#james potter oneshot

[mischievousmoony]

I just read your fratboy!James blurb and im OBSESSED!!

I'd love another blurb about either like visiting him at his frathouse after habing gotten closer and hes super respectful but reader is a little confused and anxious about what he wants from her (wether he likes her romantically and all that jass) or something about giving him his jacket back and him being all flirty yk

sorry for rambling and i hope you have a lovely day!!!

love this idea! i went with the first half of the request so this doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with the original frat boy!james blurb, but ive been working on a part 2 for that too !

𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 2.0k ⟢ warnings/tags: fluff, drinking/intoxication (not reader), miscommunication but this is the resolution, reader is confused about james' intentions

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You thought James invited you over to hang out, just the two of you. You had been brainstorming movies to watch and takeout places to suggest all day in preparation for a quiet night with him.

The last thing you expected to be doing right now was watch him play beer pong with his friends in the crowed living room of his frat house. But, here you are, standing off to the sidelines and occasionally giving him a thumbs up when he waves at you.

You perk up when James' team is about to lose—at least it'll mean the game is finally over—but James sinks the ball into the last cup, sending them into overtime.

James throws his hands up in the air, turning in your direction for approval. You send him yet another thumbs up as you try hide your discontent. When he turns to celebrate with Sirius, you slump against the wall with a sigh.

"You good?" a voice rings out to your left. You turn your head to make eye contact with the speaker's shoulder, and you have to crane your neck much more than expected to meet the eyes of the tall boy.

It's James' friend Remus. You've only spoken to him a handful of times, but he's always been very nice.

"Hey, yeah, I'm fine."

Remus quirks an eyebrow. "You don't seem to be having a good time."

You puff out a long breath, and you don't know why, but you find yourself confiding in Remus. "This just wasn't really what I expected tonight to be like."

"No? And what were you expecting?"

"Not a party. I thought James just wanted to hang out with me." You start to worry you've gotten the wrong idea—like maybe this was never supposed to be a date at all. Maybe you're just another friend James invites to his parties. "I thought he liked me. Do I have it all wrong?"

Remus chuckles, which makes you feel worse. "You should talk to him," he advises, which is awfully unhelpful.

"Maybe if this game ever ends," you grumble, turning your head back to the game to watch Sirius miss yet another cup and almost fall into the table. Sirius is barely sober enough to stand, much less get a tiny ping pong ball into a cup eight feet away.

"Hold this?" Remus hands you his drink before tapping Sirius on the shoulder. "Dude there's some people hooking up on your bed."

"What!?" Sirius squawks, immediately abandoning the game to shoo these made up people out of his room.

"Wait, we need you to finish this!" James calls after him, but it's no use.

"Lemme step in for him," Remus offers, and with him as James' new partner, they win the game in just two more rounds.

Remus winks when he takes his drink back from you, and then he promptly disappears into crowd.

You shake off the awestruck look on your face as James approaches you.

"Hey!" he shouts over the music.

"Hey, congrats on winning," you reply.

"What?"

You clear your throat to enable you to raise your voice. "I said congrats.”

James squints at you, still not understanding. You swear the music just got twice as loud.

James leans in, and you shiver as his warm breath fans the side of your neck. "It's a little loud here, wanna go somewhere else?"

He leans back to see you nod, and he takes your hand to lead you upstairs.

The first thing you notice about his bedroom is how clean it is. His bed is made without a single wrinkle in the sheets, his desk is so organized there’s not even a pen out of line, and the room itself smells like fresh laundry and faintly like his cologne.

You sigh in relief as the door clicks shut, muffling the music and giving your eardrums a much needed break.

“Make yourself at home,” James says, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting the spot beside him.

As soon as you sit, James angles his body so that your knees are touching, and goosebumps spread across your skin at the contact.

“Are you having fun?”

“Oh, yeah,” you lie. “It’s a great party.”

James’ lips curve into a smile. He studies you for a few seconds, and you have to fight not to tear your gaze away, feeling shy all of a sudden.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"

Your lips part, and James' eyes dart down. He looks like he really wants to kiss you—or maybe more.

A sinking feeling settles in your stomach. The only thing that could be worse than you mistaking James' friendship for romance, is you mistaking sexual attraction for genuine like.

Your mind is racing now as you recount all the times you've interacted with James. Did he invite you to this party just to get you up to his room? Has this been his goal the whole time? All the kind gestures and friendly smiles, was it all a ploy?

James' eyebrows knit together as worry settles in on your face. He scoots a couple inches away from you to give you space. "Is everything okay?" he asks.

"James, why am I here?" you blurt out.

"What do you mean?" James asks. His tongue swipes across his pouty lip—a nervous tic—as his eyes dart around your face for hints in your expression that might help diagnose the problem.

"Did you invite me to this party just to- to get me in your room? In your bed?" you ask boldly.

James almost chokes on air. He is momentarily rooted in place from shock. Your eyebrows shoot up when a few seconds later, he suddenly springs to his feet to distance himself from you even further.

"No. No!" James holds his hands out in front of him. "We don't need to be in here. We don't need to be anywhere! We can leave—or you can leave—I don't want you to leave. But you can go wherever you want. Alone. Or with me. Whatever you want. I just-"

James takes a deep breath, an attempt to ease his racing heart. "I didn’t bring you here to try anything. I just thought it’d be nice to be alone for a minute. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

You chew on your lower lip, starting to feel bad about your accusation. "I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“Shit, don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“It’s just, I'm not uncomfortable. I'm confused."

"Confused? About what?"

"Well, for one, I didn't realize you were inviting me to a party when you invited me over tonight."

James' face falls, and your comment hangs in the air as he processes it. He runs a hand through his messy curls as he mutters, "I'm such an idiot."

"Huh?"

"I didn't invite you to a party. This wasn't supposed to be a party. I thought that you thought there was gonna be a party so I... threw a party last minute." James scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Why-? Why would I think that?"

"Because of your text.”

"What text?"

James takes out his phone and quickly navigates to your messages from this morning. "When I said 'looking forward to tonight. i think it'll be fun' you responded 'if it's anything like last time, it'll be loads of fun.'"

"How did that make you think I was expecting a party?"

"Last time you were here, it was for a party."

"I wasn't talking about last time I was here, I was talking about the last time I saw you. When we ran into each other at the football game."

And you mean literally ran into each other. James wasn't looking where he was going and made you drop your soft pretzel. He bought you another one, of course, and the two of you ended up straying from the crowd and missing the whole last half of the game in favor of a walk around campus.

"Oh." James' shoulders slump. "I'm sorry. This wasn't how tonight was supposed to happen. We were supposed to watch a movie."

"We were?" You feel a little disappointed that tonight went differently than either of you wanted. But at the same time, hearing his original plans is making you were feeling better about everything.

"Yeah. I even started a free trial on every streaming service I don’t have so that we could watch anything you wanted. And do you see how clean my room is? It's never this clean. I even washed all my bedding." James picks up the corner of his duvet and fiddles with it between his forefinger and thumb. "I used like ten dryer sheets on this."

Your lips curl into a smirk. "So you did want to get me in your bed?" you tease.

"No! No, I swear," James jabbers, almost panicking all over again. He holds a hand over his heart as he promises, "There wasn't going to be any funny business. Well, unless you were planning on making the the first move, because I would've been happy to oblige- that's not the point."

You break out into a fit of giggles, and James can't help but chuckle along even if he is feeling a bit sheepish.

"Look, I'm really sorry about how this night turned out," James says once your laughter dies down.

"Well, it's not over yet."

A grin slowly creeps it's way onto his face. "That's true. Are you up for a movie?"

"You did say you already started several free trials. We can't let that go to waste."

James happily snags the remote from the dresser that also serves as his tv stand. He's about to join you again on his bed when his eyes light up with an idea. "Here," he says, handing you the remote. "I'll be right back, okay?"

James darts out of the room, leaving you slightly confused, but excited you're finally going to have the night that you planned. You scoot back on the bed, getting comfortable in his duvet that smells strongly of Downy.

When James returns, his arms are full with three different bowls of popcorn.

"I want you to know I had to fend off several intoxicated people to get you these snacks."

"Are there going to be more people joining us?" you joke as James balances the bowls on his bedside table.

"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got all kinds. Butter popcorn—freshly popped, by the way—kettle corn, and that's white cheddar. I also have plain salted popcorn but I didn't want to carry too many and risk dropping them."

"This is more than perfect. Thank you. Besides, this is my favorite," you say, reaching for your favorite of the three and popping a few into your mouth.

James smiles as he moves around the bed to take a seat on the other side.

"So, what are we watching?" you ask, as if you don't have a list of ten different options on your phone. When James doesn't answer, you turn away from the tv to find him already looking at you. "James?"

"I really like you," James blurts out, catching you off guard. "I want to make that abundantly clear. If- if you still weren't sure. I think you're amazing and I really don't want to mess this up."

"You're not messing anything up," you say, your voice taking on a more serious tone. "I like you too, James. A lot," you admit, and James' dazzling smile almost makes you melt on the spot. "Come on," you bump his shoulder with yours. "The nights not getting any younger and I want to watch a rom-com."

"I love those," James says, turning to the tv, but sparing some of his attention to admire you from the corner of his eye when you laugh at the jokes and to make sure his hand ends up in the popcorn bowl at the same time as yours—once he works up the courage, that is.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[luveline]

James being all cuddly and soft with a newborn baby and reader <3 baby fever is real and very serious rn!!!!!

James can’t believe it. He really can’t. 

Can’t believe you love him. Can’t believe you wanted a baby. Can’t believe you spent nine months of your life growing her, and nurturing her, and here she is. He’s in total ecstasy. 

“You don’t have to keep watching her,” you murmur. “She won’t run away.” 

“But what if I blink and she yawns again?” 

“Jamie…” You reach for him across the bed, careful not to graze the top of the baby’s head. “She’s gonna yawn for the rest of her life. You’ll see plenty of them.” 

“She’s so cute. I can’t stop looking at her.” 

He lowers his head where it’s resting in his hand so you can run your fingers through his hair. Even exhausted, you’re touchy. Love warms your fingertips and the thin skin of his scalp as you rake through his loose curls. 

James curls an arm around the baby gently, so gently. He shuffles closer to her, and you, by extension, where you’re on the other side of her. You might assure him she’s not going anywhere, but you don’t seem to believe it to yourself, glued to her even while you’re half asleep. You trust James to make sure you don't accidentally get too close.

“She’s so beautiful,” James whispers, bringing his curled hand to her face, the flat of his nail against her cheek. He draws a little circle. 

“She looks like her mammy.” 

“Yes, she does.” 

“You think so?” you ask. “I was just kidding. I haven’t really thought about it.” 

James looks at the baby’s face. Her teeny tiny nose, her eyelashes, her perfect skin. He likes to think he can see you in her because of course he can, you made her, you carried her and you grew her. Somehow, the fruit looks like the flower. 

“She’s just as beautiful as you are,” he says surely. 

“All babies are beautiful.” 

“And ours is the most,” James says. She’s barely two days old. It’s insane. 

You’re a tired James has never seen on you, hand sluggish where it continues in his hair. You’re falling asleep again, eyelids blinking heavy and slow, your nose turning into the pillow. Seconds from dreaming. 

James shuffles up the bed to put his head on the pillow with you, the baby between your two bodies. He won’t sleep, he wants you to know he’s near. “I love you,” he reminds you, tapping your forehead with his. 

“Love you… I’m gonna sleep.” 

“I’ll miss you,” he whispers, kissing your top lip in a miscalculated show of total adoration. 

You can’t kiss back. You give into sleep and in minutes you’re snoring lightly, breath a whistle where it slips past your lips. 

James gives your sleeping face a few kisses. He cups your cheek, and he curls toward your baby for more staring. He’s spent years already tracing the slopes and lines of your face, and now he has a new one to memorise. He refrains from kissing her, scared of germs, but he finds the small lump of her hand in the swaddle and covers it with his own. “Pretty,” he praises. 

She lets out a breath. Her snore is yours, too. 

[inkdrinkerworld]

Hi can I get James potter with "the lady over there just asked if we were a couple." "well, we did just kiss." "i know but it's still cool that we've finally been asked, don't you think?"

Of course you can!!! I unintentionally made this kinda black cat!reader x sunshine!james

James giggles as he comes from cashing your order.

You were both on a run, and stopped for breakfast before heading home. You’re not sure why he’s giggling, but your boyfriend is a generally happy person so you’re not worried.

You’re a little worried when he says, “You’ll never guess what just happened!”

You look at him, “What just happened Jamie?”

“That lady over there, the one that was in front of us, she asked if we were dating.”

You roll your eyes, “Well we did just kiss before I came to sit down.”

James nods, smile still plastered on his face. “I know but it’s still cool that we’ve finally been asked, don’t you think?”

You mull it over for a moment, it is cool that you’ve been asked.

James is the most romantic man you’ve ever met, so you know on the inside he’s probably as sticky as warm toffee, and that makes you even more chuffed that someone has asked him if you’re dating.

“Yeah, it is Jamie.” You kiss him again, if only to keep his smile as bright as it had been when he’d first walked over.

[prettydaisygirl]

Hi beautiful <33

I love your writing, especially James Bombero's. I need that man to be real.

Some fluff, maybe suggestive if you want (?) where the Pregnant reader is very happy to see James training and exercising and maybe because she is a little insecure about her body, he shows her that no matter the weight, he can carry her.

hi nonnie! Thank you so much for this request, I need to write something with them and their baby because I can't get enough of this. Hope you enjoy <3

firechief!James Potter x fem!reader who feels insecure about her body ✿ 710 words

cw: pregnant!fem!reader, body insecurity, James being hot but also gross, suggestive but no actual smut

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

You bite your lip, shifting on the couch again. It’s been difficult to get comfortable recently, what with your body adjusting for new growth and the swell of your belly. That’s not why you’re squirming though, not really. That’s just your excuse.

The real reason is across the room, wearing a headband and shining with sweat.

James is doing bicep curls with weights you’re sure you’d never be able to lift. His small grunts with each rep have you hot and bothered no matter how hard you try to focus on your novel. Your eyes trace the same sentence four times before you give up, looking up to admire him again.

His muscles shift under the thin fabric of his sleeveless shirt. You find yourself staring, the book in your hand falling into your lap. James shakes his hair off his forehead again, beads of sweat dripping off his chocolate-colored curls. Your body heats, an ache between your legs that only worsens as you continue to watch him move.

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve let James touch you. You don’t feel right in your body.

You’re happy. Incredibly, wonderfully, amazingly happy to be carrying his baby, it’s not that. Every time you look in the mirror, you don’t feel like yourself. The thought of him touching you, seeing you like this, makes your skin crawl. You know James would love you no matter what you looked like, but you’re having trouble loving yourself enough to let him touch you.

The heat in your gut mixes with the icy coldness of insecurity. Your face crumbles and you look back at your book, nausea rising up your throat despite the fact that you’ve long surpassed your morning sickness phase. 

Of course, it’s at this moment that James chooses to look at you. He takes out an earbud, a frown on his face. “Are you alright, love?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” You say, though the words are hollow and your voice wavers enough for him to notice. “I just… you look really good right now.”

“Why do you sound disappointed by that?” He asks, grabbing a towel to wipe off his sweat as he steps closer to you. “Normally you’d say ‘oh wow Jamie, you are so hot with such big muscles, I love you so much!’” James does a very poor impersonation of you, but it’s enough to have one corner of your mouth tilting up into a smile.

“I would never say that.” You say back in a low voice, rolling your eyes at him. The tight feeling in your gut doesn’t go away, though, and your hands instinctively find your bump. Despite it being the main source of the insecurity, feeling the skin there also brings you a sense of comfort. It’s an internal battle that just leaves you feeling like there are bugs below your skin, like you’re an imposter. “I’m just… afraid to let you touch me right now. 

James’ face contorts like this is the most confusing thing he’s ever heard, and then he looks almost offended. “Do you think so little of me? Angel, you’re carrying my child, I would never-”

“No, it’s not you, it’s… I don’t like how I look right now.”

A thick silence fills the room, lingering long enough that you interrupt it with a sharp gasp in surprise as James slides an arm under your legs, the other behind your back, and lifts you into his hold gently. He just chuckles.

“James!” You wrap your arms around his back to stop yourself from falling. 

“You know I love you no matter what you look like, right?” James’ voice is soft. 

“Yes.” You say, just as quiet. “I know.”

“And you just told me that I look good.” Not a question, but you respond the same.

“Yes, I know.” With a smile this time.

“And I’m really turned on right now, so can I please carry you upstairs and make love to you?” He doesn’t give you the chance to get shy or embarrassed. “I’ll worship you until you forget all about your insecurities, baby.”

Your cheeks heat, and you bury yourself into his chest. He smells like sweat and man, and you crinkle your nose. 

“Only if you shower first.”

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[kquil]

JAMES POTTER | BOUDOIR PHOTOSHOOT

sum. : you have your bridesmaids show James, your, now, husband, polaroid samples from your boudoir photoshoot on your wedding night while you enjoy his reactions from afar

quick note : boudoir is a photography style showcasing sensual, romantic and even erotic images of the subject person. It showcases and celebrates the person's beauty and sexuality.

tags. : marrying james potter ; fluff ; kinda spicy ; you have the best bridesmaids ; inspired by a tiktok ; james is the perfect man for you ; wedding day! ; james loves your body ; no mentions of specific body type; james can't wait for his wedding 'night' ; shy reader shows her wild side~

length : 2k

navi. | more james potter

In preparation for your wedding day, you participated in a boudoir photoshoot. You were marrying the man of your dreams, the most perfect man for you, James Potter. It was your way of expressing your love, to show him how confident and beautiful he made you feel. Not a day goes by without him whispering an affectionate ‘I love you’ into your ear or expressing how beautiful he finds you despite the imperfections you nitpick along the lines of your body. He doesn’t let your toxic, self-deprecating thoughts linger for long; he loves every beautiful inch of you and he’s not afraid to show it, especially when you make love together. He loves you unconditionally and makes you want for nothing more in life. With him, you’re always content. 

This was a thank you to him for loving you so wholeheartedly and to showcase the beauty you were able to find in yourself because of him. You worked with your bridesmaids to pick out the perfect set of lingerie to wear for the photo shoot and had the most amazing photographer guiding you throughout. She was the perfect balance of encouragement, support and positive energy. And she was so respectful too. You were always the shy type so the beginning was quite wobbly but you eventually found your flow and it ended on such a high note. As promised, she created a beautiful photo album of the pictures you approved and made small Polaroid samples of the ones you wanted your bridesmaids to ambush James with on your wedding night. 

The shoot was weeks ago and now you were on the evening of your Wedding day. Everyone was dancing around, having a fun time, James’ close friends were a good level of tipsy with several of the guests congregating around the wedding live-painter to admire her work. It wasn’t ready yet but you made sure to check on her and keep her well-fed throughout the night; she was a guest too and was doing something incredible for your wedding, it was the least you could do. 

You fondly eye James as he dances with your family, a bright smile on his face. You still remember walking down the aisle, smiling at him as he wipes at his eyes, sniffling wetly at the sight of you but he was grinning the entire time. Neither of you has stopped smiling the whole day, you believe. It really was the perfect wedding.     

“Are you ready, Mrs Potter?” Lily whispers teasingly, trying to suppress a giggle as she flattens a Polaroid sample of your boudoir shoot to her chest. Your other bridesmaids, Marlene, Mary, Dorcas and Alice have also come to surround you, mischievous grins on their faces as they each tightly hold onto a Polaroid sample, making sure that it wouldn’t be seen by anyone but the intended target by holding it close to their chests. 

Biting your lip, you temper a wide grin and nod. They squeal and turn to one another with a buzz in their veins, “Just like we planned ladies,” Alice giggles before they all nod and split up with Marlene heading straight for James. You don’t know what photo any of the girls have but Lily informed you that they formed an order from least to most scandalous. It was devious but a good plan. You move to stand in view of James so you can see his reaction to each photo from afar, the girls also hold up their phones to record his reaction from up close so they can send you the video later on. 

James was dancing along happily, not having drunk a single drop of alcohol as he wanted to savour every moment of his wedding ceremony. He wanted to remember everything! He was also pretty sure he didn’t need alcohol to feel drunk, the electric feeling in the air was all he needed to fly high above the clouds. He’s never been so happy his entire life; he married the woman of his dreams and she let him give her his last name. He feels complete. And he was still riding that high when Marlene came up to him with a Cheshire grin on her face. 

“Yohooo~ Jamsiekins!” James rolls his eyes but smiles at her nonetheless.

“Yes, McKinnon?” a small bolt of worry flashes through him, “Is my wife okay?”

“She’s perfect! She actually wanted me to give you a present~” James raises a brow and tries to look for you in the crowd but is unsuccessful when Marlene steps closer, her phone raised and flips the Polaroid that was pressed to her chest at him. He gives it a brief glance, barely registering the image before going slackjawed and doing a double take. The second time, he looks at it longer and with wide eyes, wanting to imprint the entire image into his brain. 

“So beautiful…” James trails off, staring longingly at the image of you in a see-through nightgown leaning against the windowsill with your hair beautifully done and your beauty on show under the gentle sun. He stutters in place when Marlene flips the Polaroid again. He looks at her like a hurt puppy, “Is th-that for me? C-can I keep it?” He reaches for the Polaroid and thankfully, Marlene surrenders it without a fuss. He grins and kisses the photo before tucking it into his blazer's breast pocket, “Thank you~” 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Potter,” Marlene salutes him with two fingers before marching off to pull Sirius away from the buffet table and onto the dance floor. James chuckles at her antics before looking through the crowds until he meets your shy eyes. His gaze softens with affection at your bashful demeanour and he sets out a clear path towards you. 

But he’s stopped by Alice who has another Polaroid and also has her phone raised. She, too, shows him the Polaroid of you, this time laid across a bed and sweetly looking into the camera at your side with a hidden smile, a lacy, see-through slip dress draping over your figure. His eyes linger on the curve of your spine and the perfect roundness of your butt. He can make out the small, lacy set you wear underneath and he swears he’s found heaven on earth. His hands immediately go up to cover the Polaroid from both sides as he bites his bottom lip to suppress a feral scream. 

“God, I’m so lucky…” he looks up at Alice from behind the camera, which perfectly captures the lovestruck look in his eyes and the soft blush on his cheeks, “That’s my wife…she’s my wife” he sounds breathless and giddy, making Alice laugh before surrendering the Polaroid. She sends you the video of James before looking for Frank and silently wishing the rest of the girls luck. 

James quickly puts Alice’s polaroid into his breast pocket too and returns on his path to you. But he barely makes it two steps forward before Lily ambushes him with another Polaroid and a phone to his face. He wants to smile like a madman but his dropped jaw makes it too difficult. He immediately snatches the photo and cradles it preciously, admiring your beauty once more. You’re scandalously raising your nightgown to showcase your cute, lace panties, a matching garter belt and thigh highs as you innocently look at the camera with glossy, smiling lips. 

“Ho-ly. Shit…” he swallows hard and begins to pant like an animal in heat, “Oh my– fuck!” he holds the Polaroid to his chest with reddening cheeks and wild eyes. He sags comically, dramatically showing how he’s close to collapsing on the spot. He’s seeing an entirely new side of you, not that he’s complaining, he just wasn’t prepared. A feral, primitive instinct builds up from within him. He desperately fights it and the urge to savagely take you in front of everyone, “She’s trying to kill me! This isn’t fair! She’s so sexy!” Lily giggles maniacally at him and pats his shoulder as if to wish him luck and James both dreads and is excited about what may come next. 

He’s soon stopped by Dorcas. This time his brows fly up to his hair line and he forgets to breathe. His hands instinctively shield the photo as he bends down to observe the small image so closely his nose touches the film. He pulls back and releases a heavy breath before leaning in again with the same shocked but appreciative look on his flushed face.

“Woah!” he looks around frantically as if he’s doing something he isn’t supposed to do and looks at the picture of you for a third time, trying hard not to groan at the tightening in his trousers. The image is of you from behind, draped over a decorative vintage sofa with your ass in the air, there’s no see-through nightgown, only a red lacy number with a garter belt and thigh highs. He berates himself for the dirty scene that flashes in his mind; he’s perfectly positioned behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he grinds his— 

“Keep it in your pants,” Dorcas laughs at him as she walks away, her phone still raised at him. 

“You’re not making it very easy for me!” James huffs in mock anger, hastily pocketing his fourth Polaroid that night.

When Mary comes up to him with the same routine, James doesn’t know whether he groans from suppressed excitement or dread at making a fool of himself in front of you for a fifth time. He knows you're watching him and seeing his reactions closely from the videos the girls were taking. And, although he wants to be a gentleman, you’ve always gotten such a big reaction from him over the littlest things, it’s only natural he gets worked up over scandalous images of you too. 

This photo of you was the most scandalous and immediately stole James’ breath away. It’s a top-down view of you on a bed with half-lidded eyes, your bra unclasped and in the process of slipping off if it weren’t for your arm coming across your chest to stop it. The position, however, only further accentuates your cleavage and his eyes linger on the delicious sight for an embarrassingly long time. Your other hand reaches down and fingers just beneath your panty line, a suggestive action he desperately wants you to recreate for him in private later. You looked ripe and ready to be eaten alive and James would gladly jump at the opportunity. It’s the perfect snapshot of you just before he devours you whole. The photo has him reaching to unbuckle his belt but he resists and snatches it up instead, panting like a dog with a wild glint in his hazel eyes. “This better be the last one of my wife or else I’m punching a wall,” Mary shakes her head at him with a laugh, “it’s not funny! I’m going crazy!”

With a wink, Mary confirms that it’s the last one and tilts her head in your direction. Without wasting another second, James rushes to you, his beautiful bride, dressed in white. It was the best day of his life but he wants it to hurry up and be over already so he can finally have you to himself. All polaroids are tucked safely into his inner blazer pocket as he wraps you up in his arms and buries his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I’m going mad over you, love,” he voices with a hidden growl to his voice, kissing and sucking at your exposed skin, whilst desperately breathing in the fragrance of you. You’ve never seen him so… animalistic before but it lights a fire inside you that you happily fall into.

“Wait until you see the whole album~” Your comment has him shooting up, away from your neck and leaning into your face. The feral look in his eyes is unmistakable as he whispers against your lips. 

“There’s an entire album of you looking like that?” 

“Yes~ And it’s all for you~” James almost faints on the spot. 

navi. | more james potter

a/n : for those curious, this is the tiktok it was inspired by hehe~ this was a little nsfw but i hope you darlings enjoyed!

[g1rld1ary]

forever ain't too long - james potter x reader

wc: 1496 summary: you can feel your soulmate's pain, and your touch can heal them. you think you must have the clumsiest soulmate on earth. me: a late contribution to bound together au for @acourtofchaos festival! felt bad that i haven't written anything in a while so tada... exams and assignments r coming up so who knows when the next fic will be!! also this is my first soulmate au which feels crazy!

All things considered, you were a pretty lucky girl. You’d never broken a bone, twisted an ankle; you’d never even had a bee sting or splinter. You weren’t sure how or why, but you thought it must’ve been the universe’s little gift to you.

Unfortunately, it seemed like your soulmate did not share your gift. Quite the opposite, really. Even in your earliest memories, you’d experienced phantom pains at all hours of the day. Over long years of sudden, random aches and pains, you’d decided your soulmate must’ve been the clumsiest person on earth.

It didn’t stop as you grew older, unfortunately and surprisingly, and you still often found yourself groaning in pain while washing dishes, doing homework or hanging out with friends. Pretty much everyone in your life was used to it by now, but it was still unpleasant for you.

You thought your soulmate might’ve been an athlete. The injuries got more frequent over some parts of the year, and you recognised the pattern as the Quidditch season, though you weren’t sure if any other sports aligned with the same schedule.

Still, that didn’t mean you went to Quidditch matches any more than a few a year. It wasn’t really your thing, but you’d go if all your friends did. Maybe, secretly, it’s because you were too scared to accidentally meet your soulmate.

You were only a seventh year, if you met your soulmate now, you’d have an awfully long life left with them — if all went to plan. The idea of having to be with someone forever was, well, scary. And you weren’t like Sirius and Remus, you didn’t live and breathe for someone else, the idea of forever for you was just plain frightening.

Somehow, you’d been convinced to attend the Gryffindor—Ravenclaw semi-final Quidditch match. Well, somehow was perhaps misleading.

James had walked into the common room the night before, muddy, sweaty but beaming from a final late practise, and locked eyes on you, curled up on your favourite armchair.

“Hiya,” He said, looming over you and partially blocking the firelight. You tilted your head up to face him, squinting to readjust your eyes in the altered brightness.

“Hey.” You smiled sweetly, “How was training? You gonna win tomorrow?” James grinned, cocky even despite his obvious weariness.

“Only if you come watch, sweetness. Need my lucky charm there.”

“Don’t be daft, Potter. You win all the time when I’m not there.” You rolled your eyes, attempting to go back to your book.

“Only ‘coz I’m thinking of you, lovie. Gotta win for my best girl.” You huffed, pushing yourself out of the armchair, bringing your novel with you.

“You’re ridiculous,” You patted him lightly on the bicep to ease some of the tension between you, “And you need to get some rest before tomorrow. G’night, Potter.”

With that, you headed upstairs to wrap up your own night.

“So are you gonna come or not?” James called up to you, breaking the silence of the common room. You looked back, one hand still resting on the bannister of the staircase. After a moment, you produced a small smile.

“Maybe if you’re lucky.” You retreated into your dorm without any other conversation, leaving James standing in a lovesick daze in the middle of the common room. He was well aware of the way the deep ache in his bicep had dissipated the moment you touched it, but he knew it wasn’t the right time to make you aware of that fact.

That brought you back to the Quidditch match, to your seat between Lily and Peter. It was an intense game, both teams desperate to get into the finals. Neither team was above playing dirty, and you were sure it was the most violent match you’d ever seen.

You were also, to unsure feelings, becoming sure that your soulmate was on one of the two playing teams. You were in silent agonies, your insides reflecting the conflict between the two opposing teams.

Coming to reluctant terms with the fact that you’d have to narrow down who your soulmate was sooner rather than later, you only hoped it wasn’t Richard McLaggen, the brutish, unpleasant beater from the Ravenclaw team.

Unfortunately, it was almost impossible for you to narrow down who it could be from simply watching the match. Players darted around like flies, zipping from one sport to the next so quickly it was hard to keep track of, let alone tell who was who or what their interactions were with other players.

You’d been distracted by your realisation and had evidently zoned out of part of the gameplay, but you were ripped back into reality by Lily’s aggressive grasp on your wrist as she gasped in horror.

Like in slow motion, it seemed like the entire stadium fell quiet as five or six players all collided at once in a dreadful mess of limbs and brooms. You winced as you certainly felt somebody’s injuries all over your body, but that was nothing compared to the horror of watching a body unmistakably James-shaped fall through the air, struggling in vain as he dropped quickly towards the sand.

You couldn’t breathe until he finally wrapped his fingers around the handle of the broom, breaking his fall slightly. He still landed in the sand with an audible groan, but at least it didn’t look like he’d shattered every bone in his body.

You couldn’t differentiate James’ injuries from anyone else’s, so you had no way of knowing whether it could be him or any of the other unfortunate players who’d just taken a beating. But the flutter of your heart was there at the idea, and that… Well, that was maybe scarier than anything you’d seen in the match.

Gryffindor won the match, no thanks to James, who’d been carried off and taken straight to the infirmary, a frightening amount of blood dripping down his face.

The rest of your friends stormed the pitch with the rest of the school when the match ended, celebrating your house’s victory. You didn’t join them, scared of the crowd and, admittedly, a little worried about James up in the infirmary by himself.

The school was scarily silent as you rushed through the halls, trainers echoing against the tile. You slipped through the heavy door into the otherwise empty infirmary, sighing in relief as you saw James propped up in the hospital bed, looking mostly alive.

“You’re a sad sight,” You said, and James looked up at you with doe eyes, a crooked, split smile appearing as he took you in. He truly looked a mess; blood still crusted down his chin and in his hair, bruises already forming on the surface of his skin.

“They couldn’t take the fact that I was hot and good at Quidditch, love, it’s no biggie.” You rolled your eyes with a small laugh, sitting on the edge of his bed so you could talk.

“You know I hate to be genuine, but are you actually okay? That was really scary, James.” Without thinking, you swiped your thumb across your tongue, moving it down to James’ red, raw lips, intending to wipe away some of the blood that had escaped from the gnarly split in his lower lip.

“Yeah, ‘course, I…” He trailed off, not only at the surprisingly intimate gesture, but also at the way he could feel the cut close up under your touch.

Your eyes snapped up to his, a quiet “Oh” escaping your own lips, but your hand didn’t move from its light hold on James’ face.

There was no avoiding it now; the evidence was pretty undeniable, even for you. James Potter was your soulmate. But instead of the intense, ice-cold fear that ran through your veins, James only had a warm, adoring smile on his newly healed lips.

“Are you disappointed?” He asked with uncharacteristic shyness.

“No!” You were quick to assure him, hand moving up to brush through his unruly curls. You were surprised that you didn’t have to think before responding, and even more so at the fact that you didn’t think you were lying. “I’m not disappointed. Scared, maybe. But I could never be disappointed with you.”

James beamed, golden and bright and warm, and you couldn’t resist returning it. He lifted a weak arm to cup your face, thumb caressing the skin of your cheek softly.

Maybe you weren’t the biggest fan of the whole soulmate thing, and maybe it’d all turn to shit and your doubts would be for good reason. But there, in the silent infirmary, admiring the gold flecks in James’ eyes, forever really didn’t seem so scary.

[agreeewrites]

I Hate It Here | J.P.

feat James Potter x animagus!reader

SUMMARY: As a bat animagus, you're used to spending time alone: a creature of the night that prefers quiet solitude over the bustle of Hogwarts life. But when one James Potter charges into your life, you start to wonder why you hated daylight so much in the first place.

CW: MDNI 18+, FLUFFFF (James is down so bad), multi-pov, injuries and blood, shy!reader, protective!James, fighting and mentions of reader being bullied, light angst, HEA

AN: bats and deer are known to be close collaborators in the wild, with bats helping keep insects away from the deer, and the deer making it easy for the bats to find food. inspired by “I Hate It Here” from Taylor Swift’s album The Tortured Poets Department.

masterlist

James’ POV

“Pads, what the fuck!” James shifted back into his human form, scrambling to drag Padfoot out of the massive blackberry bushes he’d launched himself into. The run had been quiet, almost peaceful, just the two of them out for a moonlight romp to blow off some steam from the day.

Then, of course, Sirius buggered that right up.

Padfoot yipped and whined, the thorns pulling at his onyx fur, and flopped onto the ground beside it with a dramatic grunt. He quickly shifted back into a disgruntled Sirius, checking over himself for injuries.

“I didn’t know they were like…pointy!” Sirius huffed, relaxing when he realized he only had a few shallow scrapes. “Just wanted a fucking snack—”

“Of course they are—what is that?” A high-pitched clicking sound interrupted them. James crouched down, peering into the thicket of brambles and ripe, midnight purple fruit.

Something tiny and velveteen was trembling in a knot of thorns, it’s squeaks of discomfort barely audible. A wing fluttered out, delicate and leathery, a bead of carmine dripping from a hole pierced clean through the taught flesh.

A wee bat was caught in the brambles.

“Shit,” James cursed, tugging his sweatshirt sleeve down over his hand and shoving his arm socket-deep into the loathsome bush.

“What are you—”

“It’s alright, I’ve got ya’—please don’t bite me, please don’t bite me.” James wrapped his hand as gently as he could around the little bat’s body, feeling it’s heart fluttering rapidly in it’s chest. “Okay, there we go. I’m just gonna—fuck, ow, sodding thorns.” James brought the critter out as carefully as he could, making a concerted effort to keep his fist lax despite the thorns snagging his sleeve and jabbing into his forearm.

Once he had it completely removed from the bush, he slowly uncurled his fingers. The bat lurched upwards, flapping it’s tattered wings once, twice, then plummeted. James dove forward, catching the little thing just before it crashed to the ground, and cradled it safely back to his chest.

“Is that a bat?” Sirius asked, stepping closer.

“Must’ve been eating some fruit,” James muttered to himself, peeking open his fingers to peer at it. It blinked at him, eyes wide and dark as obsidian, the grayish fur of it’s snout stained with blackberry juice. It was trembling terribly, heart going a million miles a minute, and James knew he couldn't just leave it here.

Sirius looked stricken. “Shit, I’m sorry, mate.” he stroked a finger across the wing draped over James’ knuckles and the bat writhed in his hand, clicking disdainfully.

“Should we take it to Hagrid?” James asked, wincing when it’s thumb claw scratched across his inner wrist, uselessly trying to flap the injured appendage. Poor little thing.

“Poppy, probably. Hagrid’ll squish it.”

“Good point. Grab my scarf, will ya’?” Sirius tossed him his scarf from their belongings and James wrapped it as best he could around the creature, effectively immobilizing it, tiny head poking out from the top of the bundle.

“S’kinda cute,” Sirius said, leaning closer.

The bat loosed a vicious hiss, and he recoiled.

“Nevermind, christ.”

As quickly as they could, they hurried to the infirmary, the swaddled bat tucked into the crook of his arm, pressed against his chest.

“Boys! What one earth—” Madam Pomfry rushed to greet them at the door, probably expecting the worst given their history. “What’s that?”

“It got caught in a blackberry bush, tore up it’s wings…” he carefully unfolded the blanket, expecting the bat to try and fly away again, but it seemed to have exhausted itself, lying limply in his hands, breathing hard.

“Oh, dear,” Madam Pomfry tutted, taking the bat from him and setting it onto an examination table. “You poor thing.”

“It’s actually a bat,” Sirius joked, and she swatted him as she rushed past to grab some supplies.

“Have you nothing better to do?” Madam Pomfry bit, returning with a tincture and some stitching supplies.

“You know what, Poppy, I actually do. C’mon James, I bet the kitchens still open—”

“I’m going to stay—if that’s alright,” he said, glancing at Madam Pomfry. “Just to make sure it’s okay.”

“Suit yourself. Stay gorgeous, Pop!” Sirius blew her a kiss before making a swift exit.

Madam Pomfry began cleaning the scratches and tears along it’s wings and soft belly, and James was shocked to see how docile the bat had become. Relaxed even when Madam Pomfry lifted it into her hand to place a clean towel underneath it.

It was rather cute, almost puppy-like as it blinked up at him, nose twitching from the strong scent of the tincture, ears flicking this way and that.

“Dearie, I think it would be best if you changed back,” Madam Pomfry said gently, stroking the bats head.

James looked down at himself, confused. “To a deer?”

Suddenly, there was a flash of magic, one James knew all too well, and then there was a girl sitting where the bat was moments before, his scarf draped around her neck.

He reared back, stunned that not only was the bat an animagus, but an animagus he knew.

“Y/n?” He gawked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Potter,” you replied.

“You-you’re—you’re a bat?”

“And you’re a genius.”

He blinked at you, completely dumbfounded. A bat tracked, he supposed. You were quiet, a loner. He couldn’t remember ever seeing you with more than a friend or two, and you’d never attended a party. Really, he only ever saw you in his afternoon Charms class and in the library in the evenings. You hardly ever spoke, wrapped up in your own world.

He always had the distinct impression that you hated people, and now, staring down the barrel of your glare, he was certain of it. But saints, you were gorgeous. Death glare and all.

It then occurred to him that he’d had his entire hand wrapped around you not even ten minutes prior, and went hot under his collar.

James couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at a loss for words, but here he was, staring slack-jawed like a complete idiot.

“Perhaps you should thank him for saving your from that bush,” Madam Pomfry prodded gently, taking your arm to examine the gashes riddled there.

“Wouldn’t have been an issue if he kept a leash on his dog,” you bit.

James winced, guilt curdling in his stomach even though there was nothing he could have done to stop Sirius. The cuts on your arms looked bad, a deep and angry red, dried blood mixing with the purple stains on your skin.

How could he make this right?

Reader POV

You fought to hold your glare, but the pained look in James’ eye was rapidly unraveling your resolve. Of course it was James fucking Potter that found you. The golden head boy of Gryffindor, in all his infuriatingly handsome and tender-hearted glory, saved your dumbass from crucifixion-by-blackberries.

You’d almost rather be crucified than sit there for another second. The lights in the infirmary were too bright, the space too open, too sterile.

Why couldn’t you have been anywhere else tonight? If you had ever believed in good luck, you certainly wouldn’t believe in it now.

“Thank you, James,” you acquiesced, unable to mask the bitterness in your tone.

James smiled at you despite your tone, because he never stopped fucking smiling. “Thank you for not biting me,” he said, looking down at his palm—still stained with blood. Your blood. Because he had his hand wrapped around you. His giant, deliciously warm hand holding you ever so gently…

“Ow!”

“Sorry, dear. Just a few more,” Madam Pomfry soothed, having made the first stitch while you were distracted. Distracted by James fucking Potter.

You needed to get a grip. Him saving you doesn’t change anything. Sure, you would have been forced to stay there for eternity, or skewer yourself shifting back. But he was still James Potter, the embodiment of everything you despised most.

You hated Hogwarts, hated the crowded halls and musty rooms and catty students. You hated the classes, which either moved too slow or too fast. You hated the professors, with all their snobbery and favoritism.

Thus, you hated James. Because he not only loved the school, but the school loved him back.

Graduation couldn’t come soon enough. No more morning classes, no more roommates, no more James fucking Potter.

James seemed to sense your discomfort, his dark brows drawing together in concern. “Are you alright, though? Really?”

“Fine,” you hissed through gritted teeth, a headache blooming behind your eyes so sharply it rivaled the stitches you were receiving. You squeezed your eyes shut. Merlin, it’s too fucking bright.

You tried desperately to disappear into your mind, that secret garden where it was always midnight, always dark and quiet and safe, and escape for a little while.

“I suppose I’ll leave you to it then,” James said, sounding almost forlorn. Unsure in a way that was so unlike him, it made you open your eyes again. He shuffled on his feet, running a hand through his unruly black hair. “See you in Charms, then?”

You nodded, and he left without another word, glancing back at you a final time before the door swung shut behind him.

“James is a good lad,” Madam Pomfry said, giving you a pointed look. “Would do you well to let him in a little bit.”

You shrugged, and closed your eyes once more.

It wasn’t until you’d been patched up and sent on your way that your realized you still had his scarf wrapped around your neck, the smell of him, sun-dried laundry and cedar, lingering in your nose. You tucked it into the bottom of your trunk, telling yourself you’d take it to the be cleaned tomorrow morning.

The following afternoon…

You were dreading Charms, dragging your feet as you walked down the final corridor. You’d slept most of the day, your schedule being mostly afternoon classes, and the last thing you wanted to do was socialize.

Not that anyone talked to you, but still. Just being around other people was draining. Not to mention, James would be one of those people.

And sure enough, when you made your way into the classroom, you found James sitting next to your usual spot in the back corner, chatting animatedly with his friend Remus. The only one of his friends you found somewhat tolerable.

Of course, every other seat was taken.

James was dressed in his usual Gryffindor attire, a sweater vest and loosely done tie, white sleeves pushed up to show off the thickness of his sun-kissed forearms. Black slacks hugged his toned legs. Really, all of his clothes seemed just a fraction too tight over his Herculean build—saint’s sake you needed to get a hold of yourself. You were not interested in James Potter.

“There you are!” James chirped, and you groaned inwardly. You noticed the other students murmuring to themselves, wondering why James had taken an interest in you of all people, but James seemed oblivious to it. “How are you feeling?” He asked, pulling out your chair for you as you approached.

“I’m fine, a little sore,” you said, dropping into your seat and rummaging through your bag to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Goldenrod helps,” Remus said, giving you sympathetic look. “And chocolate.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, setting your books on the desk, and Remus shrugged, bidding you both farewell before walking back to the boys usual spot by the sunlit windows. It made your preferred corner look like a cave in comparison.

Flitwick dove into the lecture before James could ask anything else, to your profound relief.

But then—“I brought you these,” James whispered, sliding a tin across the table and under your nose. He seemed almost…nervous? “They’re, ah—they’re blackberry scones.”

Oh, no. You felt your heart swell in real time as you reached for the lid, a current of electricity flying through you when your fingers accidentally grazed his. “Why would you—”

“Ms. y/l/n!” Flitwick scolded. “Pay attention!”

You quickly pushed the tin away, heat scorching your cheeks. “Sorry, sir,” you squeaked, ducking your head back down to your notes. When the lecture resumed, you shot James a rueful glare.

“Sorry.” He grimaced. “They might be rubbish, I’ve never really baked before.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was this real life? James fucking Potter baked you scones? “James, you shouldn’t have—”

“I wanted to, as an apology for last night.”

“You don't have to apologize. I’d rather just forget it, honestly,” you admitted.

“Oh.” A flicker of hurt passed through his expression as he looked down, and you immediately regretted your blunt words.

You really were terrible in these situations, sucking the fun out of the room like a blackhole.

“Well, I’m glad to have properly met you,” he said after a beat, flashing you a toothy smile, dispersing the tension as quickly as it came.

You stared at him, perplexed. Your attitude had rolled off of him like water on a duck’s back. “Uh, thanks,” you said, painfully awkward, and stuck your nose into your book.

James’ POV

His palms were sweating, why the fuck were his palms sweating? And he couldn’t keep his hands out of his hair. And he wanted to keep talking, merlin, he felt like he could talk your ear off, but he held his tongue.

Talking to him seemed like the last thing you wanted to do, so he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to annoy you further.

You practically ran from him when class ended, and now, he was racking his brain for something he could have done to make you dislike him so much while sitting at dinner in the Great Hall.

There was something different about you, a depth in your eyes that piqued his interest. He was so used to people fawning all over him, tripping over themselves to talk to him, but you couldn't care less about who he was.

If anything, you seemed to like him less because of who he was. Which as driving him a little bit mad.

“You reckon he’s still thinking about that bat girl?” Peter muttered to Remus.

“Oh, absolutely. He was up at 5 a.m. baking,” Remus chuckled. “Spent the entirety of Charms today practically drooling all over her.”

“That's pathetic,” Marlene tittered, and it was enough to draw James out of his head.

“Fuck off, ‘Kinnon,” he said, flicking a chip at her.

“What's the obsession, anyways?” Sirius asked, his feet kicked up on the table, twirling his wand in his fingers. “It's not like you smashed her into a thorn bush.”

“No, I believe that was you,” James bit, avoiding the question, an ember of irritation flaring in his chest. He wasn't obsessed. Just…intrigued. “Have you even apologized?”

“To her human face? No,” Sirius said, looking a bit guilty. Then, he stood up on the bench, sweeping his gray eyes across the Great Hall. “I don't see her.”

“She's not here,” James grumbled, sounding more petulant than he probably should.

“She eats in the library,” Lily supplied.

James whirled around to face her. “How do you know that?”

“Because I pay attention to other people, you git.”

“C’mon, then. I have wrongs to right.” Sirius hopped down and grabbed his bag. James was already on his feet.

“You really shouldn't!” Lily called after them, but they were gone, Great Hall doors swinging shut behind them.

As they neared the library, James felt his skin start to heat, palms going clammy as his heart beat faster and faster. When they reached the doors, James nearly changed his mind, almost told Sirius they should just return to the Great Hall and leave you be, but his friend was on a mission.

Sirius pushed open the doors, startling the dozen students milling around at the front. “Any of you lot seen y/n?”

James felt his lungs shrivel in his chest. This was going to go badly, he could feel it.

“Padfoot,” he chastised.

“She's always back by the Forbidden Section,” a Ravenclaw offered.

“Cheers!” Sirius grabbed James by the elbow and dragged him through the crowd that had gathered and towards the Forbidden Section.

James had never felt so conspicuous in his life, and it made his skin crawl with aversion. Normally, he loved nothing more than being the center of attention, but he didn't want you to see him like that.

They rounded a corner, entering the darker, quieter part of the library, and sure enough, there you were. Curled up in an overstuffed armchair under a single, low-burning lantern, a book open in your lap and a scone in your hand.

You brought it to your lips, nibbling on the edge while your eyes drifted over the page, focused intently on whatever you were reading.

James had the strange realization that he'd very much like to be scone right about now, and felt his cheeks warm for the upteenth time that day. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear the image from his mind.

“There she is!” Sirius called, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. Though you quickly masked your surprise with irritation, lips pulling down into an adorable frown.

“Were you looking for me?” You asked, eyes flitting to James before quickly averting.

“We were, doll.” Sirius sauntered up to you, dropping onto his knees in front of your chair. You looked like you couldn’t decide whether to shift and fly away, or kick him in the teeth.

“Sorry to bother you,” James said, leaning against the bookshelf beside you. “Lily said you'd be here.”

“What, um, why exactly were you looking for me?” Your looked back and forth between the two of them, a small furrow forming between your brows, fidgeting in your seat.

“Prongs here was gracious enough to remind me that I hadn't properly apologized for hurting you.” Sirius patted James’ knee. “So, I am sincerely and deeply apologetic for body slamming you into an evil, evil bush.Can you ever forgive my inelegance?”

Your eyes widened, the color of you irises richer, more captivating in the low light.

Fuck, he was staring again.

“It's, uh—it’s okay, Sirius,” you said, glancing up at James again with a look he immediately recognized: help me.

Maybe you didn't hate him so much after all.

“Alright, mutt. You apologized, back off of her,” James said, sticking out his leg to push Sirius back a step. Your eyes melted with gratitude, and James’ heart lost its rhythm, beating slower as something foreign and liquor-sweet flowed through him.

“I vow to be more careful in my pursuit of late-night snacks.” Sirius stood up, crossing his heart.

“Just no snapping bats out of the air, yeah?” You said, a shy little smile lifting the corner of your mouth.

“Never,” Sirius promised, and you nodded.

“How'd the scones come out?” James asked, filling the small gap of silence.

You shot him another grateful look and holy shit, he could get used to that. “You only managed to burn some, so that's good.”

He smirked, thoroughly enjoying this more mischivious side of you. “I blame the ovens,” he said.

“Sure, James,” you chuckled.

He could jump for fucking joy. You laughed at his joke!

“That's impressive, considering it was the ass crack of fucking dawn when he made them,” Sirius teased, flashing him a malicious wink.

You pulled a face, nose scrunched up in faux disgust. “That's way too early.”

“Nocturnal type, hm?” James asked without thinking, mentally smacking himself. Of course you were a night owl, you were a bat for Godric’s sake.

“You could say that,” you giggled. “Most of my classes are later in the day.”

“Then you should study with us tomorrow morning!” Sirius said suddenly, and James groaned, ready to neuter him for being so uncouth. “We're going to meet here after breakfast to study for the Potions exam.”

“Oh, uh—” you started to pick at your nails, loosing your footing in the conversation as quickly as you'd found it.

“No pressure,” James added, seized by the need to alleviate your discomfort. “It’s just going to the four of us, Lily, and Marlene.”

“And Prongs will make more scones!” Sirius waggled his eyebrows.

It's decided; James was going to smother him in his sleep.

“Maybe,” you finally answered, avoiding James’ eye, and his heart sank.

Sirius nodded, apparently satisfied with how this disastrous encounter went. “Lovely. Now, if you'll excuse us, James and I have to, ah, hit the gym…for…Quidditch reasons.”

You raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie, but didn't comment. “Enjoy,” you said, sinking back into your chair and turning your attention back to your book.

James chased a cackling Sirius out of the library. “You're a terrible fucking wingman,” James hissed, smacking him on the back of the head.

“I know, that was god-awful,” Sirius snorted. “But, maybe you'll get to see her tomorrow? So not a complete failure.”

“Or, she’ll never talk to me again because I'm friends with imbeciles that send her to the infirmary!”

“I guess we'll find out!”

“Now, I'm actually taking you to the gym with me as punishment,” James glowered. He needed to work off some of this stagnant energy, too, his mind and body buzzing from that small interaction.

“No! Merlin, please—no!” Sirius cried as James hauled him by the hair down the corridor.

Reader’s POV

You lingered outside the library, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Were you really doing this? You couldn't remember the last time you hung out with more than a few people at a time, let alone in the morning.

But you couldn't deny that at part of you, a miniscule, insignificant part of you that barely garners mentioning, wanted to see James. And with James came his friends.

He'd been kind to you, saved you from certain stabbing, made you apology baked goods, the least you could do is show your face for one morning study session.

There was something about James that was hard to say no to. He was so genuine, so eager. Even you couldn't bring yourself to pop his optimistic bubble, no matter how ambivalent you felt towards most things.

He was making it very difficult to continue despising him.

You could suck it up for one morning to make him happy. And only because he saved you. You owed him. Not because you cared about him, his feelings, or his opinion of you.

Definitely not.

Before you could chicken out, you pushed through the doors and into the library. It was sun-soaked and bustling, energy humming along the walls and marble floors. The chandeliers cast rainbows across the space, brightening the countless rows of books. Dust hung in the air like glitter, and it was almost, almost pretty.

Already, your head was starting to ache.

It didn't take long to find James and his friends, James’ voice carrying across the quiet library.

“She gets headaches if it too bright! Help me or fuck off, Pads,” James said, his voice pitching with distress.

“You need to relax, James. Your stress sweat is stinking up the room,” Marlene teased.

“That is so not helpful,” James bit. “And I smell delightful, thank you very much.”

“Because you practically fumigated the dorm with cologne,” Remus retorted just as you stepped around the corner.

“I did not—y/n!” James nearly toppled off the chair he was standing on, dropping the robes he was trying to pin up over the window.

The whole group swiveled towards you, and your stomach dropped out.

“Morning!” They all chorused.

You managed a small wave. “Good morning,” you mumbled, kicking yourself for agreeing to this. What the hell were you thinking? You didn't belong here.

Then, James was beside you, dropping a brawny arm over your shoulders, the alleged cologne wafting over you like a summer breeze. Verdant and sunny. “I'm so glad you came,” James murmured to you as he lead you to an available spot on the less-sunny side of the table. His bag was sitting in the seat, though his stuff was cluttering the space directly next to it.

He'd saved the spot for you, knowing you'd prefer to be out of the sun.

“Me too,” you found yourself saying, butterflies tickling the underside of your ribs.

That's it, you've officially lost your mind.

James pulled the chair out for you and you sank into it, the shade enveloping you like a cool blanket, and you felt a little more at ease. The group immediately launched into conversation about classes and Quidditch, their ease quickly growing contagious as you worked on your Potions formulas. James was reclined beside you, apparently able to work on his essay while chattering endlessly, and you found yourself chiming in, laughing at his silly quips and lame jokes.

One study session turned into two, then three, then a week passed before you knew it. You'd spend the morning with them, studying in the library or common room, then James would meet up with you for dinner in the library after Quidditch practice, sometimes with Sirius and Remus in tow.

You hadn't given much thought to your new routine, brushing it off as a temporary anomaly, until Saturday morning, when you woke up two hours earlier than usual and realized there would be no studying this morning. A kernel of disappointment lodged in your chest.

You were starting to wonder why you disliked him, any of them, in the first place. They were kind, funny, and more welcoming than ninety percent of the other people you'd met at Hogwarts.

The kernel of disappointed grew into a boulder of guilt, crushing and cold, at the realization. Your comfort was a construct. You'd been so stuck in your own head, in your assumptions, that it hadn't occurred to you that maybe you were wrong. That maybe, way out of your comfort zone, you'd actually love it.

A soft knock sounded against your dorm door. You threw off your covers and wrapped the blanket around yourself before pulling open the door.

You were not expecting to see Lily Evans standing there dressed in shorts and a bikini top, a pair of sunglasses keeping her copper hair out of her face. She had a colorful bag slung over her shoulder.

“Morning, sunshine,” she chirped, smiling at you.

“Oh, uh, hey, Lily. What's up?” You pulled the quilt tighter around yourself. Merlin, Lily was beautiful.

“We're spending the afternoon by the lake and I was wondering if you wanted to join?”

“Who, ah, who’s going to be there?” You asked, tongue thick with anxiety.

“James,” she replied, green eyes glimmering. “And the others too, but who cares about them.”

“Well, I—I don't have a bathing suit—”

Lily pushed past you, dropping her bag onto your bed and rummaging through it before pulling out an adorable black bathing suit. “I had a feeling you'd say that. And before you start—” she held up a finger to shush your protests, “We can make it whatever size you need.”

“Lily—”

“Please? We really want you there. It's been nice having a sane person around,” she said, taking your hands. “And James was too shy to come here and ask himself.”

You snorted. “James Potter? Shy?”

“I know.” Lily nodded solemnly. “He's different with you—good different,” she clarified when your frowned. “He's baking, for Merlin’s sake.”

You giggled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Alright, you win.”

Lily grinned, clapping her hands together. “They're already there, so let's go!”

You quickly changed it the bathing suit and your one pair of shorts, fishing your sunglasses from the very bottom of your trunk.

“Oh, honey,” Lily purred, casting an appreciative eye over you. “He's going to combust.”

Embarrassment burned your cheeks, but deep down, you hoped she was right.

It was a gorgeous day, temperate and blue-skied, a rare, cloudless afternoon in Scotland. It seemed half the school was frolicking around the grounds, piled onto picnic blankets and playing football in the open fields, wildflowers dotting the hillside.

When your reached the edge of the lake, your traitorous eyes immediately found James.

Waist-deep in the blue water and sun-kissed, rippling muscles on display as he splashed around with Peter and Remus, dark hair slicked back and dripping onto his broad shoulders. He was practically glowing, a gilded God among scrawny teenagers, and your mouth went sandy.

Then, he saw you.

If you thought he was glowing before—Lily was right, the poor boy damn near combusted. His face shattered into an enormous smile, his glasses going crooked from the force of it.

“Y/n!” He called loudly enough to alert everyone in the general vicinity, throwing his arms out in surprise.

“Hey, James,” you laughed, giving him a timid wave. It felt like every eye turned to you, burning into your skin like the dazzling sunlight. “I'm just going to go set my stuff down,” you said to Lily, spotting a shady tree just by the water you could retreat to.

The tree was just wide enough to hide you from prying eyes, the shadow of its leaves a balm on your overheated skin. You'd only been outside for five minutes, and already you were floundering. Here you were, hiding away instead of running into the water with Lily, towards the fucking Adonis waiting for you.

“Hey, you.”

You jumped, whirling around to find James standing right behind you, rubbing a towel over his sopping hair. “Oh, uh, hey.” Merlin, he was even more beautiful up close.

“Lily dragged you out, huh?” He wrapped the towel around his waist, leaving his hair even wilder than usual.

“She did,” you replied, desperately trying to keep your eyes from wandering down his torso. “Said you were too much of a pansy to ask me yourself.”

James guffawed, head falling back on his shoulders as he laughed. “That witch,” he chuckled. “You didn't come just to humiliate me, did you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you are the center of the universe.”

“Your universe, ideally.” He flirted, and your stomach flipped, somersaulting with your lungs and leaving you a bit breathless.

Thankfully, a screech from Lily being thrown into the water by Remus saved you from having to formulate a response. You turned at the sound, and your gaze snagged on a group of fifth years ogling James, and glaring daggers at you.

One of the girls shielded her mouth with her hand, muttering something to her friend while her eyes flicked up and down your body, and they burst out laughing.

Anxiety coiled tight in your chest, skin suddenly too tight on your body, the bathing suit suffocating. Everything was too bright, too loud, too open—

“Hey,” James said gently, his hands finding your hips and turning so his body was blocking yours from the girls. “Love, look at me. What's happened?” He bent down, trying to catch your eyes as they bounced around from onlooker to onlooker.

Fuck, everyone was looking.

“Them,” you mumbled, voice pitched an octave higher.

James looked back towards them, brows furrowed, and you made a hiss of protest, grabbing his chin and turning his head back towards you.

“Don't look,” you pleaded, crossing yours arms over your chest to cover yourself.

His confused expression twisted in consternation, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Look at me.”

You couldn't, too focused on the others.

“Don't look at them, look at me,” he said, a little firmer, his grip tightening on your hips. Your eyes flicked up to his, finding them molten, burning, pupils wide and dark. “Do you want to be here with me?” He asked.

Tentatively, you nodded. Unable to lie to him when he was looking at you, holding you, like that.

“I want you here with me too. More than anything.”

“James—”

“If you want to go back to your dorm, I'll take you myself right now,” he promised, voice trodden with sincerity. “We will do whatever you want to do. Just say the word.”

We will. The two words echoed in your mind, as tangible and concrete as your bat sonar. Whatever you decided, whatever you wanted, he was with you.

“I want to stay here,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his eye so he knew you meant it.

“Would you like to swim, or stay here in the shade?”

You hesitated, then— "Swim,” you answered.

He grinned, and one his hands skimmed across your hip towards your stomach. “That's a brave girl,” he cooed, and with a flick of his wrist, he popped the button of your shorts open.

Your mind went gooey as James helped you shimmy your shorts down your legs, letting them drop into a heap at your feet, tingles erupting over your skin in the wake of his hands.

“Brace yourself, sweetheart. Water’s cold,” was his only warning before he scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and charging into the frigid water with you in his arms.

“James!” You shrieked as he spun you, the heat of his body a sharp contrast to the bite of the water reaching your ribs.

“Couldn't let you talk yourself out of it,” he hummed, one of his hands coming up to smooth the hair out of your face. Droplets of water ran down your neck, making you shiver, and his smile widened.

“Just don't throw me,” you warned, failing miserably at sounding stern.

He scoffed. “You're crazy if you think I'm letting you go now, love.”

Then, a giant arc of water came crashing over the both of you, soaking you completely in a blast of cold. James tightened his grip on you, sturdy enough to keep you both upright under the onslaught.

You sputtered and wiped the water from your eyes, cursing, only to find Sirius doubled over laughing.

“Hold that thought,” James said, carefully setting you on your feet, the water reaching your chest. He shot a withering glare at Sirius, and the tattooed boy straightened, eyes glinting with challenge. “You're gonna regret that.” And James lunged, tackling Sirius back into the water with an echoing splash.

You wasted the afternoon in the water, splashing and horseplaying until you were shivering, toes numb and fingers crinkly, cheeks sore from smiling.

James wrapped an arm around your middle from behind, catching you mid-yawn, the setting sun and the cold sapping the last dreggs of your energy. “C’mon, love. Your lips are looking a little blue,” he murmured, resting his chin against your shoulder.

“Why are you looking at my lips?” You chided lightly, turning your head so your nose brushed his cheek.

He chuckled. “Can't help myself.”

You let him coax you out of the water and onto the plush grass, and stretched out on your towel under the tree you scouted earlier, letting the warmth of the sinking sun soak into your chilled skin.

James sat beside you, his back against the tree and legs stretched long. “Never thought I'd see this,” he said, quietly enough you weren't sure if he was speaking to you.

“See what?” You asked, tilting your head back to peer up at him, dappled sunlight kissing his tanned chest.

“You stretched out in the sun like a housecat,” he teased. “Sunshine looks pretty on you.”

Affection curled in your chest, simpering and saccharine. “Thanks, Jamie.” You inched up at bit, resting your head on his lap and letting your eyes flutter closed, basking in the drowsy decadence of it all.

His fingers combed thorough your hair, untangling the knots sewn by the water, and drawing you deeper into oncoming sleep.

“But you look stunning in the moonlight too,” he murmured, fingertip tracing the slope of your nose, the curve of your jaw. “My little night dweller.”

It felt like a dream, sweet and simple and golden, and you couldn't believe how different your life looked with James Potter in it.

“Tell me something awful about you,” you asked, twisting to look up at him.

“Something awful?” He smirked, dropping his arm over your waist, thumb grazing lazily on your skin. “I snore in my sleep. I put too much sugar in my tea. What kind of awful are you after?”

You giggled, shaking your head. “Nevermind.”

“I’d think you'd find plenty awful about me,” he ribbed.

“You'd think,” you hummed, turning your face away so you didn't melt under the radiance in his gaze.

Quickly, you were succumbing to James’ charm, being drawn closer and closer to his gravity, a lonely moon caught in the heavy orbit of the sun.

You felt helpless to it, and that scared you more than anything. You didn't want to need him, to need anybody. It was so much safer to be on your own.

But you weren't sure you wanted safer anymore.

James’ POV

After that day by the lake, James was hooked. Trailing your scent, your energy, your presence like a starving hound. He couldn't get enough of you, and you were kind enough to indulge him. Things hadn't progressed further than they did that day, lingering touches and loaded glances.

Normally, James would dive head first into the deep end, but he found himself wanting to follow your lead. Relishing in the quiet in between moments as much as the more charged ones, content to just be near you, savor you in whatever capacity you'd allow him.

He was just grateful you'd let him in at all. It felt like a gift, a glimpse at something secret and deeply rare, and it was not a blessing he was keen to squander by indulging in his usual hedonistic impulses.

He was happy to tread lightly, to let you step out of the shadows one bit at a time. Patience was never a virtue of his, but for you, he'd find the strength.

A week later, James was late to dinner, Quidditch practice having run well over. Sweat and dirt still clung to him, his training uniform uncomfortable against his balmy skin. But he was fucking starved, the gnawing in his stomach eating away at his mood.

The only thing getting him through was knowing that you'd be there waiting for him. He hadn't seen you at all that day, and it was wearing on him much like the hunger. Leaving him raw and wanting.

He went to push open the doors to the Great Hall at the same moment Lily came dashing out of them.

“Lils?”

“James! What took you so damn long?” She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the Hall. “I was just going to look for you!”

“Practice ran long, saints, Lily—what's up?” He registered the shouting in the next moment, Sirius’ booming voice echoing off the high ceiling. A crowd had gathered at the end of one of the tables, jostling and jeering. Slughorn was in the thick of it, trying to get between Sirius and whoever he was raging at with little success.

Then, James noticed you standing just behind Sirius, Remus hovering protectively at your side. You had a hand pressed to your mouth, the other arm wrapped around your torso. Tears were pooling in your pretty eyes, and the last shred of James’ patience severed.

He knew instantly what had transpired, had heard the mutterings in the hall, the gossip and the merciless chatter. He knew people were talking about the two of you, the Head Boy and Hogwarts' resident recluse, and he knew that it was wearing on you, despite the brave face you put on.

He just never thought anyone would take it this far.

He was across the Hall in a few long strides. He grabbed the bloke Sirius was screaming at by his hood and yanked him backwards, throwing him down onto the ground. “What do we have here?” James snarled, looming over the sniveling rat, his boot placed firmly on the pricks sternum to keep him from scuttling away. “Upsetting my girl, are we?”

“No, no! I, uh—”

“What happened, love?” James asked, looking over his shoulder to you, but you only shook your head, too upset to speak. His rage flared hotter. “Padfoot?” James tried again, turning to Sirius.

“Him and his buddies were crowding her, calling her mute—” Sirius voice broke, splintering with anger. “Asked if her tongue worked at all,” Sirius spat, glaring at the other two boys cowering behind Slughorn.

James turned his attention back to the roach under his boot. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't rip your tongue out and shove it up your ass?”

“Fuck, Potter! It was a joke!” He sputtered.

“Let’s see if it was worth the laugh, then,” James cocked his foot back, kicking the kid sharply once in the side, then again in the kidneys when he curled up to protect his vitals.

Too fucking bad.

James kicked him a third time, pain shooting up his shin from the force, but before he could drop onto him, imagining ripping the fuckers tongue out with his bare hands, breaking his face open under his fists, a pair of arms wrapped around his middle. They pulled back on him with meager strength, trying to tug him away from his groveling victim.

He immediately knew it was you.

“Stop, Jamie. Please stop,” you whimpered, your forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. “It’s done. It’s over.”

His hand rested over yours on his abdomen, his breath coming out in jagged huffs. He hadn't realized he was shaking with rage until he felt your steadiness pressed against him. Trying to hold him together.

“He hurt you,” was all James could think to say, the crimson pulse of anger still throbbing at the edges of his vision. No one fucking hurt you.

“And you hurt him back,” you murmured into his jersey, clinging to him like you were afraid he'd lunge again. Hurting him wasn't enough. He needed to ruin him, throttle him, beat him so badly no one fucked with you ever again— “It's over.”

James drew a deep inhale, trying to focus at your warmth against his back, your willowy fingers clasped under his. “It's over,” James repeated, fixing the perpetrators with a warning glare. “So apologize, and stay the fuck away from her.”

They all nodded, muttering apologies while scooping up their groaning friend and hurrying out of the Great Hall. Only once they were gone did you release him.

James turned to face you, guilt churning in his stomach and an apology on his tongue, but you were already half-way down the aisle, wiping angrily at your cheeks as you stormed out. Leaving James standing there, feeling as filthy inside as he was on the outside.

No, no, no.

He knew he shouldn't. Knew he should let you go, give you space so you both could calm down. But he ran after you anyways.

“Y/n!” He shouted, running out into the hall and catching up to you in a few long strides. “Hey, wait—sweetheart, please—”

“I can't do this James,” you blurted, spinning on your heel to face him, and he staggered to a stop. “I-It's too much.” You shook your head as tears rolled down your cheeks, like you'd come to some sort of decision in your head. “I thought I could, but I can't—I tried, I—I’m sorry.”

His mind was reeling, too cluttered with anger and adrenaline and panic to find the words to make you stay. “Baby, don't go—” He reached for you, but you took a step back, then another. “We can do this—” His fingers brushed your hand the same moment you shifted, rocketing off through an open window, disappearing into the dark night.

“No, y/n! Wait!” He cried, but you were long gone, leaving his heart cleaved in two, his soul hollowed out. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, tugging hard at the roots of his hair. It wasn't enough. “Fuck!” He shouted, his fist connecting with the stone wall and making the nosy portraits scatter. Something cracked in his hand, but he could barely feel it over the agony in his chest.

“Prongs,” Sirius called, he, Lily, and Remus following him out onto the hall.

“I went too far,” James muttered, chest rising and falling rapidly, barely able to breathe through the crushing guilt. The sucking vacuum of emptiness you left behind.

“We all did,” Remus said gently. “Sirius whacked one of them in the head with a dinner plate.”

James loosed a wry chuckle, splintered and uneven, and shook his head. “I fucked this up, pushed her too far.”

None of his friends commented. The pity on their faces was answer enough.

“You can fix it, just—just give her some space,” Lily said, approaching cautiously. Like he was some kind of wild animal.

He stepped back from her, unable to bear their sympathy when he felt so wretched. “I'll see you later,” he muttered, turning on his heel and stalking away.

Reader’s POV

A week later…

Burrowed under your blankets, cocooned in the thick warmth of your own labored breathing, steamy from your countless shed tears.

You couldn't believe you had run off like that, skittish as a hare, spooked at the first sign of trouble. He'd stood up for you, damn near got himself expelled because some dip shits wagged their tongues at you.

But you couldn't escape the cloying tar pit of shame their words opened in your gut—what if they were right? What if all you were to James was a conquest? Another trophy for his display case?

It ate through you, sticky and dark and consuming, worsened by the guilt swimming through like a barbed alligator. Because how could you think that of him? How could you dismiss all you'd learned about his heart over the last few weeks so flippantly?

James wasn't like that, and he surely wouldn't have risked his Head Boy status for a meager hunt already halfway snared. He wouldn't treat someone like a consolation prize.

But…how well did you really know him?

Certainly not enough to expose yourself to the inevitable agony of trying to wrap your arms around the sun. He was James fucking Potter. He was everything. And you were bitter and lonely and lost.

You were better off here, saving all your romanticism for your inner life, rather than waste it on a fantasy.

“Y/n,” one of your roommates called gently, shaking your shoulder through the quilt. “You have some visitors.”

“I don't feel well,” you muttered petulantly.

“That makes two of you,” Sirius said, and your stomach dropped.

Slowly, you inched yourself out of the blanket, squinting at the golden sunlight filtering into the room. The air was decidedly cooler out there than in your little cave, and it stung your tear-scraped cheeks.

Sirius and Remus stood by your bed, the latter looking supremely uncomfortable.

“What do you want?” You asked, scrubbing a hand over your face to clear the cobwebs and crustys.

“Normally we wouldn't, ah, get involved,” Remus began, scratching the back of his head. “But—”

“But James is our best mate, and he's an absolute disaster,” Sirius cut in. “And clearly you aren't fairing much better.”

“So you've come to lecture me?” You bit, stung by his bluntness.

“No,” Remus said, glaring pointedly at Sirius. “We wanted to talk to you because—”

“Because we probably understand what you're feeling better than anyone,” Sirius finished.

You raised an incredulous eyebrow. “That’s presumptuous.”

“Perhaps,” Remus placated. “But we know better than anyone what it's like to be loved by James, and not really understand why.”

Your jaw clenched, a bitchy retort lashing at the backs of your teeth despite the glow his words stoked to life in your chest. James didn't love you. How could he?

Sirius sat on the edge of your bed, yet again completely unperturbed by your attitude. “James can be really fucking naive, and entirely too optimistic. Down right ignorant sometimes if I’m honest—”

“But he's also genuine, and loyal,” Remus interjected. “And it makes you want to, ah, redirect him, if you will.”

“You push him away because you don't think he understands what he's signing himself up for,” Sirius clarified. “Moons and I have done it at least a dozen times each.”

“And how is that relevant to me?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, like that would stop them from seeing into your heart further.

“Maybe it isn't.” Sirius shrugged. “Maybe you actually do think he's a brute and hate him for defending your honor in front of the entire school.”

Ouch.

You shot him a loathsome glare.

“Or maybe you're scared shitless by how loudly he loves, so you bailed to try and protect yourself,” he shot back.

“And to protect him from you,” Remus added.

You shook your head, fresh tears burning behind your eyes. You hated how right they were, and how pathetic it made you feel.

“Look,” Sirius said, softening his voice. “We just wanted to say that it's worth it.”

You looked back up at them, their faces blurred with salt water, as the fight rinsed from your body like grime from a window pane.

Remus offered you a handkerchief. “It's vulnerable, and it's messy, but it's worth it,” Remus said. “He’s worth it.”

Sirius nodded sagely. “You just have to trust him.”

“It's not him I don't trust,” you murmured, ringing the handkerchief in your hands, Remus’ initials staring up at you in delicate silver thread.

Remus gave you a sad, knowing smile. “You have to trust yourself too.”

“Alright, that's quite enough sentimentality for one afternoon,” Sirius said, pushing to his feet and ushering Remus towards the door.

“His first match back is Saturday!” Remus called over his shoulder as Sirius herded him out onto the hall.

“We'll save you a seat,” Sirius said with a wink before closing the door behind him.

Their words echoed in your mind, ringing true despite the countless excuses you'd made over the last few days. Deep down, you knew Remus was right; James was worth it.

But could you love him the way he deserved with all your pessimism and anxiety and thorns?

Would it be so bad to try?

James’ POV

He didn't see you for two weeks after that, besides in Charms, where you kept your head down and refused to look at him. He returned to his usual spot beside Remus, wishing it was your warmth he felt instead of the afternoon sun.

Two weeks he sat in evening detention, staring out the windows and hoping to see your silhouette flutter past the moon. 14 days he was benched from Quidditch for his injured hand, remembering the way your soft skin felt under his rough palm. 336 hours he found himself without words, preferring the silence over pointless chatter. 20160 seconds he spent in his head, where you were still beside him, and you looked at him with fondness instead of fear.

Everyone was buzzing for his first match back on the pitch. But he felt disconnected from it all, like the James Potter they were talking about was someone else entirely.

He didn't want to be that James Potter, he wanted to be your Jamie.

He hoped the feeling would melt away once the match started, flying through the air always did wonders for his mood, but if anything, he felt worse. You weren't there to watch him, so what was the fucking point?

His mood reflected in his play, and so the match went on, and on, and on. In the sixth hour, the sun long ago set, the players were dead in the air, the stands listless. But Quidditch didn't stop until the snitch was caught or enough points were scored that losing team forfeited, and James hadn’t scored a single point.

His hand was aching, sore from disuse, and his captain was screaming at him. Even his friends looked disappointed, slumped against one another in their seats, where they hadn't budged for the entire game.

Something whizzed by, catching his attention. At first he thought it was the snitch, and lifted his hand to signal the Seeker, but then it flew by again. Zipping by like a little shadow.

He nearly fell off his broom when he realized.

You slowed a bit, fluttering around his head, the delicate breeze from your wings ruffling his sweaty hair.

“Hey, you,” he murmured, unable to stop the smile pulling the corners of his mouth. He reached out to touch you when you suddenly banked away, swooping down towards the goals.

You gripped the top of the largest hoop with your little feet, and dangled upside down from it, stretching your wings before wrapping them around yourself, like you were getting comfy.

The Hufflepuff Keeper spotted you and flew a bit closer, curious. James was about to shout for them to leave you alone when you loosed a wrathful hiss, flaring your wings, and the Keeper reared back, screeching about a flying rat.

“Potter!” King shouted at him, and he turned just in time to catch the Quaffle headed his way.

The Keeper was too distracted by you to guard the hoop properly, and James smirked.

“Potter scores ten points for Gryffindor!”

“Another ten for James Potter!”

“That's 50 points for Gryffindor, what a come back!”

The continued scoring seemed to re-energize the game, the crowd on its feet and roaring in approval. James couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed a Quidditch match so much, and it was all because of you.

“And the Seeker catches the snitch! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”

James whooped and cheered with his team, but he was searching the sky for you, his heart so full he thought he might choke on it. It seemed you were gone, though, as he had a feeling you might be, the excitement and cheering too much for your sensitive ears.

He landed heavily on the ground, his muscles exhausted from hours of staying airborne, and straightened to greet the crowd of Gryffindors that were pouring onto the pitch. But as soon as he did, he spotted you racing towards him.

“You did it!” You cried, throwing your arms around his neck as your body collided with his, making him stagger back a step.

His mind short-circuited, struggling to process what was happening. You weren't gone, you were here and wearing his scarf and…hugging him? In front of the entire student body?

Did he fall off his broom and hit his head? Because this had to be a dream.

He dropped his broom to hold you properly, one arm looped around your waist, the other holding your head against his shoulder. He squeezed as tight as his tired muscles could, burying his nose into your neck and drawing a long, greedy inhale.

“Couldn't have done it without you,” he murmured, fighting back the tears of relief pooling behind his eyes. You were here. It wasn't a dream, or a fantasy. You were real, solid and beautiful and trembling in his arms as the crowd cheered, confetti raining over your heads as fireworks popped in the obsidian sky.

You pulled your head back, cheeks streaked with tears and gave him a wobbly little smile. “I'm so proud of you, and I'm sorry for what I said.”

He shushed you with a peck on the cheek, then another on your nose, temple, the corner of your mouth—Merlin, he couldn't stop himself.

“I want to try again,” you said through water-logged giggles, fingers curling the hood of his uniform. “Please, Jamie?”

“Of course,” he said, caving to temptation and pecking your lips. “I’m yours,” he mumbled against your lips, and you grinned, kissing him again. You tasted like nectar and moonlight. Sweeter than any victory. And he let himself indulge, setting you on your feet so he could kiss you harder, deeper, drown in your winsome little sounds as you finally, finally, opened up for him.

The shadow to his sunlight, the moon to his tides, the other half of his heart, safe in his arms at long last.

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[ddejavvu]

bff james w no boundaries — his main love language is physical touch and that includes biting,, like 😭 you’ll just be minding ur own business n he’ll bite your shoulder or anywhere really.

hope ur doing well angel. ❤️

"Here, Remus," You offer up a spoon of blueberry tart to the teenage werewolf, unphased by now at the closeness of your friends. Perhaps at eleven you'd be worried about swapping cooties when sharing spoons, but now you're only worried about plumping Remus's gaunt frame up again before the next full moon.

You extend the spoon towards Remus but in doing so you have to bypass James who's sitting beside you on the bench. You'd expected him to fake a lunge for the sweet, but when he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into what's in front of him it happens to be the flesh of your arm.

"Hey-ow!" You yelp, and despite your word choice, it doesn't really hurt. It's more of a grasp than it is a bite, just enough force to pin your arm between James's infuriatingly perfect teeth.

"Prongs," Sirius's face screws up in what you're sure is a mix of embarrassment and confusion at his friend's behavior, but perhaps there's a slight possibility of fear there, too. Fear that James has become a cannibal and the boy with the bed next to his will suffer tonight.

"That's good." James retracts his bite as quickly as he'd dished it out, smacking his lips like there'd been something swallowed and enjoyed, "That's good arm."

"You're a freak." Remus drawls, finally taking the tart from your spoon and letting the flavors wash over his tongue, "Pads and I are supposed to be the biters. Deer are just supposed to run away from everything."

"That's not true." James defends his animagus with a passion while Sirius snickers across the table, "Deer fight with their antlers. Sometimes deer fight so hard that their antlers come off. And deer do bite sometimes, thank you very much."

"Only during mating season." Sirius references the copious research they'd each done into their animal counterparts, "Don't steal another page from the dog book and start humping her leg, Prongs."

"It is not my mating season!" James exclaims, just a bit too loud for the social setting you're in. Your cheeks are blazing but thankfully James is making a fool of himself enough that no one is studying you. "I'm simply overcome with the urge to sink my teeth into people when I'm feeling particularly fond of them. Y/N's making sure Moony's stomach isn't flatter than his ribcage, and I appreciate that. Only a good woman shares her blueberry tart. Hence," He grins, more of a baring of his teeth than a smile, "I bite."

He leans down to take a chunk out of your shoulder this time, and you feel the sharp-but-gentle pricking of his teeth even through three layers of clothing.

You have the time and the power to raise your shoulder and clock James in the teeth with your bone. But you refrain, and perhaps that's why Sirius finally latches onto you instead of James.

"Careful, darling." He warns, his own canines glinting in the candlelight above, "Deer can go rabid. I'd make sure you're not contaminated with his saliva if I were you."

"Too late." James grumbles around the meat of your shoulder, raising his head quicker than you can react to lick a fat, wet stripe across your face, "I'm not rabid, Pads. But I can see why you dogs do the licking thing. It's not bad."

"Yes it is." You decide, smearing away his sticky spit with the sleeve of your button-up, feeling the phantom sensation of his teeth on your skin, "And if you do it again I'll bite you back."

"Kinky, you two." Sirius kicks you beneath the table, a wicked grin on his face, "Remus, I think we should take our meal elsewhere. Prongs and Y/N are about to start necking right in front of the pastries, and that's not the glaze I prefer on my donuts."

[solsticehymns]

liar, liar: oneshot

james potter x f!reader / fluff / romcom vibes / truth serum shenanigans

summary: James Potter doesn’t mean to confess his feelings. Or overshare. Or humiliate himself in front of the girl he’s in love with. But when a truth-telling potion takes hold, he doesn’t really have a choice.

a/n: recently rewatched liar liar. EXCELLENT MOVIE. even though jim carrey’s face makes me irrationally angry, the plot is so good and heartwarming. this fic was heavily inspired by those vibes, and kinda just that 90s romcom vibe in general! really hope you love it <333 xoxo, sunny ☀️🌻💞

wc: 3963

"You know," Sirius began, his voice thick with scrambled eggs, "if they can't manage to cook bacon properly, they really shouldn’t be serving it at all. It’s practically criminal."

Remus, barely glancing up from the Daily Prophet, replied with practiced indifference, "You say that every morning."

"And every morning, I’m still right," Sirius said, stabbing at a charred piece of bacon with melodramatic flair.

James Potter, seated between them, was only marginally involved in the conversation. The bulk of his attention—an alarming, disproportionate amount—was focused a few seats down the Gryffindor table, where you were nestled beside Lily Evans with a steaming cup of tea cradled between your hands. You laughed at something she said, a sound so soft and clear that it reached him easily over the low hum of breakfast chatter. James didn’t even hear the joke. The moment you smiled, his brain short-circuited—something sparked, overloaded, and went still.

He lifted his goblet of pumpkin juice, took a slow sip, and set it back down carefully. A droplet slid down the rim, clinging to his finger. He wiped it away absently, still looking at you.

There was something specific about mornings and you—a quiet kind of softness. Your hair was still slightly tousled from sleep, your oversized jumper hung loosely on your frame, and your hands gripped the mug as if it anchored you to the table. You leaned in, laughing again, and the sound caught in James's chest like a hook.

You weren’t trying to be radiant. That was the worst part. You didn’t angle for attention—you just had that gravitational pull, the kind of beauty that rearranged a room without asking permission. And James was, academically speaking, utterly and irreversibly besotted.

This wasn’t new. It had been happening slowly, over months—maybe even years. A quiet, resigned sort of yearning that made itself at home beneath his ribcage; a second heartbeat. He realized he was in too deep when he stopped fantasizing about declarations and started yearning for the ordinary. Sharing a table in the library. Catching your eye across a hallway. The occasional accidental touch that felt far too meaningful.

He’d made peace with the ache. As long as he got to see you every day, he could live with it.

Peter nudged him with a mouthful of toast. "Did you finish the Transfiguration essay?"

James’s jaw tightened. He was about to deliver a casual, harmless answer. Something that passed as effort.

Instead, what he said was, "Didn't even open the book."

Silence.

James blinked.

What the hell?

He hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t even consciously thought it.

Remus slowly lowered his newspaper. "Come again?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "That’s not the James Potter we know and grudgingly tolerate."

James felt a prickling heat crawl up his neck. He tried again.

"I meant to, but I got distracted. By a leaf. Or a bird. Something shiny. I don’t know."

The words tumbled out uncontrollably. He slapped both hands over his mouth, a feeble attempt at containing the damage. His cheeks were already burning, and his eyes darted around as if he could chase the words down and pull them back.

Don’t speak. Don’t even breathe, he warned himself.

Sirius grinned, delighted. "Did you just involuntarily confess to procrastinating?"

James whispered, horrified, "I didn’t mean to. It just—happened. Like my mouth’s operating on its own."

Remus's smile faltered. He looked mildly concerned now.

Before anyone could respond, your voice cut through the moment.

"Did you hit your head this morning, Potter?"

You were looking at him, bemused, your head tilted slightly. You were clearly unaware that James was in the middle of a full-blown crisis.

He turned toward you with the intention of brushing it off—something witty, something safe.

His brain screamed: Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it—

"You're the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and I think about your smile at least three times an hour."

Dead silence.

Your eyes widened.

James felt as if someone had suddenly electrocuted his nervous system. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

You blinked, once, then twice, and let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. "Right. You definitely hit your head."

You stood, tucked your book under your arm, and offered him one last look—a half-smile, curious and a little amused. An unknown emotion flickered in your expression before you turned away.

Gone.

James’s hand froze mid-air, toast still suspended as if caught in a still photograph.

His stomach plummeted.

Across the table, Sirius collapsed forward, laughter shaking his shoulders.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every decision that had brought him to this moment.

Peter leaned in cautiously. "Mate, what the hell was that?"

James turned to them slowly, wide-eyed and pale. "What did you do?"

Sirius beamed and gestured vaguely to the cluster of goblets in the center of the table. One still held a faint swirl of orange juice.

"This," he said reverently, "is the single best moment of my life."

James’s voice came out sharp and panicked. "Tell me. Now."

Remus hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of his paper. "We might have… accidentally tested something. On you."

James stiffened. "Tested what?"

Sirius leaned back smugly. "The pumpkin juice. We brewed a variant of Veritaserum last night. Just for fun. You drank the one we spiked. Or maybe it was the goblet next to it. Jury’s still out."

"Lucky you," Remus added, not meeting James’s eyes.

James dropped his toast. It landed butter-side down with a soft, tragic thud.

He didn’t blink.

"Oh," he said flatly. "Fuck."

James spent the subsequent hours engaging in a masterclass of avoidance tactics. He deliberately skipped lunch, took unnecessarily long routes between classes, and at one point, concealed himself behind a seventh-floor tapestry for seventeen excruciating minutes while you stood just a few feet away, engrossed in conversation with Dorcas Meadowes.

It was not dignified. But then again, dignity had abandoned him somewhere between blurting out "you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen" and letting his toast fall like a tragic Victorian heroine succumbing to fate.

Remus assured him that the potion’s effects would wear off by mid-afternoon. James clung to that prediction like a drowning man to driftwood, crafting mental versions of the day in which he might make it through without hemorrhaging any further fragments of pride. Yet with each step he took toward the next class, doubt clawed at him—what if the potion lingered just long enough to obliterate his remaining social capital? The uncertainty scratched under his skin, carrying a similar feeling to an irreversible hex.

Sirius, on the other hand, made it his personal mission to test the serum’s potency every fifteen minutes.

"Prongs, mate, how do you really feel about Filch?"

"He smells like cabbage and despair, and I once dreamt he chased me with a ladle."

Sirius erupted into delighted laughter.

James groaned into his hands. "This is it. I’m going to die of Veritaserum-induced emotional exposure."

"You’ll survive," Remus said, although his tone suggested he was still conducting the risk assessment in real time.

They scraped through Herbology with minimal disaster. James uttered only one vaguely mortifying remark—"She hugged me once and I still think about how she smelled"—which he managed to reframe as a Weird Sisters lyric. Barely.

But Transfiguration? That was a catastrophe waiting in slow motion.

With exams approaching, McGonagall had declared the day a review session, which in practice meant organized chaos. Students clustered at scattered tables, muttering incantations under their breath, cross-referencing spellwork, and trying not to Vanish their self-respect alongside practice objects. James sat toward the back. You were near the front, half-turned toward your group so that he could see the slope of your shoulder and the line of your smile when you laughed.

You were surrounded by Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene—quills scratching, parchment rustling, the occasional gasp of horror as someone’s Vanishing Spell rendered an entire desk legless. James was meant to be revising. Instead, his hand trembled and his heart pounded like it had something to prove.

His notes were illegible. The phrase "turn to smoke???" appeared multiple times, alongside a sketch of a teacup that looked suspiciously like it was weeping. His quill tapped an erratic beat against the parchment.

Across from him, Sirius arched an eyebrow, already grinning.

"So," he said, low and gleeful, just loud enough, "how exactly do you feel about her again?"

James didn’t even look up. The words left him instinctively.

"She’s a walking daydream, and I’ve got about four essays overdue because of her face."

It echoed.

Not quietly. Not subtly. It was loud enough to carry over to three tables in the vicinity

Heads turned. Someone choked on a cough. Sirius bit his fist, shaking with the effort not to fall off his chair.

James froze.

His entire body went rigid—quill suspended mid-air, lungs locked in his chest. It was as if the very fabric of time had paused to acknowledge his downfall.

Then—movement.

You paused mid-sentence. Lily tapped your shoulder with subtle urgency. Dorcas leaned in, her expression intrigued. Marlene glanced over her shoulder with the kind of grin reserved for front-row seats to emotional train wrecks.

You listened. Blinked slowly.

Then—deliberately—you turned.

The entire table held its collective breath.

Your gaze found James’s like a targeting spell—brows raised, eyes wide. Not offended. Not amused. Just... intrigued. Like you'd heard something strange and didn’t know what to do with it yet—but wanted to.

James wanted the floor to open beneath him and deliver him mercifully into the void. He briefly entertained the idea of self-immolation.

But then—you smiled.

A small one. Tentative. Surprised, maybe. But not dismissive. Not cruel.

You turned back around, and chaos resumed. Lily covered her mouth. Dorcas said something that made Marlene snort into her sleeve. Whatever it was, it was very clearly about James.

James stared at the back of your head, wondering if it might offer a second chance if he looked hard enough.

Sirius was wheezing. Remus had buried his face in his hands. Peter knocked over his inkpot in the ensuing shockwave.

James slumped forward with a groan that seemed to exit his soul before his body.

He was, by every available metric, completely and irrevocably screwed.

He had barely taken ten steps from the classroom when a voice behind him called out.

"Potter."

He turned too quickly—jerky and obvious—and almost collided with you as you stepped directly into his path.

You didn’t flinch. You simply stood there, arms folded loosely, head tilted, gaze calm and inquisitive. The corridor had mostly emptied by now, the background noise reduced to the distant echo of footsteps and muffled voices behind heavy wooden doors.

James’s heart performed a complicated sequence of flips before lodging itself somewhere uncomfortably near his throat.

You met his eyes with an unreadable expression—curious, composed, lightly amused. Like you’d opened a door and were standing on the threshold, waiting to see if he’d walk through it.

"Quick question," you said, tone airy but precise. "Was that... about me?"

His mouth opened. Instinct surged to the front of his mind—sarcasm, a joke, maybe even a clumsy attempt at denial. But his thoughts lagged just behind his reflexes, and before he could intercept them, the words had already spilled out.

"Yeah," he said plainly. "And by the way, you’re absurdly pretty. Like—genuinely hard to function around. Painfully so."

Silence fell with the weight of a dropped textbook.

You blinked. Once. Then again.

James stood frozen, every synapse in his body firing off simultaneously, as though his nervous system couldn’t decide between fight, flight, or faint. His ears were burning. His hands twitched at his sides, completely useless.

Finally, you let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t cruel, or mocking. Just surprised. Genuine.

"You’re strange, Potter."

James flailed—just barely—before shoving his hands into his pockets like it might prevent further disaster.

"No—I mean, not in a creepy way. Or, alright, maybe slightly weird, but not bad-weird. I just think you’re... brilliant. And kind. And I notice when you wear that jumper with the rip in the sleeve because it makes you look comfortable. And I should probably stop talking now."

You looked at him for a moment that stretched longer than it should have. Not unkind. Not amused. Something else—curious, thoughtful. As if you were seeing him clearly for the first time and hadn't yet decided what to make of it.

Your lips curled slightly.

You tilted your head. Evaluating. Deciding.

Then, finally, you smiled.

It was mischievous and warm, soft-edged and self-assured—the kind of smile that could level a person without trying.

"See you in Charms, heartthrob."

You turned and walked away with unhurried confidence, like you knew exactly the mess you were leaving in your wake.

James remained rooted in place, too stunned to move, like the rest of his body hadn’t caught up with what had just happened.

Crunch.

Sirius appeared beside him, seemingly conjured out of thin air, munching loudly on an apple with the casual demeanor of someone watching a soap opera.

"You’re done for, mate," he said cheerfully. "She’s gonna marry you."

James emitted a sound that hovered somewhere between a gasp and a wheeze.

Sirius thumped him on the back with unearned confidence. "Better start writing your vows."

Charms was an unmitigated disaster.

James had spent the walk to class muttering desperate prayers to any higher power that might take pity on him. Maybe Flitwick would assign partners alphabetically. Or by wand length. Or perhaps he’d adopt some arbitrary sorting system blessed by divine chance—anything to keep James from sitting next to you.

No such luck.

The universe, as it turned out, had a cruel sense of humor.

You slid into the seat beside him, entirely casual, like his whole nervous system hadn’t just tried to exit his body at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you said simply.

“Hi,” he replied, voice cracking like a prepubescent banshee. He cleared his throat. “Hi.”

You tilted your head slightly. “You doing alright?”

He gave a thumbs-up. Then immediately regretted it. Who does that?

Sirius, two rows back, made eye contact and mimed a halo over his head.

Flitwick launched into a lecture on the Cheering Charm, but James only caught every fifth word. Something about “light-hearted energy” and “proper wand movement,” none of which applied to the doom currently devouring his insides. His palms were damp. His quill was trembling slightly. His knee wouldn’t stop bouncing under the desk.

You leaned closer, one elbow resting casually on the table as you peered at his parchment.

“Is that supposed to be a diagram of a wand or a tree?”

James blinked at the mess of lines he’d drawn. “It’s—neither. Abstract art.”

You grinned, wide and easy, and he felt it as a punch to the sternum. His heart lurched so hard it practically knocked the air out of him. You had no idea what that smile did to him—how it short-circuited whatever logic he had left.

You turned your attention back to your notes, but your voice was light. Curious. Teasing.

“Do you always talk like this to girls, or just me?”

James didn’t even have time to panic.

“It’s just you. Always been you.”

The words hit the air like a dropped pin in an empty room.

You blinked.

He stared at the table, mortified. His ears burned. He could feel Sirius’s psychic scream of glee from two rows away. He’d said it. Out loud. He’d said it out loud.

But you didn’t laugh, tease, or mock, as he had feared.

You only looked at him. Really looked at him.

Your expression held something quiet. Not surprise. Not pity. Something gentler—measured and soft. A flicker of understanding that warmed rather than burned.

James’s breath snagged in his throat. His fingers curled slightly around the base of his quill as he struggled to keep himself grounded. For one agonizing, wonderful moment, he thought he might cry—out of embarrassment, yes, but also because the moment was real.

And then—

You turned back to your wand.

Said nothing.

Your cheeks were slightly pink, your smile just barely visible as you bent over your parchment again. But you didn’t move away. You didn’t laugh it off. You stayed close, like the moment didn’t scare you the way it terrified him.

James blinked in the echo of it—your kindness, your quiet acceptance—completely undone.

He didn’t hear a word Flitwick said for the rest of class.

After class, James moved quickly—too quickly—trying to pack his things before reality caught up with him. If he kept his head down, avoided eye contact, and exited fast enough, maybe he could outrun the emotional catastrophe he’d spent all day teetering on.

But you didn’t leave.

“James.”

His name stopped him cold. Charms book half-shoved into his bag, his spine went rigid.

Your voice was quiet—not sarcastic, not amused. Measured. Sincere.

He turned slowly, bracing for the worst. You were standing a few feet away, arms loosely crossed, your bag hanging off one shoulder. There was nothing smug about your posture. If anything, your presence felt... gentle. And somehow, that made it harder to bear.

Your expression was hard to read, but it held no sharp edges. There was a softness in your eyes, something patient and open, like you were holding back the question that had been building all class.

“Are you okay?”

The simplicity of it landed with an almost disproportionate weight.

Because you meant it.

James blinked, unprepared. His brain scrambled to summon a joke, a quip—something light enough to float him out of this moment.

But the truth arrived first.

"No," he said. "Not even remotely."

The honesty stunned him. It left his mouth before he could restrain it, like the words had slipped from a part of him he couldn't control. He winced as soon as it was out.

Desperate to recover, he backpedaled.

“I mean—I’m not sick or dying or anything. Just…” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Emotionally compromised. Mildly feral. Truthfully unwell."

He offered a crooked smile. It held, barely.

Your brows lifted. Not out of judgment, but consideration. You looked at him like his words were puzzle pieces you were quietly fitting together.

“Truthfully, hm?”

James looked away. Embarrassment bloomed hot across his face.

It was absurd how much weight that single word carried. He fiddled with the zipper of his bag as if the act could insulate him from further exposure.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me today,” he muttered. “My filter’s gone. I think something and then—I say it. And somehow, it’s always when you’re standing nearby.”

Still, you didn’t laugh. You didn’t mock. You didn’t flinch.

Instead, you took one small step closer.

And then, without saying anything else, you reached forward and gave the sleeve of his robes the gentlest tug. Just once. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t performative. But it said everything: I see you. I’m still here.

James swallowed hard. His throat tightened, but this time not with panic. Something else. Something quiet. Something close to relief.

You turned and walked away, unhurried, the last rays of afternoon light catching in your hair as you rounded the corner.

The classroom was silent now.

James stood motionless for several seconds before lowering himself into the nearest chair like someone had been holding him upright all day and finally let go. His bag hung off one shoulder, forgotten. His hair fell into his eyes.

He tipped his head back and groaned—long, dramatic, utterly defeated: “I am so fucking doomed.”

The Gryffindor common room was silent—eerily so.

James had barely stepped through the portrait hole when he sensed it. The stillness felt curated, like a scene hastily arranged moments before he entered.

He pivoted to leave, but Sirius materialized in his path, smiling with far too much innocence to be trusted.

“Where are you off to, Prongs?”

James squinted. “Nowhere. Anywhere. Just—not here.”

“Perfect,” Sirius chirped. “Come sit.”

Before James could object, Sirius ushered him toward the fireplace with the gentle coercion of someone leading a lamb to slaughter.

That’s when James saw you.

You were already seated on the sofa, legs folded beneath you, a forgotten book resting in your lap. The firelight danced across your features, softening the angles of your face in a golden glow.

James froze. "You planned this."

Sirius thumped him on the back. "Me? Never. Just a wildly convenient coincidence, right?"

You raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sirius said, clutching his chest like he was moved to tears. “Two of my dearest friends. Alone. In the same room. Under the same roof. By sheer happenstance.” He turned to you. “Don’t mind me—I’ll just be over here, not spying and definitely not listening in.”

He took a single, dramatic step back.

“Actually, no. I should go. Destiny awaits.”

James whipped around. “Sirius—”

“Good luck!” Sirius called over his shoulder, already ascending the stairs. “Also, feel free to profess undying love! Or don’t. But you probably should.”

The portrait hole sealed behind him.

James turned to face you. You had closed your book.

“That wasn’t subtle,” you said.

James exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair. “Not even a little.”

You rose, slow and deliberate. Arms folded—not defensive, but inquisitive.

“One question,” you said. “Why?”

James blinked. “Why...?”

You softened your tone. “Why have you been acting so strange today?”

That was all it took.

“I was dosed with a homemade version of Veritaserum,” James admitted, words tumbling out. “Sirius and Remus spiked my pumpkin juice this morning. For fun. That’s why I’ve been blurting things I’d normally take to the grave. Especially around you.”

He hesitated. Took a breath.

“Even so—I meant every word.”

You didn’t interrupt.

James’s voice quieted, like he was running out of room in his own chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever outright lied to you, not really. It’s more that I’ve been pretending. Like saying 'morning' without letting it mean anything. Sitting near you and pretending I wasn’t waiting for you to notice.”

He let that hang between you.

“I can’t believe it took a bloody potion for me to admit I’m in love with you. I think I’ve known for ages. Maybe since third year, when you lent me your notes and smiled like I hadn’t just failed spectacularly. Or maybe fifth year, when you hexed Mulciber for picking on that first-year and shrugged it off like it was nothing. I’ve carried it for so long it stopped feeling urgent. It just became part of me.”

The fire crackled. James stared into it, hoping he would vanish.

“I didn’t plan to say that either,” he murmured under his breath.

You studied him.

Then, voice barely above a whisper: “You’re in love with me?”

He nodded, completely genuine. “Madly.”

And when you kissed him—softly, surely, like you’d already decided—James forgot how to stand still. One hand found your waist like it had always known where to go; the other hovered, then gently cupped your cheek, as though the moment might dissolve if he wasn’t careful.

Your lips were warm and real, and James felt his entire body lit with quiet flame.

You kissed him like it hadn’t scared you off. Like maybe it had pulled you closer.

When you broke apart—just enough to breathe—your forehead pressed against his.

“You really are strange, Potter,” you said.

James let out a shaky laugh. “You kissed me anyway.”

You smiled. “I suppose I like strange.”

And for once, James Potter didn’t need to speak. But if he had to, he’d spend the rest of his life figuring out the right words for you.

By morning, Remus and Sirius had double-checked the potion’s timeline. It had likely worn off sometime around Charms.

Everything after that? All James.

☀️🌻 masterlist

[moonstruckme]

I have no way of expressing this ask more than this. I crave for someone being so whipped and in love with me that they would do anything (walk him like a dog sis) and I know you've already written some things like that but I beg of you to write more. Sorry I'm on my period rn and I want some Marauders fluff, maybe the fic be about period comfort? Idk, sorry if that makes no sense, have a good week 😭🙏 Dealers choice on Poly, James, sirius, or Remus (I don't currently have emojis but its the cake anon)

I hope this was along the lines of what you wanted? Ngl lovely since the request seemed basically just for fluff and comfort I treated it like a free space on a bingo card so thank you!

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 997 words

The sound of your door opening makes your back tense enough that you nearly gasp in pain. 

“Hello?”

“Just me,” your boyfriend says, voice coming towards your bedroom. 

“Oh.” Relief and affection are unmissable in your tone though you try to seem less eager. “What are you doing here?”

James is frowny as he comes in. A sad little pucker to his lips as he takes in the sight of you stomach-down on the bed, taut and motionless with your head turned to the side to see him. You find your own self-pity intensifying under his concerned gaze. 

“You said you were hurt,” he says. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

James gives you a fond look, dropping his duffel bag on the floor and taking his phone from his pocket. “Woke up with my back all funny,” he reads aloud from your texts. “Can’t move, won’t make it to the gym sorry.” He tsks, squatting beside your face. You watch the flex of his quads with a reverence you’ve only recently stopped being embarrassed of. “You spelled can’t without the apostrophe. That was the really scary part.” You wince, and James cracks a smile, kissing you. “How badly does it hurt?” 

“It’s not that it hurts very much,” you say, pushing out your bottom lip a little in the hopes he kisses you again. “It’s just surprising.” 

James takes the bait, pressing his lips gently to yours before pulling away again. “Surprising?” he repeats. 

“Yeah. Like, you know when you get shocked by a door handle or something and your whole body seizes up? It’s like that, but only when I move.” 

“That doesn’t sound very nice either,” he murmurs, eyes tracing the curve of your back where it disappears under your bedcovers. You take the opportunity to trace the line of his jaw with yours. “Can I have a look?” 

“A look at what?” you ask. “It’s in my back, Jamie, it’s not really something you can see.” 

“I know, just…” He starts crawling onto your bed, mindful of not making the mattress shift underneath you. “Can I?” 

You bite the inside of your lip. Your wariness is evident in your tone. “Sure.” 

James brushes a hand over your hip in thanks. He moves slow, settling with his knees straddling your legs and untucking the sheets from around you carefully. You trust him, but it’s hard not to go rigid as he pulls your sleep shirt up above your waist, feeling somehow more exposed for your incapacity of movement. 

He hums. “It doesn’t look inflamed.” 

“Told you.” 

“You told me,” James agrees, sounding amused. “I just thought if it was a muscle thing, it’d be swollen or something. Where does it feel like it’s coming from?” 

He lays his hand, ever so gently, on your lower back, and you gasp. 

He takes it away instantly. “Shit, sorry. I’m sorry, angel, that hurt?” 

“It’s fine.” You force yourself to breathe past the pain. “It just surprised me.” 

“It can surprise you and hurt at the same time,” James says, remorseful. “I’m sorry. If I…if I warn you that I’m going to touch you, do you think that’ll be better?” 

Just the prospect makes you feel tense. “Maybe,” you hedge. 

“Okay. I’m gonna rest my hand here, but I’m not gonna push. Relax, sweetheart.” 

He’s right. This time, his touch is enough to make the muscles of your back tighten but not scream at you. James waits a beat to make sure you’re okay before drawing his hand up and down your spine. 

It hurts less and less as he goes. James’ palm emanates a warmth that’s more soothing than the cocoon of your bedcovers from before. You’re safe so long as he’s looking after you. 

“It’s here?” he asks, palm settling between your hips. “That’s where it hurts the most?”

“I think so,” you say. “It’s hard to tell.” 

“That’s where you seem the most strung up,” he murmurs, rubbing from side to side. His pressure increases very slightly as he feels for the cause of your hurt. “Do you have a chiropractor you like?” 

“No.” Your voice turns wary. “I’ve never needed one.” 

“I know one who I think is pretty good,” James says conversationally. 

“I don’t want to go to a chiropractor. I can’t even sit up.” 

“That’s something he might be able to help with, lovely.” James’ palm soothes over your bare skin. “But okay. We can talk more about that later, let’s just focus on making you feel better for now. I think half the pain is from how nervous you are. It might get better if you’re able to relax.” 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to not be nervous when it keeps hurting,” you mumble. 

“We’ll loosen you up,” James says certainly. “We’ve got all day.” 

You frown, turning your head to look at him before lightning bolts shoot down your spine. James makes a soft, chiding sound, rubbing your taut muscles. 

“You’re planning to stay here all day?” you ask. 

“Well, I hope it doesn’t actually take all day to get you relaxed enough to sit up,” he says, “but yeah.” 

“Don’t you have other things to do?”

“This is what I’m doing now,” James replies easily. “I’m staying here with you.” 

“Oh.” You want to argue with him. Part of you feels like you should, wave him off, say I’ve got it, actually, but maybe you’re just needy. Your voice softens with apology. “Thanks.” 

“Come on,” says James, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck. “Of course, sweetheart. What else am I here for?” 

“You mean, other than to look good?” you tease him. 

You can hear his smile in his voice. “You did really miss out at the gym today. I was going to do arms.” 

“Now I’m extra sorry my back decided to mutiny.” 

“Hey, if it’ll help you relax to watch me do push-ups on your floor, just say the word. I’ll try whatever works.” 

[piistolstar]

LIKE A GODDESS

⧼ warnings :: smut, hair pulling, service top!james, cunnilingus, whipped!james

pairing :: james potter x fem!reader

exams. so many exams, you were slaving over and studying for weeks. all day every day, it’s all your poor boyfriend saw you do. it nearly stressed him out as much as it did you, not knowing how to help and make it easier. despite the times you reassured him that him being there helped.

but finally, it’s all done. and tonight you can finally rest peacefully, laying in james’ bed, spooning him without a worry in the world. james shifts, turning his body around to look at you. "are you okay?" you bite your lip in thought, letting your hand go to his hair.

"i’m better," you sigh, twirling his hair between your fingers. "but i still feel a little on edge'." james huffs out a breath, not knowing what else to say. you hear him hum when you tug his hair slightly, causing a smirk to rise on your lips. you tug a little harsher and you feel his hand come up to yours.

"stop that," he whines into your neck, attempting to pull your hand away.

"that's not how you repay me." you joke back, recalling the reward he had promised you after all of your hard work. you kissed his cheek before letting go of his hair and there's a bit of silence before he's shuffling off the bed. you hear him maneuver himself to your side before turning the lamp on.

you gape at the sight before you, your pretty boyfriend on his knees. looking up at you, hands inching towards you. "is this better?" you shift so your lower half is off the bed and your right above him. his hands find purchase on your thighs and he looks up at you hesitantly.

"you know..." his hands travel further until they're at your waist. "i really should reward you." he shrugs and one hand goes to tug at the waistband of your pajama pants. "you did so well on your exams."

you just watch as he marvels over you, taking in every bit of you like it's the first time he's seen you. "you’re so beautiful." with your permission he tugs your pants off, “like a goddess.” he kisses up and down your legs before finding his way to your stomach. “i want to worship you.”

he nudges you so your back hits the mattress, slow, messy kisses trailing up your abdomen. "let me make you feel better?” you let out a breath and nod your head, his gaze focused on you before he presses his lips against yours, a kiss that's both gentle and passionate at the same time. he brings one hand to your chin, and another to your cheek to caress the side of your face as he deepens the kiss. you can feel how nervous he was, making all the decisions.

he lets out a soft groan, as an arm slips around your waist and pulls you closer, moaning against your lips. he presses his thigh between your legs, satisfied at the noises of pleasure you let out. james smiles into the kiss and pushes his body further into you. his hands run along your sides, feeling the warmth of your body, appreciating every part of you.

he slowly tilts your head to the side and his lips begin to trail kisses down to your neck, leaving nips and bites along your collarbone. his hands slide down to the sides of your thighs and he grips them. his lips keep their focus on leaving marks all over your neck, his hips grinding down on your leg.

"what if someone sees those?" you tauntingly ask him. he pulls away from your skin with red cheeks. he hesitates, letting his hands go up and down your body slowly.

"let them," he shrugs nervously. "i don't care, i want to worship you. i'll be happy if they know." you stare at him for a moment before threading your fingers through his hair. you dip your head down to his neck, littering butterfly kisses on his skin.

a soft groan slips from his lips but it's quickly covered up with a breathless laugh. the feeling of your soft lips against his skin is just so good. he closes his eyes and hums, leaning back to brush his nose gently against yours. his thumbs rub your hips, as he looks at you intently, his gaze taking in everything about you.

he's so infatuated with you, completely at your mercy. his hands slide underneath your top, caressing your skin. he pushes the fabric up a little higher as he presses a heated kiss to your lips. his hands travel higher and higher until his breath catches in his throat.

his face flushes again when he realizes where he's touching you, his thumb gently stroking over your chest in slow, teasing circles. his eye is locked on you as he does so. he feels you tug at his hair, making his body shiver slightly. soft sighs and gasps escape him and he lets out soft moans from time to time. the feeling of being so close and touching you with the soft caresses of his hands has him reeling.

he bites his lip nervously, "can you take it off?" his pretty, glazed over eyes are now avoiding yours. his shyness gives away what he wants and you reach back to unclasp your bra. he doesn't waste any time sliding your bra off to leave your entire upper body exposed to him. he can't help but stare for a moment, as he always does. taking in your body and appreciating the sight in front of him.

"you're so pretty, angel." he murmurs, still a little breathless. you let out a small laugh before sliding your hand up his shirt, leaving ghost touches along his abdomen. he lets out a groan at your touch, his body twitching in excitement. a shiver of pleasure ripples through his body when your lips nip at a sensitive part of his skin.

with a whine he pushes your body back down, "this is about you, not me." he places his lips on your skin again, inching lower and lower with every one he places. they trail from your collarbone, to your chest, down your torso, and landing right above the waistband of your pants.

he looks up at you as if awaiting your commands, causing you to giggle. "thought you were gonna worship me? you get to decide what to do then." he stutters before shutting his mouth and nodding, hands shakily sliding your pants down your legs.

he kisses along your thighs, breathing heavily at the sight before him. you're clad in just your underwear, you're piercing eyes trained on him while you wait for his next move. his kisses come back up until his breath is making contact with the fabric of your panties.

he presses a small kiss to your clit thought your underwear, unable to bite bad a prideful smile when you hum out of pleasure. he pushes your underwear to the side and he slides his tongue through your folds.

he moans when your hand tugs at his hair again, harsher this time. he judges his nose against your clit. he can't get enough of your taste, hands snaking around your thighs to hold them in place around his head.

he feels your hand push down, attempting to control his head. with a soft groan he lets you use his face to get off. the vibrations his noises make has you squirming, your own moans getting louder and louder when a finger slips into you.

your noises turn into tired pants and your hand falls to your side. you lazily grind against his face and he holds your thighs down. you feel yourself getting close and you let out a sigh before tugging his head up by his hair.

he looks dazed and his fingers continue to work inside you, "i'm close, you're doing so good." the praise has his head spinning and his movements quickening. he leans up to capture your lips in a kiss, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you.

he pants into the kiss, his desperate hips grinding into the mattress. he feels your body spasm before you're cumming around his fingers, biting down on his lip and leaving him whimpering.

he stops and lets you catch your breath, face inches from yours. you go to praise him some more when your eyes catch on the wet spot on his pants. "did you really..." he whines before you could finish your sentence, burying his head in your neck.

"don't say anything, please."

[browneyedgirlie]

ohhh 😳🤭

𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚜

⟢ pairing: perv!roommate!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ summary: james can't keep you off his mind, or his hand off his dick ⊹ 1.3k ⟢ contains: smut mdni, jerking off (secretly, in the same room as reader), fantasies of sex and head, james is a little cuckoo… has some pathetic and obsessive tendencies

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Steam fills the room as hot water pelts James’s skin, sliding down the slope of his back, tracing the curves of his muscles. His head is bowed, eyes screwed shut as droplets of water drip from the ends of his hair, streaking down his face.

He has a hand wrapped tight around his cock, the other hand planted firmly on the hard tile, bracing himself. He thumbs over the head of his cock, smearing a bead of precum down his shaft, and your name slips from his lips. Low and breathless, drowned out by the patter of water against the tub.

His mind is plagued with images of you. He imagines what you might be doing down the hall, in those little spandex shorts that barely cover your bum. He’d caught a glimpse of them earlier, when you reached for a mug on the top shelf and your t-shirt rode up. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought you were giving him a show on purpose.

After that, he promptly excused himself to have a shower, a tent already forming in his sweatpants.

He groans, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as his hand moves faster.

Fuck, you’re so pretty. Everything about you drives him insane. So insane, he’s actually considered moving out before, which he knows he’d never really do. But he doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. How many more nights he can spend with his dick in his own hand, wishing it was your fingers curled around him, with a pair of lacy panties he stole from the dryer crumpled in his other fist. Listening to the melody of your voice through your flat’s thin walls as you talk on the phone.

He knows it’s fucked up. Sick, even. But there’s something about you. Something so sweet, so tempting. It makes him unable to think straight.

He moves faster. Tighter.

He can hear you clamoring around in the kitchen. He can tell you have the sink running from the way the shower suddenly runs colder, the hot water diverting to the kitchen sink courtesy of your flats shitty plumbing. Must be washing dishes from breakfast. That mug. He imagines your ass in those shorts again and has to stifle a moan.

A cold shower is what he needs, anyway. Though it’s not likely it would do him any good. He’s too turned on, too desperate for release. His squeezes himself and he moans your name, wondering what it would feel like to have your pussy squeezing around his cock instead.

His hips jerk as he pictures plowing into you on the sofa that the two of you picked out at the thrift store. On the kitchen counter. In your bed. In his. Your legs bent over his shoulders so he could reach the deepest parts of you. Or whatever position you prefer, as long as he can see your face. He’s thought about it a lot. He wants to see your pretty face when he slides into you, see every little reaction, and watch every sound spill from your pretty lips.

Fuck, he’s close. His hips rut into his hand desperately, squeezing so tight it almost hurts. His free hand reaches out blindly, closing around a familiar bottle, popping the lid, and breathing in the scent of your shampoo. He could have come right then and there.

But there was a knock on the door. Soft, three taps against wood. And your sweet, sweet voice, muffled on the other side.

“James?”

James almost drops your shampoo. He curses under his breath, hand stilling on his cock, and he sets the bottle down with a clatter, knocking things over in his rush.

“Y-yeah?” he croaks out, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

“Can I come in? Gotta do my hair for work now or I’ll be late.”

No. He’s already mortified. And if you came in here now, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

“Yeah, of course, I don’t mind.”

Idiot.

You push the door open, bare feet padding across the tile, stopping in front of the sink. A quiet squeak fills the bathroom as you wipe the fogged-up mirror with a towel. James has to fight the urge to pull back the curtain to take a peek at you. Instead, he turns the shower from hot to cold. He was right, it hardly helps.

“Sorry to intrude. I’m in a bit of a rush today,” you say, rubbing some product between your palms. “We have a really important client coming in, and I want to be there early.”

“It’s not a problem,” he says, clearing his throat. “Important client?”

“Yeah—” you dive into an explanation.

It feels so domestic—you, doing your hair, chatting with him while he’s in the shower. The two of you getting ready for the day ahead. Together.

He could be your doting boyfriend, hanging onto every word that spills from your pretty mouth as you tell him about your job, about anything. And he’d listen, really listen. Interested in every detail, unlike some other tosser who’d just nod along, half-tuned out.

No, he’d appreciate you the way you deserve.

He’d worship you.

He barely notices his hand start to move again, slowly stroking his cock as he listens to your voice and watches your silhouette move behind the curtain, your hands in your pretty hair. He dreams of your lips as you speak. Molding every word. Then, he thinks of them wrapping around the tip of his cock. His hand in that pretty hair, fisted around it in a makeshift ponytail as he guides your head up and down his length.

He strokes himself faster. Carefully. Silently. He bites down on his lower lip until he tastes blood, just to keep a groan from spilling out as he imagines your throat fluttering around him.

“Honestly, I’m kinda nervous,” you admit to him, still rambling on about your upcoming meeting, and he hangs onto every word. “This is the first big thing I’ve been in charge of at work, and I’ve been working on this presentation for weeks.”

“You’re gonna do great,” he sighs dreamily. He imagines a world where he can pull the curtains back and pull you under the spray with him. He’d kiss your cheek, tell you how brilliant you are. How perfect. How confident he is that your presentation will be flawless.

He realizes he doesn’t have to be your boyfriend to tell you that.

“I’m sure you’ll nail it. I know how hard you work. You’re smart… so smart,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as wrecked as he feels as he brings himself back to the edge. He feels so guilty, but so good.

“Thanks, James, that’s really sweet. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“It’ll go great. We’ll celebrate tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll—” he breathes, his voice catching, “—order in your favorite for dinner.”

He pictures it as his hand speeds up. The two of you at your dinner table, sharing a bottle of wine to celebrate your accomplishments.

It will almost be like a date.

His knees nearly give out as ropes of cum shoot from his cock, painting the shower wall. He smothers a groan against the crook of his elbow. His vision goes blurry for a second, and the sound of pumping blood rages in his ears. He rests his forehead on the cool tile wall, trying to catch his breath.

“Mkay, I’m all done,” you say, and he hears you put several hair products back into their places.

He breathes out some sort of acknowledgement that’s supposed to sound like “okay.”

“James?” you say before you leave.

“Hm?” he hums, still trying to catch his breath.

It is so adorably pathetic how he thinks you don’t notice these things. And how he doesn’t notice the way you love to torture him.

“All you had to say was please and I would’ve helped you out. Next time, kay?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[luveline]

coworker!james and his love hate gf meeting his parents by accident? she thinks he won’t own up to her but he’s super proud and calls her his girlfriend (for the first time 0.o) 

coworker frenemies <3 fem, 1.2k

You get the foolish idea to check in on James. Dying, he’d texted, won’t be in. Don’t miss me too much <3

And then, throughout the day, can you ask Remus to answer his phone please lovely, sorry 

Can you make sure my smiskis are all okay

I miss you too much 

Did you see that thing on the news about the goats in Spain ? 

Sometime around three, as you’re preparing to leave, his sporadic texting ends. You and Remus get on alright without James, and a quiet day comes to a close at four. 

“See you tomorrow,” you say. 

“Yeah, see you, have a good night,” he says back. 

You might. It depends on how James is feeling. You go to the shops on the way and wrack your brain for the things he likes. You know he likes cream of chicken soup: he brings it in his thermos sometimes for lunch. He likes freddos, tangerines, melon slices, and everybody likes balsam tissues and painkillers. 

James doesn’t necessarily have to let you take care of him, but it’s a care package. He can take what he wants and bin the rest. You get him some cool patches for his eyes and a box of teabags and consider yourself finished, paying, packing it into a tote, and carrying it back to the car. You get nervous on the road leading into James’ flat building, but Sirius’ car isn’t outside, just an old BMW that looks well loved. 

You pop the button to be let into the building and seconds later you’re opening the door. You make your way up the tight steps to the second floor and then the third, pausing to catch your breath lest you seem unfit just outside the door. 

You raise your hand to knock. James laughs from somewhere inside, loudly, and that laugh travels toward you until he’s yanking the door half off of its hinges.

When he sees it’s you, he grins. “Hello, beautiful.” 

“Hi. You okay?” 

He sniffles, but he doesn’t seem too poorly. His eyes are sore and he has a tissue in hand, but James is nothing if not spritely. “I’m okay, lovely, are you okay? To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“I brought you sickness survival essentials,” you say, dangling the bag on two fingers between you. “Just in case.”

He gets that look on his face you’re finding yourself on the receiving end of more and more. That You can be so lovely face. Like you’ve done something selfless, and he’s not deserving of it. “Thank you,” he says genuinely, quietly, slipping the bag from your hand and leaning in. You’re expecting the kiss on the cheek, just not the hand under your jaw turning you for a chaste one on the lips.

“Listen,” he says softly, “my mum is here.” 

You pause. “Oh.” 

“My dad, too, actually. She caught wind that I was feeling rough from Sirius and she’s brought it upon herself to come and make sure I’m alright.” 

“Oh. Well, well I’ll just go–”

He shakes his head. “Don’t go. I mean, you don’t have to stay, ‘course you don’t, but you can come in and meet them.” 

“As…” 

“What do you want to be?” he asks. 

It’s probably written all over your face exactly what you want to be to James. It’s the bag swinging from his elbow. It’s what he asked you not so long ago, sitting on the end of his bed with a puddle of nerves in your stomach. Do you want to be… this is the real thing, right? 

You didn’t know what to say, so you’d kissed him, and he’d known it wasn’t a yes or no. 

“Are you sure you want them to meet me?” you ask. 

“Yes.” He strokes your cheek with his forefinger, all gentleness, but then he gives it a squeeze. “Be warned, mum’s heard everything about you, even when I was sure I hated you.” 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” you ask, sickly. 

“She took your side every time,” he assures you. “I just mean she’ll give me a smug look every other minute. And my dad’s just happy to be wherever he is. But if you don’t want to… you know, if you’re not ready, that’s fine. I wasn’t gonna ask ‘cos I was worried you’d say no.” He winces. 

“I’m really worried they won’t like me.” 

“Why wouldn’t they?” he asks, as though the possibility is a pipe dream. 

“James, you didn’t like me.” 

“That had less to do with you and more to do with email politics,” he jokes, “lovely, you don’t have to come in. It’s fine, there’ll be other times.”

It’s his confidence in that that makes you take a step forward. “Do I look a mess?” 

“You’re beautiful.” 

“James, I just went to work, I’ve been up since six–” You give him you’re most pleading look, eyebrows soft and lips a little pouted, “please, just check.” 

James holds you by the shoulders, his gaze moving over you one feature at a time. “Still beautiful,” he says quietly, “you have something in the corner of your eye.” 

“Get it.” 

“I will,” he laughs, “just gimme a second.” 

You gasp as he almost pokes your eye out. 

“James, babe, who’s at the door?”

You’re surprised to hear a male voice and instantly endeared. James, babe, turns away from you, slipping a hand behind your shoulder to force you into the hallway next to him. A dark-haired older man is standing in the door to the kitchen, his smile curious and friendly. “James?” 

“Yeah, this is Y/N,” James says, “she was just making sure I’m okay.” 

“You've invited her in for a cup of tea?” Monty asks, a picture of his son as he gestures for the kitchen. 

“Tea?” James asks, watching you carefully. 

You attempt to hide your nerves with a nod and a smile of your own. “Yes, please.” 

Monty heads back into the kitchen. James runs his hand down your back and lets you step in front of him, bearing the brunt of his mother’s gaze all by yourself. “Hello,” she says, clearly excited.

“Hi.”

James holds you by the back. “Mum, dad,” —you suck in a breath— “this is Y/N. She’s my girlfriend but–” He raises his voice before Euphemia can talk. “It’s not been long, okay?” 

“James, why didn’t you say?” 

“Mum, I just–” James sighs. You go numb with the pleasure of the thing —you weren’t expecting him to say girlfriend. To own up to you completely. “You dropped in unannounced, and we aren’t telling very many people.” 

“It’s my fault, I didn’t say–” You start, tamping down a brilliant smile. 

Monty cuts you off swiftly. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. We’re all here now, aren’t we? So, you work with Jamie?” 

“Yeah, yes, I’m on the accounting team.” You relax into James’ touch, letting your shoulder be guided against him just a bit. “I started a couple of months ago.” 

“Almost a year ago,” James corrects. “Should we have that cup of tea?” 

You frown at the scratch of his voice. “I can make it,” you offer. 

Euphemia laughs, James groans, and Monty has a twinkle in his eye you aren’t familiar with. “I can make the tea,” Monty says, “why don’t you lovely ladies sit down?” 

“Does that include me, dad?” 

“Of course it does.” 

[monserelates]

P.S. I Still Love You ; James Potter

part 1 of the p.s. series

⇨ f! reader x james potter

⇨ summary: You find an old letter James wrote to you during fifth year confessing he loved you but never sent. You're now dating someone else. Chaos ensues.

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, angst, not proofread, Emotional cheating themes, heartbreak, tension, crying, James spiraling, reader torn between two people, longing, and one (okay maybe a few) very old love letters/

⇨ word count: 2.8k

You never should’ve been in that drawer.

To be fair, you weren’t snooping. You were helping Sirius dig through Remus' study stash for a copy of Advanced Transfiguration when your hand got stuck between the back of the drawer and a false panel. With a click, it gave way, and there it was:

Three envelopes. Old. Yellowed. Folded twice. And written in James Potter’s handwriting.

And now everything’s ruined..right?

..

The letter was dated fifth year.

The year James was still annoyingly cocky, always showing off during Quidditch practice, calling you love every time you argued about exam scores. The year you broke your wrist after slipping on the stairs and James carried you to the Hospital Wing before anyone else could even react.

It read like a confession. A soft, stammering thing.

..

October 3rd, 1975 Gryffindor Tower, 11:41 PM

My dearest Y/N,

I saw you today.

Not in the dramatic, world-stops-turning kind of way. Just… I saw you. You were sitting two seats ahead of me in Charms, hair a bit messy like you’d rushed out of bed. Your jumper was too big—again—and you kept tucking your hands inside the sleeves like you were hiding from the world.

And I swear to Merlin, I couldn’t think of a single spell for the entire hour.

Everyone else was focused on levitating pumpkins, or whatever Flitwick was going on about—but I kept watching you tilt your head every time something didn’t click, lips moving like you were mouthing the incantation until it felt right in your mouth.

You had ink on your cheek. Just a tiny smudge. No one else noticed. Not even Lily, and she notices everything. But I did. I always do.

You do this thing when you're thinking—your brow furrows, but only slightly, and you chew the inside of your cheek. You look impossibly serious for about three seconds before your mouth twitches like you're about to smile. I don’t think you know you do it.

I think about that too much.

And then Sirius made that floating pumpkin bob in front of your face, and you laughed.

Merlin. That laugh. You sounded so alive. Like something warm cracking through the cold. You leaned back, rolled your eyes, crinkled your nose—like you always do when you’re pretending not to be amused. I had to look away. It was too much.

You’re too much.

I want to say something. Anything. I want to walk up to you and tell you that you make me feel like my ribs don’t fit quite right when you’re in the room. That I remember things about you that don’t even make sense—like how you write the number 7 with a line through it, or how your left eyebrow arches a little higher when you’re being sarcastic.

But I can’t. Because you don’t see me like that.

Not really. I’m just James Potter—too loud, too smug, always with a stupid joke. And you’re you. Quiet brilliance wrapped in worn jumpers and ink stains.

So instead, I write letters I’ll never send.

And pretend you’ll read them anyway.

Yours Always,

-- James F. Potter.

..

You shouldn’t have read it.

You shouldn’t have read any of it.

But you did. And now it’s sitting in your lap like a wound you didn’t know you had.

You’re still holding the first letter. The ink faded, edges soft like it’s been opened and reread too many times. By him? By no one?

It smells like old parchment and something faintly warm. Like dust and Gryffindor Tower and a boy who always smelled like broom polish and stolen honey biscuits.

You fold it back up. Carefully. Like that’ll undo something.

It won’t.

You glance toward the doorway—Sirius is still rummaging through the bookshelf, completely unaware. Remus is off somewhere tutoring some fifth year Hufflepuff who can’t master non-verbal spells. You’re alone.

Except for the letters.

Except for his voice in your head.

James bloody Potter, calling you love every time you beat him in Ancient Runes. James Potter, who once tied your tie in fourth year because your fingers were shaking before a presentation. James Potter, who didn’t laugh when you tripped down three stairs and broke your wrist—just caught you, scooped you up without blinking, and carried you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Fifth year. You remember it so clearly now.

Back when he was all bravado and smirks, when you rolled your eyes at him so often it practically became a reflex. When his handwriting was all over your textbooks from doodling in the margins. When he looked at you like maybe he was too afraid to really look.

And now—now you’re dating Amos Diggory.

He’s sweet. Gentle. Smiles when you talk about the books you love and never once makes fun of you for organizing your quills by shade. He writes you notes. Holds your hand like it’s precious. He’s kind to your friends, even when Marlene’s a menace and Dorcas is sharp as glass.

He’s everything you wished for. Everything you told yourself you needed. Safe. Sure. Soft around the edges.

And James?

James is—

Gone. Different. Still James, but more controlled now. Better. Polished like he grew into himself. And yet still somehow the same boy who looked at you like his lungs stopped working when you laughed.

You shouldn’t keep reading. It’s his private thoughts. You’re invading his past. You’re in love with Amos. You’re happy.

But—

But the corner of the second letter is peeking out, tucked just beneath the first. Like it wants to be found. Like it’s been waiting for someone—you—to pull the string and unravel it all.

Your hand hovers over the envelope. You should stop. You should close the drawer. You should forget this ever happened.

But your fingers are already reaching. Already brushing against the crease of the paper.

And your heart’s already starting to ache all over again.

..

February 15th, 1976 Gryffindor Tower, late (again)

My Y/N,

I think you like him. Diggory.

I didn’t mean to notice it, really. Didn’t want to. But I see things I shouldn’t. Things I’d rather not.

Like how you lean in when he talks. Just slightly. Enough. Enough to make my stomach twist. Like how you laugh with your whole face around him—nose scrunch, dimples, the works. Like how he gets your inside jokes now. Mine. Ones you used to only say to me.

I saw you pass him a note in Herbology yesterday. I couldn’t even focus on the lecture. Not with you three rows ahead, smiling down at whatever he wrote back.

And I thought—that used to be me. I used to be the reason you smiled during class. Now I'm just a seat behind. Always behind.

It's stupid, isn't it? That I still write you these letters like you’re mine. Like you were ever mine.

But I remember the exact day you started looking at him differently. February 1st.

Right after that Charms assignment. You’d spilled ink on your sleeve and he offered you his handkerchief—some proper, polished little thing, embroidered with his initials. You laughed. Told him no one under the age of forty should own one of those.

But then you kept it. You tucked it into your pocket like it meant something.

And I hated it. I hated him. Because he noticed you late. Too late. After you’d already become magic.

After I’d already memorized the rhythm of your moods and the way you tie your shoelaces with a double knot because you hate tripping. After I’d already watched you trace words into the corners of your parchment when you’re bored. After I knew that you like peppermint over chocolate, and that you cry when you're frustrated but pretend you're just tired.

He doesn't know those things. But you smile at him like he does.

Sometimes I wonder if you ever noticed me the way I notice you. If you ever felt your heart do that horrible, heavy thing when I walked in. If you ever looked at me during dinner and thought, he’s all I’ll ever want.

Because that’s what I think when I look at you. Every time. Even now.

You don’t look at me anymore. Not really. Not since him.

But today in the corridor, we passed each other near the library. You said, “Hi, Potter,” like you always do. Like we were just classmates. Just names on a roll call.

But your voice caught a little. And I lived in that catch for the rest of the day.

Yours, Always Yours, Even when you’re not mine.

—James F. Potter

..

Your fingers tremble when you finish the second letter.

You don’t move. Don’t breathe.

The parchment is soft now from how tightly you’ve been holding it, edges slightly bent from the grip of your thumb. It feels warm in your hands—like it might still be alive somehow. Like maybe the words are still echoing from wherever James wrote them.

You stare at the closing line. "Yours, even when you’re not mine."

And it hits you.

Not like lightning—no. Lightning is fast. Loud. Immediate. This is worse. This is quiet. A slow ache that spreads like ink through water.

Your throat tightens.

Because how didn’t you see it?

How didn’t you know?

You knew James was loud. Proud. A show-off. But he was always looking at you. Always showing off for you. Always circling close like a star that didn’t dare burn too brightly near the thing it wanted.

And all this time—you thought it was nothing.

You thought it was just James being James.

But this letter—these letters—they aren’t jokes. They aren’t scribbled flirting or casual charm. They’re him. Raw and open and trying so hard to love you in silence that he bled through parchment for it.

And you didn’t see it.

You’d been too busy chasing quiet, safe things. Smiles that didn’t set you on fire. You thought you needed stability. Control.

You thought James Potter didn’t take anything seriously.

But he took you seriously. So seriously that he never said a word.

And now?

You blink. The first tear falls, hot and unwelcome, streaking your cheek before you can wipe it away. Your lip quivers—just once—and you press your palm hard to your mouth, like maybe that’ll hold it in.

Had you really lost it?

Had you let something real slip through your fingers without even noticing?

Amos is wonderful. He is. He makes sense. But when James looked at you…

No one has ever looked at you like that.

And now you’re sitting on their dormitory floor with your heart shattering into a thousand unsent letters, wondering if it’s too late to go back and read between the lines.

You glance toward the drawer again. The third letter is still in there. Waiting. Pressed flat and secret.

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’ll hurt worse.

But some part of you—some desperate, aching part—still wants to know if he loved you enough to stop.

Or if he loved you so much he never could.

You should leave.

Genuinely, what are you doing?

But before you can help it, you're now opening the third, and final letter.

..

It’s dated barely two weeks ago.

March 3rd, 1976 By the window, when everyone else is asleep

My dearest Y/N,

I wasn’t going to write this. I told myself it was better to stop—that it would hurt less if I just stopped.

But the truth is, loving you never hurt. It was the not loving you out loud that did.

Still… I think this is the last one. Or at least—it has to be. Because I saw you today. Not just in passing. Not from across a classroom. I really saw you.

You were standing in the courtyard, your back to the sun, laughing at something Diggory said. Your eyes crinkled. You shoved his arm. You looked happy.

And I realized—I don’t want to be the reason that ever changes.

You deserve someone who doesn’t choke on his feelings every time you smile at him. Someone who doesn’t have to write letters in the dark just to keep breathing. Someone who stands beside you—not behind, hiding in plain sight.

You deserve the hand you’re already holding.

So this is me—letting go. Not because I want to. Merlin, obviously not because I want to. But because maybe that’s what real love is. Not possession. Not loud declarations or grand gestures.

Just presence. Quiet, unconditional, unwavering presence.

And if letting you be happy means stepping out of your way, then I’ll do it. Even if it guts me.

But please, Y/N—don’t ever think I didn’t love you. I did. I do. I probably always will.

It just won’t be the kind you see. Not anymore. It’ll be the quiet kind. The kind that waits in the background. That checks the weather before you go flying. That memorizes your schedule just to know when to stay out of your path. That walks a little slower past the courtyard in case you’re there—just to see you from a distance.

And if you ever need me—really need me— I’ll come. No matter the time. No matter the hour. Even if we haven’t spoken in years. Even if you’ve long forgotten this boy who holds you so close to his heart.

I’ll be there.

Always yours, Even if I never was. Even if I never will be.

P.S. I still love you,

—James F. Potter

You sit there for a long time. Still. Silent. Letter pressed to your chest like a heartbeat you missed.

Because this is what you missed. Not the flirting. Not the jokes. But this quiet, impossible love.

And now you have to ask yourself:

Are you too late?

Or is the real question… Does you still have time to love him back?

...

You don't remember standing. Don't remember how the letter slipped from you fingers and fluttered to the floor like something dying.

But suddenly you're upright—shoulders trembling, face burning—and you can’t breathe. Not properly. Not when the world feels like it’s tilted sideways and everything you thought you knew about James Potter is now upside down.

“Y/N?”

It’s Sirius. Right.

He’s still sitting by Remus’ desk, flipping through that stupid Advanced Transfiguration book he pretended to care about ten minutes ago.

He glances over his shoulder and frowns when he sees your face.

“What’s—?” He stops mid-sentence. Eyes narrow. Voice softens.

“Are you okay?”

You can’t answer.

Not with the way your chest is tight, like someone tied a rope around your lungs. Not with the way your mouth opens and closes and nothing comes out because you're scared if you speak, you'll sob.

Sirius rises, already walking towards you , voice low and careful now. “Y/N… what happened?”

You bends down, snatch up the third letter from the floor with shaking fingers, and clutch it to your chest.

And you look at him.

Sirius Black. James Potter’s best friend (and yours). The one who had to have known.

Your voice breaks when you say it.

“You knew.”

Sirius doesn’t deny it. He just stares at you, jaw tight, guilt flickering behind his storm-grey eyes.

“You knew,” you says again, louder this time, angrier, voice wobbling with the start of heartbreak. “You all knew and no one told me—”

“He didn’t want us to,” Sirius says quiety. “Said it wouldn’t matter. Said you were happy.”

You lets out a laugh. Or maybe a sob. Maybe both. It sounds like something collapsing.

“I have to go.”

“Y/N—”

But you're already halfway out the door, boots stumbling down the stairs, mind racing. The letters crumple in your fist. Your chest heaves like it’s about to split in two.

You push through the common room like you can outrun it, this unbearable ache.

The dorm door slams open.

Lily is on her bed with a book in her lap. Marlene is braiding Dorcas’s hair on the floor. All three look up immediately.

“Oh—Y/N?” Lily frowns. “What—?”

And then they see you.

Your eyes are red. Your cheeks blotchy. Shoulders hunched like you're about to be sick. And your hand?—gripping a fistful of parchment like it’s the only thing holding you together.

No one says a word.

You just stand there in the doorway, panting, throat burning, voice small and cracked like it belongs to someone else.

“I didn’t know,” she whispers. “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” Dorcas rises slowly.

Marlene’s eyes sharpen. “Y/N… what happened?”

She shakes her head, tears sliding freely now.

“How didn’t I see it?” she chokes. “How was I so blind?”

She crumples onto the edge of Lily’s bed, the letters sliding from her fingers. Lily’s arms are around her before she even realizes she’s crying out loud now—really crying—no more holding back.

“I ruined it,” she sobs into Lily’s shoulder. “I ruined everything. He loved me and I didn’t see it and now it’s too late.”

Marlene picks up the parchment from the floor. Her eyes scan the signature. Her lips part.

“James,” she says softly. “Oh my god.”

Lily looks like she’s about to cry too. Dorcas gasps out loud.

And through the blur, you whispers like a vow—desperate, aching, full of regret and something that sounds an awful lot like love finally understood:

“I have to fix this.”

taglist: @glittervame @strlightfilms

keep reading

[prettydaisygirl]

dad!James Potter x mom!reader 'goodnights' with Harry ✿ 361 words

cw: fem reader, reader is Harry's mom and goes by mama, toddler Harry climbs into your bed as you're falling asleep

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

It starts with a giggle.

You make a soft noise of protest in your barely conscious state, adjusting a bit against the sheets to try and get comfortable again. 

There’s another giggle, followed by a little grunt and the sound of a soft thud as a plushie lands atop the mattress. Little footsteps pad against the floor and approach your side of the bed. You feel a tug at your arm that’s hanging over the side. 

“Mama” Harry’s little voice whines as he tugs on your arm again. You open your eyes slowly, becoming conscious to the world. You reach out and pick up your son, placing him up on the bed next to you. 

Harry squirms and wiggles until he can climb over you and situate himself between you and James. He cuddles his plushie to his chest, and you smile sleepily, wrapping an arm around your son. 

“Love you, baby.” You whisper to him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“Love you, mama.” Harry says back as he settles fully against your chest. It’s quiet for a long moment, to the point where you almost fall asleep. 

“Need one from papa, too.” Harry whispers as he wriggles his way out from your arms. You pout softly at the loss of him from your grasp and you watch with half-hooded eyes as he shakes his father’s shoulder. James wakes with a sharp intake of breath, but his hands are immediately grabbing at Harry gently.

“Hey, Haz…” James’ voice is thick and raspy with sleep, “You sleepin’ here tonight?”

Your son nods, and James brushes a hand over his head. “Good,” James says quietly, “I missed you.”

“I need a goodnight kiss.” Harry tells James, and James is quick to trap Harry in his arms, placing a number of light kisses over Harry’s cheeks while he giggles. You watch adoringly from your half asleep position on the other side of the bed.

“Goodnight, Harry.” James whispers, as the two of them settle down again for sleep. 

“Goodnight, papa.” Harry clutches his plushie close, and after a minute he speaks up again, for the final time that night. “Goodnight, mama.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[777heavengirl]

Bless the Telephone ; ##06

James Potter x f!muggle!reader word count: 1181 warnings: none? annoying brother... bad writing a/n: im ashamed at how long its taken me to write this and its still ass but I'm back baby! series masterlist main masterlist

“James?” he could hear the hesitation in your voice, his name rolling softly off your tongue. it made the tips of his fingers buzz 

“Yes love”

“What do you look like?” you sounded almost ashamed for asking. He would be lying if he didn’t wonder the same thing

“Why d’you ask sweetheart?”

“Was just curious…” you said, James took a deep breath “but we don't have to talk about it at all-”

“I have brown hair… I’d like to think I’m a very normal-looking bloke,” he said, you listened intently. “my mother says I’m a dashing young man, however”

“I don’t think she’s an unbiased source of information.”

“Yeah… i fear she isn’t-“James said with a chuckle, you laughed along, “My eyes are hazel, well they’re brown i swear they’re shit brown but Sirius says they’re hazel”

“whatever the hell that means”

“right? anyway, ummm i’m pretty tall, my hairs a mess always, I wear glasses”

“really?”

“yeah, they’re round, shitty little glasses i reckon-“

“didn’t know you wore any…”

“Yeah I’m blind as a bat,” James couldnt help the smile that spread through his lips as you laughed on the other side of the line. “Can I ask what you look like or is that forbidden?”

He heard your breath hitch before a couple of giggles left your lips. 

“It’s okay to ask, I just don’t really know how to describe myself”

“That’s quite alright— we can go step by step, what color is your hair?”

You answered with a laugh, and James continued. He asked about the length of your hair, the color of your eyes, if you smiled with teeth or pressed lips, he asked if you had long nails or kept them short, he asked everything he could, itching for a clearer image, itching to see you.

“Satisfied?” you asked when the questions died down, James simply hummed in response. He thought about it deeply, the curve of your face, the bow of your lip, his mind filled in gaps or left them in blanks, he couldn't finish clearing up the hazy figure of you. But he was determined now, he needed to see you, he needed to touch your skin, and to have you be more than just a voice on the machine.

He hadn't noticed you had started talking again,

-

You snatched the cigarette from your brother’s fingers, it hadn't even been two days of him staying at yours, and Charlotte was already a terrible influence on him.

“He’s a child, Charlotte, don’t give him this,” you scoffed as you crushed the cigarette under your shoe. 

“I’m sixteen-” your brother retorted, the dumb teenage drawl of his words making him sound more annoyed than he truly was

“Don’t care”

“My friends do it-”

“Don’t care”

“You do it!”

“Who said that?” You turn around this time, your brother stopping in his tracks. Charlotte lights another cigarette for herself behind him. You narrowed your eyes. Flickering back and forth between your brother, who had a sheepish smile, and your roommate, who didn’t dare meet your eye.

“No smoking, at least not while you’re with me”

“Deal,” you smiled, “but… I have a favor to ask.” Your brother’s grin widened even more as yours dropped. 

You should’ve known there’d be a catch.

-

“He’s a terror- truly” You said into the phone, whispered words while Charlotte distracted your brother with some crappy late night TV. 

“Surely it’s not that bad…” James laughed on the other side, breathless and excited to talk to you. 

“No it isn’t, I love the little brat but you know…” You picked at your cuticles, sighing into the phone, “It’s hard when they start growing up, it's different.”

“Different how?”

“Different like… I can’t accept he is growing older and is his own person, he’s my baby” James hummed in acknowledgement. “I don’t know… it’s silly”

“It’s not silly love, you’re allowed to be upset about it, that’s valid,” James was often this way, caring and sweet. You appreciated how in tune with your emotions he was. Sometimes you felt as if he had been made up in your mind. A figment of your imagination.

“Thanks James”

“Of course love-” a knock rang from your door, and your brother poked his head through the slightly opened door. 

“What’re you up to?” He narrowed his eyes “Who are you talking to?”

“None of your business twat, go back to the tv”

“Is it your boyfriend?” James tried pressing his ear further into the phone, praying he’d hear better

“It’s just a friend,” you whispered, tightening your lips into a thin line

“At least tell me its not that horrid man-“

“Alright enough said, i’ll talk to you later friend” you said into the phone

James said goodbye with a breathless laugh.

-

“So about this favor…” Your brother smiled, eyes filled with mischief. He had grown taller in his time at school, his hair had been cut short by your mother, probably against his wishes and the smirk that painted his lips was a newfound one. 

You raised an eyebrow, pushing your plate towards him so he could serve you food. He obliged reluctantly. A game of how much he could do to butter you up had started.

“There’s this event, a tournament, and all of my friends are going-”

“School friends or old friends?”

“School”

“Proceed-”

“There would be a parent coming, he has a government job, very responsible.” he nodded, you rolled your eyes playfully

“Right…”

“It would be just a weekend trip. Thursday to Sunday”

“That's…” You stared at him. mouth slightly ajar, “You know Mom’s going to kill us both.”

“That’s why she doesn't have to know, du.h” he said as he got up to get water, grabbing yours as well as you stared at him pointedly. 

“Do we have to pay for anything?”

“Just getting me to the pick up point… in Broomfield,” He said, a sheepish smile growing on his lips.

“Oh you are mental… Let me get this straight, you want me to drop you off in the middle of Broomfield, which is more than an hour away by car” you said, your brother nodded as he shoved food in his mouth, like it all made sense. “even though I have no car, so you can meet up with your friends and an alleged an adult to go… some other place to watch some sports tournament.”

“Sounds about right,” he smiled at you, cheeks puffy from stuffing his face with dinner, almost like he did when he was bright-eyed and eleven. Your heart stirred… Bastard.

“There’s a rugby field not far from here. You can invite your friends,” you said

He shook his head, putting his fork down. 

“You don’t understand, I have to go to this, it's the World Cup.���

“If you want rugby World Cup tickets, I’m sure I can score a pair, but… Broomfield, really?” You toyed with your fork, tracing vague shapes into your mashed potatoes. “You don’t understand. This isn’t any World Cup y/n, this is Quidditch, I have to go”

tags ; @ilovejamespottersomuch @ravisinghs-wife @hidontmindtheintrovert @stella-thestars @caspiankingofnarnia @lovelyteenagebeard @starkluvrr @hisparentsgallerryy @leilani13gc @katsusayhi @auroresce @lovemiss-vale @alessiaparigim @unconventional-lawnchair @moonydoodlez @eissaaaa @ailoda @nahhhwhatthefrick @notapoetjustscar @hiireadstuff @the-rat-king1902 @n1ght-vngel @littlewhitel1es @rreporterbby @santaasi @myheroworldandanimes @whimsical-mistakes @lalalandincraz @2dloveshp @loveyouprongs

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

let me know if you want to be tagged in any future chapters!