potterheadlovespotter

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reposting cuz i forgot his glasses opssie

james is NOT paying attention to that book

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cain instinct

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Mystery w/ & w/o face covered

Wasn’t sure which one I liked best so did both. The second one is inspired by his concept art. He looked so pretty in them and so my type of hairstyle. Love him either way

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[potterheadlovespotter]

Yuzu Kato: Borrowing from the Tiger's Majesty (2022)

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What Lily and Harry could have been, if she had seen her boy grow up.

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ZOESTRYYY LET'S GOOO

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Jily is not “he wore her down” it’s “he grew the hell up and she noticed and suddenly it was her who couldn’t look away.”

[potterheadlovespotter]

MY core four (harry, ginny, ron & hermione)

[potterheadlovespotter]

Finally finished THE SAJA BOYS ft. Derpy and Sussie 🩵 Read in a reverse fic that they would have a pre-show skincare routine and it hasn’t left my mind. Guess my fav?

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[potterheadlovespotter]

YES

Should I share a snippet of the Harry Potter x fem!reader fic I am working on? Yes, I multitask writing ✍️.

[potterheadlovespotter]

Allllright!!!

1 down, 26 more to go

𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭‼️‼️

I will be closing off my requests for a while, at least till I complete the current lot of requests that you, wonderful, people sent. If you have any requests in mind, please shoot one once it’s reopened. Thank you for your cooperation lovely babies 🫡🥰💋. I am seriously in awe the fact that you all trusted me with your wonderful requests, makes me feel happy and seen. Thank you all for this wonderful and heartfelt journey in my writing 🤭 Means the world to me 🫶🏻

There are in total 27 requests in my inbox. As soon as I complete each and every one of them, I will be reopening my inbox section. Hope you would still shoot me with requests by then 😭🥹

Love you and THANK YOU SO MUCH!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[potterheadlovespotter]

this is so james potter core im obsessed

[potterheadlovespotter]

it literally all starts with forgiving yourself there’s no way around it

[potterheadlovespotter]

Lol I didn't even knew your requests were closed. Figures, though. You must be getting many requests.

Anyways, I will bombard you with requests once it's open 🫡

Prompt:

His arms wrapped tighter around you, and he murmured softly against your hair, “Mrs. Potter… sounds like something out of a dream. My dream.”

I am not giving you a pairing this time.

Mrs. Potter, Sounds Like a Dream ♡ | J.Potter ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

"She smiled, said 'Mrs. Potter' as a joke—so naturally, I started planning the wedding."

pairing : James Potter x fem!reader

summary : James Potter has one goal in life: to marry the love of his life, Y/N. He has no chill about it. His friends are tired. Y/N is amused. And the name “Mrs. Potter”? Well, that might just be the beginning of all the chaos.

warnings : Use of Y/N, contains extreme fluff, one lovesick James Potter, and repeated use of “Mrs. Potter.” Swoon responsibly. Please let me know if I missed any.

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

della's note : This was genuinely so amazing!!! I LOVE WRITING JAMES POTTER AS A DRAMATIC YEARNING MAN!!!

word count : 0.9k

navigation <3

banners : @/uzmacchiato and @/roseschoices

James Potter was a man on a mission. Not a “defeat the Dark Lord” kind of mission—though he was certainly involved in that too—but a much more urgent, heart-clenching, soul-consuming mission:

Marry Y/N.

Ask anyone. Ask Remus. Ask Sirius. Ask Peter, even though he often looked like a tired mother of four just from hearing James talk about you. Hell, ask Lily, who had once dramatically flopped face-first into a pile of mashed potatoes just to escape James’s fourth monologue of the evening about your “glowing skin” and “your terribly poetic ability to hold a spoon.”

James Potter was in love.

The sort of love that made people roll their eyes but smile anyway because it was rare—pure and obnoxiously loud and impossible to ignore. And James? He didn’t want anyone to ignore it.

It was one of those soft evenings at the Potter Cottage. Summer had just kissed the trees golden, the sky was blushing pink, and the Marauders (plus honorary Marauders) had gathered for a weekend dinner that included slightly burnt pasta by Sirius, actual edible sides by Alice, and a very competitive round of charades in which Dorcas had almost hexed Frank for confusing “Inferi” with “Ferrets.”

Y/N had laughed so hard she had spilled wine on James’s shirt.

He’d declared it a sacred relic immediately.

And later, after everyone had begun to doze off in various corners of the living room (Remus on the rug with a book on his face, Lily and Marlene giggling into a blanket fort they swore was “not for girls only,” Peter snoring softly in an armchair), you and James found yourselves curled on the couch together, limbs tangled in the most comfortable way two people could tangle.

Your head rested against his chest, and his fingers lazily traced shapes on your back. The crackle of the fireplace was soft, and the way he was holding you—gentle but utterly, hopelessly tight—made your heartbeat feel like home.

And then, he did it. He murmured into your hair like it was a spell.

“Mrs. Potter…” His voice was warm, husky with drowsy delight. “Sounds like something out of a dream. My dream.”

You blinked. Then slowly pulled back just enough to look up at him.

“Did you just propose to me in front of an unconscious Remus Lupin and a wine-stained carpet?”

James grinned, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “No, no. That wasn’t a proposal.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “That was… foreshadowing.”

“Oh, Merlin.”

“I’m being serious.”

“No, he’s being Sirius.” You pointed to the lump on the floor that had once been your best friend and was now face-planted beside an empty wine bottle and a broken charades stick. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Only about you,” he whispered, and kissed your nose.

The next morning, James made pancakes. Shaped like hearts. Sort of. If you squinted.

“I had a dream,” he declared proudly, handing you a plate and wearing nothing but his pajama pants and an apron that read Kiss the Cook, He’s Already Yours.

Y/N arched a brow. “Do I want to know?”

“You called yourself Mrs. Potter in it,” he said dreamily. “Twice. And I wept tears of joy in my sleep.”

“I noticed. You drooled on my shoulder.”

“Those were love tears.”

Remus coughed into his coffee. “You two are unbearable.”

“Oh, let them be cute,” Lily said from where she sat with a messy bun and one sock. “James’s obsession with Y/N is the only thing standing between us and him buying a Quidditch-themed jacuzzi.”

Marlene snorted. “He still bought it, Lils.”

“It’s in the garage!” James defended himself. “Unused! Because Y/N said she’d marry me only if I got my priorities straight!”

You narrowed your eyes. “I said no such thing.”

James cupped your face dramatically. “But you thought it. And I heard it. With my heart.”

Sirius groaned into a pillow. “If I die from secondhand affection, I want it on my tombstone: ‘Died because James wouldn’t shut up about Y/N.’”

Dorcas sipped her tea. “That’s fair.”

Later that week, James brought home a custom mug that said “Future Mrs. Potter” on one side and “I Told You So – Love, James” on the other.

You stared at it. Then stared at him.

He gave you the most innocent grin a six-foot-one man with an obsession could give. “It’s just for manifestation, darling.”

You sighed, pressing your palm to your forehead like the heroine in a tragic novel. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“I’m lucky I have you,” he said, and wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground as you squealed and hit him playfully on the back. “One day, Y/N, you’re gonna wake up and the Prophet headline will say: Local Girl Marries Loud Quidditch Captain; Claims It Was Inevitable.”

You laughed into his shoulder. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Nope.” He nuzzled into your neck, voice low and soft again. “Just full of love. For you.”

And maybe you didn’t say “yes” right away. Maybe you just shook your head, kissed him, and told him to stop writing “Mrs. Potter” in all his notebooks like a schoolgirl.

But when James woke up the next morning and found you drinking tea from that very mug, curled up in his hoodie, he almost fainted.

“Y/N—” he gasped, hand on his heart. “Are you— Is this—Is this the moment?!”

You lifted your eyes to his, smile wicked. “No, darling. This is just foreshadowing.”

His dramatic groan echoed through the cottage.

And Sirius, waking up groggily from the couch, muttered into the cushions:

“Someone just put a ring on her already before we all die from the build-up.”

[potterheadlovespotter]

The fact that I forgot about this one little prompt, lol...thinking about it, my prompts are falling behind....I should submit new ones soon....

Okay. This was cute. Hilarious. Sappy. Heart-warming. Sweet. Beautiful...

In short, everything my heart needed to warm itself.

Prompt:

His arms wrapped tighter around you, and he murmured softly against your hair, “Mrs. Potter… sounds like something out of a dream. My dream.”

I am not giving you a pairing this time.

Mrs. Potter, Sounds Like a Dream ♡ | J.Potter ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

"She smiled, said 'Mrs. Potter' as a joke—so naturally, I started planning the wedding."

pairing : James Potter x fem!reader

summary : James Potter has one goal in life: to marry the love of his life, Y/N. He has no chill about it. His friends are tired. Y/N is amused. And the name “Mrs. Potter”? Well, that might just be the beginning of all the chaos.

warnings : Use of Y/N, contains extreme fluff, one lovesick James Potter, and repeated use of “Mrs. Potter.” Swoon responsibly. Please let me know if I missed any.

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

della's note : This was genuinely so amazing!!! I LOVE WRITING JAMES POTTER AS A DRAMATIC YEARNING MAN!!!

word count : 0.9k

navigation <3

banners : @/uzmacchiato and @/roseschoices

James Potter was a man on a mission. Not a “defeat the Dark Lord” kind of mission—though he was certainly involved in that too—but a much more urgent, heart-clenching, soul-consuming mission:

Marry Y/N.

Ask anyone. Ask Remus. Ask Sirius. Ask Peter, even though he often looked like a tired mother of four just from hearing James talk about you. Hell, ask Lily, who had once dramatically flopped face-first into a pile of mashed potatoes just to escape James’s fourth monologue of the evening about your “glowing skin” and “your terribly poetic ability to hold a spoon.”

James Potter was in love.

The sort of love that made people roll their eyes but smile anyway because it was rare—pure and obnoxiously loud and impossible to ignore. And James? He didn’t want anyone to ignore it.

It was one of those soft evenings at the Potter Cottage. Summer had just kissed the trees golden, the sky was blushing pink, and the Marauders (plus honorary Marauders) had gathered for a weekend dinner that included slightly burnt pasta by Sirius, actual edible sides by Alice, and a very competitive round of charades in which Dorcas had almost hexed Frank for confusing “Inferi” with “Ferrets.”

Y/N had laughed so hard she had spilled wine on James’s shirt.

He’d declared it a sacred relic immediately.

And later, after everyone had begun to doze off in various corners of the living room (Remus on the rug with a book on his face, Lily and Marlene giggling into a blanket fort they swore was “not for girls only,” Peter snoring softly in an armchair), you and James found yourselves curled on the couch together, limbs tangled in the most comfortable way two people could tangle.

Your head rested against his chest, and his fingers lazily traced shapes on your back. The crackle of the fireplace was soft, and the way he was holding you—gentle but utterly, hopelessly tight—made your heartbeat feel like home.

And then, he did it. He murmured into your hair like it was a spell.

“Mrs. Potter…” His voice was warm, husky with drowsy delight. “Sounds like something out of a dream. My dream.”

You blinked. Then slowly pulled back just enough to look up at him.

“Did you just propose to me in front of an unconscious Remus Lupin and a wine-stained carpet?”

James grinned, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “No, no. That wasn’t a proposal.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “That was… foreshadowing.”

“Oh, Merlin.”

“I’m being serious.”

“No, he’s being Sirius.” You pointed to the lump on the floor that had once been your best friend and was now face-planted beside an empty wine bottle and a broken charades stick. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Only about you,” he whispered, and kissed your nose.

The next morning, James made pancakes. Shaped like hearts. Sort of. If you squinted.

“I had a dream,” he declared proudly, handing you a plate and wearing nothing but his pajama pants and an apron that read Kiss the Cook, He’s Already Yours.

Y/N arched a brow. “Do I want to know?”

“You called yourself Mrs. Potter in it,” he said dreamily. “Twice. And I wept tears of joy in my sleep.”

“I noticed. You drooled on my shoulder.”

“Those were love tears.”

Remus coughed into his coffee. “You two are unbearable.”

“Oh, let them be cute,” Lily said from where she sat with a messy bun and one sock. “James’s obsession with Y/N is the only thing standing between us and him buying a Quidditch-themed jacuzzi.”

Marlene snorted. “He still bought it, Lils.”

“It’s in the garage!” James defended himself. “Unused! Because Y/N said she’d marry me only if I got my priorities straight!”

You narrowed your eyes. “I said no such thing.”

James cupped your face dramatically. “But you thought it. And I heard it. With my heart.”

Sirius groaned into a pillow. “If I die from secondhand affection, I want it on my tombstone: ‘Died because James wouldn’t shut up about Y/N.’”

Dorcas sipped her tea. “That’s fair.”

Later that week, James brought home a custom mug that said “Future Mrs. Potter” on one side and “I Told You So – Love, James” on the other.

You stared at it. Then stared at him.

He gave you the most innocent grin a six-foot-one man with an obsession could give. “It’s just for manifestation, darling.”

You sighed, pressing your palm to your forehead like the heroine in a tragic novel. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“I’m lucky I have you,” he said, and wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground as you squealed and hit him playfully on the back. “One day, Y/N, you’re gonna wake up and the Prophet headline will say: Local Girl Marries Loud Quidditch Captain; Claims It Was Inevitable.”

You laughed into his shoulder. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Nope.” He nuzzled into your neck, voice low and soft again. “Just full of love. For you.”

And maybe you didn’t say “yes” right away. Maybe you just shook your head, kissed him, and told him to stop writing “Mrs. Potter” in all his notebooks like a schoolgirl.

But when James woke up the next morning and found you drinking tea from that very mug, curled up in his hoodie, he almost fainted.

“Y/N—” he gasped, hand on his heart. “Are you— Is this—Is this the moment?!”

You lifted your eyes to his, smile wicked. “No, darling. This is just foreshadowing.”

His dramatic groan echoed through the cottage.

And Sirius, waking up groggily from the couch, muttered into the cushions:

“Someone just put a ring on her already before we all die from the build-up.”