#james potter lemon

[padsmoony04]

[vroomvroomtothemoon]

James is the type of person that drinks almost four litres of water a day but it has to be flavoured.

Regulus is the type of person that drinks a can of monster and a sip of water a day.

James’s favourite flavoured water is strawberry and raspberry, but he will tolerate just strawberry.

Regulus’s favourite monster is easily ultra, but he also likes mango loco.

[macabresque]

modern day trans!regulus would have such a soft spot for cavetown. i'm right ur wrong shut up

like you're telling me this guy didn't listen to juliet, sharpener, and lemon boy and absolutely sob his eyes out????

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

Hii Ria! Hope you’re doing well. I saw your requests were open and I saw Tangerine was on ur list so if you have the time I’d love a (possibly nsfw but all is fine) blurb with Tan. Thanks so much💗

hi, lovely! wow, i’m so glad you requested tangerine. i love him and had too much fun writing this. i hope you don't mind it's not set on a job. i know you said “blurb,” but i got carried away, yike sorry, hope you like it!! and hope some of my marauders readers give it a go!

pairing: Tangerine x reader

tags / warnings: NSFW (minors do not interact!), fingering, fem!reader

notes: the “blowing bubbles” song is West Ham’s theme song and it repeatedly plays in the movie in Tangerine and Lemon scenes 🍊🍋

word count: 2.2k

“I’m forever blowing bubbles!” you sing at the top of your lungs with the rest of the elated stadium even though you’d left your seat to go to the loo. “Pretty bubbles in the air! They fly so hii…HEY! What the fuck?!” 

You quickly go to grab the wrist of the hand you felt trying to knick your wallet from your pocket. As you turn to curse out whoever thought they could just steal from you that easily, you’re met with the prettiest pair of blue eyes you’ve ever seen. It throws you off balance for a second — but only for a second — before you work to quickly recover you’re pissed off facade. You give the man a “what the fuck?” look, eyes wide, eyebrows expressive.

“So sorry, love,” he responds. “Just bumped into ya.” 

“Oh? You’re fingers bumped into my pocket?” you shoot back, your look scathing. 

He’s surprised you caught him; pretty much no one ever does. He’s even more surprised you’re calling him on it with as much feist as you  are… and he fucking loves it. 

“Alright, alright. ‘M sorry.” He lifts his hands up then puts one on his chest as he swears, “Truly.” 

He has nice hands, you can’t help but think. You scold yourself for thinking that when this bloke is so clearly a prick, but you justify it to yourself by thinking it’s just that his many rings caught your attention… and damn do they make his hands look even better. You shake your head at yourself, but thankfully, he seems to think it’s your response to his apology. 

“Let me make it up t’ya,” he offers, and you’re curious. 

You cross your arms across your chest, and shoot him a harsh “how?”

“However ya like.” He smiles and takes a step closer to you. He’s charming as hell, and you hate it. “How bout… you let me buy ya a drink somewhere round here? This thing’s basically over anyway. No fuckin way they come back from three nil.” 

You debate for a moment, biting your lip in consternation, and you notice his looking at your mouth when you do. You hope you’re not imagining it, and think “fuck it”; you had nothing better to do after the match anyway, your friends wouldn’t mind, and you could just ditch him if it’s not fun. 

“Okay… fine.” 

“Alright then,” he says with finality, his gorgeous smile sneaking back onto his face. “Let me just tell my brother I’m leavin, and I’ll be right back, alright?” He turns to go then turns back and adds, “Don’t disappear on me, love.” 

You shrug but then lean against the wall. He smirks a bit as he walks away. 

The walk to the nearby pub is mostly quiet, but strangely not awkward... except for the moment you have to ask if you heard him correctly when he said his name was Tangerine. “It's a kind of nickname that's just sort of stuck,” he explained, shrugging. “Besides, tangerines are very sophisticated, right?” You weren’t sure if he was joking.

The pub’s emptier now the match is still going on than it will be soon, and you manage to sneak up to the bar on the end furthest from the telly everyone’s eyes are still glued to. 

“What’d ya like?” he asks from beside you, and your heart rate increases a bit — okay, a lot — at the proximity. You both order, and you take a nervous sip of your pint when you can’t think of much to say. 

“So you a big West Ham fan then?” he asks.

“Yeah. Don’t miss a match. Since I was a kid really.” “Oh yeah? Same here. My brother and me, we watch ‘em all together unless we’re in the middle of a job.” “Sounds nice,” you smile. “What do you do?”

He hesitates, taking his own nervous sip of his drink this time. 

“Odd jobs, you know? Freelance stuff.” You can tell he’s being vague but don’t want to push it so soon. 

“And you work with your brother?”

“Mmhhmm, best part ‘a the gig sometimes. He’s a riot.” 

You find this affection extremely endearing and hope in the back of your mind that you get to meet his brother next time, that this will lead to a next time… So, you take a chance.

“Sounds like he’s the fun one, and you… you’re the handsome one then? Or is he as handsome as you?” You make an effort to stop yourself before you start ranting and ruin it. 

“No. He’s not,” he chuckles seriously. “But I don’t appreciate ya insinuating I’m not fun, love. What? You’re not having a good time?” he challenges. 

“Early stages,” you reply mock-serious. “We’ll see.” “Oh, alright,” he nods. “You should know now though, darlin…” He leans in. “I’m a man who loves a challenge.” He winks at you, his face closer to yours than it has been thus far. You’re sure you’re not imagining it this time when his gaze lowers to your lips and lingers there. 

You don’t know how to respond and clear your throat lamely, turning back to your drink, clearly flustered. You hear his amused chuckle beside you, and you roll your eyes at him teasingly. 

Your chat continues, the two of you quickly falling into a rhythm, and before you know it you’ve finished your first drink. Seeing he’s doing the same, taking a long last swig, you hope this isn’t the end of it. Relief and excitement wash over you when, as he puts his glass down, he looks over at you, a mischievous twinkle in his eye you’re starting to love, and asks, “The same?” pointing at your empty glass. You nod gladly. 

As he leans into the bar to hail the bartender, your heart feels like it somehow both stops and races in the span of one second when you feel his hand on the small of your back. He asks for your drinks, but when he leans back, he leaves his hand there. You love the contact and lean closer to him to let him know. He smiles down at you, and you feel his hand caress your back. 

You keep chatting and drinking; he’s brilliant at making you laugh, and you have him cracking up not infrequently as well. 

The pub starts filling up now with the post-match celebratory crowd, and though you’re glad for the excuse to be even closer to him, tingles shooting down your spine every time he leans in to speak into your ear, you also lament the loss of the somewhat intimate bubble you’d created with him. You’re mid-sip when a seemingly drunken man pushes against you aggressively in his attempt to get to the bar, making you spill your drink on yourself and lose your balance. Tangerine’s arms come around you immediately, catching and stabilizing you. You love the warm, firm feeling of them, but it’s gone as quickly as it came as he shifts next to you, turning toward the man and squaring up with him. “Oi! Better fuckin watch it, mate!”

The drunken guy doesn’t even fully turn to him, responding, “Fuck off, pretty boy,” slurring his too-loud words. 

You see something slightly terrifying shift in Tangerine’s expression, a kind of craze come into his eyes, and you can tell already that he’s not someone you want to mess with. You see his fists tighten and his lips snarl, but before he can make a move, you stand in front of him and put your arms on his broad shoulders. 

“Hey, hey, it’s fine. It’s not worth it, really. Please, I’m fine, and you getting in trouble for beating his arse would really ruin what we’ve got going, don’t you think?” You try to sound playful and comfortingly rub his shoulders. 

He exhales slowly, puts his hands on your hips, and leans in. “He’s lucky you’re here, love. Woulda ended up crying for his mum otherwise.” You laugh but feel the stickiness of the the spilled drink on your shirt as you do. You look down at it and tell Tangerine you’ve got to go clean up then make your way to the toilets. 

You’re glad of your luck that they’re individuals since it lets you take your shirt off to rinse it at the sink. You’re wiping yourself down when you hear a knock at the door. “Occupied!” 

“’S me, love. Sorry to rush you, but I gotta go.” “What?” Your heart sinks.

“‘M so sorry, really, but I just got a call about a job I was waitin on, and it can’t really wait.” 

You come up against the door he’s just on the other side of, a knot in your throat. You crack it the tiniest bit to be able to look at him, to say goodbye you suppose. When you do his eyes, full of emotion that makes it clear he’s sad to be going, immediately go from your eyes to your shirtless torso, landing on your bra-clad tits. He takes a beat, looks around, whispers what you think is “fuck it” under his breath, and pushes into the bathroom with you, locking it behind him. 

You’re shocked, standing completely still in front of him. 

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says, looking you up and down before grabbing your face, the cold of his rings on your cheeks, and kissing you. 

You kiss him back immediately, wrapping your arms around him, entangling your hand in his thick brown hair. He groans at this, and you feel the vibrations in his chest that’s flush with yours. You moan in response, sucking on his tongue in your mouth, and pulling him impossibly closer. He pushes you back against the sink counter; it’s too small to sit on, but it helps give you some leverage.

He kisses along your jaw, sucking on your neck, moving his hands down to squeeze your tits. He kneads them, pinching your nipples through your thin bra. One hand caresses down your stomach to the waistband of your trousers. He unbuttons them adeptly and sticks his hand in your knickers. “I thought you had to go,” you laugh into his ear, lifting your hips to give him better access, already reveling in the feeling of his hands on you. 

He groans into your neck and takes a teasing bite then responds, his voice much lower than before.

“I do,” he grumbles. “But they can fucking wait.” He kisses you again then adds, “And I can be quick when I need ta.” His smirk is devilish as he runs his fingers across your already wet slit. “Feels like you are having a good time after all, love,” he jokes. 

You moan and lean your head back at the feeling. He returns to kissing, sucking, licking on your mouth, your neck, your chest, as he massages your folds, rubbing your clit before slipping a long, thick finger inside you. You whimper at the delicious sensation and rut into his hand. He chuckles appreciatively and expertly tilts his wrist on every thrust, hitting your spot over and over. He adds another digit inside and adjusts his thumb on your clit to rub as he strokes. It feels incredible. 

You’re holding on to the sink behind you for balance but bring one hand to his neck, gripping his shoulder and caressing his cheek, bringing him closer as you kiss him. He kisses back passionately, not missing a beat in his other actions, holding your face with surprising tenderness with his other hand. 

He reads your body, your sounds perfectly, speeding up and slowing down, adding and removing pressure, better than if you’d tried to explain to him out loud. You know you only met him today, but he doesn’t even feel like a stranger to you anymore. The connection excites and scares you at the same time, and you moan his name into his ear as you cum.

He kisses and touches you through it, and when you’re finished he leans his forehead on yours then kisses it as he steps away. 

“I do really have ta go now,” he bemoans. You nod wordlessly, your lips parted, your legs jelly. You spot the giant bulge in his trousers and another wave of pleasure washes over you at the sight. You wish you could do something about it, but he’s washing his hands and straightening his clothes before you can gather yourself. 

He’s adjusting his rings on his hands as he comes back in front of you. There’s conflict in his baby blues as you stare back up at him. 

“I’m not exactly relationship material,” he says softly. “But I really would love to see you again.” 

You kiss him gently and slip your hand in his pocket, taking his phone without his noticing. You lift it up in front of his face, and his surprise quickly melts to adoration as you whisper, “That’s how you do it.” 

He laughs and answers, “Not really fair, love. I didn’t have the benefit of a brilliant kiss as a distraction.”

You shrug and smirk; he unlocks his phone, and you put your number in it. He gives the phone a little shake, slips it back in his pocket, and kisses you quickly but roughly before turning and leaving without another word.

[cherryxgirty]

[spaceythangs]

"tan. we are not fucking in a public passenger car."

he had no idea why you were there. you had only just boarded at the last stop, with the strict and confidential incentive to find out where the prince was and subsequently shoot her between the eyes. you told yourself it was the professional thing to do; a good handler would never leave two grown men to face a teenage girl alone.

"it kinda looks like we are."

he's fast closing in on your spot at the end of the aisle. usually you tried to mind your business as much as the job allowed. tangerine and lemon were 'big boys' who could 'fend for themselves just fine, thanks pet.' but this time, rather than see them obliterated and rather than bruising their fragile Man egos™, you had chosen to discreetly take matters into your own hands.

"that's an interesting perspective. I thought we were working."

he breathes a laugh, chest heaving as he closes the distance between the rows of empty seats and where you stand. he'd be incredibly miffed if he figured out your scheme. positively petulant. but taking in his ragged appearance, his wild eyes and his determined huffs as he speeds into your space, you think he might be too happy to see you to care why you've come.

"sorry, lovie-"

he's not sorry at all, cheshire grin curling into your neck as he distracts your teasing with hot kisses to your pulsepoint.

"-you're just too fuckable."

[wxckedwxrld]

𝔥𝔭: 𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔭𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯

𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰

PSA: these writings ARE NOT MINE. This is a list of fanfiction I have read during october and November. All credit goes to the original and rightful writers.

* - smut • - fluff ^ - angst

✰ 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛

[silence-between-seconds]

So we all agree Adore You by Harry Styles is about james potter right?

[moonystoast1971]

im not taking criticism

they are quite literally james marlene and peter (yes im convinced they all grew up together)

[losergirlmonologue]

I actually need to talk to people who have the same interests as me. Like I don't wanna bore ny friends with my interests and keep talking about it. It's all I wanna talk about but no one likes the same things as me.

I need to talk to people who are interested in trains specifically bullet trains, people who have watched bullet train or are reading it. And people who like the marauders. I just don't wanna bore my friends.

[jj-5656]

hihihi I loved your tangerine fic, do you plan or writing more for him? 😘

Thank you!! I’m open to writing more tan and obviously James. Suggestions are open!!💜

[ziglikesrain]

can someone please write a bullet train/marauders crossover with sirius and james as lemon and tangerine

[heart-sized]

BYF !

୨୧ pls be nice if you're here on my page! and kind. this is the first and most important rule !

୨୧ i may write nsfw content too so pls pls if you're -18 then dni

୨୧ i don't write : incest, pedophilia, nonconsensual relationships, watersports, vomit, gore, necrophilia

୨୧ i might write : aged up characters, dub con

୨୧ racism, transphobia, homophobia, islamophobia is not tolerated on my page.

୨୧ i like fluff as much as i like angst so like pls don't hate me

୨୧ i am a sort of slow writer because studies and writers’ block keep me up

୨୧ if we have similar interests and +18, then i would love to be friends too!

[sunnami]

the (poly) marauders + lily as reversed tropes.

a/n: i tried moving to a new blog.. possibly got shadowbanned... that other blog is now my dump blog, LMAO. pls enjoy this drabble!

i. academic rivals except it’s two teachers who compete to have the best class.

“It’s driving me mad, Prongs,” says a frazzled Remus Lupin, pacing back and forth in his nearly-empty classroom. Sirius watches from where he sits backwards on a wooden chair—not at all concerned with the woes of his lover, rather preoccupied with the derriere of the DADA professor, hugged beautifully by his trousers. (He makes a mental note to thank Lily and her shopping sprees in Muggle London later. And, thoroughly.) Lily eyes Remus warily, ignoring the way James is tugging at her newly-trimmed hair like a lovesick fourth-year. 

“I’ve fought in the bloody war, what do you mean my ‘pronunciation could do with some work’?” Remus scoffs, a bewildered expression on his flushed cheeks. Then, he points to the basket of lemon poppy-seed muffins, “And, the gall to send me that. Can you believe it?”

“No way,” Lily widens her eyes in mock outrage, gasping for melodramatic effect. “How dare anyone send our sweet, darling Remus homemade muffins?”

Remus dangles the swing handle of the wicker basket by his hand, nose scrunched in disgust as though it could turn him into a werewolf for the second time. “It’s not about the baskets, Lily! It’s a fear-mongering tactic—a threat, if you will. If Gryffindor doesn’t win the house cup, I might as well resign from my post.” 

James chortles, leaning back against his seat to fully stare at Remus. (And what a lovely face he has.) “Don’t you think you’re going overboard there, Moony? We’ve won the bloody thing every year—and if we’re running behind Hufflepuff, I can always give ickle Harry a hundred points for being our son. Quite a feat, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lily smacks him on the arm. “Don’t you dare, James Fleamont Potter!” 

Sirius whistles. “Full name. Yikes. You’re on your own there, mate.” 

James glares at him. “I’ve had my tongue down your throat, don’t call me ‘mate’.” 

Grinning, Sirius diverts his attention back to the pouting werewolf, struck by whatever magical spell you’ve cast on him—and their happy little wedded bunch. (He particularly likes the way you raise your voice when the Weasley twins charm your greenhouse with the colors of maroon and yellow. The upturn of your nose and raw fury in your eyes does something funny to his heart.) “Be honest, Moony, you’re just frustrated because our favorite professor is wearing those bell-bottom jeans that make their legs look just utterly delectable,” he grins salaciously. 

“Can confirm,” replies Lily with a chirpy nod. “The back view is even better.” 

“Well, yes, but that’s beside the point, my love,” Remus splutters with a cough. “It’s a matter of legacy and pride now. If—”

“While I appreciate being the topic of conversation, I’ve come to collect my students’ papers on Hinkypunks and Dugbogs,” you enter the fray with a knock on the door, startling them from their conversation; a wide smile on your face and a yellow scarf around your neck. “You see, I like to give them points myself when they score above a hundred percent. It really motivates them for the end-of-year exams.” 

James beams at your arrival, like a sunflower blooming under sunlight on a summer day. He stretches his arms wide, a space perfectly carved for you. “Come here, darling,” he calls out for his spouse, quickly affirming that the jeans you’re wearing is a blessing to the wizard kind. (He wonders if you’d let him peel it off you tonight.) As you perch yourself atop his lap, James nuzzles the crook of your neck, pressing soft, butterfly kisses to your skin. “How was your day?”

He captures your lips and you eagerly lean into his warmth. “Perfect now that I’ve found you all. Why were you hiding here, anyway?” you ask innocently, fluttering your lashes at Remus. “Did you get my gift, Moony? The elves helped me with it last night.”

“He’s just cross because you’ve become the entire castle’s favorite teacher in your first year,” Lily points out treacherously, flashing her doe eyes at Remus. (Great, now he’s got two pairs of the prettiest eyes on earth staring into his soul. He’s so beyond in love with everyone in this room.) “Not even the Malfoy kid complains about you, and he still grumbles when I have to do my yearly check-ups.”

You laugh knavishly, beckoning him over. “Is it my fault that I’m so lovable?” 

Remus scoffs, yet finds his feet drawn towards you in long, impatient strides. He leans down until the scent of ambrarome and coconut overwhelms your senses. You tug on his duck-printed tie, smiling as he grumbles lightheartedly into your lips, “Not at all, darling.”

“Shall I lock the doors now?” Sirius offers mischievously. “I’ve always wanted to do it in a classroom.”

ii. it’s too hot to cuddle!

“Mmmrgh, Lily, get off, you fiend,” you groan into the sweat-soaked pillow, suffering from one of the worst heat waves Godric’s Hollow has ever seen—swatting your wife away as she throws her leg over your thigh, impishly nibbling on your neck. On any other day, you’d relish the feel of her skin on yours, the tendrils of her flaming red hair tickling your bare arms—or the times you’d wake up to a tangled mess of crimson in your mouth. But today is just not that day.

Lily sniffles. “Ah, woe is me. My own son doesn’t want to hug me anymore, and none of the people I married want to cuddle me on this dreadful—what ever happened to ‘til death do us part’, you traitors?” 

You roll over on the bed to face her with an incredulous glare—the pretty witch has the nerve to smile at you. “Don’t be so dramatic, Lily. Just cast another cooling charm, or something.”

Lily flops onto her side of the king-sized bed, breathless and flushed, arms splayed out like an octopus—wincing apologetically when she hits you in the face by accident. “I already did. We might just have to get naked to put up with this heat.”

James pokes his head through the door, glasses forgone and black hair messily strewn over his eyes; the damp fabric of his white shirt clinging to chiseled, dark skin. (Ah, the joys of marrying an active Auror and former Quidditch prodigy.) “Did someone say get naked?”

“Way ahead of everyone,” says Sirius as he steps out of the bathroom, having taken his fourth shower today, and wearing nothing but his birthday suit, face towel strung over his shoulder and toothbrush in the side of his mouth. 

“Oh Gods, Sirius!” Lily squeals as she throws a pillow at him. “Get back in there and put some clothes on!” 

“What?” he retorts quizzically, swirling around to give everyone a show—and a generous view of his abs and firm backside. And, well, the other thing, too. “It’s not like you haven’t seen any of this before.”

Last to join the party is Remus, who barely spares a second glance to the naked Sirius Orion Black. “Pack your things, I got us a room at a Muggle inn for an hour. Harry’s downstairs waiting for everyone. He says he’ll rip off the stuffed Padfoot’s head if no one accompanies him to the pool later.” 

That is all he says before swiftly exiting the room.

You stare at the spot where he had been standing previously, whispering in awe, “God bless the Remus Lupins of the world.” 

iii. too much communication.

“—and the thing is,” you say through your weepy blubbering, nose swollen and eyes stinging from crying for the last thirty minutes. “When you guys get all secret-ey and start avoiding me, it really makes me feel like shite. And. . . and then—!” you pause to hiccup, breaking down into sobs once more when Sirius gathers you into his arms, laying his love all over your skin, kissing your tears away as he coos into your ear. “And then, Gilderoy Lockhart comes and says that you all hide away in this h-house, or shack, or whatever and meet your secret girlfriend there! I know you said it was just us and you’d never, ever cheat—and I trust you all more than life itself! But I have to know why you disappear from me every month on a particular night. A-Are you tired of me or something?”

Sirius hushes you with his lips, brows contorted—as though he’s in pain because you are in pain. He cradles the back of your neck, placating your worries with whispers of devotion. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean for it to get this far. We just wanted to keep you from harm. You’re our world, our entire heart. If you’re hurt, it hurts worse for us, little love.” 

Remus kneels by your feet, grabbing your hands in his; eyes dripping with fondness and warmth. The gold flecks in his eyes glimmering like stars in the night sky. “There’s something you have to know about me, love. We should have told you this long ago—but I was afraid you would look at me differently.”

You end up in another crying fit, overwhelmed by his kindness and sincerity. “I’ve seen you when you had food poisoning, Remus Lupin, I was the one who cleaned your vomit on the floors—nothing on this earth can make me look at you differently.”

Remus chokes, before gathering his bearings, hiding wet chuckles in your lap. “I’m a werewolf, my darling. That’s why we avoid you during full moons. To keep you safe. Your safety is always going to be one of my highest priorities. I’d die before I would let Moony harm a pretty hair on your head.” 

“Is that it?” you croak, whimpers subsiding as relief floods through your veins. “Truly?”

Remus nods. “Truly.”

“Oh, our poor love,” Lily murmurs, delicately running her hand through your hair, a worried knit in her brows. “I’m sorry we let it get to this point. Look at you—you’ll cry yourself sick.” She procures a daintily-embroidered handkerchief from her skirt pockets, gently dabbing at your damp eyes, eyes creased with love. “I’m sorry,” she says once more, pressing her lips to yours until all you feel is her instead of hurt. “No more secrets, I promise.”

James scratches the back of his head with a crooked grin. “Well. . . there is one more. Remember that time you saw a stag in the corridors? That was me. And, the dog trying to get a look under your skirt was Sirius.”

You blink. “What?”

iv. child hero has very involved parents.

Harry James Potter is known as the Boy-Who-Lived, the beloved Chosen One of the wizarding society, if you will. He has a destiny to follow and all that—well, if he could actually do anything heroic.

“What do you mean there’s a basilisk in the castle!” you shriek, a poor vase in Dumbledore’s office shattering to a million pieces. Harry drags a hand down his face—this is going to be a very long night. Suddenly, he regrets writing a letter to home about the happenings in the castle. (How was he supposed to know that all five of his parents would march into Dumbledore’s quarters the moment they heard about the blood on the walls and the petrified students?) “Why haven’t you shut down the school yet? Are you waiting for more students to get hurt?” you press on heatedly, James and Sirius flanking your sides like protective bodyguards. 

“Have you taken any protective measures?” Lily asks worriedly, holding onto Remus’s hand that’s resting on her shoulder. (Honestly, Harry thinks, rolling his eyes inwardly. The lot of you are worse than Molly Weasley at this point.) She turns to Harry, “What about Hermione? Is she safe? Oh, her parents must be worried.”

“You know what,” you say standing up, pivoting on your heel as your flock of lovers follow in suit. “We’re leaving, Harry dear, let’s go.” 

“Go?” the twelve-year-old echoes dumbfoundedly. “Go, where?”

“Home,” you reply with no room for arguments. “Until the matter is resolved, you are staying home. And tell Hermione she’s welcome to stay with us, too. And, Ginny. Ronald, as well. Actually, darling, why don’t you just tell all your friends the Potter manor is open to them whenever.”

Harry thinks you’ve just decided that on a whim, but he knows that Lily and his fathers will go along with whatever you want, regardless.

Your gaze slices to Dumbledore with a low hiss, venomous enough to rival a Slytherin’s taunt. “Fix this or I shall hunt down that basilisk myself.” 

Harry’s shoulders slump. 

So much for fulfilling prophecies and defeating dark lords.

a/n: drabbles are so fun!! this was so fun to write (but not trying to set up another blog.. NEVER AGAIN, I AM STAYING HERE!) i might do some more drabbles since my brain is fried after my last few fics which were long as heck.

[dearharriet]

okay hello hi me again with a james potter request if u feel like it 🦌🦌 how about a drabble about reader calling james a pet name for the first time like baby or honey or something and he just melts on the spot and gives her the biggest lovesick puppy eyes ever and then begs her to always call him that and refuses to answer to james because ‘that’s baby to u!!!!!’ Or something<333 love u hope you���re well

ty for the request! <3 (wc: 495) fem!r

“It says we could use banana as a substitute for egg, did you know?”

You shuffle to James’ side as he pauses in the baking aisle, craning your neck to see his phone over the bulky shoulder blocking it.

“Oh yeah,” you hum, “I’ve seen that.”

James turns his wrinkled nose your way, a wink of amusement in his eyes.

“That cannot be good.”

Scanning the row of mixes beside the cart, you palm his side, his shirt soft and thin under your fingers.

“No, it’s kind of alright, actually.”

You blink back up at him, smiling, even when his big eyes bug even further under his glasses.

“You’ve tried it?”

Laughing, you encourage the cart forward again, and James with it.

“Can you see what we need next, please?” You croon. James’ eyes soften, and he looks back to the recipe page as he walks.

“Er, do we have baking powder?”

“Yes.”

He scrolls an inch further.

“Lemons?”

“I was thinking we’d just use that lemon juice in the fridge,” you say, shrugging.

“What?” James stops walking. “Baby, no.”

He steers the cart around, making a break for the produce section. “We are making these cupcakes right, my darling. I need all the best ingredients.”

You just laugh and trail after him. “It really won’t make a difference…”

As you catch up to him, James is hoisting a full netted pouch of lemons out of its sales basket.

“Jamie, we only need one,” you say, a bemused smile pulling at your lips. He looks to you, still holding the lemons up like a fresh catch.

“That’s quitter’s talk. We just need to make more cupcakes, s’all.”

He drops them in the cart, and then creeps toward you.

“Whatever you say, baby,” you tease.

James freezes before he can reach you. A slippery grin parts his lips, creasing around his eyes.

“What’d you call me?”

Flipping back through your words, you realize what you’ve said too late. In your mind, James and baby have been synonymous for a good few weeks now, you’ve just been trying to play it cool, and for good reason.

James will never let this go.

“I—” You huff, relenting. “Baby.”

In a split second James is around you, lemons forgotten in exchange for a snug embrace that warms your cheeks.

“James, we’re in public.”

“Who?” He asks, a grin pressed against your temple, and a strong hand between your shoulder blades.

Cushioning your chin on his chest, you look up at him. James has bigger heart eyes now than he did on your first date, which is saying a lot.

You know the two of you look painfully smitten, and that any passersby might be bothered by the PDA, but it’s hard to stifle your affection for James.

“Can you call me that more often?” He asks gently, so lovelorn that it nips your heart a little. “I really liked it.”

And how can you say no to that?

+

thank u for reading! xx

masterlist

[moonstruckme]

hey! could i request a james potter x reader fic pls?? i have been thinking about him specifically non stop and now i just wanna be domestic and cute with him-

Me too lovely :')

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 661 words

You’ve told James that you’re painting your toenails on the kitchen counter because it has good light, but he knows it’s really because you want to be near him. He’ll have to clean the counter again after you go, but he’s not complaining. He wants you near him too. 

And anyway, the kitchen does have good light. It streams in through the window to tangle in your hair and glance off your skin, illuminating the concentrated set to your mouth as you bend over your foot on the counter. 

James kisses you lightly, and one corner of your lips quirks up like you’re trying to stop it but can’t quite manage. You taste sweet and a bit tart. 

“Don’t mess me up,” you warn. “This is my last coat, it’s do or die.” 

“Stop eating my blackberries,” he counters, “and we’ll see. No promises.” 

You finish with your nails, setting the brush back in the polish and nabbing another blackberry from his bowl. James gasps, betrayed though not surprised. He pinches your side.

You laugh, leaning away from him fruitlessly. “Stop, I’m going to knock polish onto the rug!”

“You could at least vary your snacking,” James says. “My fruit salad is going to have hundreds of pieces of melon and two blackberries if you keep on like this.” 

“I just like blackberries best.” 

“So does Remus,” he chides with no real severity. “And when he gets here later today and they’re all gone, who do you think will be blamed?”

You bat your eyelashes at him, smiling angelically. “He doesn’t need to know there were going to be blackberries in here to begin with, does he?” you ask. The hope in your voice sparkles like sunshine off the ocean. 

James caves instantly at that tone, but he pretends to take at least a second to mull it over before capitulating. “Fair enough. Have at them, lovie. Leave no trace.” 

You descend like a hawk upon your prey, clawing through the bowl of fruit and popping blackberry after blackberry into your mouth. 

“I’m thinking of going to the store in a bit,” you say. 

James grins down at his cutting board, slicing the skin off a wedge of cantaloupe. “To replenish Remus’ blackberry supply?” he asks. He knows you’re too tenderhearted to truly rob his friend of something he enjoys; you’d be racked with guilt for the rest of the night. 

“To get lemons for lemonade.” You touch your big toe delicately, testing the dryness of your polish. “And if I stumble upon blackberries that look good while I’m there…” You shrug, turning away from him like you think you can hide your smile. As if he can’t hear it in your voice. “Then maybe I’ll grab some. To keep the peace.” 

James reaches over and grips your foot, channeling as much love as he can fit into a good squeeze. You gasp and nearly shriek when his thumb digs into a ticklish spot on your arch, grabbing onto his shoulder to keep from tipping off the counter. He sets a hand on your side to help, and he can feel your ribs shaking as you laugh. 

“Sorry, sorry,” James laughs. “I forgot about that spot.” He didn’t. “Wait for me to finish and we’ll go together, yeah?” 

Your nose scrunches with your smile. “Why, you wanna keep an eye on the blackberries?” 

“I was thinking we’d just get extra,” he proposes. 

You hum contentedly, and he takes the invitation to get further into your space, his hip bumping against your leg. “That’s very chivalrous of you,” you reply, your teasing softened by fondness. 

“Well, I do try. Pretty girls need to be kept happy, yeah?” 

You laugh again, grabbing James’ face in both hands. He knows when you let go, there’ll be sticky purple fingerprints on both of his cheeks. He doesn’t mind. 

“Flirt,” you accuse. 

James pushes forward until his nose is pressed up against yours. “Only for you.”