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loveyouprongs · 29 days ago

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love like sugar

prompt: “babe, i love you, i do, but if i eat one more piece of chocolate i think i’m going to throw up.” james potter x reader

upcoming content: fluff, broken bone, food. pls lmk if u think i missed anything

authors note: i started this in december 2023!!!! finally finished it!!!! 🍪🥛

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

james likes to believe he's one hell of a boyfriend.

he prides himself on it. he would make the earth spin the other way round if you asked. it doesn't matter how much shit he has to take from his friends, calling him whipped and groaning when he spends his time winking at you in the stands instead of focusing on the match. he could take it all if it meant you'd keep calling for him to open every tightly shut jar so he could puff his chest out and twist it open with ease and you'd clasp your hands under your chin and swoon 'my hero'.

which is why he’s utterly depressed because today’s valentines day and the two of you haven’t left the flat once. all because two weeks ago he slipped in the mud while practicing and the crack that echoed in the air as his leg broke still rung in his ears. six weeks with a cast is what the doctor ordered and now the two of you had to spend valentines day on the couch with his leg elevated in a stinky plaster.

“‘s almost ready, jamie!” you exclaimed, peeking out from the kitchen. your megawatt smile not having once faltered since this morning when you woke him up with kisses across his chest. the press of your lips against his skin enough to erase any physical pain he was feeling, but not the guilt of ruining this special day.

“you don’t have to do this, lovely,” he said, eyes alight with endearment, even after years of being together his gaze still brought heat to your cheeks.

“nonsense! it’s valentines day!”

“don’t remind me,” he began, “i swear i’ll make it up to you right after they cut this shit off me.”

you rolled your eyes, heading back into the kitchen. james was a perfect boyfriend every day of the year, one valentines day indoors wasn’t going to change that. “it’s nice that i can treat you for a change, anyway,” you let out, drizzling chocolate sauce over strawberries as you heard distinctive clunks growing louder.

“y’shouldn’t have to lift a finger, lovie, ‘specially not t’day”

“you say that,” you called from the kitchen, “but you look pretty comfy being waited on.”

there was a beat of silence, followed by the unmistakable clunk... clunk... clunk of crutches against hardwood. You sighed.

“james.”

“i just want to look!,” he whined, voice strained like he was summoning his last ounce of strength as he dragged his crutches behind him.

you turned just in time to see him appear in the doorway, dramatically hunched like some war hero returning from battle, one socked foot planted carefully between each clumsy thud of the crutches. his hair was an absolute disaster, and the blanket you’d tucked around him earlier was still hanging from one shoulder like a cape.

“james, get back on the couch.”

“but you’ve been in there all day,” he protested, leaning heavily on one crutch while gesturing limply with the other. “it’s cruel, making me sit alone while you drown in baked goods.”

“i’m not drowning, I’m baking. and you’re not supposed to be weight-bearing!”

he raised both brows in a slow, theatrical blink. “didn’t realize ‘watching my girlfriend bake cookies all day’ was medically prohibited.”

you gave him a look, but he only smiled—crooked and winning, the same way he always did when he was trying to get away with something. you crossed your arms.

“you’re making me feel like a dickensian orphan, love,” he said.

at that you couldn’t help but laugh and james’ eyes lit up, not just at the sound of your giggles that rang in his head like his favorite song, but that he was wearing you down. maybe he’d be able to hang in the kitchen a little longer.

“may i have some more, sir?” you let out in an exaggerated oliver twist impression, before busting into laughter again.

james groaned, “that’s not even the quote.”

“say it! say it!” you responded, alight in mirth.

james could only roll his eyes and try and fail from a smile spreading on his face, “no! i said that to make you feel bad for me! not for you to make fun!”

you only stuck your tongue out at him, which he matched before dissolving into laughter himself.

“jamie,” you drawled, now with your arms wrapped around his sturdy torso. the warmth that emanated from his body warmed you straight to your toes. “please go back to the couch, i know it’s been boring but i’ll join you in just a few minutes.”

james looked down at you as you rested your chin on his chest, looking up at him with wide eyes. you figured he knew what you were doing, but he nodded complacently before dropping a kiss to your forehead, “alright, alright love, but if i die from emotional neglect, tell everyone it was your fault.”

“that’s completely fair.”

he turned around with great effort and started dragging himself back, muttering under his breath about injustice and being unappreciated. you waited until he flopped dramatically back into the cushions before calling out, more fondly this time:

“i’ve got one more batch in the oven. then you get to eat cookies until you pass out or throw up—whichever comes first.”

you took the cookies out of the oven and looked at your handiwork. dozens of cookies and treats were cooling on the kitchen table, and you were giddy with excitement as you bit your lip. you were devastated for james’ injury, but it was so rare that you got to treat him and dote on him that his plastered leg was a blessing in disguise.

he was usually the one taking care of you. always picking up fresh ingredients from the market because he knew you hated wilted basil, always opening stubborn jars without being asked. he let you sit on the bathroom counter while he showered so you could tell him every single thing that happened during your day, even the parts that were boring. he clasped your bracelets when your nails were wet, let you switch controllers during mario party when you were losing too badly, and acted like it was no big deal when you “miraculously” pulled ahead.

but now he was stuck on the couch, grumpy and dramatic and completely at your mercy.

you arranged the cookies onto a mismatched set of plates, stacking them with a kind of chaotic elegance. chocolate chip, red velvet crinkle, sugar hearts, jam-filled thumbprints, some a little burnt around the edges, some barely holding their shape. you didn’t care. they were yours. his. yours for him.

and you were halfway back to the couch, balancing a tray like it was a fabergé egg, when you saw him: james, passed out under three throw blankets, one arm flung over his eyes like he was a fallen soldier. his crutches splayed on the floor.

“your majesty,” you said, setting the tray down carefully and nudging his leg with your knee, “your offerings have arrived.”

he peeked out from under his arm, eyes blinking open. “are those jam ones?”

“there’s five. i counted.”

“you do love me.”

you handed him a cookie without answering and watched as he took a bite, eyes fluttering shut with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious experiences or championship wins. he didn’t speak again until he was halfway through a second.

“you should open a bakery.”

“yeah, i’ll call it ‘Potter’s Patience’ and make everyone wait six weeks for their order.”

he grinned, crumbs at the corner of his mouth. “worth it.”

The two of you eventually settled on the couch, a carefully arranged blanket nest around James’s outstretched leg.

“what did you pick, baby?”

“a movie,” he said, far too innocently.

“what movie?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“a really good one,” he replied, already clicking through the previews. “and i get to pick because i’m injured!” he said too defensively.

“james…”

he didn’t answer. He just hit play, then turned to you with his arm lifted, the universal signal to come curl under it.

you gave him a look, but when the opening theme of The Princess Bride began playing and the familiar old-school credits started rolling, you groaned.

“oh, james! again?”

“yes!” he said, beaming like it was the first time he’d ever shown it to you. “now shh and enjoy it. and pass me a cookie.”

you handed him one without looking, already half-smiling as the storybook castle appeared onscreen.

as the movie went on, james found himself less interested in his favorite film and more interested in you.

he found himself concentrating on the pace of your breath, trailing his eyes along the line where your body met his. there was a tiny scar just above your right eyebrow, one he’d given you by accident when you both ran at each other after he’d won the rugby final and his fingernail caught your skin. he'd felt horrible at the time but you’d laughed through it.

he studied your mouth, how your smile always said kind things to him when he was quiet and blue. he thought about how your hands had made him this ridiculous cookie feast, and how they would never purposely tickle him because he didn’t like it even though he was horribly ticklish and sirius took shameful advantage of that fact. you respected it, like a good person.

and it was more than that. his body had some sort of homing sense for yours. he always knew when you were nearby. didn’t need to see you, didn’t need to hear you. his whole system just… hummed. lit up like it knew what to do.

he leaned in and kissed the top of your head, lingering for a second, eyes closed.

then his stomach gave a long, unhappy gurgle.

he let out a dramatic groan.

you sat up slightly. “are you still hungry?”

“no,” he said, eyes squeezed shut. “babe, i love you, i do, but if i eat one more piece of chocolate i think i’m going to throw up.”

you blinked.

“how many did you have, babe?”

“i wasn’t counting. I blacked out from love.”

you snorted, already passing him a glass of water. “you’re such a menace.”

he took it with both hands, like a child recovering from a stomachache. “a menace who is completely in love with you.”

“next year I’m making soup.”

“i’lll eat all of it.”