jamesweather

[jamesweather]

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 so sweet and well written

Oh god I love all your fics you are so amazing ♡♡♡♡

¿Can I have another firefighter au about James? That beautiful man driving me crazy. Sorry, but not sorry. .

Maybe where this time, if there's a dangerous fire in the reader building and he can't find her in her apartment or anywhere and he's so nervous going outside that he starts asking everyone if they haven't seen her.

And he doesn't realize that she comes back from work and runs to hug her and we're all happy.

hi nonnie thank you so much for this req! I love my man Chief James, he is so hot. Hope you're having a wonderful day, lovely <3

firechief!James Potter x fem!reader who can't be found during a fire ✿ 977 words

cw: fem!reader, apartment building fire, everyone is okay, James panicking

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

James hears the call the moment it comes in. It’s not you, but it is your building. Of course he recognizes the address. No one seems panicked or alarmed, which isn’t surprising given your building’s fire alarm goes off every other day it seems. 

As Fire Chief (and as your boyfriend) James takes the call more seriously than the others do. He doesn’t blame them for it, though he does yell at them to pick up the pace. After a while it does start to feel like a ‘boy who cried wolf’ situation. The fire truck gets loaded up, the boys all step in, lights go on, and they’re off.

Things change the closer they get to your flat. The plume of smoke billowing into the air creates a tension that makes everyone antsy, and the visibly growing fire when they when the truck onto the street has them all jumping into action. Especially James.

Because now, he’s worried. He hasn’t heard from you in a few hours, which wouldn’t normally be unusual, but right now your building is on fire. James’ heart pounds, he shouts orders at his crew and they get to work. His eyes scan the crowd, everyone looks terrified and panicked, but he’s not looking to see how the bystanders feel. He’s looking for you, and your face is not here. 

Some of his men begin to pull out the hose, some pull out ladders, and James and a few others run into the building to search for any remaining people trapped inside. James wants to beeline directly for your apartment. 

He can hear various shouts of ‘clear!’ as he jogs his way up the stairs. He still does his job, looks around to check for others, but his main mission is to find you. To see your face and know that you’re okay. 

The smoke pours through the halls, clouding his vision. He knows the path to your apartment by heart, and he follows it without hesitation. He doesn’t find anyone else on his way there. The fire has grown significantly by the time he reaches your flat. He flings the door open roughly, the lock crumbling under the strength of his hand and the heat of the fire. He doesn’t care about your door, shouting your name as he pushes into your space. He checks your bedroom, your bathroom, the kitchen, but you aren’t anywhere.

This, understandably, causes him to panic more. He double checks everywhere, but as the fire continues to build, he knows he doesn’t have much time. He rechecks every room and hallway on his way down despite the fact that he’s already checked them once. 

“Did you find anyone?” He shouts to his crew as he walks out. Water sprays down from hoses, slowly helping contain the flames. He hears various responses of ‘No, Chief!’ ‘No, Sir!’ But the denials don’t help the adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins. He stomps through the crowd, his height giving him an advantage as he pushes through people. He’s not trying to be rude or rough, but he feels like he can’t even intake a full breath. 

He calls for you, your name leaving his lips in sharp gasps. He can’t find you, he can’t see you, he’s fully on the verge of a panic attack. It’s very unlike him, but the tightening of his chest is distinct. 

He practically runs over Remus, whose face morphs into one of confusion when he sees the look in James’ eyes. “You alright, Chief?” He asks, and it’s only then that James even registers Remus’ face.

“I’m- I can’t find-”

“Looking for your Angel?” Remus asks, then gestures across the street to where you’re standing by your parked car, phone pressed to your ear. “She just got here, came looking for you while you were inside.”

James doesn’t hear the tail end of Remus’ words, already halfway to you. You stand as he approaches, the phone still pressed to your ear as he gathers you into his arms. You hug him back with your free hand, managing to end the call with a final ‘yes, I’m okay. I promise’. He buries his face in your neck, at least as much as he can with his uniform on. 

“I thought you were inside, Angel,” He forces his breathing and heart rate to calm now that you are back in his arms and he knows you’re safe. “I thought you were trapped, I was so scared.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, hugging him back just as tightly. “My last meeting ran late and then my boss wanted to speak with me and…”

“It’s okay, as long as you’re okay.” He pulls back, eyes glancing over you from head to toe one more time. His hands grip at your waist, and he finally deems you safe. “I need to get back and help, but I couldn’t focus until I knew where you were.” James leans down to place a long kiss to your lips, longer than he should allow, but he’s the Chief so who will tell him off? He pulls back, then presses a quick one to your cheek. 

“Is everyone okay?” You ask, the gravity of the situation coming back to the front of your mind. “Is my stuff going to be okay?”

“Everyone is fine, they made it out safely and we already checked the building.” He assures you, sliding his hands down your arms. “I’ll do my best to save your things, it’ll be alright, yeah?”

“Yeah…” You say like you aren’t convinced, and truly he isn’t either. He’d seen the state of your apartment when he’d gone inside. 

But the two of you will figure that out after this, together. And, really, he thinks he might get to use this as an excuse to ask you to move in with him. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[jamesweather]

hiii bb

first off all GURL YOUR WRITING IS LITERALLY TOP TIER I CANNOT WITH IT—

and second, i saw you had your requests open and while i’ve never done this before i really, really would love it if you could write a poly!wolfstar with reader coming from a pretty similar family background as sirius and gets triggered by loud noises and remus is in a bad headspace because it’s just a few days before full moon and he accidently yells at her and reader just shuts down and tries to brush it off because she thinks she’s being dramatic and tries to act unruffled but sirius sees through it and overall just hurt/comfort, pretty please? ILY

Awe thank you lovely! For both the sweetness and the request <3

cw: migraine, reader panics because of shouting/aggression

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Remus has told you to leave him alone more than once. You know that you should, that you really ought to make yourself scarce because these moods before the full moon almost never yield good things. The issue is that you care about Remus more than consequences, and as a result you’re not very good at doing what you should. 

“Hey,” you say gently, when he passes you by on his way back to his desk with another cup of tea. “That’s too much caffeine, lovely. You’ll make your headache worse.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Remus grunts. He continues on his way, and, despite Sirius’ look, despite knowing better yourself, you give chase. 

“You’ll regret it if you have another,” you reason, following him to his work-cluttered desk, which has been shoved temporarily into the darkest corner of your bedroom. “I know some caffeine helps, but too much—”

“I know how it works.” Remus’ voice is low. Low, but not thin. He doesn’t look at you as he sits down. “I need it, alright?” 

You take a breath. Yes, you can see how you explaining Remus’ own migraines to him might not be well received. But it’s not easy to watch your boyfriend act against his own self-interest. 

Remus has described the feelings leading up to a full moon to you before. He said it feels like something sizzling under his skin, or crackling. It’s not entirely pleasant, but it gives him more energy than he ever has otherwise. Makes him restless, productive, lively. Eventually, though, that energy builds into something he can barely tolerate—that’s when the migraines usually start. Remus gets irritable, his joints ache, it’s like his body is trying to hold something no human can, waiting for the full moon and the chance for Remus’ not-human body to expel it all. 

When you think about how much energy he’s storing, that electric sizzle under his skin, caffeine hardly seems necessary. Until you take into account that Remus has hardly slept for the past three nights. Then you wonder if perhaps his brain can no longer keep up with the tireless dynamism of the rest of him. 

“Maybe you should rest for a while instead,” you try. 

“I have work to do.” 

“It’ll still be there after a nap.”

“And I suppose I may as well just wait until after the full, then, yeah?” 

“I mean, maybe.” You pick up on Remus’ sarcasm, but you don’t disagree. “You can’t be expected to just power through when you’re having such a hard time.” 

“Really?” There’s bite in your boyfriend’s voice now. Enough that you retract the hand you were about to set on his shoulder. “I can’t be expected to? That’s exactly what’s expected of me. I don’t just get a week off every month.” 

You push out a frustrated breath. “I know, and that’s not fair—” 

“None of this is fair.” Remus turns in his seat, glowering with such virulence it shocks you despite the argument you’d thought you were prepared for. “There aren’t allowances made for lycanthropy. If I told my boss that I need a lighter workload and he made the connection, he could report me to the ministry. I can’t afford to complain about how my head hurts or indulge in naps and breaks when everyone else keeps working.” 

His voice rises, and he’s suddenly taller than you, looking down on you. He stood up. Your ears are ringing. 

“If everyone else is able to handle their workload during the full, I have to, too. Do you understand that?” 

You find you can’t speak. There’s a horrible ache sitting in the base of your throat which won’t let anything out. You nod. 

“Do you?” Remus seems exasperated. Baffled by your naïveté. “I don’t want to be told that I shouldn’t be working. I don’t want to be told that I can’t have caffeine to get through it, because I know what I have to do, and that’s not something you can understand. Alright?”

“Alright,” you choke out. 

“Do you get that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Remus,” says another voice. You don’t turn, but you don’t need to; Sirius always follows the sound of shouting. It’s habit for him. “That’s enough, love.” 

“I was done,” Remus snaps. 

Sirius’ hand wraps around your elbow. His fingers feel cool, or maybe you’re only hot. You feel very, very hot. 

“Hey,” he prompts softly. Now you look at him. Sirius’ expression is all tenderness, and it feels like whiplash. “You okay?” 

You dismiss the question with a shake of your head. Your ears are still ringing. “Yeah.” 

You look back to Remus. You can’t help it. You want to fix, and to leave, and to dissolve. But Remus is the epicenter of everything, and you feel as though taking your eyes off him even temporarily is a danger. 

“Let’s be done squabbling for now,” Sirius says, his voice unnaturally light. “We’ve all said our piece, yeah?” He gives your arm a gentle tug, and you take a step back. You’d been nearly right up against Remus, you realize. Frozen to the spot where you’d gone to rest your hand on his shoulder. Sirius runs his thumb over your skin before asking again, “Are you okay?” 

Tears invade your eyes without warning. Your face burns, and you feel it screw up in an attempt to keep them from falling. “Yeah,” you say unsteadily. “I’m just—so—sorry.” 

Two things happen seemingly at once: your voice fractures, and Sirius crushes you to him. 

Remus exhales. You hear the creak of his chair taking his weight again. “Shit.” 

“Shh, I know,” Sirius murmurs, petting your head while your tears spill over to wet his jumper—Remus’ jumper, which smells like both of them and probably also you. “I know, baby, it’s okay. You’re safe here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Remus says. His voice sounds muffled, as though he’s speaking into his hands. 

“No, it’s—I’m sorry.” You sniff, trying to wipe under your eyes. Sirius keeps you held to his front. “It’s not your fault.” 

“It is my fault.” 

“I believe I said we were done with the squabbling.” Sirius kisses your head firmly. “What do you need, sweetness? Some quiet? Time to breathe?” 

“I’m okay. Really, I’m fine.” You give Sirius a grateful squeeze before letting him go. He lets you, but watches you concernedly as you swipe a knuckle underneath your eyes. The ringing in your ears has faded to near nothing, aftershocks trembling through your fingers in its wake.  “I’m fine. I just—needed a second. Sorry.” 

Sirius makes a quiet sound. “Stop that. You don’t have to be sorry.” 

Remus nods his agreement. His head is in his hands, you can see now, but he lifts it up to look you in the eyes. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you.” 

You shake your head. “You were right. I was insensitive. And I don’t know why I reacted like that, I’m just being dramatic.” 

“Oi,” Sirius cuts in sternly, though half as stern as he’d usually be even to tease you. “I’m dramatic. Get your own personality.” 

That gets your lips to twitch a little. You watch as Remus sends him one of his fond, exasperated looks. 

“You weren’t being dramatic,” Remus says to you. “I shouted at you. However angry I was, that’s not alright. I’m sorry I scared you.” 

“You didn’t scare me.” Your eyes are beginning to burn again. You try to blink through it. “It was just—it was—” 

“I understand,” he says, softly. His expression is still taut with pain, but some of the harsher lines have melted away. “I’m sorry anyway. Do you want to come here?” 

Sirius hums satisfiedly when you go sit across Remus’ lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He draws his hand up and down your back slowly, with enough pressure to ease away any lingering tension coiled around your spine. You breathe out. Sirius doesn’t hold out long before he’s there too, curled around the two of you and squeezing heartily. 

“You two aren’t allowed to fight,” he mutters, kissing your head and Remus’ in turn. “In order for me to be petty and vain, I need you to be the sensible ones, understand? This is a delicate ecosystem.” 

“I don’t know,” you hum. “I think Remus should get breaks some way or another around the full moon. Can’t you take a sensible shift once a month?” 

Sirius lets out a sigh like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, but you hear the gentle sound of him pressing another kiss to Remus’ head. “Suppose so. Only once a month, though.” 

[jamesweather]

okay so this is beautiful

“𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠?”

── james potter x f!reader

summary: where you ask james what he would change about you

warnings n tags: est. relationship, no use of y/n, shy and (a little) insecure reader, some slightly suggestive teasing (stay safe), fluff, a completely in love james

a/n: It's so weird to post with just one image, I'll probably change it later

It was a lazy afternoon, the hours dragging on as you wrote on the parchment—or rather, as you tried to write. It was nearly impossible to focus on your Transfiguration assignment when your eyes kept drifting to James.

He was sitting across the table from you, eyes on his parchment, dark eyebrows slightly furrowed as he wrote, fingers lightly stained with ink. Every now and then, he would catch his lower lip between his teeth. He was doing it on purpose, you thought. He had to be, just to distract you. But then, he would lift his gaze and flash you a sweet smile, completely oblivious to your thoughts.

You quickly turned back to your parchment, ignoring the heat that rushed to your cheeks from being caught staring.

But your concentration never lasted long. Soon, your eyes wandered back to him—to the way his messy hair fell over his forehead, the absentminded way he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the way the muscles in his forearm flexed with the slightest movement.

It was too much for you.

James Potter was perfect, and you were a complete sucker for him.

Sometimes, you wondered what he had seen in you. Out of all the choices James had made, you were the one that remained a mystery. And sometimes, those thoughts became too loud in your head.

“Hey,” his voice pulled you back to the present. You blinked a few times, looking at him with raised eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“What?” you asked, feeling a silly fear that he had suddenly become a legilimens.

James huffed, though a small smile lingered on his lips. He leaned across the table, extending an arm toward your face. Your breath hitched when his thumb smoothed out the crease between your eyebrows.

“I know you, you know?” he teased, tracing the curve of your brow, then the soft slope of your cheek, until his thumb rested under your chin, holding your gaze locked on his. “You always furrow your brows when you're thinking too much. What is it this time?”

A deep blush bloomed across your cheeks, but with his hand holding your face, it was impossible to look away. “N-nothing.”

He narrowed his eyes, leaning in further, until only a short distance remained between your faces. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t make me beg. Come on, what can I offer? A kiss for your thoughts—sounds like a fair trade to me.”

“James,” you scolded, “for Merlin’s sake, we’re in the library.”

His grin widened. “That didn’t stop us last time.”

You pulled away from his touch, feeling like your blood had turned into liquid fire at the memory. Apparently, your common sense tended to evaporate whenever James was involved.

“Hey,” he called again. You didn’t resist when his fingers intertwined with yours. His smile was still there, but now, concern shone in his hazel eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

You shook your head, feeling a bit pathetic for letting those thoughts crawl into your mind like unwelcome guests. “It’s nothing important, I just… they’re just silly things. Not worth your attention.”

James gently squeezed your fingers, tracing lazy circles on the back of your hand. “Try me,” he urged, his voice soft, free of teasing.

And like every other time James asked something of you, you found yourself unable to deny him.

It wasn’t always like this, but sometimes, you felt small beside him. Like you would never be enough.

You wet your lips, your mouth suddenly dry as you struggled to find the words. “I-if you… If you could change something about me, what would it be?”

Silence hung heavy in the air after your question. You regretted asking it the moment the words left your mouth, and you were seriously considering throwing yourself out the nearest window when James finally spoke.

“Nothing.” And there was so much confidence, so much sincerity in his voice that you could only stare at him, mouth slightly open.

“Not even a single thing?” The question spilled from your lips before you could stop it.

James averted his gaze for a moment, thoughtful. Your heart stumbled painfully in your chest. Time had never moved slower than it did in that moment of waiting.

“Well,” he began, his eyes shining behind his glasses when he looked at you again, “I think I’d change one thing.”

That was the sensible answer, of course. You should have expected something like that—there were so many things that could be better about you. Of course, James would think that too. But that realization didn’t make it hurt any less. A cruciatus might have stung less.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say, struggling against the tremor in your voice. “What thing?”

James didn’t answer right away, glancing down at your joined hands instead. His thumb brushed the base of your ring finger, slow, deliberate. Your heart skipped a beat. He was only touching your hand, but there was something there—a silent promise, an idea he had seemingly accepted long before you had even considered it.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze, as if he were envisioning the future. As if he were memorizing this moment, making sure not to let a single detail slip away. And when his eyes met yours again, there was something intimate in them, something that stole the air from your lungs.

As if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“If I could change one thing about you,” he said, speaking slowly, as if to ensure there was no room for doubt, “it would be your last name.”

Your heart raced for an entirely different reason now, the weight in your chest vanishing without a trace. A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. “Really?”

James nodded. “Mhmm, Mrs. Potter,” he sang, as if savoring the words. “Doesn’t it sound good? I think it suits you. Actually, I’m sure you were born to be a Potter.”

“Thank you,” you squeezed his hand, feeling ridiculous for having let those thoughts creep in. You bit your lip. “James, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

He raised a hand, stopping you. “No, don’t apologize for that. I’ll make sure to remind you how much I love you every single day. And when the day comes that you don’t need reminding? It won’t matter—I’ll keep telling you anyway.”

With a smile, he added softly, “But when we’re married, you won’t have time for these silly thoughts. You’ll be too busy thinking about the names of our children and…” He lowered his voice, his gaze sweeping over you, unhurried, intense. Heat rose beneath your skin. “And far too busy with our efforts to grow our family.”

“James!”

[jamesweather]

🥹🥹🥹

this is too adorable

can i request a burger with “can i play with your hair?” and “don’t worry, i won’t tell anyone that you like to be the little spoon.” with sirius pls

yes ofc, hope u like it lovely!

jolie's summer kickoff a 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐫 fresh off the grill ⋮ aka a short blurb contains: sirius black x reader

Today was too beautiful a day not to call off work and spend your time basking in the sun with your boyfriend. You’re still in that sweet honeymoon phase of your relationship, so when Sirius calls with the idea, you don’t hesitate to clear your calendar.

You arrived at his flat a few hours ago, where he lost track of time kissing you against the kitchen counter before finally leading you up to the roof. You were a bit skeptical watching him pick the lock, still getting used to Sirius’ knack for getting into trouble. But stirring up a bit of trouble was well worth the beautiful morning this has become.

You’re lying face to face on a blanket and pillows stolen from his bed, takeout containers from your lunch discarded to the side somewhere. Sirius had your favorite meal and ice cream sundaes delivered, somehow managing to convince both delivery drivers to walk up the full flight of stairs so that Sirius didn’t have to leave you.

With a full belly and the buzz of a sugar high, you lie happily tangled in Sirius’ arms, giggling every time he brushes his nose against yours.

When Sirius squirms for the fifth time in under a minute, you realize something is up.

“Everything okay?”

“My arm’s falling asleep is all,” he says, brushing it off.

“Oh, turn over.”

Sirius furrows his brow, not moving, so you nudge his shoulder until he faces the other way.

“Better?” you ask, wrapping an arm around his middle.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, holding a hand over yours. You feel Sirius instantly melt in your arms, sighing like the weight of the world just slid off his shoulders.

“Oh,” you utter quietly, amusement laced in your tone.

“Hm?”

There’s a hint of teasing in your voice as you reply, “You like being the little spoon.”

“What? No,” Sirius denies urgently, as if his manhood had just been questioned. “I just—my arm was falling asleep!”

You roll your eyes. Boys.

“Shush,” you say, pressing a kiss to the blush creeping up his neck. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you like to be the little spoon.”

Sirius sighs through his nose, his shoulders relaxing again as he gives in to your touch. Truthfully, Sirius cannot remember a time he’s been more content than he is right now. The feeling of your body pressed firmly against his back and your arm snug around his waist seems to ease every worry he’s ever had. Heal every wound. Calm every fear.

“Can I play with your hair?” you whisper, unable to resist his dark locks splayed out on the pillow you're sharing.

“You don’t have to ask,” Sirius replies.

You twirl strands of his hair around your fingers, mesmerized by how soft it feels. Sirius is practically purring when you start to drag your nails across his scalp, massaging the crown of his head.

“You’re gonna put me right to sleep if you keep doing that,” he practically moans.

You giggle, kissing his shoulder, “S’okay. Let’s take a nap,” you offer.

Sirius wants to refuse, intent on staying awake and cherishing his time with you, but his already heavy eyelids have other plans.

It’s the first time he’s ever slept next to you, and it’s completely dreamless. No restlessness, no nagging thoughts—just deep, uninterrupted sleep. The most peaceful sleep he’s ever had.

Later, he wakes up with a sunburn stinging his skin. But he doesn’t care, because you’re still here. And you’re his.

[jamesweather]

OMFHDKDHDJ THIS IS SOOOO CUTE I LOVE THEM BOTH SO MUCHHH OR ALL THREE OF THEM INCLUDING LUNA

hiya, so I was thinking about neighbour!Remus and maybe Luna misses him, like she's standing in front of the door meowing, scratching etc., and reader sends Remus a photo of her and either she invites him to her apartment or he invites them to his?? idk something like that

anyways I love your fics and wish you have a good day! <33

continuation to neighbour!remus in "welcome to the neighbourhood"

wc: 2.4k

cw: fem!reader, flirtatious banter, luna the matchmaker, remus switching between shy and confident, non-established relationship, some forced proximity/intimacy over luna, custody jokes

Despite your insurmountable love for Luna, she was driving you insane.

“What is it, baby?” you cooed yet again, no longer harbouring hope that her answer would leave you any wiser.

Indeed, you received a drawn out, whiny meow in return. Inscrutable.

For the past few days, Luna has acted like a prisoner in her own home. She would sulk while walking back and forth between the flat door and the Juliet balcony door, sitting in front of them and making various upset cat noises.

You had tried to give her snacks, catnip, kisses, more water, anything – no reaction. She kept sitting by the exits, practically demanding you let her out.

She had always been happy to be an indoor cat, never complaining, which left you stumped by this sudden change. In your previous flat, there was a windowsill she had claimed as her own, where she would watch the birds outside while lazing in the sun. You often opened the window, especially during summer, and she had never once tried to go outside. 

That is not to say she wasn’t a rascal – as you had previously informed your neighbour, she was a repeat offender – but it was always contained to the building. She loved exploring the hallway at your last flat, but displayed no interest in walking down the flight of stairs or going outside. 

Truly, the only time she had been outside without you practically dragging her along was the other day when she had jumped down two stories to greet your neighbour. Remus, as he had said his name was, to whom she was apparently called. 

You, of course, could not relate.

Yet, when you watched Luna once more sit down by the door to the hallway, her amber eyes boring into you on the sofa as she loudly complained about something, you couldn’t help but think about him. Not just because her eyes reminded you of him now, the only human you had met with such feline-like irises, but because of how good he had been with her. Like putty in his hands.

He was funny too, you couldn’t deny that. Perhaps you should entertain him in turn.

When Luna made another petulant prrt! sound, you reached for your phone on the coffee table before you. The photo folder titled ‘my baby’ was already full, but another video of her antics couldn’t hurt.

When you turned your camera on her, it was like Luna realised she had a way to broaden the reach of her helpless cries, because she meowed louder than ever. She turned her body towards the door, stretching her brown paws forward to scratch at the door as a desperate meow escaped her. She looked over her shoulder once more, huffing, and making an indignant, angry sound. 

“What’s the matter, baby?” you pried. It was all the motivation she needed to fall over on her side, pushing the door with her paws as she drew out a long cry.

Without watching the video back – not wanting to overthink yourself – you opened your text messages with Remus and sent it to him, along with the text, “I think you broke my cat.”

You closed your phone once it was sent, almost running away from it to go pick Luna up into a forced cuddle. She complained for but a second before she leaned into your shoulder and began purring; she had never been able to put up a fight when bribed with cuddles.

You had barely been holding Luna for a minute, if that, when your phone vibrated with a notification. Luna’s ears perked up at the sound.

There is no way he has already replied, you thought, but you walked back to the sofa to hold Luna with one hand and pick your phone up with the other.

It was Remus. “Deepest apologies, love,” he had written. “Want me to come over and heal her?”

Your heart beat faster than it had any business doing as you watched the texts. It felt like you weren’t dressed up enough for guests, but at least you were more put together than the cleaning outfit he had seen you in last. Not to mention, a neighbour can hardly be a guest. Right? 

Luna made an adamant prrt sound.

Before you let yourself overthink, you wrote out, “You’re welcome to try, but I doubt it’s curable.”

His reply was instant. “Challenge accepted.”

You sat frozen on your sofa, your brain not quite having caught up to the chain of events that just unfurled. You looked back down at Luna’s sweet face, studying the lighter spots that blended in with her brown fur like gorgeous decorations to distract yourself. Your grip on her remained tight, not wanting her to run off down the hallway when your door opened. 

With her in your arms, you went up to the door to unlock it before promptly backing multiple feet away from it as if the handle could burn you. Luna must have felt your heart beating against her small body. It would be impossible to miss.

Just a few seconds later, you heard three polite knocks on your door.

“Come in, it’s open!” you called from across the room.

The door barely opened a sliver, just big enough for Remus’ head to pop through. His tawny hair was messy in a way that looked beautiful enough to be intentional, though you doubted it was, and his face was adorned with a wide smile. “Why, hello there.”

As he slipped the rest of his body through the crack of the door, closing it behind you, Luna let out what could only be described as a shriek. She trashed in your arms, making you yelp and put her down – so that she could beeline to Remus’ feet while he was toeing off his shoes.

Luna meowed loudly at him, this time without the whiny undertone, and rolled over to bare her stomach. 

Remus crouched down beside her, burying his hand in her soft underbelly fur while looking up at you through his hair. “And you doubted me,” he laughed.

“What the hell?” You tried to sound complaining, but your voice was breathless with laughter as you took in the scene. 

Remus scooped Luna up in his arms and she instantly began to pur. He cradled her against his chest with one big hand, while the other scratched her all over, making her eyes close in blizz. With your cat hostage, he walked closer to you.

“Hiya, dove. My theory was correct; seems she just missed me.”

You shook your head while smiling, pointing your finger accusatroily at Luna. “You little traitor.”

“Can you blame her? We clearly have a connection,” Remus teased. You noticed he was looking at you more than Luna, even as his fingers expertly drew happy noises from her.

You ignored the heat in your face as you smiled. “I think she’s just trying to humiliate me actually, but if it helps you sleep at night.” You stepped closer to pet between her eyes, feeling some vindication when she leaned against your touch. So you do still like me, huh?

Remus looked around your flat with barely subdued interest, looking like he wanted to say more than he was. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Have you been here before?” 

“Yeah, the previous tenant, Alastor, was an old… acquaintance? Friend? I honestly don’t know, but we knew each other at least, so I’ve been by a fair bit.” As he spoke, Luna readjusted herself in his arms so her head was resting on his shoulder and she could sniff at his jumper.

You hummed in interest. “Really, I didn’t know that. I never met the tenant, or even really the landlord, it all went so quick. Should’ve been suspicious, but I needed a place, so…”

You trailed off, making Remus laugh. “Well, I’m glad to have you here. And you really did manage to brighten up the place, Alastor refused to decorate at all.”

“What a heathen,” you joked, shaking your head. “Fancy some tea, Remus?”

If he was going to stay for a while, you wanted to be a gracious host – not to mention you needed to do something if you weren’t going to lose your mind at the proximity. 

You had already begun to walk towards the adjunct kitchen when you looked over your shoulder to find his lips slightly parted while the tips of his ears were growing decidedly redder. “Uh, yes please, if you don’t mind love.”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I’d mind,” you replied, voice carefully neutral. With your back to him, you took a steadying breath. “Earl Grey good with you?”

“It’s great actually, one of my favourites.” Remus’ voice was closer, and a quick glance over your shoulder showed you that he had followed you into the kitchen, leaning against the kitchen island. Luna had fallen asleep on his shoulder. “It’s nostalgic, don’t you think?”

A smile played over your lips as you fiddled with your mugs. “I suppose it is. I’m turning the kettle on now, be prepared – Luna’s not a fan.”

Remus’ hand shoots up to cup the back of the cat’s head protectively, fingertips massaging in circles in a way you’re certain would have calmed even you. Not that you were thinking about his hands in your hair, of course.

You swallowed harshly as you prepared your tea, the sound of the kettle enveloping the three of you for a short while. Luna made a small displeased sound and Remus swayed her like a baby while walking a bit further away to put some distance between her and the noise. It felt oddly domestic for a man you couldn’t even really claim to know yet.

“You can sit down on the sofa, Rem, I’ll join you with the tea soon.” 

The nickname slipped off your lips before you could think and you made a point to not look away from the mugs to catch his reaction. Then again, he was already calling you dove and love, so he couldn’t possibly have a problem with it.

The calming smell of Earl Grey tea filled the flat, and you realised that Remus was right; it was nostalgic. You carry your two mugs towards the living room, a bottle of honey clenched between your elbow and your side, and two tea spoons held between your fingers. 

Remus sat on the corner of the sofa with Luna still in his arms. This time, her body was curled up on his chest, and he slouched back further than you thought he would normally, so it would be more comfortable for her. He was stroking her back repeatedly with one hand and scratching behind her ear with the other, but his eyes were on you, crinkling with his smile.

“Thank you, dove,” he mumbled when you placed the mug in front of him, steam swirling between you. 

You sat down beside him tentatively, body turned towards him. You couldn’t fight the smile off of your face either when seeing him with Luna. “You really did break my cat,” you said while shaking your head at them. “Have you bribed her with catnip or something?”

Remus laughed heartily, Luna’s purrs increasing as his chest rumbled. “Sorry to break your heart, but this is all her actually.”

You made a faux huffing noise, one you realised too late made you sound disturbingly like your cat. It made Remus grin – or, at least he grinned, and you were presumptuous enough to assume it was because of your antics.

“You’re right, you are breaking my heart right now. I bottle fed her as a babe, I’ll have you know.”

“Aweh, we’ll piece your heart right back together, love.” His tone took on a cooing quality mid-sentence because Luna stretched and yawned in his arms, and it made the sentiment fluster you even more than it otherwise would have.

“Yeah? How do you plan on doing that?”

Remus looked up at you through his lashes, head still tilted towards Luna, and for a minute you felt captured by his gaze. A brief moment of tension stretched out between you, teetering on something that made your stomach flip.

It was broken when Luna sneezed. 

Both of you broke out into giggles, because how could you not? You scooted closer to him so you could coo at Luna through your laughter. “My poor baby! Are you allergic to the strange man?”

“Strange man!” Remus guffawed theatrically, only extending your giggles. “You mean her new best friend?”

“Hey! I’m her best friend!” You were scratching Luna’s stomach while she was in Remus’ arms.

“Really, we should be drawing up a custody plan,” Remus teased, his eyes glinting.

Your hands stilled in Luna’s fur as your jaw fell slack, eyes shooting up to meet his. “How dare you!” you faux threatened, pointing a finger in his face. “You take that back, you presumptuous imposter.”

Remus’ cheeks appled at your reaction. He freed one hand from Luna to catch your finger and squeeze it. “Mm, don’t think I will. You should come over with her for dinner tomorrow, so we can discuss legal proceedings.”

His touch was warm against your hand and you realised his face was rather close to yours. Your breath caught in your throat a little at the proximity and at the insinuation of his invitation. 

Still, you did your best to maintain your put-on indignation. “Best believe we will be there. Put an end to the accusations once and for all.”

His amber eyes sparkled, his hand lingering on yours before he finally released you to return to Luna, who remained unaware of the debate over her. Or at least uncaring. “Careful, dove. I told you my mate’s an attorney.”

“And you’re bringing your mate to dinner with me?” You raised your brow at him, relishing in how the tips of his ears immediately darkened, pleased to be winning some ground in what you were increasingly realising was a battle of wits.

“No, that would hopefully just be us three,” he relented a bit more quietly.

You smiled at him, pretending to be self-assured and not just pleased. “It’s a date.”

Remus looked down at Luna, who almost seemed to be smiling. “It is.”

[jamesweather]

reblogging to come back to this!! so excited :-)

two people met once | a two-part mini series

summary: we all know what happens in a situationship. how it starts, and how it ends. but what happens when two people suffer the consequences of being in love through it all, and being a coward to tell it? cw/tags: nsfw themes, mdni. angst with a happy ending, miscommunication trope, strangers to friends to "lovers" to ex-somethings to finally lovers. remus-centric pov, alcohol, remus gets mad drunk, an emotional fight scene, and a corporate office setting. inspired, again, by one day (the series) because i will never move on from it. lmk if i missed any, tnx <3 note: i was listening to fortnight on repeat and blanked out and suddenly, i had an entire document written out. enjoy?

based on fortnight by taylor swift (feat. post malone)

parallel paths can collide | part one ⤷ remus lupin's life in a nutshell. how he met you. what his present looks like.

because of force | part two ⤷ it's still the present, but something happens that might give way to a future both he and you had always longed for.

[jamesweather]

omg

i am HOOKED

you’re such a good writer i can’t wait to keep reading

parallel paths can collide | 1.2k

part one of two people met once | a two-part remus lupin x fem!reader mini series

summary: remus lupin's life in a nutshell, how he met you, and what his present looks like after.

cw/tags: nsfw themes, mdni. remus-centric pov, mild angst, remus is a little lonely. inspired, again, by one day (the series). lmk if i missed any <3

Remus Lupin has long since learned how to be independent. 

If you consider his childhood, being diagnosed with a chronic illness will teach you a lot of things: how to be taken care of, how to feel guilty because of it, how to make sure you’re fine because of the guilt, and so on. Remus considers himself lucky that he’s got the best parents he could ever ask for in his life. He’s convinced they’re both his guardian angels in the hellish world he was born in. Anyway, that’s just his childhood in a nutshell.

Then came the time he hit puberty. He grew up expecting to be the picturesque teenage boy, only to let himself down with the consistent growth spurt and the lanky build he earned with it. Not to mention, his chronic illness that had him walking with a limp for most of his life at the time. But then came the three most important people in his life (aside from his parents, of course)—James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. When they formed their little group that had lasted all their years in high school, Remus was the happiest he had ever felt. 

Later on, amidst the mess that was applying for university, moving cities, enlisting in classes, and so on—he met you.

You were a sightly thing— you in your average clothing, hair a little messy with your headphones on. Remus didn’t even entertain the thought of approaching you, because who was he to do such a thing, anyway? Imagine his surprise, though, when he gets a tap on the shoulder—only to turn around and see you.

“Hi, sorry for the trouble. Do you know where I could find a restroom?” You asked him, eyes wide with hope. Hope—you were hoping that he knew the way to the girls’ restroom, duh. Remus had to remind himself that. It wasn’t like you were asking for his number or anything—

“Er,” He heard you chuckle awkwardly, your eyes flittering all over his face. “Excuse me? I was asking if you—”

“The restroom. Right,” Remus heard himself say. How foolish of him to just blatantly stare at you like some creep. “I can show you where that is.”

Truth is, he didn’t know where the restroom was either. It was his first time on campus, for Pete’s sake. But you had looked at him like he was the last resort, your savior in a grandpa jumper and corduroy trousers. So, naturally, he lent a hand where it was due.

He should’ve known—or perhaps, you both should’ve known that that would be the start of your many different encounters with each other. Not just on campus, but outside of university, too. But neither of you had predicted that the first time you had ever spoken to each other—would also be the seed that would plant the tree that is Remus’ relationship with you, branching out into missed opportunities, misunderstandings, miscommunications, and missing each other. 

・・・・・

Remus wakes up to another day in bed.

A deep sigh leaves his nose before he opens his eyes to the ceiling. The same darned ceiling he’s been waking up to since he moved out of home indefinitely. It’s creamy white when it’s sunny, but a sad blue when it’s gloomy.

This morning, it’s gloomy. So Remus stays in bed for a little while longer than usual. It’s not like he’s running late for work, and no one’s probably anticipating his arrival in the office today. Just the same routines, but a different day. 

He turns his head to his right, but he doesn’t even know why he does it. The bedside table’s on his left, where his phone and a glass of water laid waiting for him. But he’s doing it anyway, because it’s a reflex at this point. An instinct. Muscle memory, maybe. You used to be the first thing he woke up to—you in your bedhead, parted lips, a bit of dried drool on the corner of your mouth. What a sight you were to him. Remus has taken care to cherish it as a memory and discard it at the same time.

Back in university, after that first encounter he had with you, it was like you were suddenly everywhere he was. Remus might have thought that you were deliberately following him at some point, but he knew that that was too good to be true. So he concluded that it wasn’t.

All of a sudden, chance encounters at cafes turned into study sessions at the library. Then, study sessions turned into party invites and the occasional night out at the pub. One drunken game of spin-the-bottle turned into an alleyway make-out session, which led to regular hookups spent in neither Remus’ or your place. But in between so many shared experiences with each other, so many firsts and milestones shared, neither you nor Remus ever got brave enough to ask what it all meant.

But perhaps that was the thrill of it all—in not knowing what it all meant. Maybe there shouldn’t be anything to fear in the unknown, after all. 

Still, regrets will always await you at the end of your mistakes.

・・・・・

Remus likes to think that he has considerably matured ever since finishing his studies.

He was sorely mistaken, though. Old habits do die hard after all.

He was just going about his day at the office breakroom, minding his own business as he waited for his coffee to brew in the coffee pod machine. The thing about Remus is that when he thinks about something, he thinks hard. A particularly riveting post about a service dog who had valiantly saved his owner from a seizure by doing its job well had passed by on his screen. He taps on the video, expecting the drawn-out intro for suspense, and watches it. 

The machine beeps, making Remus straighten up from where he was leaning against the counter. Without taking his eyes off the screen—the dog’s running around his owner now, probably looking for medicine—he turns to grab his mug, only to crash shoulders with an unassuming colleague of his—

“Sorry! Sorry.”

Remus could identify that voice in a crowd. It’s you he bumped into.

“No, sorry. I– I wasn’t looking,” He tells you, eyes now away from the screen as he tucks his phone into his back pocket. 

You make eye contact with him for the briefest of moments, but Remus is abruptly shot with a vivid image of you beneath him just several nights ago. Your head on the pillow, hair splaying around it like a halo—like the goddess he believes you are. The softness of your skin pressed to his lips, the sounds he heard you make. 

Remus is on the job. He shouldn’t be thinking of his coworkers that way.

“You alright?” He asks you.

You clear your throat, stepping back like you were trying to put some distance between you both. “Yeah. Fine.”

Yep. Definitely putting some distance between you both.

“And you?” You ask him.

Remus pokes his tongue to the side of his cheek, nodding his head. “Yeah, m’good.”

“Good,” You reply, also nodding. “That’s… that’s good, then.”

“Yeah,” Remus smiles awkwardly, but it’s too small to consider that he was happy. “Good.”

It’s awkward. It’s painful. It’s painfully awkward. 

But it stings the man all the same when he finally musters up the courage to at least ask about your day, but you turn away from him with a muttered farewell, leaving the break room. 

So much for maturing.

[jamesweather]

🥺🥺🥺 so so sweet

— pairing: james potter x reader

as someone who gets horrible headaches all the time, i will be writing little comfort snippets everytime for my own indulgence, and there's no stopping me!!! hope you enjoy this one too, i love soft james <33

To all of his credit, James' voice comes softly. Just barely above a whisper, and so gentle too. You don't know what you have done to deserve it. But maybe you didn't, James was just like that sometimes.

"Hey, my love. What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, leaning against your doorframe. You didn't even hear it open.

You give him a weak smile, chuckling softly at the irony, you felt everything but pretty right now. But the way in which he says it, the softness that wraps around the syllabes, "my love". It all makes you soften, melt, and James' smile back tells you that he's pretty aware of it too. The act is deliberate, intentional, as much as it is his second nature. He'd find a way to invert gravity just to turn your frown upside down.

"Besides the headache, you mean?" You say, pouting your lips. You know it's not very convincing, but you're hoping the pout will earn you some sympathy. Your head has been killing you these days, both metaphorically and now literally, it's worse after a long day like this.

"Besides the headache." He hums in response, glancing at the clock on your nightstand. You know he's trying to take a guess to see if you're good to take another pill again, a big glass of ice cold water in his hand. "How long ago did you take them, angel?"

"I'm already maxed out." You answer for him, though you seem very tempted to try and take another, James knows best. He makes a cooing, pitying sound at the back of his throat, moves to wrap his arms around your waist.

"Maybe some tea?" He whispers into the crook of your neck, the warmth of his breath causing shivers. "We can try that essential oil too, hum?"

"That'd be nice. Chamomile would be lovely too, if we still have it."

James nods, pressing a kiss just under your ear. "Yeah, just picked it at the store earlier. That fancy brand you like."

You tsk, or attempt to. The sound of it, the gesture, it just feels too nice to frown to, and in your state, you're not turning niceties away, however small. "Thanks, Jamie."

"Anything for you, love. Get go bed."

[jamesweather]

this is soooooo good

hiya!! would like to request

11:11pm + rockstar!remus + fluff (and/or smut teehee) where they just got back to the hotel after a concert

thank youu

You and Remus attempt to share a night together, just you and him after a concert — rockstar!remus x reader fluff

Warnings: HEAVY sexual references and repartee, alcohol consumption

Words: 0.8k

a/n: this is such an old request that's been in my drafts FOREVER but i finally finished it up and got to posting; hope you like it!

The song the boys played as their encore was still stuck in your head as you entered the hotel, hands entwined with Remus. 

After the concert ended, James and Lily left to have a midnight dinner together and Sirius had taken a fan backstage, leaving you and Remus to go off by yourselves. You weren’t complaining about it, you and your boyfriend had always found tours to be hard in terms of getting alone time together. 

You unlocked the door to the hotel room you had barely spent five minutes in after arriving that morning. It was nice, a far nicer room than you would have ever booked if you weren’t with Remus. As many times as he told you money was no issue and he just wanted to spoil you, a room with one double bed for the two of you was fine in your mind. 

“Wanna raid the mini-bar?” Remus asked, snapping you out of your hotel observations. 

“As much as I want to, and I mean this in the absolute nicest of ways,” You took a step towards him, bringing the back of your hand up to rest on his forehead. With a gentle swipe, your hand acted as a windshield wiper in a thunderstorm, ridding his face of what seemed like a gallon of sweat. “You need a shower, my love.”

He knew what you meant. Rocking out for an entire stadium of fans was no easy feat, always causing him to exhaust himself. 

Remus laughed and wiped the rest of the sweat from his face. “We can shower later.” He told you while reaching for a tiny bottle of whiskey. 

The confidence with which he said ‘we’ was amusing, but not unreasonable. You never wanted to spend time apart when he was touring, so you took advantage of every opportunity you found.  

“Plus, we might just get sweatier soon, so…” With a raised eyebrow, he trailed off, but you knew exactly what he was referring to. Still, you feigned shock. 

“So that’s why you want to drink all these tiny bottles, huh? Getting me all liquored up, Lupin?” 

“Not at all, it’s just a little added something.” He smiled and twisted the cap. “A little liquid confidence never ruined anyone’s fun.”

Your eyes accidentally roamed over to the price list and your jaw dropped. “It absolutely has, Rem. Especially when that little thing costs eight whole pounds!”

The whole ‘rich and famous musician’ thing still hasn’t become the default in your mind, so you were shocked and completely removed from the repartee you were taking part in just a moment ago. 

Remus just chuckled at your reaction. “It’s fine, dove. It would be fine if it were a hundred pounds, eight is fine too. Plus, it’s already opened, so there’s no point in fretting.” He could tell you were still hesitant and tried to fix that. “Here, I’ll go first. I’ll drink half, then you have the rest. That way, we don’t waste anything.”

He lifted the whiskey and took a sip, taking the burn like a champ. Then, he held it out for you, and you rolled your eyes teasingly. 

“Fine, but no more after this. Leave the mini-bar alone now.”

With the bottle’s neck between his thumb and index finger, he happily mimed crossing his heart with his pinky. Remus was just about to hand it to you, but he was interrupted by loud knocking on the hotel room door. 

Curiously, you both went over to open the door, only to find Sirius Black with a giddy look on his face. 

Before Sirius could even explain why he came over, Remus was already trying to subtly get rid of him. “Sirius, we thought you were with a friend; what happened to that?”

“It was just a quickie, it was okay. But, I’m here for something important!” You and Remus both eyed each other, confused as to what Sirius was going on about, then he continued. “There’s a group of fans outside of the hotel, on the side of your window. Wanna moon them?” 

Remus huffed, disappointed that he interrupted your night in for this. 

“Absolutely not. We’ll take a hard pass on that.”

Sirius pouted. “But it’s not as fun by myself.”

Your boyfriend started getting far less subtle. “Okay, well, I’m trying to do something here that’s also not as fun alone. Privacy is much appreciated.”

A stupid smirk strung itself across Sirius’ face as soon as Remus said that. His gaze shifted between the two of you as he knew exactly what he meant. 

“Ah, I get it. Not a lot of alone time on the tour, huh?” Sirius said, starting to close the door between him and you two. “Well, you can tell me if you need anything. If not, I’ll be on my way. Goodnight, lovebirds!”

The door was now shut completely, and the embarrassment was almost enough to get you to forget about the mini-bar fees you would be paying in the morning. 

[jamesweather]

THIS IS SO HOT AND CUTE AND EEEEEE!!!!

hii i love your writing!! i was wondering if you could write something with bassist!remus where hes like suuper flirty with reader in the backstage and the rest of the boys sort of tease him😭😭 tysm💗💗💗

Remus is typically the strong, silent type on stage, much preferring a stony expression to the goo-goo eyes James makes at whoever takes their top off in the pit. After all, he's taken, and his detachment from their band's rather forward fanbase has led to conclusions that he's not exactly Mr. Romance.

But five minutes before he'd been bathed in stage lighting he'd been slouched forwards in his chair, your lithe hands trailing feather-light lines across his back. He's wearing a t-shirt, not a lazy outfit choice but a simple one, and the points of your nails feel heavenly through the thin fabric.

"Lower." He commands, gently, kindly, but still a command, and he arches forwards in his seat to let your nails scrape lower towards his waistband.

He groans as you scratch lightly near the base of his spine, and you're surprised that his right leg doesn't shoot out from under the chair like a particularly happy dog's.

"That's it." He mumbles, letting you scratch the rest of his itch before he straightens in his seat, "Y'know my back's always itchy when you're not here before a show? Three hours on stage with an itchy back, 's murder."

"Sirius could itch it. He's got nice nails."

"No. He'd try to lift my shirt up and flash the audience. Can't have the masses seeing my abs, y'know."

"'Cause they're mine." You conclude, nodding thoughtfully, "Will you lift your shirt up and flash me?"

"Here? In front of all the lighting and sound guys?" He gestures to the gaggle of technicians all proceeding with last-minute prep for the show, "That's pretty racy. Sort of defeats the whole point of keeping them to yourself."

"Later, at home." You bargain, "Please?"

Fans' voices kick up from beyond the stage, meaning the lights have gone off and Sirius, James, and Remus needs to get out there before a riot breaks out. You grab hold of Remus's hand, though, waiting until he gives in with an amused smirk, "Fine. I'll take off my shirt for you later."

"Good luck." You release him, squeezing his hand once before doing so, "I'll be watching."

You are watching, and Sirius knows that, which is surely why he calls attention to your boyfriend mere minutes into their set, "We all heard you cheer extra loud for Remus, you traitors. I'll have you know he's not as dark and brooding as he seems. Jus' promised his lady backstage that he'd be stripping for her later."

"Yeah, she's got him wrapped around her finger," James laughs, a deep chuckle that's barely heard over the instant rise in volume from the crowd, "Mr. Mystery over here was begging for a back scratch not ten minutes ago."

You don't need to be up close and personal to Remus to notice the rouge suddenly flaring over his cheekbones, but to his credit his face is still set in a confident smirk. He takes it like a champ, even though you're sure he's dying inside as fans tease him.

"Say whatever you want." Remus finally speaks, eliciting a round of cheers from the crowd, "But you boys don't get your backs scratched before a show, so I know you're just jealous."

[jamesweather]

we'll make this place your home

— pairing: poly!marauders x gn!reader

— summary: a very bad family meeting has you coming home angry, but lucky for you, the marauders know just how to handle your wrath

— a/n: this is 100% self indulgent fluff and comfort because it is what i need right now, deal with it

You're huffing before you even cross the door, and whatever was happening before that is just clearly lost. In your defense, you never meant for Remus to hear it, for any of them to hear it. It just escapes, as you kick your boots halfway past the entrance like they were the problem, as you hang your coat as if you could be angry at it.

They all hear you, it's clear, if the eerie silence that falls on the flat could be an indicator of anything, but you think Remus is who hears it first. Or best, you could never tell. You just know that, as soon as you click the door closed and lock it, you're met with your roommate's warm eyes.

He pauses for a minute, mouth hanging open like he was still unprepared for your wrath, and it's a little funny to see Remus in a lack of words for once. It happened to Sirius or James most frequently, you're almost endeared that it got to Remus this time. Your lips curl up in a tense, tight, hint-of-shame smile, and you can see as Sirius slowly puts down the remote after pausing whatever was playing, as if you could annihilate him with a look.

"Dove," He calls, soft as he always starts, before smiling back himself. Simple, warm. Just the dearest, he doesn't back down at your fury. He knows it's not directed at him this time. "What's going on?"

You can almost feel bad about the way he asks it, not like you're being unreasonable — never that —, but as you need to be handled rationally now. Remus is the head from all of you, Sirius always said.

You force yourself to take a deep breath in, and out, like you could physically expel whatever is making you angry right now. Remus can tell by the crease of your brows that it doesn't work a great deal, his palm holding out for you far gentler now.

"Purse?" He asks when you raise him a brow, and you give it to him hesitantly, but he just hangs it at their doorway along with a few of Sirius' and other oddities. "Can you tell us what's been bothering your mind, dove?"

Your look at him is almost apologetic, it would be, if he didn't give you shit for it. "My family." You choose the short answer, the answer that tells them all they need to know, the so called safest option to not owning them further explanation.

"Family." Sirius finally moves from his place over the couch, scoffing as he wraps an arm around your shoulder. "Bunch of idiots, are they? I could tell them to sod off for you, sweetheart, if you'd like. Please say yes."

"Please, don't." You hear James' voice call from the kitchen, and the low noise of the stove turning back on. Whatever he's cooking smells delicious. You try to walk over to him, but Sirius holds you close in place.

"Don't even think about it, trouble. James can handle the kitchen, you can stay exactly where you are and relax your pretty head." He places a kiss to your temple like he's making the point, before pulling you back to the couch. "I'm so sorry they were awful to you, my baby, how do they dare-"

You can tell he's being mostly dramatic, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, but you appreciate the sentiment nevertheless. "I haven't even told you what it is."

"Uhm, don't need to." He counters, and it's hard for you to argue when he's pressing a kiss to your neck like it's a promise.

"Do you want tea, or would that spoil dinner?" Remus asks, leaning against the cushions to reach for your hand. You let him take it.

"No tea, give me five minutes and come to the bloody kitchen to help me, Moony!" You hear James shout, enough to make you frown. You look at Sirius, like you're mentally debating for it.

"They'll survive a few minutes without us." Sirius says, trying his best to sound persuasive.

"I just feel bad. I was out all day and I couldn't help you." You try, it's true, but it's also a weak argument. You knew that you all had your own appointments, meetings and reunions to attend.

"Sirius and Remus got here not even an hour ago, lovely, don't be harsh on yourself." James says, placing a greeting kiss to your lips as he leans down to give you a plate. "To my favourite person." He says, sitting besides you with a plate of his own and kissing your cheek again.

Your thanking gets drowned as Sirius raises an indignant brow. "Oh, so they're the favourite now? Funny how you didn't seem to think so an hour ago..."

James lets our a warm, loud laugh, his cheeks flustered in the warm light of the living room. "Shut it, Pads. Yes, they're the favourite, most loveliest person, and I argue that their day was arguably the worst here."

You hum, not exactly like an agreement, but it's a lovely sound to hear to James anyway. You smile to Sirius. "Don't listen to him, he loves to please." You say, resting your head on his shoulder for a second.

"Only because you enable him." Remus cuts you, taking a place on the floor with a plate of his own, and leaving another for Sirius at the coffee table. Before any of you could move to give him space, he shushes it. "Tell us how was your day?" He looks at you.

"Uhm, it was nice... Kinda." You begin to recall a couple of highlights from your day. It's the small things, how there's a new movie you'd like to see in theaters, how a child smiled at you, how your coffee was just right and the barista liked your bag. With each thing you tell them, you feel yourself get lighter, as if it's lifting a weight off your shoulders. You purposely avoid the family meeting you flew from, and all of the boys have the decency to not touch the topic.

As you finish, James squeezes your knee. He might not have heard your conversation on the hall, but he knows you enough to know something is wrong. Still, he doesn't dare to say it. He's just, sort of there. And it's all kinds of nice when he pulls you into his arms, despite the warning from Remus to not spill your plates over the couch.

Sirius joins soon enough too, after kindly taking your dishes to the sink and initiating the dishwasher for you. He lays on your free-ish side, and you get the cushions out of the way for him. Remus comes last, crowding the couch completely but for once, you've never felt happier to be squeezed with all of them.

"You know you've got us, right? Who needs anyone else?" Sirius says, giving you as much as tight of a hug as he can in the limited moving space you have available. But it's nice nevertheless, and you know it's what helps him when he's feeling down.

"Who needs everyone else?" You echo with a smile, and in that moment, all smashed in a too-small couch in between them after just having a great dinner, you actually begin to believe in it.

[jamesweather]

wb baby blurb for remus taking care of clingy/needy drunk reader who just keeps babbling compliments and praise to remus

"I don't think you should go out with Marlene again," Remus jokes.

You smile at him. Your eyes are shiny with some of Marlene's eyeshadow pen, a glossy looking pink that shines iridescent when you move. He wipes at the smudge of it travelling to your cheek.

"I know why you think that," you say, voice heavy with the weight of your intoxication, "but I should. Here's why you should let me–"

He cuts off what is likely a very long list with a quick kiss. "Dove, I'm not going to stop you."

You glow at his fondness. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh. When have I ever stopped you from doing what you want to do? Like when you insisted you could double the pumpernickel recipe, and we were eating bread four times a day for the week."

"That was nice bread, handsome, you know it was. You loved it."

He frames your face with both hands. Your head shifts in his lap, and your eyes widen ever so slightly, lashes fluttering.

"Ooh, you're handsome," you say, like it's a revelation. "You're lovely, look at..." Your hand presses clumsily to his cheek, fingertips unafraid as they ride the ridge of his worst scar. "Look at you."

He can't stand that, can't stand being looked at like he's something worth looking at, but when it's you. He can accept it, even if he doesn't believe it.

"My handsome boyfriend," you say, you're still going, you're tracing over his face like you have a hundred times before.

"My drunken fool," he mumbles.

"You have such a nice face. You have these pretty things," you say, pulling the skin under his eyes, "and this nose. You have the best nose ever. Ever ever." Your lips are shining with maybe spit or maybe lip gloss. He presses the pad of his thumb to it to wipe it away.

"Thank you, dovey," he says.

You deserve over the two peaks of his top lip. "For what? Ohhh, you are so hinting for a kiss." You slam your eyes shut, screwed too tight. "Okay, I'm ready. Please."

Your 'please' is what gets him. He strokes your cheeks. "You're sure you're ready?" he asks, entertaining your melodrama.

"Triple sure."

"Okay. Hang on to your seat," he says.

You twist your hand into his t-shirt. He leans over your, tilting his head and torso to one side to align your faces, and his lips ghost against yours. You lift yourself off of his knee to encourage a firmer press, and he holds your head carefully in place. He tries to make it as Prince Charming as possible, all the gentleness and magic of your very first.

You sigh against him. He knows he's managed it.

"Handsome and a really good kisser," you praise, awed.

He has to hide his smile in your cheek.

[jamesweather]

LOVEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!

hi!! could you maybe do a little blurb with remus lighting readers cigarette? ik smoking is so bad for you but it’s so hot when a cute guy lights ur cig😭

thank you for your request! ♥︎ fem!reader

You're huddled under the smoking shelter of the pub hiding from the rain when Remus makes his way out to join you. 

"Hey," he says, sliding out his pack of Lambert's, standing all too close. "Was wondering where you went." 

You like that he's a smoker too. There's definitely a stigma around smoking for lots of people, and it's a bad habit you can't kick anyhow. At least with Remus you don't have to wax about how much you've been meaning to quit, or how you're smoking your way to an early grave. 

He must know how it feels. Heat, relief, a cough in the morning. 

"I was trying to be quick, but the wind keeps blowing me out and this clipper barely works," you lament, a tiny bit awkward and a lot frustrated. 

He takes a step toward you, his sandy brown hair blowing in the wind. The short scar atop his lip tugs against his smile. 

"I have you," he says lightly, lifting his lighter. He rolls his thumb against the flint and shields the tip with his empty hand, a cigarette of his own skewed between his index and middle finger.

The tip incinerates, glows bright as you inhale, ash already eating up the insides. You feel both an immense relief to again have a lit cig, and the heavy knowledge that Remus is very, very close to your face, his gaze a weighted thing as it roves the bump of your lips, the tip of your nose, and the nervous fluttering of your lashes. He doesn't pretend for a moment that he's not looking at you. 

You blow your line of smoke away from him and share a smile. 

"Thank you." 

He puts his own between his lips, lighting it far quicker than he'd lit your own, and leans against the wall beside you. He's close enough to feel the fabric of his coat brush your own, and for the smell of his aftershave to surge up through the thick of smoke. 

He smiles around his exhale. His words curve with an amused fondness. "You're welcome… It's a bad habit, you know?" 

You groan. "Not you, too." 

"No, I'm not telling you off." He flicks ash on the pavement, his head dipped ever so slightly to yours. He has nice eyes, a light brown like maple leaves in the early winter. "Do you indulge in anything else that's bad for you?" 

Your lips part of their own accord. 

He snorts at your expression and pulls the cigarette from his lips, careful not to touch you with its smouldering tip. "Not my best line, I suppose." 

"I indulge in all sorts of things," you say, heart tumultuous as a wave against your chest. 

"All sorts?" 

You fluster so visibly that he bursts into laughter, a sound smooth and ever changing as silt near the riverbed. It warms the night air, and your wind-whipped cheeks. 

[jamesweather]

Oh my GOD i love them SO MUCH!!!

THIS WAS THE MOST PAINFUL BUT ALSO BEST CHAPTER YET I WAS TRYING TO SAVOR IT BUT ALSO WANTED TO RUSH TO THE END TO SEE THEM TOGETHER😭😭😭

THIS IS THE BEST CONFESSION EVERRRR IM GIGGLING IN MY PILLOW

bringing up baby 4

remus lupin x whimsical fem!reader | Buttoned-up grad student Remus Lupin has the rare chance to work under one of the top scholars in the country. But his carefully laid plans keep getting derailed by the scholar’s free-spirited whirlwind of a daughter who seems determined to unravel both his plans and his sanity.

upcoming content: angst, hurt comfort, fluff! HAPPY ENDING

authors note: part 4!! nearly coming to the end :’) thank you to EVERYONE who has been reading all month!!!! I THINK THIS IS THE PART YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR 🤭

word count: 4.6k

series masterlist | masterlist

tagging (pls lmk if you do or do not want to be tagged): @wrenisrad @daydreamandforget @jamesweather @oldhollywoodniall @sillygirlantics @shipwreckedlor @slutfortheblog @rulesareshadesofgrey @lettertovera @knew-better-forever-girl-two @siriusement @detmarmalade @turnmeintoaflower @soulshaped

Your shoes made the most unholy squelching sound with every step, and the hem of your skirt had soaked straight through. But you didn’t care. Not really. You could’ve been trailing a puddle behind you like a slimy sea monster and still, you wouldn’t have cared.

Because something in your chest felt a little glittery. A little fizzy. Like the air had been carbonated and you were the only one who noticed.

You kept thinking about the way he’d looked at you, the way his hand had hovered near your waist, the brush of his thumb across your cheek, how his arms folded around you like he wasn’t even thinking about it, as if that’s where his arms were always meant to be.

You pushed open your father’s office door, still buzzing, still soaked. “Father!” you announced.

Professor Binns looked up from his desk, blinked once, and said mildly, “Pumpkin?”

“Hi hi!”

Your father blinked again and adjusted his spectacles. “Pumpkin,” he said more firmly this time, “why are you sopping wet?”

You closed the door behind you with a little flourish. “You’ll never believe it! Remus!” “Mr. Lupin?” Your father prodded with interest.

“He was chasing me! Like an animal!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Mr. Lupin was… chasing you?”

“Well…” You gave a noncommittal shrug. “Not without provocation, of course.”

You stepped further into the room and held your arms out at your sides, elbows crooked like you were waiting for a towel that wasn’t coming. “I require drying. Please.”

Your father set down his pen with a sigh that was more amused than anything, then gave a flick of his wand. A warm breeze whooshed out of its tip, swirling around you and lifting your wet clothes just slightly until they dried with a faint crackle of magic. Your hair frizzed immediately. You didn’t mind.

“There,” he said, giving you a once-over, matching grins on your faces. “I hope Mr. Lupin is all right. He seemed rather sore this morning. Awfully creaky.”

You perked up a little. “He’s okay, I think. I actually gave him something. Just a little healing tincture I made. For his joints.”

But your father was already settling back into his chair, a fond but wary look passing over his face. “You really shouldn’t trouble Mr. Lupin too much, my dear.”

You tilted your head, caught off guard. “I wasn’t troubling him.”

He softened further, leaning forward a bit. “Mr. Lupin’s a quiet sort. Focused. Steady. I imagine it takes him quite a bit of energy to keep things just so. He’s doing such careful work right now, and I’d hate for him to lose track of it.”

“But I wasn’t distracting him,” you said, not quite able to hide the defensive edge in your voice. “I help. I’ve been helping.”

Your father nodded, already sounding like he regretted the direction the conversation had taken. “Of course you do, sweetheart. I know you mean well. You always do.”

He glanced back at his notes, then added gently, “Just… not everyone runs at your speed. That’s all I meant.”

You looked down at your shoes and gave a noncommittal hum. Something in your chest tightened enough to wrinkle the shine of the afternoon a little.

“Yeah,” you said after a beat, voice smaller than before. “You’re probably right.”

Your father watched you for a moment, something unreadable behind his spectacles. Then he set his quill down with a soft clink and said, “Well, let’s stop by the bakery on our way home, sound like a plan?”

You managed a smile. “Sure.”

But your nod was quiet. And even as he went back to jotting down some forgotten note and muttering cheerfully cinnamon twists, your thoughts started folding in on themselves.

You shouldn’t have dragged him down on the grass like that. He’d been in pain. What were you even thinking, sprinting off like that.He had work, actual responsibilities. He was serious and thoughtful and smart, and you were… what?

Maybe he just felt bad.

Maybe you’d misread the whole thing, the smile, the softness, the way he’d held you. Maybe he was just that nice. Maybe that’s all it was.

Who would he be to let his boss’ daughter be stranded in a pond?

You were beginning to think you were ridiculous for thinking it might be more.

The magic had faded from the day, and all you could think about now was whether you’d ruined something you didn’t even fully have.

You hadn’t spent more than three minutes with Remus in almost two weeks. And it was killing you.

This wasn’t like you. To intentionally make yourself smaller. You were always the biggest personality in the room, without even trying. And you loved it, and your outfits, and your thoughts, and your voice. And Remus had quickly become your favorite person to share this all with.

But every time you thought of seeking him out, your fathers words would ring in your head, and memories of Remus’ startled and annoyed face from your first meeting flashed in your mind.

You ran into him in the halls once, where he stood holding a stack of books so tall it nearly eclipsed his face. “Hi, stranger,” he said, and you watched his eyes land on you over the covers, the smile spreading before you even answered. “You’re real,” he teased, “I was beginning to think I’d imagined you.” You laughed, cringing at the awkward sound, and told him you were late for a meeting that didn’t exist. You walked off without any direction right towards the stairs and ended up walking all five flights. Your legs hated you for it.

The next time was outside the archives building, where he spotted you sitting cross-legged on the lawn, sketching something vaguely winged in the margins of your notebook. You didn’t even notice him until his shadow fell across the page. “Lose another ring?” he asked, one brow lifted. You blinked up at him, heart thudding, and tried to smile like you were fine. But it was impossible when he was smiling down at you with a look on his face like one would have when watching a baby animal program.

But as soon as you spoke, the air tensed around you both. “Oh! No, no, not this time.”

“Hmm, well what’re y-”

“I’ll have to see you around, Remus! Bye!” You scrambled to your feet, sprinting in the other direction.

And then there was the truly tragic run-in at the tea cart.

You were second in line when you heard it — your name, said softly but unmistakably, floating just above the quiet clatter of mugs and spoons. You stiffened. Didn’t turn right away. Maybe if you stood perfectly still, he’d be calling someone else. Another you. One who didn’t feel like her brain had turned to pudding every time she saw him lately.

But the air shifted. You could feel it. That Remus-shaped gravity pulling closer.

You turned.

There he was, just a few steps away, weaving through the lunch crowd with that familiar slope to his shoulders and cardigan sleeves pushed up his forearms like he was always about to get to work. His hair was rumpled, like he’d been running his hands through it all morning, and his face lit up when he spotted you. Lit up.

You cursed every romantic impulse you’d ever had.

He looked good. Stupidly good. And somehow softer than usual, like he'd just walked out of a dream where people touched each other’s faces and said kind things and meant them.

Your heart was pounding loud enough to drown out the barista.

He called your name again, gentler this time. “Hey. I was just thinking about you, I- I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages. I actually wanted to-”

But then it was your turn to order.

Your mouth moved before your brain caught up. The second the words left your lips, your elbow clipped a stack of honey jars. Two went rolling, spilling all over the floor. You apologized too many times and rushed off with no drink and a napkin stuck to your shoe.

You didn’t know what you were doing, exactly. Only that the second you got close enough to try and figure it out, it felt easier to run.

Walking around the grocery store felt like a rare pocket of peace. The air smelled like lemon cleaner and pre-sliced fruit, the lighting buzzed in a sterile but comforting way, and best of all, you hadn’t run into Remus once. Not in the pasta aisle. Not by the produce. Not even by the tiny shelf that sold his favorite licorice chews, something you found out when digging through his jacket pocket once.

You let yourself relax for the first time all week, humming along to the tinny music as you finally found your favorite box of biscuits shaped like cats.

“Stop right there!”

You yelped, spinning around so fast your basket nearly swung out of your hand.

Sirius Black stood at the end of the aisle, pointing dramatically in your direction like he was about to declare you a criminal. James Potter was beside him, holding a bag of grapes and looking vaguely apologetic.

“Oh,” you said, recovering. “It’s you two.”

Sirius grinned. “The very same. Caught in the act. What’s in the basket, doll?”

“Just biscuits,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling very seen.

James peered in with interest. “Are those… cats?”

“They’re for tea, you dunk their little heads!”

James leaned closer, very interested “Where did you find them?”

“Two aisles over. By the off-brand digestives.”

“Awh yes, thanks, love,” James immediately turned on his heel, ready to retrieve a box for himself — only to be yanked back by the sleeve by Sirius, who didn’t even look away from you.

To be stared at by Sirius Black was unnerving, you willed yourself to have any sense of control.

“So,” he said, drawing the word out, “do you know why Moony’s been moping around all week?”

You stiffened. “No,” you said too quickly. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. I haven’t… I mean, I haven’t really seen him much lately.”

It was a valiant attempt at sounding breezy and unbothered. It failed spectacularly.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Hmm,” he said, deeply unconvinced. “Well. I think we’ve found our answer.”

James gave you a look. “You’ve been avoiding him.”

You blinked. “I didn’t mean to. I just-” The words tangled somewhere behind your teeth.

You stared down at your basket like it held a lifeline, willing it to come up with a better explanation or to just spill your guts to his two best friends right here in the shops.

James only smiled sympathetically, “Don’t worry, I get it,” he said, with an easy shrug. “You and Remus are more alike than I thought, is all.”

That startled you. “What do you mean?”

James looked at you properly. “I mean… it just seems like you both pull away when you think… you could go somewhere. It’s scary to look over the cliff, I get that.”

You opened your mouth to protest, feeling awfully uncomfortable at the fact that this friend of a friend of yours read you so well.

“Just, don’t avoid him too long, don’t know how many more chocolate pancakes I can make him! I need the pan for my fried egg!” James added, attempting to lighten the bubble the three of you found yourselves in.

Sirius, sensing his moment, leaned in. “Which is why you should come to the party.”

You squinted. “Party?”

“Remus’s birthday,” he said breezily. “Tomorrow night. Our flat. It’ll be low-key. Some cake, some drinks, a few people. Bring your glitter biscuits.”

“They’re cats.”

“Whatever.”

James gave you a reassuring smile. “It’d mean a lot to him.”

“Wear something cute,” Sirius added, grinning, “Moons’d like that.”

“Sirius,” James groaned, again.

“What? She’s cute! Let her be cute!”

“Yeah,” you said finally, a little breathless. “Okay.”

Sirius’s eyes widened, “Really? Excellent!” He grabbed your wrist with no delicacy at all and scribbled an address across your hand in what appeared to be eyeliner. “Be there, ‘round 7.”

James gave you a cheerful nod. “And don’t worry about getting him anything-”

“You’ll be present enough,” Sirius finished, leaving heat to rise to your cheeks once more before they said goodbye, turning down the next aisle, already halfway into an argument.

“Oh no,” James said, gasping dramatically. “They’re all gone!”

“Don’t panic,” Sirius replied. “They’ll restock. And no, you are not bartering with that child for the last box.”

You smiled to yourself as their voices trailed off, echoing through the cereal section. Then you turned toward the registers, warmth creeping into your cheeks.

It would be good to see Remus again. The version of yourself that was hopelessly enamored of him and had been buried deep within you, could finally breathe again. And for the first time in weeks, the nerves in your stomach didn’t churn with embarrassment, but fluttered like a charm catching midair: delicate, a little sparkly, and maybe even lucky.

And that’s the feeling that carried you out of your flat, onto the tube, and finally here, standing outside the address still smudged across your hand, no matter how hard you’d tried to scrub it off (you’d have to ask Sirius what brand it was). You wore your best party dress, a silky blue and gold thing you’d bought on a whim because it reminded you of the night sky, the way constellations were stitched across.

There’d be people there. You were good with people, good at parties. Drifting from group to group with a drink in hand and a charming fact about frogs or comets ready in your back pocket. And it was Remus’s birthday. Surely, he’d be in a good mood. Maybe even happy to see you.

You paused outside the door. The hallway was suspiciously quiet for a birthday party. No laughter. No music. Just the soft creak of old floorboards and the faint hum of plumbing.

Still, you knocked, to no answer.

You knocked again, a little louder this time.

Then a familiar, mildly exasperated voice: “Prongs, did you forget your keys again?” and the door swung open.

Before you stood Remus Lupin in a pair of grey pajama pants and a David Bowie t-shirt that looked like it’s seen better days and the wash a few too many times as it rested just above his navel. Your lips parted in surprise, a tiny sputtering breath escaping you.

Consequently, at the same time a high-pitched startled squeak left him, and suddenly the door slammed shut.

There was a beat of silence.

Then, muffled through the wood: “…Sorry. That wasn’t… I didn’t mean to do that.” Remus opened the door once more and you resisted the urge to reach out and hold it open, lest he close it again.

The space between you both felt like lightning and thunder, finally taking each other in properly for the first time in days. Remus was blinking hard, like you might vanish if you were even there at all.

Finally, you cleared your throat. “…Is that what you’re wearing tonight?”

He looked down, taken off guard. “Um. That was the plan, yeah?”

“Oh my god.” You blinked again, somewhere between baffled and horrified. “Don’t you have anything nicer? I mean, really, Mr. Lupin!”

He squinted at you. “What? What on ear- did you show up at my door after not speaking to me for nearly two weeks just to give me fashion advice?”

“No!” you snapped, color rushing to your cheeks. “I came for the party!”

“What party?”

You gave a small laugh, like he was joking, except he wasn’t laughing. “Your birthday party,” you said, slower this time. “James and Sirius said it was tonight.”

Remus just blinked again. “It’s not my birthday.”

Your heart stuttered, rapidly feeling like cold water was about to be dunked on you. “But- but I saw James and Sirius at the shops yesterday… they told me to come tonight for your birthday party…” Remus felt himself soften a tad, hating how you got all quiet like you did when Evan showed up and started spouting his nonsense, but that feeling was quickly overtaken when he registered what you were saying to him.

Realization passed over his face like a cloud blotting out the sun. He exhaled sharply and leaned back against the doorframe with a groan, dragging both hands down his face. “Oh my god.”

You took a tiny step back. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, pressing his head against the wood. Then, finally:

“I’m going to kill them.”

“What?” You whispered. You were smart enough to realize there was obviously no party, as today was obviously not his birthday. A large part of you urged you to turn around and not look back until you were home, in the castle of your comforter. A smaller, yet much stronger part, kept your feet planted to the floor, not wanting to tear your gaze away from the figure that you've kept yourself from for so long.

Remus looked down at you and his heart did a funny dance in his chest. These past two weeks had been tough to say the least. That night after Remus had come home, with a vial of joint medication and a promise to get James’ car cleaned, he had a big conversation with himself.

His hands still tingled with the feel of your sun warmed skin pressed into them. The shape of his mouth when he said he was yours and you were his was making his jaw ache. The electricity that rose within him when he saw you and your smiling face running up to him, to envelop him in a hug, was unlike anything he’d felt before, and god did he want to feel it again.

He rolled around what Sirius and James had been saying to him these past few weeks and, although it took a lot of work, tried to look at his situation without any self-hate clouding the memories. You were always nice to him, a distracting little thing, yes, but a welcome reprieve to when he felt utterly defeated by his work. Sure, you rummaged through his things and rolled your eyes at him, but he could feel how your stare lingered on him, and you were both guilty of trying to drag your afternoons with each other out as long as possible.

And earlier today, were you… disappointed when he said he was lying to Evan about your relationship? He knew he wished it were true, but did you as well?

With a sigh, Remus knew he had to ask you to find out.

But then, you were gone. After he had bucked up his courage and steadied his racing heart. Every time he saw you, you were running off every which way.

At first, he chalked it up to your… peculiarities. You were always on some sort of quest, but after he saw you scurrying away like a rabbit from a wolf for the fifth time, he faced the fact: you were avoiding him.

Which is why, the night before, he’d thrown in the towel and said as much to Sirius and James over lukewarm curry and a half-finished bottle of wine.

“She obviously doesn’t feel the same,” he’d said, stabbing at a chickpea. “She’s been running in the opposite direction every time I get within ten feet.”

James snorted into his glass. “You can’t hold that against her, Moons. That’s straight out of your playbook.”

“I don’t run away,” Remus muttered, extremely unconvincing.

“Oh, please, you are the king of emotional repression,” Sirius scoffed.

Remus just shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. I’m done embarrassing myself.”

James frowned. “You’re not embarrassing yourself.”

“I’m the only one who seems to know when to quit,” Remus said quietly, pushing his mostly untouched plate away.

Sirius tilted his head. “Or maybe you’re the only one who thinks this is already over.”

Remus didn’t respond. Just stood, collected his drink, and muttered, “I’ve got a headache,” before disappearing down the hall to his room.

Remus cleared his throat. “D’you… want to come in?”

You nodded and took a step forward, looking around his shared apartment. “It’s very you, Rem,” you said softly. The coffee table had a few video game controllers on top of it, while the little table by the couch was piled high with well-worn books.

“Thanks,” He exhaled, “here, you can sit, do you want something to drink? Are you… hungry?” Remus asked and you looked up at him as he hovered between the small living room and the kitchen, clearly trying to keep the panic in. You weren’t hungry or thirsty, but asked for water anyway, so Remus could have a few minutes to collect himself.

His visible relaxation at your request confirmed that you made the right choice.

“Here ya go,” he said softly. Setting the water on the table, now sitting across from you on the couch.

“So… just to confirm, not your birthday?”

Remus let out a laugh, running his hand through his hair.

“No, no, not my birthday.”

“That’s very strange of your self-proclaimed two best friends to not know your birthday. You should hold that over their heads, you could probably get them to do your laundry or something for you.”

Remus only smirked, his eyes trained on the powered off tv in front of you, “You’d think, right, but unfortunately, I believe this is exactly what they wanted to happen,”

You raised an eyebrow. “Them forgetting your birthday?”

He turned to look at you, properly, this time. He knew you knew, and you knew he knew, but this veil of naiveté was giving you both time to think, time to breathe. “Them… orchestrating a scenario in which you’d be here. With me.”

You blinked, lips parting just slightly. “Why would they do that?”

Remus hesitated. His gaze flicked down to his hands, which were now nervously twisting the hem of his shirt.

“Because I’ve been… pretty miserable these past few days.”

Your breath caught.

“I didn’t expect that,” he said. “I didn’t expect how much I’d miss you. Or how bloody much it’d hurt when you stopped showing up. Even if you were just sitting there reading some book you clearly weren’t even interested in, or reorganizing my filing system and calling me boring.”

“I never called you boring,” you whispered.

“Semantics, love.” He smiled faintly. “But I liked it. I liked all of it. You being there. Being around you.”

“And then you stopped,” he turned away again, “and every time I saw you, you ran.”

You felt your eyes begin to sting.

“Remus, I…”

Remus leaned forward slightly. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “You don’t have to say anything. I know I’m not easy.”

It hit you like a train, right here as you sat on his beat up couch in your fancy dress. The realization that you and Remus had been harboring the same insecurities this entire time. And somehow, without meaning to, you’d made him feel just as awful as you’d been feeling. Like he was too much. Like you didn’t want him. Like he was hard to love.

“That’s not true,” you said, voice shaking slightly, but firm. “You’re not difficult, Remus, not even a little. You’re thoughtful, and gentle, and just… impossibly sincere. And and you never get mad at me when I mess with your filing system or spoil the ends of books you haven’t read yet, even though that was just one time and it was an accident, but if I were you I’d still be upset, but you’re not! And”

Remus’ eyes widened as you went on your spiel, your chest increasingly heaving faster, “It’s okay, love, just breathe”

“No! Because, because these past two weeks I’ve been feeling terrible about myself because I thought that I was too annoying and loud which I am and that you couldn’t keep up with me and that it was my fault you got your friends car all wet and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of that! For- for running you into the lake, and for calling your sweaters old-manish-” you went on.

Remus could only sit there with his lips parted in surprise as you unraveled, “I-it’s okay, let me say-”

“You’re not hard to be with at all, and I’m most sorry that I made you feel that way, you have to believe me!” You said, not even registering the tears that began to fall down your cheeks.

“Really, Remus, you have to believe me, I didn’t mean to ruin this,” you wanted to continue on but Remus’ lips were pressed to yours.

Remus was kissing you, and he was kissing you like he’d been waiting forever. His hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing away any tears. You let out a small, surprised sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sigh that he greedily swallowed with his lips.

The world went quiet. Not just around you, but inside you. No more thudding nerves or spiraling thoughts, just the warmth of his palms and the press of his chest and the overwhelming truth of his lips on yours.

He tasted like spearmint and something sweeter and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. He felt it and pulled back just far enough to whisper, “Can I say something now?” Like you hadn’t just broken open your whole heart in front of him.

“Yes,” you whispered back.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Remus said softly. Then, after a pause: “Quite the opposite, really. Because I’m obsessed with you. You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, I’m afraid.”

“Really?” you asked, eyes hazy as you stared at his mouth, as if you could actually see the words of his declaration written out as they escaped his lips.

Remus gave a tiny laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. “Yeah. Really. It’s… embarrassingly bad, actually. You’ve completely wrecked my focus.”

“My father said that would happen.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah, it’s, it’s kind of why I’ve kept my distance.”

Understanding passed through Remus’ face before he felt the pads of your fingers brush against his exposed torso.

“What does he know anyway, hm?” He quipped back, leaning in for another kiss. A hard press of his lips against yours, leaving with a smack.

You giggled at the feeling and he leaned in again, and again, and again until you were nothing but jelly in his arms.

“Re-e-emus!” You laughed, pushing him back.

“Is this how it’s going to be now? You just kiss me to get me to stop talking to you?” You asked, sarcastically, but the look in your eyes proved that you wouldn’t mind him kissing you one bit.

“I never want you to stop talking to me.”

Remus kissed you again and again until you were breathless and laughing into his mouth, until it felt like time had folded in on itself and there was nothing but the two of you, pressed close and finally, finally on the same page. Then he paused and licked his lips. Then again, slower this time.

“What’s wrong?” you breathed out.

“Darling, why do you taste like saltwater?”

You blinked, then lit up. “Oh! My lip gloss! It’s lemon sugar and seafoam!”

Remus gave you that deadpan look you’d become so familiar with, one you hoped he’d always give you even now “Why on earth would you want to taste like the ocean?”

You shrugged, grinning. “Well, the mermaids get such good luck, I just figured…”

He stared at you for a long second, clearly questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment. Then he exhaled a half-laugh, half-sigh, and said, “You are… completely ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous, yet you, Mr. Lupin, were the one who gave me a great big smooch!”

“Shut up,” he muttered against your lips.

Muffled you murmured back, “Clearly it works!”

<- part three

[jamesweather]

OOOOOOH THIS IS SOOO GOOD

retreating to rain

Regulus Black x reader ✩ 3k words

summary: When Regulus suddenly pulls away from you, arguing and ignoring you, you decide to mirror his behaviour. how long can this avoidance last?

for this request here!

cw: angst with a happy ending?, Regulus doesn't deal with his feelings in a healthy way.

Regulus Black is many things. Some of them good – brilliant, fiercely loyal – and some of them not so good. Lately, it seems he’s chosen to lean hard into the worst of it: avoidant, closed off, stubborn to a fault. Almost overnight, he shut down, retreating behind an invisible wall that no one’s been able to scale.

The fight that followed shouldn’t have happened, but it did. Tension had been building for days, maybe weeks, until it finally cracked. What came out were clipped words, cryptic excuses, cold eyes, and raised voices. You knew exactly what he was doing, pulling away, keeping you at arm’s length. And you knew why. Years of being close to him had taught you the patterns, the ways Regulus handled pain or fear. But this time felt different. Sharper. Colder. Worse.

Now, he’s barely there at all. He slips in and out of rooms like a shadow, avoiding eye contact, changing direction the moment he sees you. You haven't spoken properly in weeks, and really, you've hardly even seen him. Just fragments, his back disappearing around a corner, the edge of his voice drifting through a corridor. Like he’s haunting the place more than living in it.

You see him first at the end of the corridor, all sharp lines and quick steps, his satchel slung over one shoulder, head down like he’s got somewhere important to be. It’s a lie, of course. You know his timetable. You know he has charms in fifteen minutes, and that it’s three doors down from where you’re standing. There’s no rush. He just doesn’t want to be intercepted. Doesn’t want to see you.

Which is exactly why you step out from the alcove you’ve been leaning against and into his path.

He hesitates, just barely, but it’s enough. His gait falters for half a second before he smooths it over. You can see it in the way his jaw tenses, the flicker of annoyance that crosses his face before it shutters again.

"Regulus."

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even glance at you. Just keeps walking, brushing past like you’re no more than part of the scenery. A Stone wall. A speck of dust. Irrelevant.

"Regulus," you try again, firmer this time, planting yourself more squarely in his way. “Seriously? You’re just going to pretend I’m not here?”

He veers around you with surgical precision, not so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. It’s almost impressive, the way he navigates the space like you’re nothing but air.

Your chest tightens. “You’re unbelievable.”

Still nothing. His footsteps echo down the corridor, growing fainter, lighter, until all you’re left with is silence and the low, familiar simmer of humiliation blooming under your skin.

You stand there a moment longer, watching the spot where he disappeared around the corner, feeling something inside you snap, a thread pulled too tight and finally giving way.

Fine.

If Regulus Black wants to rot in whatever self-made hell he’s wrapped himself in, then so be it. Let him. You’re done chasing after shadows. Done trying to break through walls that were never meant to let you in.

You turn on your heel, fists clenched at your sides. There’s no relief in the decision, just an exhausted sort of fury curling beneath your ribs. Bitter and brittle and long overdue.

You’ll make it simple for him.

-

Ignoring Regulus becomes a discipline, something sharp and deliberate. Like learning a new spell, it’s difficult at first, but easier with repetition. You stop aching when he enters a room. Stop scanning the corridors for the flash of his robes or the angle of his jaw. You stop checking your watch and counting the minutes until your paths might cross, because now, it doesn’t matter.

He’s nothing to you now. Nothing. Or so you say.

In the common room, you take your place in the circle of armchairs closest to the fire, the way you always have. He sits two chairs away, as he often does, silent, motionless, legs crossed and posture rigid. It’s almost normal. You don’t look at him. You laugh at something Barty says, your hand curling around the steaming cup of tea in your lap, and don’t notice the way Regulus’ head lifts just slightly, or the way his eyes linger too long.

You’ve gotten very good at not noticing.

In Potions, you partner with Mary Macdonald. She's competent, efficient, and doesn’t ask you why you’re not working with Regulus anymore. People do notice, of course but you give them nothing. When someone nudges you during breakfast and asks, “Is Regulus alright? He seems a bit off lately,” you just blink and say, “I wouldn’t know.”

And that’s the truth. You wouldn’t.

You don’t know what he does with his evenings now, or whether he still takes his tea with two sugars. You don’t know if he’s sleeping, if he’s eating, if his nightmares have returned. You’ve stopped wondering. Or at least, you’re pretending you have. It's almost the same thing.

Even when you catch glimpses of him – half-reflections in windows, the blur of his profile at the end of the dining hall – you hold your ground. You don’t let your eyes linger. You don’t allow yourself the indulgence of curiosity. You don’t break.

Because Regulus may be hurting, unraveling quietly under the weight of whatever silent war he’s waging, but he made a choice.

He chose to push you away. To make you feel small and unwanted and forgettable.

And you won’t let yourself be made to feel that way again.

-

The rain seems inevitable. The clouds hang heavy in the sky above, a promise of something cold and unforgiving. You’re already late for Transfiguration, but honestly, it’s the last thing on your mind. 

You spot him in the courtyard before he notices you, and you correct your course. A quick detour around a column, a turn of the corner, a speedier pace to your step, and you'll be out of his reach.

But no. The second your foot hits the cobblestone, there's a hand, rough and cold, seizing your arm. You know that touch.

You look up, meeting his eyes for the first time in weeks. Regulus Black looks awful. His eyes are shadowed and hollowed-out. His hair is a mess, falling too far over his forehead, his robes unkempt, like he hasn’t been sleeping, like he hasn't been doing anything except falling apart.

You want to look away. You don’t. You keep your eyes trained on him, but that deep pit of anger in your stomach is still there, sharp and heavy.

“What do you want?” you ask, softer than you should, though anger tints your voice.

He doesn’t answer, straight away. His mouth opens, but no words come out. He looks at you, and for just a moment, you see it. The shame. The apology, maybe. The confusion. It’s all there, hiding under that practiced mask of indifference he wears.

"I just want to talk," he finally mutters, his voice hoarse, like it’s been a while since he’s had the chance to speak to anyone at all.

You laugh, bitter and short, shaking your head. "Oh, and whatever Regulus wants, he gets, right?" You can hear the venom in your tone, and you can’t help it. It’s all that’s left.

Regulus flinches at the sound of your laugh, like you slapped him across the face. For a moment, he stands still, unsure how to react to the accusation, or maybe to the bitterness that coats your words. His grip on your arm tightens for a second, then loosens again, as though he's testing how much distance he can maintain before you pull away completely.

"I didn't want to hurt you," he says quietly.

You stand there, staring at him, heart pounding in your chest. The rain is starting to fall in light drizzles, little droplets sliding down the cobblestones, soft and relentless. You want to scream, to ask why, to demand something – anything – from him. But your voice is caught somewhere between your chest and your throat, the words tangled and useless. So, you stay quiet.

Regulus’ eyes shift to the ground, like he can’t bear to hold your gaze any longer. His hand drops from your arm, and he seems to fold into himself, his composure slipping. You can see it in the way his shoulders slump, in the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“I know I fucked up,” he mutters, voice hoarse, barely audible against the rain. “I know. I thought... I thought you’d be better off. And I can’t–”

You cut him off, not out of anger, but because the words don’t even make sense to you. “That wasn’t your decision to make,” you say, voice quieter than it should be, but the sting is still sharp. “I’m more than capable of making my own choices, Regulus.”

His face tightens. He looks like he’s about to say something – his mouth opens, but no words come out. He swallows hard, forcing something down that’s threatening to choke him. He opens his mouth again, but nothing. Again. A third time, and still nothing.

A fresh wave of frustration bubbles in your chest. You’ve had enough. He can’t expect you to stand here, waiting for him to speak the things he’s too afraid to say, too proud to admit. You’ve been waiting for weeks, and all this silence is suffocating you.

“I need to go,” you say, your tone flat and final. You push past him, careful not to make contact. Every step feels like it weighs a tonne, like it’s taking everything in you to turn your back on him. To walk away. It should feel good, shouldn’t it?

But as soon as you make it halfway across the courtyard, you hear his voice crack like thunder.

“I need you.”

The words stop you dead in your tracks. You freeze, caught between the weight of the words and the weight of the rain beginning to fall more steadily now, the drops slicking your hair to your neck and drenching your robes.

You don't turn around. You can't. If you do, you’re afraid you’ll shatter. But you can feel his eyes on you, burning with something you can’t quite place.

“I hate that I do,” he continues, his voice raw now, desperate. The words sound like they’re being dragged out of him, like every one of them is fighting against the pressure inside him. “But I can’t go on pretending I don’t.”

“What… what are you saying?” The words come out quieter than you expect, a little shaky, but you can’t help it. It’s like you’re underwater, and the only thing that matters now is the sound of his voice.

Regulus steps closer, but the distance between you still feels insurmountable. You don’t turn around. You won’t. If you do, you're afraid you’ll be swept away by whatever this is, and you’re not sure you can survive it again.

He runs a hand through his wet hair, clearly frustrated. The damp strands stick to his forehead, his eyes dark.

"I'm a fucking mess," he says, the words tumbling out with a force that seems to shudder through him. "Everything around us is a fucking mess. There's all these expectations being put on me, I feel like I don't know anything anymore, like I don't know what I'm doing, or where to go."

The sincerity in his voice, the rawness of his words, makes something inside you twist painfully. A part of you wants to reach out, to understand, but all you can feel is the knot tightening in your chest.

Why is he doing this now? After everything.

Anger, sharp and sudden, flickers through you. It surges up from the pit of your stomach, leaving no room for uncertainty. You turn around then, and when you do, you can’t help but raise your voice, a crack of frustration breaking through the dam you'd built around yourself.

“What does that have to do with me?” Your tone is biting, louder than you intended, but you can't help it. He’s breaking apart in front of you, and you're the one left holding the weight of his mess, of his silence. 

Regulus flinches at the sharpness of your voice, like you've struck him physically, and his eyes flicker with something that’s unmistakably guilty. His mouth opens again, then closes, his brows furrowing, struggling to hold himself together. The words he wants to say seem just out of reach, lost in his tangled thoughts.

"I–I don’t know," he breathes, hands trembling at his sides, water dripping from the end of his soaked sleeves. "But I need you to understand, this isn’t about you… it never was. It’s me. It’s always been me, and I…" His voice cracks on the last word, admitting any of this is costing him. Rarely, if ever, does he talk so openly about anything, let alone this.

You can’t stop looking at him, the mess he’s become. His hair plastered against his forehead, his face drawn, like he’s seen more than he can handle. And it hits you then, how hard he is trying.

You swallow, trying to keep the lump in your throat from choking you. “I don’t care about the reasons, Regulus. I don’t want to care anymore.”

The words sound like they’re coming from someone else, someone who doesn't know the ache of seeing him like this, standing in the rain, looking like he’s falling apart at the seams.

He stares at you, his face crumbling realising how much he’s lost, how much he’s pushed away. He steps forward in the rain, desperate, but you don’t move. 

“Please,” he says, and the desperation in his voice hits you in the gut. His voice is so raw now, jagged, almost broken. “Please don’t walk away from me. I can’t–I don’t know how to fix this, but I need you. I need you, and I don’t know how to say it any clearer. I’m an idiot. A fucking coward who pushed you away because I couldn’t face what was staring at me.”

It’s too raw, too vulnerable. But you're already too tired to be angry, too worn down by the silence and the coldness that he wrapped around himself. And yet, here he is – breaking down in the middle of a thunderstorm, looking like he might just drown in it if you don’t say something, anything.

"I’m in love with you," Regulus blurts, as though the words are being ripped out of him. His breath shudders in the rain, and you can see his chest heaving with the effort of speaking.

“I—what?” 

“I’m in love with you,” he repeats, louder now, the words crashing through the storm. His eyes pierce yours, his whole body tense. “And I’ve always been. And I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t need you when I do.”

Regulus moves again, his hands reaching out to you, tentative but insistent. He’s closer now, his chest barely an inch from yours, the rain soaking both of you.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion that’s been building up between you both. Maybe it’s the silence that’s finally broken. But without thinking, you reach for him, pulling him closer by the collar of his damp robes.

“I hate you,” you whisper, even though there’s no venom in it. There’s something softer in your voice now, even as your hands grip him tightly to stop him from disappearing. “I hate that you did this. I hate that you made me feel like nothing.”

Regulus’ eyes flicker with pain, but his hands are on your face now, gentle and desperate, as though he’s terrified you might still walk away.

“I know,” he breathes, his lips barely brushing yours. “I know. I don’t deserve you. I never did. But I’m here now. Please, please, let me fix this.” His voice is barely a whisper, terrified.

And then, before either of you can say anything more, the distance between you collapses.

His lips crash against yours, hungry, urgent, desperate. It’s a collision of everything – weeks of hurt and silence, years of unspoken feelings. The kiss is messy, raw, as though he’s pouring everything into it, everything he’s kept locked away. You feel it in the way his hands clutch you, pulling you closer, like he needs to prove something.

Rain washes over both of you, but it doesn't matter. You kiss him harder, and he meets you with the same urgency, as if each second you’re together is a second worth fighting for. It’s not graceful or perfect..

And when you finally pull away, breathless, your forehead resting against his, you realise that for the first time in weeks, everything feels like it could be okay again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracking again. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I never meant to.”

And this time, when you look at him, you don’t look away. You let him see everything in your eyes. Hurt, anger, confusion and something softer.

“I know,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion. “I know.” masterlist <3

[jamesweather]

AWH 😩😩😩 SO GOOD!!!!

Hi honey! I came to request a James Potter au because the obsession with this man is very high!!!

The poor man, arriving home from his job as a firefighter, finds his very stubborn, eight-months-pregnant wife on a ladder fixing a light bulb. He must be scared and in shock. 🫠

hi nonnie!! You and the other anon literally sent in firefighter requests at the exact same time so i'm turning it into it's own little au. I already have another req for it! Also than you so much for requesting, especially a pregnancy request, my baby fever has been so bad recently I'm obsessed with writing family fluff. Hope you enjoy, my love <3

firechief!James Potter x fem!reader who should not be changing a lightbulb ✿ 771 words

cw: pregnant!reader, reader climbing a ladder while pregnant, James being a protective husband

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

James Potter does not consider himself to be an anxious man. 

As Fire Chief, he has to keep a level head. He needs to be logical, precise, and quick on his feet. He doesn’t have time to worry or be afraid, he has to act, and he prides himself on being able to do exactly that.

Except when it comes to his wife. With you, he can’t help but find himself sick with anxiety. And it’s gotten significantly worse since the two of you found out you’re expecting.

The anxiety usually creeps in toward the end of his shift. He doesn’t get nervous about fires or disasters, he gets nervous because he hasn’t heard from you in over an hour. No calls, no texts, no nothing. Which probably means that you’re doing something you aren’t supposed to be doing. And that is what worries him. 

His muscles feel heavy as he steps up to the front door. It opens easily, the familiar scent and feeling of home easing the tension in his body just a little. The quiet brings the tension right back. 

“Love?” He calls out, peeking into the kitchen. You aren’t there, or in the living room. 

“I’m in the nursery, Jamie!” You call back, and that makes him smile. The nursery has been your favorite place as of late, James thinks you’re probably nesting. He finds it sweet.

It’s less sweet when he pads down the carpeted hallway and turns the corner into the nursery. His heart stops, the smile dropping off of his face.

“Angel, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You’re several steps up a ladder, arms stretched fully overhead as you twist a lightbulb into the ceiling’s empty socket. Your belly, swollen and stretched almost as far as it will go, sticks out in a way that threatens your balance. He’s behind you instantly, hands on your hips to steady you. 

“The light was flickering.” You explain, voice calm and soft like you aren’t on the verge of a dangerous fall. 

“Please get down.” James grips your hips a bit firmer, but never enough to cause pain. His heart beats faster than it has in the last several hours, and he’s put out two fires today. 

“I’m fine.” You blow him off, continuing to twist the lightbulb. You make a small, frustrated noise when your hand slips, and James thinks he might have a heart attack. But it’s when you move up on your toes that James decides he’s had enough.

“Okay.” He fully wraps an arm around the front of your thighs, under the bottom of your belly. The other sprawls across your side, keeping you steady. “You’re done.”

“Jamie-” You try to argue, but his grip only tightens. 

“No.” He gently tugs at you, just enough to guide you down the ladder. He knows he can catch you if you lose your balance.

“I’m fine-”

“Get down.” He keeps his hands on you until your feet are planted firmly on the floor. And he still doesn’t remove them as you plop down into the rocking chair, he just moves them to your shoulders. You don’t look sheepish or guilty, instead you’re pouting. He hates that he loves it. “Don’t give me that look. You know you’re too far along to be doing things like this, my love. Especially when I’m not home to help you.”

“I was fine. I can change a lightbulb, James.” The way your lip sticks out encourages him to gently flick it with his finger.

“Said every person who has ever fallen off of a ladder changing a lightbulb.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and slips the lightbulb from between your fingers. “You’re carrying precious cargo. If someone is going to fall, it’s going to be me.”

“You’re not going to fall.” Your whined protest only serves to prove James’ point. He smirks, but hides it with a kiss to your hair before he steps onto the ladder himself. He reaches the socket easily, standing several steps lower than you were. 

You pretend to be annoyed, but now that you’re settled, you notice there’s an ache in your lower back and your feet hurt. A hand rubs over your belly, and even your pretend annoyance starts to fade as you watch your husband install the lightbulb in his uniform. By the time his eyes meet yours again, you’re fully ogling him. 

“I’ve changed my mind.” You decide as he steps off the ladder. He raises his eyebrows at you, a silent encouragement. 

“I think you should be the one changing the lightbulbs from now on.”

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[jamesweather]

𝚗𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ── .⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝟶𝟷. 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗

⟢ pairing: james potter x fem!reader ⟢ summary: you meet your new neighbor (and he's a flirt!) ⊹ 771 ⟢ contains: no warnings ⟢ series masterlist

note: short part! this is more of a prologue

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You fumble with the doorknob blindly, the three boxes stacked on your forearms obstructing your vision. You can’t quite seem to get a grip on it, having to twist your arm awkwardly even to make an attempt, all while you balance the weight of the heavy boxes. As if things could be going any worse, the backpack you lazily threw over one shoulder slides down your arm, the sudden shift of weight dragging you down.

Curse you for being too lazy to split this into two trips, you think as you imagine yourself and all your boxes in a heap on the floor. But before you drop everything and lose your balance completely, you feel the boxes get caught on the wall instead. No, not the wall—

“I’ve got you,” is what you hear as a pair of hands steadies the toppling boxes.

That voice. Velvety and warm and… British. You’ve never been one of those girls who swoon over an accent, but damn. If all the men here sound like that, moving to London was well worth it on that account alone.

“Can I help?” he asks, sliding his hands under the boxes to take the weight from yours.

“Yeah, please. Thank you,” you say as the stranger lifts the boxes from your arms with ease. He turns to the side so you can see each other, and a little voice in the back of your head is shouting at you, telling you not to look at his biceps straining under the weight of your things.

This is your new neighbor? Everything about this old building that worried you suddenly feels trivial. His tan skin, his dark curls, and, if the muscles on his arms are any indication, what’s beneath his shirt must be quite the sight too.

He has that look in his eyes—warm, golden eyes—that you’ve been getting all day. The momentary surprise when you speak and people realize you’re American. Sometimes it turns into a series of questions, other times an eye roll, but your new neighbor shakes it off with a smile.

Fuck, you didn’t think he could get any more attractive but that smile couldn’t just win awards, it could end wars.

“I’m James,” he introduces himself in that velvety voice. “And you’re… moving in?”

You suddenly remember where you are and what you’re doing. While fixing your bag over your shoulder, you open the door to your new apartment—or flat, as they say here—introducing yourself while holding the door for him.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he says. “Where do you want these?”

“Anywhere is fine. Thank you so much,” you tell him, putting your bag down on the floor near the wall.

He places the boxes near some others in what will be your living room once your furniture arrives.

“D’you need any help? I’d be happy to lend a hand.”

“Oh, no. That’s okay.”

“Why not? You can stare at my arms some more while I lift your things. I don’t mind,” he says nonchalantly, his eyes shamelessly trailing down your frame before flicking back up with a grin.

Oh. Okay, James.

He may have busted you for your stolen glances, but his lingering gaze gave away just as much as yours did. The way his eyes traveled down your body wasn't just looking—it was appreciating. Trying to tease you is an interesting move when he revealed his hand by checking you out so brazenly. And there’s a certain confidence that comes with knowing he’s just as attracted to you as you are to him.

You grin back. “As much as I would love to put you to work, that was unfortunately the last of it. But I am expecting some heavy packages this week, how ‘bout I let you know when they get here?”

His lips curl into a smirk. “I’ll be waiting,” he says smoothly.

He passes by you slowly, heading for your door. When his arm brushes yours, he pauses, then leans in slightly, his head tilting close enough to be in your space without overstepping.

“If you do need anything—carrying packages, or anything else—I’m right next door.” His words were charged with the heat of the moment, but there was something genuine in his tone too.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say softly, your gaze flickering from one eye to the other.

“And by the way,” he says as he resumes his journey out of your apartment. “Welcome to London.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──