that tiktok prank trend with james and its like unboxing a parcel thats been ordered for when they go swimming at the end of the week and its just two strings nd filming him to see how he reactss

Have a good day thank you!

Omg nonnie this prank is hilarious! I love these tiktok requests because most of the time it introduces me to the trend and I fall down a rabbithole lmao. Hope you enjoy <3

boyfriend!James Potter x fem!reader string swimsuit tiktok prank ✿ 524 words

cw: fem reader, James tells reader she can't wear the 'swimsuit', tiktok prank, a bit suggestive

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

You’ve had your phone propped up against the bowl on the kitchen table for 10 minutes, a box half-opened in front of you as you wait for James to get home. You press record right as you hear the front door open, smiling excitedly at the camera as your plan goes into action.

“Okay, everyone! So as you know, my boyfriend and I are going on a little holiday this weekend.” You glance up at the screen as James enters the kitchen, gym towel around his shoulders and curls damp. Visible in the camera, it’s clear he’s just come back from training. He reaches into the fridge for a water bottle.

“Well, I wanted to do a little show of the swimsuit I ordered…” You fully open the box now, noticing from James’ movement in the camera that the mention of the swimsuit seems to have caught his attention. He leans against the counter with one hip, taking sips from his water bottle as he watches you open the box.

“A-ha!” You say excited, pulling the small bundle of string out of the box. “Here we are!”

You unravel it, showing it off like it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever seen. James looks confused, brows furrowed, water bottle in his hand but forgotten as he watches.

“It’s perfect! I love the way the top matches the bottoms!” You purse your lips, holding the strings up to your body like you would an actual suit.

“Hold on…” James speaks up from behind you, and you turn, acting as though you’re surprised he’s paying attention. “What is that?”

“What is what?” You ask, acting like everything is completely normal.

“What you have, in your hand.” He gestures to the strings and you hold them up, smiling brightly like you’re so excited to be holding them.

“My new swimsuit, Jamie!” You try to hold in your laugh as he gapes at you, “Don’t you love it? I think it will look great in our pictures while we’re on holiday.”

“You’re definitely not wearing that on holiday.” He comes over and takes the strings from you. You pout at him, looking between him and the camera.

“Why not, James?” You cross your arms, “You never tell me what to wear.”

“No, I don’t.” He places the strings onto the countertop like touching them burns, and he turns back to you, placing his hands on your waist, “And as much as I would love to see you in… whatever that is, I think you’ll be breaking about 10 different laws if you wear that around.”

You laugh loudly, and James does too. You shake your head, reaching up a hand to pat him on the cheek.

“That was perfect, Jamie, thank you!” You are still giggling as you end the recording, posting it to your feed.

“What?” He looks between the strings and you again before it dawns on him. “Another tiktok prank?”

“Yup.” You say with a chuckle.

And even though James acts like he hated it, he kinda does want to see you trying to wear those strings. He might have slid them into his pocket. Maybe.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

#daisy's writings #james potter #boyfriend!james potter #string swimsuit tiktok prank #james potter fluff #james potter au #hp marauders #james potter drabble #james potter fic #james potter oneshot #james potter smut #james potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter x self insert #marauders fic #marauders x reader #marauders au

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godricgryffinsnore · 2 months ago

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Like Hell You’re Flirting with Her ♡ : A Sirius Black Fan Fiction.

pairing : Sirius Black x fem!reader

summary : A hilarious, heart-melting moment unfolds in the Great Hall as Sirius Black’s feelings come to a head—complete with mischief, fluffy confessions, and a whole lot of teasing from his fellow Marauders.

warnings : Mild Jealousy/Possessiveness (Sirius gets very territorial—but it’s all fluffy and loving), Excessive Fluff (seriously tooth-rotting levels of affection), Public Displays of Affection (clingy Sirius alert!), Strong Language (light cursing, e.g., “like hell” and “damn”), Heavy Teasing/Banter (from James, Remus, and Peter—Sirius gets roasted, lovingly), Minor Embarrassment/Secondhand Embarrassment (poor Hufflepuff boy), Unhealthy Levels of Handsome Sirius Black Energy. Please let me know if I missed any.

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

word count : 0.6k

main master list <3

banners : @kodaswrld and @cafekitsune

The Great Hall was bursting with golden light, chatter bouncing off the enchanted ceiling. Laughter spilled from the Gryffindor table like honey—sweet, endless, sticky. You were sitting between Remus and a charming Hufflepuff boy, one leg tucked under the other, laughing softly at something that boy—James thought his name was Owen?—had said.

Sirius Black was not okay.

He was sulking. No, worse than sulking. He was brooding with a vengeance, stabbing at a poor piece of toast with such venom it crumbled under the pressure.

“She’s laughing,” he muttered darkly. “She never laughs at my jokes like that.”

James, chewing on a mouthful of eggs, barely glanced up. “Maybe because your jokes aren’t funny, Pads.”

Peter snorted into his pumpkin juice.

Remus, very serenely, turned a page in his book. “You’ve told her the one about the goblin and the cactus twelve times. And you always forget the punchline.”

“I don’t forget the punchline,” Sirius hissed. “I build suspense.”

“Oh, is that what you’re building?” James said sweetly. “Because it looks a lot like irrational jealousy.”

Sirius dragged a hand through his already wild hair. “She’s mine.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You do realize you’ve never actually told her that, right? You just... follow her around like a very pretty, very loud dog.”

“Yeah,” Peter added, “A possessive one. Like a kneazle with abandonment issues.”

Sirius didn’t even blink. “I am not possessive.”

James pointed toward the Hufflepuff boy—now holding your wrist to admire your bracelet.

Sirius stood up so fast his bench screeched backward. “Like hell you’re flirting with her.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Remus muttered, half-laughing as he shut his book.

The Great Hall fell into a hush as Sirius strode—yes, strode, as if his boots were fueled by fury and forbidden poetry—toward you.

You blinked up, halfway through a giggle. “Sirius?”

He stopped just in front of you, jaw clenched, storm in his eyes, the kind of storm that made you want to open your arms and drown in it. He looked you up and down, looked at the poor Hufflepuff’s hand still lightly holding yours, then very deliberately slid his arm around your waist.

He turned to the other boy with a dazzling, razor-edged smile.

“She’s taken,” Sirius said smoothly. “Thanks for admiring what’s mine.”

The Hufflepuff blinked. “Oh. I didn’t—”

“Mine,” Sirius said again, to be clear, tugging you a little closer until you were practically in his lap.

You felt your cheeks bloom with heat, but your heart was already hammering a giddy rhythm. “Sirius—”

“You’re mine,” he repeated, softer this time, to you and not the world, voice like silk dipped in honey. “You always have been.”

You should’ve teased him. You meant to tease him. But the way his eyes bore into yours, all firelight and unspoken poetry, it cracked your ribs open a little.

“I know,” you whispered. “So are you.”

The table behind you erupted.

James was howling. “He said it! He actually said it!”

Remus looked delighted. “Took you long enough, Padfoot.”

Peter started miming dramatic kisses behind Sirius’s back.

Sirius didn’t care.

He tucked his face into your neck, arms wrapped tightly around you like he’d waited a thousand lifetimes for this, like your laugh was a song only he had the lyrics to.

“Mine,” he murmured again, and this time, it wasn’t a warning or a claim—it was a promise, etched in starlight, whispered into your skin like a vow.

── .✦

Later that night...

“Sirius?” you asked, curled in the Gryffindor common room, his head on your lap as he traced idle patterns into your knee.

“Mhm?”

“You know I only laughed at that guy’s joke because he had broccoli in his teeth, right?”

Sirius blinked. “You what?”

You laughed. “He had no idea.”

He stared at you, then collapsed into your lap with a groan. “I ruined his life for no reason.”

“Jealousy looks cute on you.”

“You look cute on me,” he muttered into your jumper, and you could feel the pout.

James passed by, grinning. “Oi, don’t forget to snog your property goodnight, Pads!”

Sirius flipped him off without lifting his head, but you kissed his hair anyway.

#della 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black fic #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fanfiction #marauders #the marauders #marauders era #mauraders #sirius black x oc #sirius black fanfic #sirius black #sirius orion black

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sleepyremu · 4 months ago

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curls // harry potter x fem!reader

summary // while harry is trying to study, you just want your hands in his hair. you both love it — it’s comforting, intimate, personal — but harry shows you how distracting and enjoyable it can really be

warnings // smut, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, “sir” kink, p in v, slight edging, small praise

a/n // what started as a sweet innocent blurb turned dirty 😉 i hope you like this, my first published smut 😆

harry james potter had good hair.

it wasn’t enough for you to just look at it. your hands had to be entwined in each lock, the soft curls tangling themselves in each of your fingers, the scent of sea salt and light mousse flooding your nose and smelling like home.

it had gotten to the point where each time you’d sat next to each other on the common room couch, your hand instinctively slithered up his back and into the spot where his hair met his neck.

every time you were together, it was a subconscious move. harry adored the intimacy and the touch — it made him feel loved and wanted. but that wasn’t to say it couldn’t be, well, distracting.

“once more, please harry!”

harry had your arms pinned down on his bed to keep your hands off his head. he’d told you he wanted to get some work done without you touching his hair, and you’d gotten fake pouty and waited til his back was turned to jump onto him and wrestle him for it. you were not winning.

“i’m trying to study!”

“that��s hilarious.”

“y/n!”

“only kidding!”

harry’s glasses were hanging off the edge of his nose as he looked down at you. “do you promise to let me work for a bit?”

“oh, but why? you love when i touch your hair.”

harry closed his eyes and exhaled. he really did love it. it was just a terrible distraction when he was trying to focus. your hands knew the perfect places to tug to get him going.

“y/n, it’s very sweet, but it can be terribly distracting at times. please. i’m begging you.”

you laughed at him. “fine! merlin, you’re no fun.”

he let go of your wrists and moved back so you could sit upright on the mattress. “i’m plenty of fun. just give me a minute. i’ll be all over you soon.”

you blushed, and snuggled up into his comforter, smelling strongly of his cologne. the smell enveloped you, and soon you’d fallen into the plane between conscious and unconscious. the only thing that brought your eyes back open was the feeling of harry’s hands slithering around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest.

“hello, my love,” harry spoke softly. “still wanna put your hands in my hair?”

“more than ever.”

you turned to your other side to face him, your half-open, watery eyes and warm cheeks making harry fawn at your innocence. it was something he’d usually cherished and protected, but right now, it was something he wanted all for himself. something he wanted to ruin. he felt a growing tug in his trousers the longer he stared at you — a sleepy smile tugging at your rosy lips, his jumper hugging your chest, his boxers hugging your thighs.

you moved a hand up to cradle his face. he leaned into your touch, only making him harder, and he knew that soon he wouldn’t be able to contain himself. you were just so precious, so sweet, so gentle with him. he just wanted to ruin it all.

he leaned in to kiss you. butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the meeting of your lips, but when the kiss deepened and you felt harry’s tongue start to slip between your lips, the butterflies slowly morphed into a familiar feeling deep in your stomach begging for release.

harry’s lips were still pressed to yours when he felt your other hand snake into its comfortable position in his hair. the feeling fanned the flames burning within him, and he let out a small hum of pleasure into your mouth. you couldn’t help yourself from smiling at knowing how good your touch made him feel.

“fuck, love,” harry said lowly. “that feels so nice.” he leaned his head back into your hand, and you maintained your grip on his curls.

you giggled at his desperation. “i know.”

your smile made him melt, and that feeling made his cock throb. “i need you so bad, lovely.”

“oh yeah? what’ya need from me, harry?”

your pushback made him crave you even more. “i need to taste you.”

with those words, you were putty in his hands. you nodded eagerly at him, and he quickly pulled down his knickers and your panties in one motion, leaving your soaked cunt bare for him to explore. you put both hands in his hair to steady his head, and he spoke as his head moved down your body, peppering kisses on every inch of exposed skin in between words.

“your hands in my hair are such a distraction, baby,” he said, kissing inside your thighs. “but it’s just too good for me to resist.”

harry looked up at you, your chest bobbing up and down from the anticipation. he adored how flustered you still got when he fucked you. he loved your doe eyes and unknowing lip bite. you were so sexy to him — he loved making you come undone in his arms.

harry licked a stripe up your cunt, sending your eyes to the back of your head and eliciting a strained moan from your lips. his cock twitched at the vision before him. “keep your hands in my hair, and i’ll make you cum in my mouth, angel.”

“yes, sir,” you responded with a smirk, knowing it would make him heat up even more.

harry moved up from his place between your legs to plant a kiss to your lips, and you gasped at the loss of feeling at your core. “good girl,” he whispered, dipping back down to relentlessly lap at your cunt. your grip on his curls grew tighter, only making his movements faster, swirling on your clit and licking between your folds. every time your grip on his hair faltered even the slightest bit, harry sent a slap to the side of your thigh reminding you to maintain your hold.

he brought a hand to your entrance and pushed it in gently, and you knew he was trying to getting you adjusted before inserting himself into you. he kept a steady pace circling your clit and pumped a finger in and out of your cunt, taking in your soft whimpers and moans.

“harry…i-i’m close-” you muttered, but were surprised when harry’s movements stopped altogether.

he rose from his position and undid his trousers, his fully hard cock springing free from his boxers. “i’m not done with you yet, love.” he pumped his cock with his hand and you bit your lip in anticipation.

“turn over, angel,” he ordered, sending a wave of heat down to your core.

you obeyed, slipping harry’s jumper off in the process. his hands found their way to your legs, rubbing the curve of your ass and squeezing the fat of your thighs. “wanna know how good it feels to have your hair toyed with, love?” you looked back to him and nodded, too worked up to form sentences.

harry tutted at your response, but the state you were in was perfect to him. “c’mon, angel, use your words for me.”

you swallowed your desperation and managed to collect yourself. “yes, sir,” you said again, only this time, it followed with harry smacking your ass before responding again with “good girl.”

harry lined himself up with your entrance and pushed into you, incapable of waiting a second longer. you moaned at the sensation, and it made harry’s desire for you burn more fervently. he pumped into you with precision, hitting the tender spot deep in your walls that only he could reach. his hand’s grip on your hips remained firm, until one hand reached up to bunch your hair in his hand and pull your head closer to him. he pulled you up from the bed so your back was pressed to his chest, and he kept his pace drilling into you.

“this is how good you make me feel when you play with my hair, love,” he growled into your ear. “how’s it feel?”

his hands travelled up your body to squeeze your breasts, and you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning at his words. “‘s so good, sir, you fuck me so good-”

you were cut off by the sound of harry leaving love bites on your neck. you could feel the knot in your stomach starting to unravel.

“baby, i’m gonna cum,” you moaned in between the strokes of his cock.

“that’s alright, my love, cum on my cock for me…you’re just so lovely for me, don’t you know that, sweet angel?”

his words were everything you needed to come undone on his cock. your legs shook from the stimulation and your eyes shut tight as you rode out the wave. harry kept talking you through it, still keeping a steady pace pumping into you.

“fuck, love, you’re so tight when you finish on my cock, feels so good…oh fuck, i’m gonna cum-“

he pulled out of your pulsing cunt and released right onto your back, coating you with white ropes and loving every second you spent covered in his seed. after a moment, he knelt down and pressed kisses to your ass and the undersides of your thighs, letting you know he was there for you. you caught your breath while he made his way to the bathroom to fetch a wet towel to clean you off. his gentle touch on your back and his insistence on asking how you were doing a million times made you smile.

after you’d cleaned up and changed sheets, harry drifted off in your lap, the feeling of your fingers in his hair soothing him and sending him to a deep sleep.

#harry james potter x reader #harry potter #harry potter series #hp fandom #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #harry james potter #harry james #harry potter smut #harry james potter smut #hp #fred weasley smut #draco malfoy smut #james potter smut

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luveline · 2 years ago

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bEGGING for something with the marauders with drunk reader at a halloween party!!! make it literally anything you want follow ur heart ily and ur writing is AMAZING!!!!

thank you, ily ♡ modern au, fem

The rugby uniform felt like a funny idea at the time, but now you're cold and wondering how James manages to stay warm when he plays. You must ask him.

He sits on the couch with Remus and another friend, Frank. You like Frank but he's not one of your boys, leaving you no options —you have to slide yourself between Remus and James, emphasis on have to. Remus touches your waist unthinkingly as you do, like he might catch you if you fell.

James is ecstatic to see you as always. "Where have you been? I was about to send out the search party."

He's been very, very pleased with you upon the reveal of your costume. Like, pleased enough to take a handful of your thigh and squeeze at the soft inner part greedily. You lean back into Remus, enjoying the feeling and wanting his comfort. He's used to it, and he adapts by pressing his face indulgently to the side of your head.

You giggle. This is usually a nice feeling, but drunk? You're euphoric.

"You can't stray too far, lovely, I need my victim," Remus says.

"Where have your fangs gone?" you ask, pointing at your neck. "I made the bite mark so perfect. Everyone will think I have rabies if you don't commit."

James laughs like you're hilarious. Later, you'll find out that you didn't quite say every word that you thought you said, and that you'd been slurring your words into one another to create Frankenstein's sentences.

"Everybody already thinks you have rabies," James says. He's wearing a chef's costume from a show he likes, a white shirt that's sleeves strain against his biceps and a blue apron. Sirius spent an hour drawing tattoos into his brown skin with a sharpie. "That's why we've decided to put you down."

"I'll have one last night of passion with her first, if you don't mind," Sirius says, announcing his presence.

You like the sound of that, lifting yourself away from the other two boys and their touches to take Sirius' fine hands. He's in a button up and tie, the sticker on his chest proudly proclaiming, Hello, my name is: Dave.

"You're here to kiss me, right?" you ask.

Sirius grins and presses a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. "My little alcoholic, you smell like lambrini. What did we say about lambrini?"

"Uh, that it makes me sloppy drunk."

"Exactly!" He kisses your cheek, working an arm around your shoulder as though showing you off with pride to the other boys. "My darling, you're so smart."

"Not that smart, she still drank the lambrini."

"Remus, don't start," Sirius admonishes. "You just hate that she chooses me when she's drunk."

"You're her enabler," James says, "of course she does. But before she was drunk she chose to dress as me for Halloween, so if anyone is the favourite–"

"Oh, please don't start," Remus says.

The boys start, arguing over who your favourite is. It's a silly pass time with no real merit but no malice, either, and you're just drunk enough to goad them on. "Maybe Remus should be my favourite. After all, he's my vampire. Our love is, like, eternal."

The furrowed brow he gets whenever the other two boys debate slips. "It's so eternal," he says, nodding confidently. "Quite right, dove."

"Eternal doesn't mean better."

"Then what does it mean, Sirius?"

You decide that James' lap looks comfortable and that you might be here for a long time, so you push his legs down flat and sit carefully (not very carefully in reality, but in your heart) on his thighs, socked feet pulled up onto the couch, sideways and skewiff in his company.

"Well, obvious winner," James says, encompassing your back with a big arm, pulling you into him. Under his hand your shoulders feel like a more delicate system; you aren't necessarily small, but his touch feels so everywhere, a pervasive feeling of safety and comfort in the palm of his hand where it grasps you.

"You have the more comfortable seat," Sirius says nonchalantly. "It means nothing."

Remus pulls one of your socks up where it's slipping down your calf and Sirius interrupts the arguing to ask if you need a glass of water. You don't have favourites. They're each incredibly lovely in their own way.

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boneblushed · 2 years ago

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Is it chill that you’re in my head?

synopsis your best friend James isn’t sure why he’s so angry about the fact that you’re going on a date with someone else.

wc 2.6K

“He’s looking over here,” James sings under his breath, his brown eyes full of mirth. He’s balancing on the spindly hind-legs of his library chair, the Potions essay he’s supposed to be doing laid out in disarray.

You send him a reproachful look. “You’re being malicious.” When you turn back around to face Davey Gudgeon’s table, there’s a split second of eye contact before he ducks his head down abashedly, his cheeks a brilliant rouge.

He has a crush on you, apparently. Sirius and Remus had overhead him talking about it on his way down to breakfast this morning—about how prefects rarely escaped unscathed after sharing something as intimate as a Saturday night duty.

James Potter, your best friend and a royal pain in your ass, finds this revelation abso-fucking-lutely hilarious for some reason. Asshole.

“Au contraire,” he murmurs, the grin on his face audible, “I’m being a world class wingman.”

The look on his face is downright dangerous. He waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, unperturbed by the frown on your own, a warning. Easing forward until each hind-leg finds the ground with a resounding thud, he cups his hands around his mouth, whisper-shouting, “Oi! Gudgeon!”

Davey Gudgeon reddens further, a feat you didn’t think was possible until now. He glances over at James dismally, a furtive expression on his face. “What?” He mouthes, sending you this weak half-smile. It’s sort of sweet, almost contagious. You find yourself smiling back at him on instinct.

“Come over here, you bludger,” James chastises, like that’s the obvious next step. To be fair, it probably is to him — he’s never shied away from flirting with the girls he fancies, a self-proclaimed dating aficionado with way too much chat for his own good.

Davey hesitates, his nervous gaze flitting to you momentarily. He looks as though he wants to do just that, but isn’t sure whether his crush on you is reciprocated. Sweet.

He has gentle eyes, too, pretty juniper with bright specks of burnt ochre. A nice head of brown hair. If it was cold outside, you bet he’d offer you his Quidditch jersey without hesitation.

You think you need sweet, all things considered. You’ve known James Potter all of seven years now, had a wretched crush on him all of five, and never once has he indicated that his aforementioned expertise could ever extend to you.

It’s high-time that you gave your pathetic heart a rest.

“You’re making him miserable,” you mutter, ever-reproachful.

Davey hasn’t moved yet, though you’re sure he wants to, his hands braced on the table in front of him apprehensively. He keeps looking between you and James, surveying his options; in order ease his anguish, you decide you’d better make the decision for him.

You push your chair back and stand up, it’s spindly legs scraping against the vinyl floor forebodingly. James looks up in surprise. “Where r’you going?”

“To Gudgeon’s table.”

“Why?” James urges, perplexed. He half-stands too, his features a smidge less mirthful than before.

“So you’ll stop,” you reply, frowning down at him.

He raises his arms in surrender. “I’m stopping.” A pause. In the beat that passes, his assessing gaze falls over you in paces. “You’re not… you’re not keen on him too, are you?”

You think on this, cocking your head to one side. “I don’t know. Maybe? He’s kinda sweet.”

“But he doesn’t even have the balls to come over here and ask you out properly,” James whisper-shouts, mildly exasperated.

You’ve never once called him sweet.

He’s had this tragic crush on you for all of seven years, and never once has he been on the receiving end of such a fond adjective. He’d only made a fuss over this Davey situation because he was sure it was just a jibe — no way someone like you would be interested in a guy like Gudgeon, no way you would even entertain the possibility of more than friends.

Right?

James wants that more than friends thing with you, bad. This morning, when Sirius’d brought up Bludgeon’s crush on you—sniggering violently—he’d snuck a glance at your features to ensure that it wasn’t reciprocated. He’s sure he’d caught a bit of second-hand embarrassment, though maybe it was actually just tender hearted diffidence. Maybe Davey fucking Gudgeon had something that he somehow didn’t.

Right now, James’d give up his head boy badge and Quidditch captaincy to acquire that something. His chest hurts terribly. He runs his sloven fingers through his unkempt hair, sending you another look of bewilderment.

“Because you’re here,” you reprove. “Course he’s not going to come over when the James Potter is taking the mickey out of him.”

You say his name like it’s an insult. James’ heart plummets. “I’m not — he’s welcome to come over,” he argues quietly, chagrined. “Besides, he’s going to have to get used to me if he wants to be your boyfriend.”

“Why?” You frown. “I always bugger off when you’re with another girl.”

“That’s different,” James insists, frowning in tandem.

“How’s that different?”

They aren’t you, James thinks vaguely. His poor heart blunders for the umpteenth time this afternoon. “None of them are girlfriends.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you mutter. James swears he hears a hint of spite in your tone. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. M’going over.”

James slumps back into his seat reluctantly. He knows that you’re right, begrudging as that revelation may be — he is always flirting with one girl or another, though that’s more so to pass time than anything particularly serious. Never you. You’d see right through him, anyway. Besides, the last time he tried, it’d been so disastrous you’d assumed he was joking.

It’d been at that Halloween party they’d had in the Gryffindor Common Room last year, firewhiskey flowing and sweet treats piled atop every surface.

You were wearing this gorgeous, albeit bemusing, costume of a Muggle someone — Wonder Woman, or something, James didn’t quite understand it. Showing a lot of skin. Your pretty eyes were accented by rouge glitter, lips all glossy, and your exposed limbs and bare waist had eased his heart right into his throat.

And James Potter didn’t often find himself lost for words, but it appeared as though this party was one of those exceptions.

“Woah,” he’d murmured, wolf-whistling lowly. He was in this ridiculous, Babbity Rabbity costume (courtesy of Sirius, who was a cackling pot), feeling entirely out of place when you looked so beautiful. “Christ, Y/N, who’re you meant to be? The hottest muggleborn at Hogwarts or something?”

You’d rolled your eyes then, because no way he was serious. “Don’t tease, James. Did you guys manage to snag any cauldron cakes?”

He’d been too busy to insist his sincerity, fond gaze travelling down your bare limbs, slow. Lingering on the wafer of exposed waist between your corset and skirt. He’s still agonised by the want to touch your soft skin; that wretched Hogwarts shirt tuck has prevented this from happening.

“By the fire,” he’d answered after a beat, dazed.

And when you’d fallen out of earshot, James’ eyes still trained on your figure, Sirius and Remus’d come up behind him, the latter wearing Muggle-manufactured fangs. (Supposedly, he was meant to be a vampire.)

“You’ve got a tragic affliction, James,” Sirius’d tutted under his breath, faux-apologetic. “How’re you somehow able to flirt with every girl in this room except the one that matters?”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered back at the time, though as he thinks back on it now, he realises that Sirius was right.

For some reason, with you, he always manages to say exactly the wrong thing. He watches Davey scramble to straighten as you near his library table, the heat on his neck rising until his entire face is in a flush. And you’re smiling as you sit down beside him, this sweet, unabashed smile that looks too much like feelings reciprocated. Something in James’ ribcage cracks, an ugly emotion springing forth from within it. But he’s immobile, hands on the table and furrow in his brow, agonised by the fact that you’re looking at Davy all fond, not him.

Never him. You ask a question—James is trying his best to lip-read, but it’s difficult not to get carried away staring at your mouth. Davey nods, and then reddens some more. Then you stand up, feelings-reciprocated smile on your face as you walk back over to the table you’re sharing with James.

“He looks pleased,” James mutters grumpily.

You frown. “You don’t.”

“You’re doing charity work,” he answers, ignoring the insinuation. “You know that, right?”

“James,” you sigh, “you’re being unkind.”

“Because he’s punching.” But James knows this is unfair. He’s pretty sure every bloke in Hogwarts would be, if it was you and them.

—

“James,” Sirius calls, bemused. “You coming mate?”

Its autumn in Hogsmeade, and they’ve reached a cross roads.

The path to the left of them leads to the Hog’s Head Inn, one of their favourite haunts in the village due to its relative unpopularity. To the right, where James is glancing furtively, the cobblestone pavement takes them toward the Three Broomsticks. Where you are. With Davey.

Remus shares a knowing look with Sirius. “Think he’s in the mood for one of Rosmerta’s butter-beers, actually.”

James groans, scrubbing his calloused palm down his face slovenly. He knows exactly what he’s insinuating; Remus always has been the most astute of the lot. “Don’t bloody start.”

Sirius grins then, reaching for James and throwing an arm around his neck. “Reckon you’re going to need something stronger than butter-beer if you’re planning on watching Gudgeon snog your girl.”

His heart plummets. There’s that ugly emotion again, rearing its contemptuous head at him. “Wormtail’s there too,” he tries, shoving Sirius off. “We should go say hi.”

“Oh yes,” Sirius allows, his brown eyes full of mischief. “The one Marauder with a girlfriend. You after some tips, mate?”

“Cut him some slack, Sirius,” Remus chastises, though there isn’t much fire to his tone as he says it. “Reckon he’s miserable enough about the fact that the one time he fancies a girl she isn’t interested.”

James frowns, sending the pair of them a look of determination. “Look, shove off, both of you.” The crease between his eyebrows deepens further, keenly resolute. “I just want to check on her, alright? Make sure that bludger isn’t pulling anything funny.”

“Right.” Sirius nods soberly. “Or snogging her to death.”

“Fuck,” James groans again, his insides squirming. “You’ve gotta stop putting that image in my head.”

He turns toward the path to his right, the cobblestones plush with Autumn leaves, when he spots your figure in the distance and freezes. Coming closer. You look beautiful in this matter-of-fact, effortless way that makes James’ heart stutter; your pretty eyes are alight with mirth as you catch his gaze, this fond smile on your lips that makes him want to kiss you. Bad. He swallows thickly, his chest a pathetic mess.

Sirius and Remus must spot you too, because the pair of them beginning walking backward toward the Hog’s head, their eyebrows raised in tandem.

“She isn’t with the bludger, Prongs,” calls Sirius, a knowing lilt to his tone. “Now’s your chance.”

“My chance?” James asks, distracted.

“To snog her, you idiot.”

But James doesn’t hear him. Partly because the wind’s picked up, mostly because it’s difficult for him to concentrate on anything but your growing closeness.

Once you’re within earshot—more of you to agonise over, exposed waifs of skin like a siren song—he stumbles forward clumsily.

“Y/N,” James breathes out, pleasantly surprised. “Where’s Davey?”

You grimace, looking over your shoulder furtively. “I’ve just escaped him.”

James’ stomach deflates, relief washing over him in waves. He raises his eyebrows playfully. “Escaped?”

“Don’t,” you warn, frowning sternly. “He… he’s alright, really. Just doesn’t really know how to hold a conversation.” You grimace again. “Or take a hint. Like, at all.”

“Yeah? Why’d you say that?”

“Well,” you begin, and then you shiver, moving closer to James without meaning to. “Christ, Potter, you’re a really good wind shield, y’know that?”

“At your service,” he murmurs, inching forward too. “You were saying?”

You gaze up at him, the rough planes of his face ever present, and you’re struck by the revelation that he doesn’t need an old Quidditch jersey to keep you warm. He’s a furnace of body heat and cedar-wood cologne.

“Well,” you continue, voice low, “after two butter beers and absolutely zero chat, I’d sort of assumed that he’d have realised that this just isn’t going to work.”

“But…?”

“But,” you grimace, “he asked me out again.”

The way your features twist as you say it, as though that’s the last thing you want to do, wrings any residual jealousy he may be feeling right out of his stomach. He’s struck by this suddenly, overwhelming urge to caress your jaw and pull you closer.

“And let me guess,” James murmurs, grinning fondly. “You said yes.”

“I said I’ll see.”

“I worry all this charity work’s going to be the death of you, Y/N.”

You crinkle your nose up at him, punching his chest playfully. “Don’t you start James Potter.”

James raises his arms in surrender, still grinning. His gaze lifts above your head to take in the footpath behind you, and he finds himself looking right at the burly figure of Davey Gudgeon trudging toward the pair of you.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, raising his eyebrows. “You weren’t kidding about him not being able to take a hint, huh?”

You furrow your brow, looking over your shoulder bemusedly. When your head whips back around to face him, your eyes are wide and a little tortured, dappled by the warm, orange hues of Autumn. A damsel, James’ thinks, dazed, as if that’s a normal thought for a eighteen-year-old bloke to have. He’s already spiralling over kissing you and it’s been all of five minutes.

“Is he looking over here?” You ask, your voice low.

James’ eyes dart back to Davey. “Uh, yeah?”

“Good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck hurriedly, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. James takes a second to recalibrate, his poor heart a mess, but when he does, he’s quick to circle your waist and pull you closer, his strong arms firm and torso warm on your figure. It’s a deft kiss, chaste as it is agonising, though kiss enough for him to memorise the feeling. The buttery taste of your lips, the perfect way they appear to mould against his.

It’s a tandem emotion — you’ve revelling in this kiss far more than you should, the arduous pressure of James’ lips on your own. He’s going to leave a mark. He tastes like sugar quills and feels like the death of you, his sloven hands pressing into the bare skin of your waist.

When you do finally pull away, your cheeks are warm and you’re a little breathless. “S’he still there?”

A beat passes. James doesn’t look up.

You mistake his pause for unease, and grimace abashedly, looking away from him. In hindsight, you aren’t sure what possessed you to kiss him like that — you want to pretend it was to stave Davey away, but your traitorous heart says otherwise.

God, you think, it was a really good kiss. If only James liked it as much as you did.

If only you knew.

“Sorry,” you add in a hurry, still grimacing. “I — I wasn’t thinking, I just didn’t want Davey to come over here and I —”

“Y/N,” James interrupts, his voice rough, gravelly around the edges. “Stop talking.”

You let out a breath. “Why?”

“I want to pretend you kissed me because you wanted to, just for one more second.”

“What?” You ask, your eyes wide. “Why?”

James thinks, isn’t it obvious? He’s still marvelling over how perfect your mouth is.

“Because,” he admits quietly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You don’t know what to say to this. Your still chest to chest with less than an inch between your figures, and you can feel your poor heart struggling to free itself from its cage. “You have?” You say, suddenly bashful.

James nods. His pupils are a little blown, his unkempt hair a mess, and he keeps his gaze trained on your lips as though he’s being paid for it. “And listen,” he murmurs, reaching forward to thumb over them softly. “Don’t worry about Davey Gudgeon.”

“Why not, James Potter?”

“Because I’d sooner die than let that bludger bore my girl to death again.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter oneshot #james potter imagine #marauders era #James potter fanfiction

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g1rld1ary · 1 year ago

Text

5 people james didn't mean to kiss (and one he did) ; james potter x fem!reader

➻ first james fic!! i love reviving old fanfic trends <33

➻ word count: 4494

➻ synopsis: says it on the tin baby!

➻ warnings: swearing, allusions to sex/dirty jokes, era typical homophobia (basically nonexistent)

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

James Potter was a very affectionate person, everyone knew that. His love language was absolutely physical touch — everyone knew that too. It was also assumed, therefore, that James Potter had an extensive list of kisses. That assumption wasn’t necessarily wrong, but a good chunk of them weren’t exactly what you imagined when thinking of the great James Potter kissing someone. They were often impulsive when he didn’t know how else to express his feelings. His very first kiss, for example, wasn’t exactly the cheesy, romantic soap opera that he often advertised providing for girls.

Sirius Black

The Marauders sat in their dorm room, early on in second year. While first year was packed with ridiculous adventures and the forming of their friendship group, second year brought a new awareness of girls, romance and especially kissing. That was the topic of discussion as the boys all packed into one bed, hypothesising about what it might be like. James and Sirius led the discussion with much bravado and false confidence whilst Peter looked decidedly scared. Remus, to his credit, just looked rather amused at it all.

“But where do you touch her?” James asked, eyes still wide and innocent and twelve years old, “I can’t just stand there with my hands at my sides like a twat!”

“Don’t be stupid, you hold her like this.” Sirius bent his arms in a direction that looked borderline painful. Remus huffed and climbed off the bed, pulling both the boys with him.

“If you’re gonna kiss a girl,” Remus instructed, “You have to hold her gently. Don’t push her around like she’s dead weight. James, put your arms around Sirius’ waist like that, now Sirius, you put your arms around his neck.”

“Pete’s gonna think we’re bent,” Sirius grumbled, a red hue on his cheeks.

“You are bent, you poof,” Peter quipped from his spot on the bed. He was right, of course, but that wouldn’t come to light until fourth year. James thought this was hilarious though, and began miming exaggerated — rather sloppy — kisses. And since James never failed to cure Sirius of his moods, he did the same. Remus rolled his eyes as the two boys acted out a passionate scene, loose tongues and all, until they were no longer acting.

All four boys in the dorm were frozen as James and Sirius’ mouths had accidentally connected in their stupidity, none of them sure what to do. Seconds passed as the two stood, lips locked against each other, no one daring to move. At least, until Remus let out a long, uncharacteristic wheeze, which dissolved into a fit of giggles that he would usually be mortified by, but there was no way he was outdoing the kiss anytime soon. Peter followed along momentarily, laughing so hard barely any sound actually came out, silent heaves punctuated by gasping breaths.

Released from their stupor both boys leapt apart, wiping their mouths with their forearms. Both had comical expressions of disgust, still slightly too stunned to verbalise any of it.

“We,” James heaved, “Can never speak of this again. Ever.” Sirius agreed in a heartbeat, still unable to completely wipe the blush from his pale complexion. He probably would have dwelled on those feelings if James wasn’t James, beginning to see the humour in it soon enough. By the end of the night it was an inside joke that would proceed to be referenced countless times within the walls of Hogwarts.

So although James would tell the story of his first kiss quite differently — he alleged it was with a Ravenclaw named Keeley a few weeks later, his proper first kiss will always have been with one Sirius Black in the Gryffindor dormitories on an otherwise unassuming Tuesday evening. And that secret was held onto dearly by all four marauders until, of course, Sirius’ best man speech at James’ wedding, where the anecdote received uproarious applause, loudest of all by James himself.

2. Remus Lupin

The Marauders had all known about Remus’ ‘furry little problem’ since their second year — first for the most perceptive of the bunch. Nevertheless, the group were insistent in helping Remus in any way they could, though it was a difficult task when his alter ego had no resistance to killing them. Until Sirius had come to them with the idea of becoming animagi. It was difficult no doubt, advanced magic far beyond the teaching at Hogwarts, but the four of them were exceptional wizards each in their own way, and the project seemed somewhat manageable with four brains chipping away at it over the course of two years.

When they finally did get it, hardly any of them could believe it, least of all Remus. He had never imagined that the human side of him was worthy of this much love and devotion, let alone the monster within him. However, despite how they tried to play it off, the achievement didn’t come easily to any of them. Sirius was the first to get it, big black dog accompanying the group around the castle and becoming an unexpected staple of the Gryffindor common room. You in particular liked to cuddle up with him on the couch and spoil him with head scratches when you were stressed from school — at least until the secret was revealed and you hit him upside his human head for deceiving you.

James was second to get it, though much less gracefully than Sirius. The whole group of Gryffindors had been hanging out together down by the Black Lake, enjoying the slowly warming weather after class one day. James had the misfortune of being sat between you and Lily, which made things very confusing for his hormonal body and brain. His eyes were trained on his hands, too afraid to actually talk to either of you and embarrass himself which was what usually happened. You and Lily, however, were hell bent on making that occur. While James had had a well known crush on Lily for the last few years, ever since you’d come back to school that year post-puberty you could both tell that James was both emotionally and physically confused. You both delighted in this and used it to your advantage, Lily finding him the most annoying man on earth and you delighting in his flustered expressions (secretly finding him actually pretty cute).

After thirty minutes of torture, James couldn’t take it. You’d made one too many dirty jokes directed at him and he was a blushing mess, fidgeting awkwardly between you and Lily laughing gleefully. He excused himself quickly and uncharacteristically quietly, hurrying off to be out of sight of his friends. You all laughed as you watched him go, and Remus reluctantly stood, muttering something about making sure James didn’t drive himself crazy.

Remus headed straight to the Forbidden Forest, knowing the privacy would be what James desired in the moment. Sure enough there he was, taking a moment to breathe against a tree.

“Easy there, Potter, don’t cum in your pants,” He joked, obviously amused by the whole ordeal. James turned quickly, devastated at Remus seeing him so sexually frustrated.

“Sod off, Lupin. It’s not my fault! They both just sit there looking so fucking good, talking about all these unholy things and you expect me to just be fine with it? It’s so—” Instead of the exasperated groan Remus expected, he was met with a stag standing tall in front of him. He couldn’t help his mouth dropping open, the animal far more magnificent than he could have expected out of the fourteen year old boy.

In a weird shift of figure the deer was back to boy, and James only had a moment of shocked stillness before he was whooping and yelling in the grass. Remus joined him, the two of them yelling and dancing around like idiots in their joy. James pulled him in for a hug, appropriately masculine until he pressed a kiss onto Remus’ lips, still grinning ecstatically as they pulled away. Remus scowled in a way he hoped was convincing.

“I hate it when you do that, Potter,” He grumbled as the two of them returned to their friends.

“Yeah, right,” James laughed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s a blessing to be kissed by my sexy arse.”

3. Peter Pettigrew

While all four of the Marauders were undoubtedly exceptional wizards, that didn’t always translate into their grades. For example, being so ahead in the curriculum made James Potter get lazy, often submitting subpar essays simply because he figured it was already common knowledge and he was more interested in higher level magic. He always ended up with top grades from outstanding extra credit projects, but the point still stood.

Peter was similarly a great wizard. Perhaps not so much a prodigy like James or Sirius, and didn’t dominate the class ranks like Remus, but he did well for himself and was pretty exceptional in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. However, he was failing History of Magic. All four of them had chosen the subject for their OWLs, assuming it would be an easy O because of the ghost professor. They couldn’t be more wrong. Binns was a useless teacher and Peter especially found it difficult to teach himself the material just from the textbook, and was falling dreadfully behind, each essay earning a worse grade than the last.

James had offered to help tutor him before their exams, and the two buckled down in the library almost every day in the weeks leading up to exam season. Peter made pretty good progress, eager to catch up with his friends and prove he was on their level. Still, everyone was nervous for the test and its outcome.

When results were released, you and the Gryffindors were all together. Whilst you and the girls all got the reveal over and done with, the boys all waited with bated breaths. Most of the grades weren’t shocking — three of them knew they could easily get top grades from the little effort they put in, but they were all waiting on Peter’s History of Magic grade. The blond boy opened his paper with shaky hands, eyes scanning frantically over the information contained. Slowly he raised his head, nervous smile apparent.

“I got an A,” He said, and within an instant the boys were on top of him, congratulating him with strong hugs or by clapping him on the back. James grabbed both of his cheeks, pressing them together and pushing a kiss onto Peter’s lips.

“Prongs!” Peter moaned, pushing his face away half-heartedly.

“I’m just proud of you, Wormtail,” He cooed, appearing much like his mother whom you all adored.

“Oi, Potter,” You interrupted, waving your sheet of results around. “I got an O in Potions — where’s my kiss?” James immediately broke your eye contact, and you pretended you weren’t charmed by his embarrassed little smile. He mumbled a response that had his friends ripping him to shreds, egging him on whilst simultaneously teasing him and his alleged manhood. He pressed a gentle peck to your forehead and you raised an eyebrow.

“Not what I meant, but ok.”

4. Regulus Black

Regulus Black had a difficult relationship with the Marauders, to say the very least. By his fifth year — the rest of the boys’ sixth — Sirius had been at the Potter’s for months and Regulus was still reeling from the impact. He was noticeably quieter and more sombre than in years previous, and a dangerous resentment for his brother and his friends bubbled under his skin.

James Potter connected these dots quickly. However, he didn’t really know what to do about it. He wasn’t sorry that Sirius was living with him, but he didn’t like that Regulus was left all alone with their wicked parents, regardless of their personal differences. That brought James to you.

You sat together on the couch, his head resting next to your thighs, curls just brushing against your skin in a way that you couldn’t stop thinking about. He was lamenting about his mental struggles as you worked on your crochet, thinking quietly as he rambled on.

“Why don’t you just talk to him?” You asked suddenly, and James tilted his head to look up at you, holding back his laughter at your upside down appearance.

“What?” He asked, “I can’t talk to him, he hates me!”

“When has that ever stopped you before? Lily hates you and yet you bother her all the time,” You said, smile playing on your lips.

“That’s not true!” James protested, “I don’t bother her that much anymore!” You rolled your eyes playfully and turned back to your craft as James continued to ponder the situation.

As usual, he decided you were right. And so he sent a short letter to Regulus, asking for a meeting on the Astronomy tower at midnight. Surprisingly he’d agreed, and the two boys were standing awkwardly across each other on the tower. Regulus refused to start the conversation and so stood in silence, staring down James in an effort to scare him off. James wouldn’t be deterred.

“I just wanted to talk about what happened last year,” He said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose nervously.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“C’mon. I know we’re not friends, but I also figured none of your friends are the talking type either. So, I thought you could talk to me — full confidentiality. I don’t know, blame me, yell at me, I just don’t want you to do this all by yourself.”

“How sweet, Potter,” He sneered, “But I don’t need to talk about any of my feelings.”

James Potter was nothing if not persistent.

“Ok, well if you don’t want to talk, how about you listen?” To his surprise, Regulus stayed. One perfect eyebrow raised, he slowly sat next to James, legs dangling over the edge of the tower. After a gesture for him to go on, James started. He began to talk about the process of having Sirius live with him, the feelings they both had about it, and the guilt they both felt about leaving Regulus alone. At that Regulus looked up, eyes pooling with hope.

Then without any warning, Regulus was talking more than James had ever heard before, spilling what he supposed must have been the younger boy’s darkest secrets and vulnerabilities. James was unprepared, not actually expecting him to engage. At one point James had put a comforting arm around Regulus’ shoulder, words failing to express any of the feelings he had inside. Regulus didn’t pull away as James expected, instead only starting to cry. James just watched in disbelief as Regulus cried into his chest. Awkwardly, James arranged himself to press a gentle kiss to Regulus’ forehead right as Regulus moved to look up and speak, resulting in a ridiculous kiss between the two of them.

They jumped apart in less than a second, both with horrified looks on their faces.

“Oh my God—”

“That was an accident I swear—”

“I’m really sorry—”

“I was just trying to comfort you—”

Both boys stumbled over their words as they clambered up to their feet, putting a strictly heterosexual amount of space between them.

“Um, I’m just gonna go,” Regulus settled on, backing up towards the door.

“I’m seriously sorry, Black. It’s just something I do — doesn’t usually backfire like that.” Regulus just nodded, leaving quickly.

“Potter?” He stopped halfway through the door and James looked up. “Thanks.” James didn’t get any time to reply as Regulus was long gone, leaving him to cringe on his own. Neither of them would be telling anybody about the incident. Ever.

5. Lily Evans

You and James had been doing your will-they-won’t-they thing for a long time. Not quite since you met, but once you’d both started to notice the opposite sex you’d been participating in a battle of who could resist the longest. Teasing and cajoling were staples of your relationship. Whilst it had started as a way to pass the time; James had been in love with Lily since second year and you just liked to tease, at some point the feelings crossed over into a real and dangerous territory. However, neither of you wanted to do anything in case the feelings weren’t reciprocated, and truthfully hadn’t realised the true depth of them.

You and James were the only ones not to see the obvious: the feelings were absolutely reciprocated. It was tearing your friends apart, trying to get one of you to finally confess before you finished school forever. There were bets in place, pep talks and everything else the Gryffindors could think of to finally cause the event they’d been hoping for. Eventually, Lily had had enough.

One day you were all hanging out in your dormitory, most of you doing your homework and Marlene fiddling with a record player, trying to get it to come back to life.

“So, what would you guys think if I gave James a chance?” Lily asked, too coy to be genuine, but you were caught off-guard enough that you didn’t notice. “I mean, I know I’ve said some terrible things over the years, but now that he’s backed off he’s actually a really nice guy.”

“But… James?” You asked incredulously, essay immediately forgotten.

“Yeah, why not? He’s the hottest guy in our year, and if all goes to shit it’s only a few months until we graduate and I’ll never have to see him again.”

“But it’s James!” The rest of the girls had caught on to what Lily was scheming and delighted in joining in.

“Why shouldn’t she? It’s not like you like him, right?” Mary asked, studying your expressions. You hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. And just when they thought Lily had finally succeeded in getting the ball rolling you answered: “No, of course not. You go ahead, Lils.”

What started as a ploy to get you to admit your feelings only snowballed from there when Lily realised she couldn’t just back out now. And so she hatched a plan. Everything was going perfectly; Sirius and Remus had made sure the common room was devoid of younger students so no unhelpful rumours could be spread, and Marlene had been hanging out with you all evening to make sure you stuck to the schedule she’d devised.

With perfect precision, you and Marlene entered through the portrait just as Lily came down from the dorms.

“Hey, Potter,” She called, and James looked up curiously from his game of wizard’s chess. The redhead marched over to him, cupping both of his cheeks and kissing him strongly. Your jaw dropped open. You couldn’t believe Lily was just going for it like that, but even more you couldn’t believe the sick feeling creeping up from your stomach. You looked at Marlene, who only looked marginally less shocked. A glance around the room proved similar. Although they all knew Lily’s plan, it was two entirely different things to hear about her scheme to get the two of you together and seeing Lily Evans kissing James Potter.

“I’ve, uh, gotta go,” You mumbled, somehow finding your footing to run from the room, desperate to get anywhere where you didn’t have to see that, and the subsequent (or so you believed) union of a happy couple.

Lily pulled away from the kiss, eyes immediately trying to find you and she was puzzled when she couldn’t. A look at Marlene told her all she needed to know and her heart sank; she’d failed. James was looking a little more dazed than the head girl, and suddenly looked terribly awkward in his seat.

“Look, Lils. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t feel that way about you anymore. There’s— there’s someone else, and I, I have to go.” With that James headed up to his dormitory, and the rest of your friends stood in a thick silence for several moments.

“I think I just made everything worse,” Lily said, and then the chaos started.

“What the fuck did you think was going to happen?” Sirius asked loudly, running a stressed hand through his hair.

“I don’t know! I just figured maybe they’d have an epiphany and both realise they’d rather be kissing each other!” Lily cried, throwing herself into an armchair.

You

Lily was right, she’d unintentionally made everything worse. You were upset at what you’d seen and the story you’d attributed to it, and even more so at your terribly timed realisation of your feelings. Because of this you’d started avoiding James in an effort to get over him, which only made you more miserable that you couldn’t talk to your favourite person. James, in turn, hadn’t seen you enter the common room on the night of the kiss and so believed —and dearly hoped — that you were blissfully ignorant, and so was equally perplexed and distraught at the space between you. He’d tried to approach you about it but you evaded him or turned him away every time.

“Hey, love, can we please—”

“It’s fine, James,” You interrupted him, “It was all just a bit of fun, right? All the flirting, the being touchy. But now you’re with Lily and I’ll back off, I get it, don’t worry. I wish you two every happiness.” You tried to sound as genuine as you could while sadness bit at your heart, and left James standing astounded in the corridor. Now he knew that you’d seen the kiss the issue was obvious, but the solution remained a mystery to him.

You’d taken to Marlene to get your feelings out, and she listened patiently as you rattled off a monologue about your childish jealousy and broken heart. Luckily, she’d discussed how to handle this with Lily — who knew you wouldn’t go to her because of her alleged involvement with James, and set off (hopefully) your friend’s last attempt to get you two together. She finally shook you out of it, frustrated with the lack of action.

“They’re not together,” She said, stopping you in your tracks.

“What?”

“They’re not together,” She repeated, making intense eye contact with you. “It was all this dumb plan Lily had to get the two of you together. She thought if you saw James getting with someone else you’d finally realise your feelings for him. And you did, but you were supposed to stick around to hear Potter reject her and say that he liked someone else, you.” You were shocked into silence, what could you say to that?

“So,” You started carefully, “What do I do now?”

James was in a similar situation with the boys.

“She saw Lily kiss me and now she thinks I like Lily when I like her! Plus, she won’t even be in my presence long enough for me to explain that it’s all just this huge misunderstanding and it’s her I want to be snogging!” James lay dramatically across his bed as the boys sighed.

“Prongs, isn’t it obvious?” Sirius asked and James cocked his head to the side, looking remarkably like a confused puppy. “Do something she can’t ignore. Make a grand gesture to prove your feelings for her.” James thought about it, it made sense. If you wouldn’t hear his explanation, he’d just have to make you.

“How?”

You and James went into the following Saturday with the same goal. It was Gryffindor’s quidditch semi-final, so there was a party being held whatever the outcome. It would be the first time you’d see each other since you’d realised your mistake since training was taking up all of James’ time.

Gryffindor had won, thankfully, which had both of you in higher spirits. The party was already in full swing by the time you got there, opting for a smoke first to calm your nerves. You’d spotted James almost as soon as you entered, always the heart and soul of a party. You marched towards him with a purpose, but as soon as he set eyes on you he jumped up to stand on a table. Someone had lowered the volume of the music — not silent, but low enough so you could hear him yelling over it. He said your full name, clearly and intentionally in a way that had surrounding people look at you curiously.

“I love you,” He said suddenly. “I am in love with you, not anyone else, and whatever made you think that’s not true was just a huge misunderstanding. Because I love you so much, and all I want to do is snog you until I’m the only name you remember, baby.” You let out a short laugh at his vulgarity and the cocky smirk that accompanied it, but a cheek-splitting smile won out when you thought about the preceding words and the sincerity he’d instilled in them. Before you even knew what you were doing you were racing towards him, gratefully taking Peter’s hand to join James on the table.

You honestly couldn’t tell who had initiated the kiss, but you were suddenly so intimately joined together it was like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs, compressing your body in an effort to fuse to his. His strong arms around you couldn’t shield you from the confetti being thrown around (for the match, of course, not just your kiss), nor the catcalls of your friends. You only pulled away when you felt James’ tongue start exploring a little too far, mindful that half the people you knew were watching. You wore matching grins as you parted, foreheads still pressed together and breathing heavy.

While it might have taken four years, innumerable (accidental) kisses and one failed set-up plan to get there, you were sure in your heart that James Potter was the only boy you ever wanted to kiss. And so you did, over and over for the years to come, and you cheered and applauded enthusiastically as the seemingly never ending list of friends and family told stories of receiving a coveted James Potter kiss throughout the years, knowing you were the only one who got to be his bride.

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sunday-bug · 1 month ago

Text

Whiskey & Wings

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Spoiled Brat!Girlfriend!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Content: suggestive conversations, oral sex (m receiving), Bucky being scared to fly

18+ Minors DNI (NSFW)

Synopsis: Bucky boards a private jet to meet your parents… come on, how could you not join the club with your Congressman? 😏 ✈️

A/N: not beta’d // based off this request from my stunning, hilarious anon - love you 🤭 I hope he’s loud enough for ya!

“I appreciate you, ma’am,” Bucky says into the phone before hanging up. You look at him adoringly, loving listening to him being a perfect gentleman to your mother on the phone.

“I still can’t believe your parents sent a plane. This is too much,” he scoffs, gesturing to your family’s private jet. You shrug, used to the luxuries that come with your life.

“You’re so spoiled,” he huffs, running a hand through his slicked back hair.

“I know,” you sing-song, walking to him and putting your hands on his chest. “My daddy works hard and likes to take care of his girls. This is just one way he does it.”

“Do you call your father ‘daddy’?” Bucky asks with a raised brow.

You feel your cheeks heat. “Yes, but that nickname is reserved for my two favorite men.”

He blushes and shakes his head. “Let me get our bags.”

“No, Ivan will get them. He works for Daddy. We can board. He’ll bring them up.”

Bucky tsks and picks up your bags anyway, carrying them up the stairs to the jet. You shake your head and smile, turned on by his stubbornness and old school mentality. As soon as you’re in the plane you see Bucky’s body stiffen in anxiety.

You put a hand on his arm. “You okay, James?”

“Uh, yeah… I uh, I’m fine,” he says unconvincingly. “Bags go where?”

You point to a lockered area near the cockpit and he stores them slowly. You notice his hands shaking slightly as he walks back to you and sits down in the cream leather chairs next to yours.

“I’m right here,” you assure him. “Everything is going to be fine. Lyle is an amazing pilot. He’s worked for our family since I was a little girl. He’s flown me all over the world.” You take Bucky’s right hand in yours and rub reassuring circles into his palm. He looks at you softly, and you can see the love he has for you in his eyes. His head rests on your shoulder gently, and you rest your cheek upon his thick, dark hair. You spot Ivan walking toward you and smile.

“No bags today, Miss?” He inquires politely.

You shake your head and nudge Bucky. “This one took care of them.”

Ivan smiles at you. He’s seen you with your fair share of boyfriends, flings, and even a one-nighter during Spring Break back in college, but he can sense that there’s something different about Bucky, too. It’s no wonder you’ve invited him to meet your folks. It was a privilege very few had experienced before.

“Can I get either of you anything - a drink, perhaps?” Ivan offers.

“A whiskey neat for the gentleman, please,” you request, “and I’d love a gin & tonic. Thank you, Ivan.”

Ivan nods and scurries to the back of the plane to prepare your beverages.

“You’ve got a pretty fancy life, doll,” Bucky whispers. “Not sure what you’re doing with me. I can’t give you a private jet, honey.”

“You don’t have to give me a private jet, James. I already have one,” you tease with a kiss to his forehead. “I love you. That’s why I’m with you.”

“I love you, too,” he says softly.

Lyle’s familiar voice comes over the intercom and announces that you’ll be taking off in the next ten minutes. Bucky shifts in his seat anxiously.

“I know this is your first time in an airplane in a long, long time, babe,” you say quietly, turning his face with your hand softly to look at you. “I’m going to be right here the whole time. I won’t leave your side. I promise.” He nods and smiles weakly, still clearly a bundle of nerves. Ivan returns with your drinks at that moment, and Bucky gladly accepts his, thanking Ivan before taking a sip. You take a drink of your gin and tonic and hum in contentment.

“It’s already helping,” Bucky says, holding up his glass.

“Good,” you smile. Lyle starts to taxi the small plane around the runway. You put your hand on Bucky’s leg gently to ground him and start talking, trying to distract him. “You know, Daddy is really excited to meet you. When I told him I was seeing a Congressman, I think he swallowed a golf ball.”

Bucky’s brow furrows, “Seeing? Is that what you call this?” He gestures between the two of you.

“Dating, seeing… you know what I mean,” you shrug.

“Dating, hmm,” he rubs his chin assessingly. “I don’t like that. It sounds too casual.”

“Too casual?” You inquire, tilting your body in your seat toward him and taking another sip of your drink.

“Too damn casual to be meeting your parents,” he chides, taking a sip of his drink now, mimicking you.

“Well then, what would you call us?” You ask sweetly, rubbing his thigh. Bucky smirks and considers your question. The plane speeds up, starting to make its final drive down the runway for takeoff. The sudden lurch forward sends a bit of Bucky’s whiskey into his lap.

“Shit,” he huffs, sitting up straighter and looking down at his dress pants.

“Crap,” you mutter, looking around. “Once we’re in the air I’ll help you clean it up.”

He purses his lips and nods. “I don’t want to look like a slob when I meet your folks,” he admits.

“You won’t, babe. They’re going to love you. Gramps might be there, too. I’m sure you two can swap war stories,” you tease. He rolls his eyes at your joke. You both lean back into the plush seats as the plane ascends and look out the window. Soon enough you’re flying high and on your way down to your parent’s place. Lyle announces that it’s safe to move about the cabin over the intercom. You immediately stand up and offer Bucky your hand. “Let’s go take care of your pants,” you say. He takes your hand and stands up, following you to a big bathroom by any standards, but certainly large for an airplane.

“What exactly does your father do for work again?” He asks, taking in the luxury amenities.

“He dabbles in a little bit of everything,” you shrug, taking a towel from the tray by the sink and wetting it. “You’re going to have to take your pants off, babe,” you giggle.

“Right,” he mumbles, undoing his belt and removing his pants. He stands there sheepishly in his boxers and hands you the pants.

You lean over the sink, running a bit of water over the fabric and working at the whiskey stain. You peer into the mirror in front of the sink and see Bucky eyeing you hungrily from behind.

“Do you like what you see, James?” You tease as you work at the stain. He chuckles and takes a step toward you, running his hand up your dress between your thighs. His eyes meet yours in shock as he discovers your lack of underwear. You bite your lip teasingly, and he traces your center line slowly, never breaking eye contact with you. You inhale sharply as he dips a finger into your core.

You turn around to face him, his hand falling away from you, and you kneel in front of him. “Looks like the whiskey got on your boxers too. Should I take care of it?” You eye the fabric straining against his growing erection.

“Not until you tell me you’re mine,” he groans, fingers intertwining in your hair to pull your head up so he can see you.

“I’m yours, James. You know that,” you say sweetly, running your hands on the waistband of his boxers. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby doll. But stop telling people you’re ‘seeing’ me or that we’re dating. Such fragile, throwaway terms. You tell them you’re my girl. Only mine. You got it?”

“Yes… sir,” you murmur, pulling his pretty cock out of his boxers. You press the tip to your closed lips and run it over them softly before opening up and taking him ever so slowly. A patch of turbulence hits and throws your body forward, making you gag on his length.

“OH FUCK!” Bucky loudly moans, clearly not expecting that. “Don’t stop,” he begs. You blush, certain that Ivan heard Bucky’s exclamation from the cabin. Bucky backs himself up against the bathroom wall as you go to work on him with your mouth. His pants are left to air-dry on the counter by the sink, forgotten. He’s whining, precum sneaking out onto your tongue. You rake your fingernails over his muscular thighs, giving him goosebumps.

“That’s my girl,” he huffs out, looking down at you. “Just like that, baby.”

You keep your method and rhythm the same, but give some special attention to his balls. He sputters, about to say something, but can’t quite find the words. He grips your head, guiding you just how he likes it.

“You’re going to make me ask your father for your hand in goddamn marriage if you keep this up, baby doll.”

You laugh around his length and his thighs tense as he spills into your mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It happened so fast.” He pulls himself away from your mouth.

You swallow slowly, and wipe the edges of your mouth, looking up at him. “Thank you,” you whisper with a smile, and that little piece of gratitude makes his knees buckle.

“I just did that, and you’re saying thank you?” He helps you up, looking at you incredulously.

You smile and nod before looking in the mirror, checking your lipstick. It really was non-transfer like the packaging advertised. “You’re yummy,” you whisper with a shrug, examining his pants and offering them to him. He slips his boxers and pants back on reluctantly.

“I really want you right now,” he whispers, hugging you from behind.

“I know,” you murmur, “but we’ll be landing in about 30 minutes. We have our own private beach with the villa. I really want you to fuck me in the sand.”

“Oh my God,” he utters. “You’re in for it.”

You laugh and open the bathroom door. “Let’s go sit back down. We’ll be there soon.”

The next half hour passes quickly and the landing is thankfully smooth. You look out the window to see your parents waving from the hangar. You wave back.

“Ah, I haven’t seen them in a while. I can’t wait to give my mom a hug and a kiss,” you say softly.

Bucky huffs quietly, “You gonna kiss your mother with that mouth?”

You blush and shake your head. “Maybe not.”

Bucky grabs your bags from the locker and waits for Ivan to put the stairs down. You both thank Lyle for the flight as he exits the cockpit. Bucky gestures for you to descend the stairs first. Your parents walk out to meet you both.

“Mom, Daddy, this is James Barnes,” you say, putting your hand on his chest. “He’s my… b-,” you stop yourself. “He’s the one.”

Your mom steps forward first and envelopes you both in a tight hug smelling of Chanel No. 5. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you in person, Congressman Barnes. I hope you had a nice flight.”

Bucky nods gratefully. “It was nice and easy. Thank you both again for the accommodations.” Bucky extends his hand to your father and shakes his firmly.

“Good to meet you, sir. Your daughter is something else,” he says with a chuckle. “She keeps me on my toes.” You all start walking to the two large black SUVs near the hangar to take you to their beach estate.

“I’m sure she does,” your father replies. You walk a few steps ahead with your mom, but can still hear Bucky and your father behind you. Your dad claps him on the back as you reach your vehicle and they break for theirs. “Your fly’s down, son. See you kids at the house. I’m looking forward to a long weekend with y'all.”

taglist: @ruexj283 @buckybarnes82

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan #congressman barnes #bucky barnes x reader #congressman barnes smut #congressman!bucky #congressman bucky #congressman james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes smut

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h-sleepingirl · 6 months ago

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You Are A Wizard, So Pour Over The Tomes

Hypnosis is magic. It is not just “the closest we can get to magic.” Trance practices in all kinds of forms have served as the basis for mysticism across cultures and human history -- thousands of years. It is not new. It is not western. It did not start with Franz Mesmer or James Braid or Milton Erickson or Wiseguy.

Modern hypnosis stems from a rich human history of fascination and spiritual veneration of the mind’s power. We are practitioners of a comparably new discipline where we can literally change the way that other people experience the world. Their innermost selves are as leverage to us -- putty to us, when we know what we are doing. We can transform others freely. We can give pleasure or pain. We can facilitate experiences that seem to defy reality.

People talk a big game about respecting that power. What they usually mean by that is respecting EACH OTHER. That’s crucial, obviously -- not manipulating, not harming, being a good person.

But what about respecting the discipline itself?

It’s tempting to see what we do as disconnected from the “historical” and “outdated” methods of hypnosis. But we are a part of that history. We are likely hilariously wrong about a lot of things related to trance, hypnosis, the human mind -- what will hypnosis and psychology look like in 100 years? And even as we innovate, we are always building on the techniques and ideas that came before us -- in ways we are often not even aware of. We reinvent; we use ideas from the past unknowingly.

We have a right -- and a responsibility -- to OWN our magic. I am not here to gatekeep and say that this magic is not yours. It IS yours; it’s unequivocally yours. But as a whole we could do more to respect it.

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” And hypnosis is not even a technology that we UNDERSTAND. The only real reason we DON’T see ourselves as wizards is because there is a huge motivation to legitimize hypnosis as a scientific discipline -- and non-rationalist perspectives are looked down upon in our culture. I’m not anti-science (maybe a little -- tongue in cheek) but I do think that labeling hypnosis as “just psychology” is dishonest about how much we actually objectively know about it -- and does a disservice to the phenomenon itself.

I’m not saying hypnosis is literally metaphysical. But I am saying we practice something very powerful without knowing its nature. There are secrets we have tried to suss out about this magic through history that we have written down -- past and present. We actually have tomes of knowledge, records of past experiments and modern inventors.

In the last couple of years, I’ve started teaching/facilitating “text studies” -- classes where we sit down with an excerpt from a hypnosis book and parse through it as a collaborative group. I desperately want to show people that there is value in just critically reading the resources available to us. The clinical texts -- especially older ones -- are hard to read, like they are almost in a different language. But it is amazing the insights we have come to by tackling them together.

These old texts are not pure truths -- there is a lot we’ve improved on over time. But we can learn a lot by learning what hypnosis was like historically. The entire discipline of hypnosis is extremely susceptible to change -- it is defined SO MUCH by how we view it culturally. I just recently was amazed at re-reading some Erickson where he talks about making his subjects daydream autonomously -- as a primary mode and result of inducing hypnosis. Contrast that with today, where if someone’s mind wanders for even a moment, they feel like they’ve failed. There’s something really important here -- a technique from 50 years ago that tells us something we’ve lost in modern practice.

And there are countless examples of this, of people losing and reinventing methods over and over. As I’ve watched our kinky niche grow over just the past 13 years, I’ve watched ideas phase in, out, and in again -- there is both growth and regression of our collective body of knowledge. That’s the nature of things, especially when we operate partially disconnected from the resources that are available to us.

We CAN be connected to the rich human history of trying to unravel the secrets about our minds, and about this thing that gives us enormous transformative powers -- powers that we take for granted.

You are a wizard -- so pour over the tomes.

Read a book. Read an article. Set aside some time and view yourself with the respect of being someone who can study and suss out a magical text. Take notes, look up words and concepts you don’t know. Or just absorb what you can on a first pass and go back later. Read a chapter or just master a single page. Romanticize the aesthetic of sitting with the scent of paper, or as the technomancer with words appearing on a screen.

Read. Own this art. And bring that respect of this art to the people you share it with. I promise you can do things with hypnosis that you have never thought possible.

------------------

This is a little motivational piece (for you and me!) as I gear up to teach "Analyzing Erickson" at Charmed. It's something I feel really passionately about, and I wanted to share it.

Permanently linked/free on Patreon.

#hypnosis #hypnok1nk #brainwashing #mind control #hypnosub #hypnofetish #my writing #this might be the thing i feel most passionate about

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moonstruckme · 2 years ago

Text

Dizzy

summary: when your roommate James comes home after a night out with his friends, he's acting even more affectionate than usual

cw: alcohol

modern au

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 2.7k words

You can always hear when James’ friends come over. The door opens and the sound of them comes pouring through into your flat, the boys always in the middle of bickering or joking or telling some incredibly animated story.

When you hear their noise late on a Friday night, you pause the movie on your laptop and head for the door, drawn towards their loudness. James’ friends are rowdier than anyone you hang out with, but it’s a happy sort of ruckus. They’re fun and hilarious and surprisingly kind, and you enjoy chatting when they come over.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Sirius sing-songs, spotting you as soon as you emerge from your room. You laugh at his scratchy, worn-out voice. He sounds like he’s probably been singing at the top of his lungs all night. Dark eyeliner has transferred to the skin under his eyes, but Sirius is the only person you know with his particular ability to make dishevelment look rock-and-roll instead of slobbish.

“Hi,” you say back, grinning at him. Your eyes search behind him to find Remus, just coming through the doorway. As always, he looks completely different from his other half; whereas Sirius has unmistakably just gotten home from a night out, Remus could just as easily have been at the library in his jeans and t-shirt, except for the faint black smudge where Sirius’ eyeliner has seemingly rubbed off on his cheek. Then you catch sight of James, drooping like an overwatered flower with his arm slung around Remus’ shoulder. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’ll be alright,” Remus grunts, heaving your roommate through the entryway. He tries to send you a smile of greeting, but it’s more of a well-meaning grimace. “He just needs to drink some water.”

“I won,” Sirius says giddily, stumbling over and grabbing your arm. “I outdrank James Potter.”

There’s a nervous edge to the laugh that bubbles out of your throat. “That’s great, Sirius, congratulations.” You cast an alarmed look towards Remus. “You all had a competition?”

Remus shakes his head. “They had a competition.”

“I won,” James says suddenly, picking his head up as if revived from a deep sleep. “Don’t listen to him, Y/N, I’m the winner.”

Sirius makes a derisive sound. “You can’t even walk, Potter.”

“I can,” James defends himself, and slips his arm from around Remus’ shoulder. Both you and Remus put your hands out cautiously like when a toddler takes its first steps, but James totters safely to the couch, leaning against it like he’s just finished a marathon and directing a smug smile towards Sirius. “Suck it, Pads.”

Sirius’ lips curl impishly. His unsteady gaze settles on Remus, still hovering by the door. “Gotta get home to do that.”

“Alright,” Remus says quickly, stepping forward to take his boyfriend by the shoulders and steering him towards the door. “We’re gonna go home and get to bed—to sleep.” He’s blushing something fierce, and you do your absolute best not to smile. “Prongs.” James looks up from where he’s been toying with the fabric of your couch throw. “Drink some water, and then go to sleep, yeah?” Remus raises his brows, waiting for confirmation, and James presses a solemn hand to his heart.

“Your wish is my command, Moony-boy.”

Remus rolls his eyes but turns to go, sending you a quick goodnight with an apology embedded in his voice before he shuts the door behind him. You lock it, and turn back around to find James performing a lazy somersault over the back of the couch and onto the cushions.

“James,” you laugh, and he smiles up at you like he doesn’t know what’s so funny but is happy to be a part of it anyway, “do you want to come into the kitchen to have some water?”

James turns pensive. “Is that where you’re going?”

“Mhm.”

“Then sure.” He hops up a bit too fast, and has to put his arms out in front of him to regain his balance.

You take his forearm in your hand, knowing you won’t be able to support his weight if he really falls but hoping you can at least slow his descent, and begin walking him toward the kitchen. “Are you feeling dizzy?” you ask him.

James hums. “A bit. But in a good way, you know?”

You don’t, but you nod anyway. “Well,” you say with certainty you can’t feel, “that’s good. Chill here for a second, okay?” You prop him up against the counter, and James melts against it instantly in that easy way he has, leaning back on his elbows and crossing his ankles in front of him. The edge of the counter has to be digging into his back, but James makes it look like the most comfortable spot in the flat.

You start to grab a glass from the cabinet but then think the better of it, opting for a less destructible plastic cup. You fill it with icy water from the tap.

“Alright.” You pass it to him. “Don’t drink it too fast.”

James takes the cup with a smile that’s really much sweeter than your tiny gesture warrants. Then he proceeds to slide the rest of the way down the counter, until he’s sitting with his legs spread out in front of him on the floor. After a moment, you decide to join him, crossing your legs under you and letting your back rest beside his. The floor just seems like the place to be right now.

For the first time since you’ve known him, James seems content to sit in silence, sipping at his water. Neither of you are looking at each other, or really anywhere in particular. It’s definitely a Friday night, more of the noise of voices and traffic making their way up to your flat than you hear on most days of the week, but your home itself is quiet. The light in the kitchen is dim, coming in from the lamp you’ve left on in the living room, and your body relaxes instinctively in the peaceful dark.

James has nearly emptied the cup when he says, “Hey,” as if he’s just remembered something important.

You look at him. “What?”

“There’s no ice in here.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did you want ice? I can put some in, I just thought you preferred drinks without ice.”

Even in the dim light, you can make out enough of James’ eyes to see the brown in them go absolutely molten. He turns toward you more fully, his shoulder and cheek squished up against the cabinets. “Aww, you knew.”

You laugh at him, his smushed cheek pushing his glasses up on his face and his bottom lip jutting out slightly. The effect is that he looks both worryingly drunk and decidedly endearing. “Of course I know,” you say. “We’re roommates. I’m bound to pick up on things.”

Your words do nothing to curb James’ adoration. “Still, you noticed,” he says, maudlin. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The word resounds in your head like the happy chime of a bell. James is always calling you that, but usually it seems thrown away, a light little endearment he tacks onto his addresses without thinking. This feels different. It lingers on his tongue like caramel, soft and sticky sweet. Sweetheart.

“Of course,” you say again, and you’re grateful for the poor lighting that’s hiding your blush. “Ready to go to bed?”

James looks at you like you’ve asked him to solve a calculus equation, thick brows knitting together. Maybe it’s the endearment still ringing in your head, but you really want to smooth the crease from between them with your thumb. You don’t.

“I dunno,” he says after a moment. “Are you tired?”

“A little,” you admit. “Aren’t you?”

He shrugs. “I could be.” And then he’s hauling himself up, an overly complicated process that involves getting his feet underneath him while he’s already using the counter to pull himself off the floor. You have to bite back a smile as you watch, and when he’s done James extends a hand to you. As if you’re the one who needs help.

You take it but don’t actually put any of your weight on him as you stand, grabbing his empty cup from the counter. James’ hand is big, engulfing yours easily, and the condensation from the cool water still lingers on his palm. He doesn’t let go as you start towards his bedroom. You tell yourself it’d be mean to pull away on your own.

“Oh!” he exclaims, once again like he’s discovered something fascinating. “I haven’t even asked—how’s your night been?”

You laugh again. You can never seem to stop laughing around James. “It’s been good, thanks. Not as eventful as yours, I take it.”

James hums in unhappy affirmation. “Lucky you.”

“Well, seems like you got the true night-out experience.” You bring him to sit on his bed, bending to untie his shoes for him and setting them by the door. “Do you wanna sleep in that or change into pajamas?” you ask, fighting the urge to tack on the honey that pushes at your lips.

There’s no deliberation there. “Pajama pants, at least. I can’t wear jeans in bed, m’not a monster.”

You smile to yourself, locating a pair of pajama pants on the floor and holding them up for him to see. “These okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You toss them to him. James starts to strip, and you turn around quickly, going into the bathroom. “So, aside from the drinking contest, did you have a good time tonight?”

“Yeah,” he says lightly. You fill the cup with water from James’ sink and find a bottle of ibuprofen in the drawer underneath. “It wasn’t bad. Remus is so busy lately, it’s good to get to see him at all, and beating Sirius is always fun.” He gives a little laugh. “He’s such a sore loser.”

“He seemed to think he’d won,” you say, your tone teasingly dubious.

A harrumph. “If Remus doesn’t set him straight on that, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

You chuckle.

“You’ll tell ‘em, won’t you?”

“For sure. Do you have your pants on yet?”

“Oh. Yeah.” You go back into the bedroom to find James comfy under the covers, smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me to tell you, sorry.”

“No worries.” You smile. He looks so sweet like this, curls splayed out around his head on the pillow the way a kid draws rays around the sun. You set the cup and pill bottle on his nightstand, using your proximity to study his face. His pupils are huge and unfocussed, and the smile he’s aiming at you is a bit too dopey for your liking. “You said you were dizzy…do you think you’re going to be sick?”

“No.” James starts to push himself up as if to make his point, then decides against it, resting his head against the edge of the mattress with a tiny grimace. “Maybe.”

“That’s okay,” you reassure him, grabbing a wastebasket from under his desk. “Here, I’m going to put this by the bed just in case, okay? And you’ve got water and ibuprofen on the nightstand.”

James doesn’t respond. He’s looking at you dazedly.

“James.” You tap his cheek lightly. “Do you understand? You need to use the wastebasket if you feel sick.”

His hand emerges from beneath the covers, fingers braceleting your wrist. “Stay with me,” he mumbles. You’re glad he’s definitely too out of it to feel the quick bumping of your pulse beneath his fingers. When you hesitate a second too long, James tightens his grip beseechingly. “Please, sweetheart?”

There it is again. Your brain buzzes in response.

“Alright,” you whisper, brushing a soothing touch against the inside of his forearm, and James releases you. “I was watching a movie before you got home. Want to finish it?”

He agrees, and you go across the hall, retrieving your laptop. You climb over him on the bed, pretending not to feel the brush of a big hand across your hip as though meant to steady you. You settle your laptop between the two of you and press play on the movie.

James leans over, resting his head on your shoulder. “You’re always watching this,” he murmurs. “You don’t get tired of it?”

“Not really,” you reply. “It’s my favorite. But if you are, I can change it.”

He makes a humming sound, and you feel the vibrations in your shoulder. “No, s’alright. Bet you can quote half the film, though, can’t you?”

You grin. “I’m scared,” you say, in time with the actress on your screen. “I don’t wanna get hurt.” You can feel James smiling, his cheek smushing against your shoulder. You lower your voice into a gruff mockery of the male actor’s intonation. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

James makes a soft sound of amusement. “Cute,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You fall into an easy silence, blue light cast over your features as the familiar scenes play out quietly on your laptop. You keep sneaking glances at James, thinking he’s either about to fall asleep or be sick, but he’s watching the movie contentedly, head a solid but welcome weight on your shoulder. He’s evidently decided to discard the shirt he’d worn to the bar, and the skin of his bare shoulder is warm where it presses against your arm. He adjusts his head a little, and his curls tickle the underside of your jaw. You don’t know how he gets them so soft. Not through any strict regimen or product, apparently. One good thing about having a guy for a roommate is that he’s never the one who runs out the hot water; he’s in and out of the shower in ten minutes every time. And yet, if you look closely enough, you can usually find at least two or three perfect coils in his hair. Genetics, you suppose. James was blessed with a good lot of them.

The movie’s not half done before you’re yawning, your eyelids feeling like someone’s sewn fishing weights into them. You try not to shift, but your shoulders rise with the involuntary inhale, and James looks up at you. You yawn again, covering your mouth with one hand as a tear forms in the corner of your eye, squished out when you blink. You wipe it away.

“Wait,” James says. You go still, looking over at him curiously as he adjusts against the headboard of his bed, pushing himself further upright. He tilts his head. The back of his index finger brushes gently under your lashes. “You always get teary at night,” he says softly.

You know you should get out from under his touch, but you can’t make yourself. “I tear up a lot when I yawn.”

Just thinking about it has you yawning again, and James takes your face in his hand, catching the tear that falls from one eye.

“Don’t cry,” he begs you. “If you cry, I’ll cry.”

You take his wrist in your hand, giving him a small smile. “I’m not crying, James. I’m just tired.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss, feather-light, just next to your eye. You freeze, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Okay, m’sorry. You’re tired? Wanna go to sleep?”

You have to clear your throat to make sure your voice comes out right. “Sure.” It’s still a bit hoarse. “Wake me if you need anything, okay?”

James takes your hand, a willing captive between two of his as he draws it into his lap. He settles his head back onto your shoulder. “Okay. You’re too nice to me.”

“I’m not,” you say, before you can think the better of it. “You’re the nice one.”

James only hums.

You swallow. “Goodnight.”

You’re waiting for a response, the movie on your laptop just now getting to the scene where the love interests give in and confess their feelings for each other, when you feel a wet spot forming near the collar of your shirt. Slowly, careful not to jostle him, you tilt your head to look down at the source of the drool puddle.

James already asleep.

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accio-sriracha · 2 years ago

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Sirius Anything-But-Black.

~~~♤~~~

Sirius hates his last name. He always joked around by going by his friend's names instead.

Sirius Potter was the most common, of course. He was practically raised by the Potter's, he and James had been brothers for years of course he was a Potter.

Second was Pettigrew, mostly when joking around with Peter.

He'd make comments like "This is why it's so great to be a part of the Pettigrew family!" and "Don't you dare disrespect the Pettigrew Brothers!"

A handful of times he even used Lily's last name, referring to himself as Sirius Evans.

She finds it hilarious, as soon as she catches on that he hates his last name she starts calling him Evans too.

Whenever she'd pass by the group and greet James as Potter, she'd always make sure to reply to Sirius' "Hey, Evans!" With a "Hello, Evans." In return.

Every once in a while he used their other friend's names too; Meadowes, Longbottom, McKinnon, he went as far as to use McGonagall once and nearly got detention for a week.

But he never used Lupin.

Remus asks him one lazy Saturday morning as the group was sprawled across the furniture in the common room.

He'd wondered for years, they all secretly had, but it never meant enough to any of them to really ask.

"Why do you never go by Sirius Lupin?" Remus asked, filling the lull in conversation.

It was supposed to be a casual question, but there was nothing casual about the look Sirius gave him when he replied,

"Because you haven't asked me to marry you yet, Moons."

The room was silent. Remus and Sirius were staring at each other for a long time. Remus slowly stood up and walked over to him, kneeling down in front of his chair,

"Sirius, will you marry me?" He whispered.

"Of course, Remus." Sirius breathed.

Nobody else could tell if they were joking or not. They'd never once shown feelings towards each other, nothing more than what they normally did.

Remus wasn't even gay.

But then, all of the sudden, Remus and Sirius were found walking the halls hand in hand, placing gentle kisses on each other's cheeks.

They started sleeping in the same bed at night, Remus curled on his side with his nose nuzzled against Sirius' neck.

Sirius exclusively went by Sirius Lupin now, refusing to go by anything else. He also made it very clear to all of his suitors that he was engaged and off the market.

The others still couldn't quite tell how much further they would go for the bit, but they seemed happy?? So they were all happy too.

Immediately after graduation they got married and made it official. Everyone was kinda blown away, but then again, it was Remus and Sirius, they've kind of always been dating, even when they weren't.

The others finally asked years later if they'd been secretly dating prior to that, since it was the only thing that made sense.

Sirius shook his head, "No, I had no idea Rem liked me back. I was just really in love with him."

Remus nodded, explaining he wasn't actually sure if Sirius was joking or not either at first, but he was too in love to question it, and took the chance he got.

It ended up working out, Sirius was now- in all ways including legally- Mr. Sirius Lupin.

And he'd never been happier.

~~~♤~~~

#harry potter #marauders #marauders era #wolfstar #wolfstar headcanon #remus lupin #remus x sirius #sirius black #sirius x remus #wolfstar being totally in love #wolfstar hc #wolfstar textpost #theyre just young and desperately in love #oh to be in love

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izels-writing · 5 months ago

Text

j. potter — how forever feels! [2/7]

Pairing: james potter x fem!hopelessromantic!reader

Summary: the stars have aligned and you and james’ futures have aligned.

Warning: fake dating trope!!, socially anxious reader, slightly ooc james, slightly teeniest bit rushed but not rlly, LET ME KNOW IF I MISS SOMETHING!!

PART ONE — PART TWO — PART THREE

a/n: sorry for the slow updates my loves, i had a family member pass. but here i am and here’s part 2!!

TAGLIST: @hisparentsgallerryy

let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

it had been a few weeks since you and james had made your deal. so far, all the two of you had really accomplished was everyone thinking james needed help with herbology and muggle studies—which, truthfully, he did.

"i feel like it's been long enough," james commented as he followed you around the library. you were currently choosing out books to help him actually study, while he carried most of the books.

"yeah, i suppose it has," you shrugged. "better now then never,"

"then," he grinned, putting the books down on a nearby table. "y/n, will you do me the honor of being my fake girlfriend?" he asked, getting down on one knee.

"i absolutely will," you grinned, placing a hand on his cheek. he noticed someone nearby and subtly pointed it out to you. you looked briefly and subtly and noticed carlota wilkins, the school gossip, watching you both—though she didn't seem to be in earshot.

"perfect timing," you smiled. like you two had discussed, he leaned close and cupped your face, covering where your lips would actually be touching. but like he had agreed, he pretended to kiss your lips and actually kissed your cheek. you both smiled adoringly at each other when you pulled away, looking to see that carlota had quickly scurried off.

"so, how should we do this? you'll walk me to classes, wait for me outside? have meals together?" you whispered. he nodded.

"and, with any luck, news of our passionate, bookish love story will have circulated the castle by then," he smirked at you. he grabbed the books you had picked out and both of you walked back to the table where all your stuff had been laid out.

after an hour of studying, you two decided to head for dinner. as far as you were aware, nothing had been around the school. matter of fact, you were sure this dinner was the first time many would see you and james even interact.

"hold my hand," he whispered to you, holding out his hand. you gripped his hand, finding it slightly bigger than yours and much softer. it was clear the boy hadnt grown calluses from quidditch, and if he had, he took care well.

he intertwined your hands, walking close to you as you two conversed normally. as the weeks had passed, you found you actually enjoyed the boy's company—even despite his stark difference in personality to you.

"do you want to do the thing you mentioned?" he asked before you entered the great hall.

"what thing?" you asked dumbfounded.

"that thing with the cleaning my glasses," he reminded.

you'd mentioned it so long ago, you didn't realize he'd remember it. in fact, you were sure at the time that he wasn't even listening.

you smiled. "yes, please," you pleaded.

"fine, we'll do it. but you better not dirty them," he warned jokingly.

"i'm not sure i could do any worse than they are now," you replied sarcastically.

"think your funny, do you?" he asked with a playful glare.

"i think i'm hilarious," you replied with a grin.

as you walked into the great hall, hands intertwined, it caught the attention of many near you. it lead to various whispers circulating the great hall, and for a moment, you almost felt embarrassed. that was until you noticed james and saw he wasn't looking at them, he was looking at you, expecting you to do what the two of you had planned.

"i feel weird now," you whispered.

"don't pay any mind to them, just do it," he encouraged.

you nodded with a small smile and grabbed his glasses, cleaning them briefly on your shirt. as you looked through them to judge the cleanness, you realized how bad james' eyesight really was.

"merlin, you're as blind as a bat," you blurted quietly.

"how romantic," he replied lowly. you rolled your eyes playfully.

once you seemed it clean enough, you slid the glasses back onto his face gently and fixed his hair. unbeknownst to you, james struggled to not lean into your soft touch. it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

then he did something spontaneous, but not entirely a bad idea. he wrapped his arms around your waist in a brief embrace and kissed your cheek. caught off guard, you laughed happily.

"good idea," you mumbled to him, staring into his eyes to really sell the adoring, cheesy feel of the new relationship. as far as anyone knew, this could've been going on for some time.

then, you and james made your way over to his friends. you'd only really met them once before, sharing a couple notes of conversation at a party—mostly with remus. before you could sit down, you told james you'd be back and ran off to explain to your friends—benjamin and b/f/n.

"hey guys, sorry, i'm having dinner with james today. but i'll sit with you guys tomorrow at breakfast," you smiled softly.

“sounds good!” your best friend smiled. but benjamin was frowning.

“you always sit with us for dinner? since when are you and potter a thing?” benjamin asked pointedly.

“well, it sorta just happened,” you shrugged. “he received my letter and we started talking and, well, the rest is history,”

“who knew you had a hard on for the gryffindor king of quidditch?” your best friend teased. “how far have you two gotten? have you kissed?!”

“no, we’re taking things slow, and if we do kiss, it will be private,” you reminded her.

“ugh, you’re not fun,” she chuckled. “very well, go have dinner with your boy toy, i’ll see you at the dorms,”

you nodded and walked off with a small smile, ignoring benjamin’s frown and glaring at james. what did he care? he wasn’t your boyfriend, much less your keeper. you quickly made your way over to james, who scooted to make a place beside him. he wrapped an arm around your waist and smiled at you before turning to his friends.

“lads, this is my girlfriend, y/n,” james smiled. “y/n, this is remus, sirius, and peter,”

they all looked confused but not surprised. james had mentioned you loads of times before, considering you were ‘tutoring him’. they just weren’t sure when that blossomed into this relationship.

“it’s nice to meet you all, i’ve heard a lot about you,” you smiled, extending your hand to each of them.

“nice to meet you too,” remus smiled, being the first to shake your hand. sirius and peter followed suit with a smile.

you smiled. “is it alright if i sit with you? i know it’s a bit unexpected,” you asked, though you knew the answer.

“any girlfriend of james’ is a friend of ours,” peter replied kindly.

“but just so you know, i was here first and you are not taking our date nights,” sirius said playfully.

you nodded. “absolutely, i know my place,” you joked back.

“perfect,” sirius winked.

——

a month had passed since you and james had officially revealed your relationship to the school. many different students had come up to you, striking a conversation as though you were long time friends, mainly because they were acquaintances of james. those who didn’t come up to talk to you—they just stared. it was nerve wracking to say the least.

on the brighter side, you were becoming much closer friends with james’ friends.

“no! there’s no way you actually believe that!” you laughed, shaking your head at sirius.

“think about it! eugenia jenkins has to be a secret muggle!” sirius replied.

“remus, please tell me you don’t actually entertain this,” you laughed.

“i stopped listening to sirius a long time ago, i just nod and say, ‘yes, love,’” remus grinned.

“you two are unbelievable,” sirius pouted.

“so, james, first game on saturday, how are we feeling?” peter asked, rolling his eyes at you and sirius’ debate on conspiracy theories playfully.

james cleared his throat, looking away from where he was staring—which was directly at a redhead with piercing emerald eyes—and looked at peter. he sighed.

“nervous as hell, i mean this is my first game as captain—what if my team screws up?” he confessed to you all.

“i’m sure you’ll do fine,” you replied kindly. “you’re one of the best quidditch players ever,”

“and she’s not just saying that because she’s your girlfriend,” remus interjected.

“no, i’m not,” you laughed, forgetting momentarily that james’ friends actually believed you were together. “you give your all to these games, you’ll do perfectly,”

“thank you, y/n,” he grinned. he then glanced around, both of you noticing that lily’s eyes had wandered to the both of you, and kissed your cheek.

peter scrunched his nose. “ew, keep it in your pants, potter,”

you and james laughed.

——

the first game had finally arrived and you felt like an idiot. it wasn’t that you felt embarrassed about james, there was nothing to be embarrassed about—he was your ‘boyfriend’. however, public displays of affection were not your thing. much less anything that could draw attention to you in general.

you put your hair up in a half-up do, perfecting the stray hairs and fixing your makeup thousands of times. then you turned around, picking up the old jersey james had lent you and slipping it on over your long sleeve shirt. it fit slightly baggy, but not overly big. you turned, your back facing the mirror as you glanced at the letters sprawled across the back with the number 07 below it.

“ooooo! you look so cute!” your best friend exclaimed as she walked into your shared dorm. she smiled happily at the sight of your wearing the jersey.

“thank you,” you chuckled, your cheeks heating up to a light pink. “it isn’t too much?”

“no! are you kidding?! you look like a supportive girlfriend,” your best friend encouraged. “benjamin would never do anything like that for me,”

your best friend was also on the quidditch team, but benjamin had never worn her jersey as he found it embarrassing. he and your best friend had also been having issues for the last two weeks, about what, you weren’t sure. your best friend wasn’t ready to share it with you yet and you weren’t going to push.

“how is that going by the way?” you asked, smiling gently at her.

“it’s fine, just a rough patch i guess,” she shrugged. “anyway, you should get down to the pitch, i heard lily evans is going down to give the team cookies she baked,”

“okay?” you questioned, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

your best friend gave you a bewildered look. “you haven’t heard?! she has a crush on james! she’s going to try to seduce your man—with cookies!”

you then remembered, you and james are supposed to be dating. except it wasn’t that hard to remember, because when she mentioned the crush lily had on james—for a split moment, you felt jealously pull at your heart strings.

“well i suppose i should wish him luck before the game,” you nodded, before grabbing your gift for james and heading out the door.

it had been a spontaneous buy, seeing it in the daily prophet and noticing the way james kept looking at it. you decided, as a fake girlfriend, maybe it’d be a nice gesture to buy him something he’d like.

within minutes you had reached the quidditch locker room, finding the entrance much easier than you’d expected. you quickly entered, faced with different boys and girls changing. thankfully, none seemed to be annoyed with your presence—just indifferent.

you spotted lily by the corner of the room, waiting for everyone to finish up changing—noticing that she was subtly ogling james as he changed his shirt. you weren’t entirely sure what to do. james wanted lily’s attention, so what do you do now that he has it?

but, you did still have a gift for him…

“hey, j,” you smiled, walking over to him. he smiled at you, and for the first time ever, he didn’t check to see if lily was around—he just kissed your cheek.

“hello, pretty lady,” he grinned. “what’re you doing here?”

“just wishing you luck,” you replied with a small smile. “and i brought you something,”

you held out the small box to him, waiting for him to take it. he did and smiled, looking confused as he opened it, but when he did he smiled widely. as he pulled the broomstick pendant of the box, he marveled at it.

“wow, this is…incredible, thank you,” he whispered, pulling you in for a hug—forgetting that he was still shirtless. you didn’t mind.

you hugged him back and smiled, “of course. i know you’ve been talking about wanting a lucky charm, i figured this could be it,”

“thank you, i’ve never had anyone do something like this before,” james grinned.

“it’s what friends do,” you whispered in his ear, ruffling his hair. his smile faltered a bit before nodding.

“of course,” he chuckled. except you could feel that something in him had changed.

“you alright?” you asked.

“yeah just nervous i suppose,” he chuckled. “but i hope my girl will be in the stands watching me,”

“you know it,” you smiled, punching his arm playfully.

“i see you have the jersey on, looks cute on you—I don’t know anyone who could wear it as nicely as you,” he complimented. “course, except for me,”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “thank you, i just feel weird. like i’m drawing attention to myself,”

“attention you’ve drawn to yourself is the best kind to receive,” he grinned. “alright, i’ll see you after the game i have to give my pep talk now,”

“alright, see you,” you smiled. and before you could turn, he grabbed your wrist and kissed your cheek again, leading for you in turn to kiss him back on the cheek.

“you’re going to do great,” you reminded, placing a hand on his cheek before finally leaving the locker rooms.

with a big smile on your face.

#james potter #marauders era #sirius black #the marauders #peter pettigrew #remus lupin #lily evans #james potter x reader #james fleamont potter #james x reader #james x you #jamespotter #part two #request

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