#map reader

[sw5w]

Liam, the Shades

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:36:53

[juleswritesstuff]

The Pillow Contract

James Potter seems to have found the best pillow on earth. You.

james potter x fem!reader

warnings: none

James Potter liked to consider himself a man of simple pleasures. 

A good meal ? Heaven. A lazy Sunday spent wrapped in a blanket burrito ? Perfection. A well-timed, sarcastic remark ? Chef’s kiss.

But above all else, there was one thing James had come to love more than anything in the world.

Your chest.

Well, you as a whole, of course. Body and soul alike. He was not a bloody prick, thank you very much. 

He loved you for you, not just for the flawless vessel that carried your golden heart and your beautiful mind.

But he couldn't help the way he was especially drawn to the perfection that peeked from your neckline when your shirt hung a little lower than usual.

And he also could not, in good conscience, ignore the life-altering comfort that was that perfection.

Now, to be clear, James wasn’t just some guy obsessed with his girlfriend’s body –okay, maybe he was a little addicted. 

But, come on, who could blame him when you were said girlfriend ? 

He was supposed to be a bit obsessed with you, right ? That’s what every person in their sane, right and helplessly in love mind would be about their partner, no ? 

Was that just him ? 

Ok, fine, maybe he was a bit of a simp (read, you had him at your feet). So what ? 

He liked it exactly like that. Sue him.

But this ? This was different. 

This wasn’t just about attraction or some primal male instinct. No, this was about something sacred.

This was about comfort.

The kind that he’d accidentally stumbled upon one evening when you had curled up next to him on the couch, and his head had somehow –miraculously– ended up resting right on your chest.

That’s when he had discovered it.

The Holy Grail of pillows. The pinnacle of all headrests.

Your chest was perfect. 

Warm. Soft. Inviting.

It had been life-changing. Existence-altering. World-stopping.

And in that moment, with his head resting against the softest, most heavenly cushion known to mankind, and your heart beating under his ear like a lullaby, James had made a decision.

He was never going back to regular pillows again.

Ever.

The problem was, he didn’t exactly know how to turn this into a permanent arrangement without looking like an absolute fool.

Which, really, was ironic, because James didn’t mind acting like the biggest dumbass in the world when it came to you. Not even a tiny bit.

The man had zero shame, and zero chill when you were involved.

If he had to beg ? Done.

If he had to bribe you with kisses ? Oh no, how awful.

If he had to declare his undying devotion in front of his friends and suffer their relentless teasing ? Call Sirius and Remus over, he was ready to suffer.

If he had to wear one of those, frankly quite obnoxious --yes, even for him-- ‘I ❤️ My Girlfriend’ shirts in public just because you wanted him to suffer a bit for forgetting the chores ? Consider it his new favorite outfit.

He’d do anything and everything –yes, even sacrificing his dignity in front of Pads and Moony– if it meant putting a smile on your face (and making you agree to be used as a headrest for the rest of your life. But let’s just say that was a teeny, tiny, wonderful bonus if the case ever came to be).

Tonight was his chance, he told himself.

You were already curled up on the couch, wearing one of his hoodies, your legs tucked beneath you as you scrolled through your phone. The dim lighting of the room cast a soft glow over you, and James took a moment to appreciate the scene. 

Because, honestly ? You looked really good.

Too good.

Like, unfairly good.

The hoodie –his hoodie, the one he had technically claimed as his favorite, but which spent more time on your body than his closet– was slightly oversized on you, slipping off one shoulder in a way that made his brain short-circuit for a second.

This was his moment.

You were comfortable. The couch was comfortable. 

And your chest ? Well, that was a level of bliss he had yet to find anywhere else in the world.

Time to execute: Operation Smothered by Heaven.

Ok, the name was a little ridiculous. But, to his defence, he had been a little distracted while thinking about it –the dress you were wearing mysteriously met the floor not even five minutes after he had taken a glimpse of you– and his brain had refused to work at his full potential.

Something that he absolutely couldn’t let happen now. 

Not when the fate of his comfort and sanity was at such a high risk.

That’s why he casually –so casually– stretched like a giant cat just waking up from a nap, letting out an exaggerated yawn before –still ever so nonchalantly, of course– leaning closer.

And would you look at that ? His head, as if drawn by an invisible magnetic force he absolutely had no control on –God forbid– found its way to your chest.

It was seamless. 

Flawless execution.

Absolutely fucking nailed that.

He gave himself a mental high five.

Operation Smothered by Heaven: officially successful.

“Wow. Smooth” you blinked down at him, amused.

James grinned but didn’t move. Not even an inch. Nope. 

He had claimed his rightful place, and there was no going back now.

“What can I say ? Gravity is a powerful thing” he purred, his voice smug, his eyes half-lidded like a cat who had just found the warmest sunspot in the house.

“Ah, I see. So this is all gravity’s fault, then ?”

“Absolutely” he confirmed, burrowing his face in just a little more “I have no control over it. Pure science”

You snorted, shaking your head, but you didn’t push him away. 

Of course you didn’t.

If anything, you shifted slightly, letting your arm drape around his back, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his spine. He hummed in approval, his whole body melting against yours like ice under the warm sunlight of a summer’s day.

Because the thing James didn’t know –or, at the very least, seemed to forget– was that he wore his heart on his sleeve. Always.

James Potter and secret scheming ? Not a good match. 

Not a match at all, actually. But you still liked watching him try.

And with the way he had been ogling you for the past week, it really wasn’t hard to figure out what had been brewing in that ridiculously pretty head of his.

His thoughtful frown, the way his brows scrunched together, his deep-in-thought lip-biting. James had looked like he was trying to crack some highly classified government code.

Except the code in question was you.

Or, more specifically, that area right below your neck that seemed to steal his attention more times then it should've been considered healthy.

Subtle, he was not.

He had been studying you. Analyzing the way your sweaters dipped lower when you leaned forward, the way the fabric of your shirts clung to your curves, the way–

God.

James had the audacity to look like he was pondering the meaning of life when, really, all he was trying to find was an excuse.

Funny how he could’ve just asked.

It wasn’t like you would have refused him.

Hell, you didn’t even think you possessed the ability to refuse him. To refuse him anything, really.

But your smitten and extremely down-bad behavior when it came to your boyfriend was a topic for another time.

James let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“You know” he murmured, voice slightly muffled as he nuzzled closer “I think I’ve discovered something important”

“Oh ?”

“Mhm” he tilted his head up, his expression dead serious. Like a man delivering a life-changing revelation “Your chest ? Best pillow I’ve ever used”

You raised an eyebrow, a quiet grin making its way onto your mouth. “I should be flattered, I think”

“You should be honored” he corrected, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk “I mean, it’s a very competitive market. But yours ? Easily top-tier”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Is that right ?”

James nodded solemnly. 

“Hell yeah, baby. I’d even write a five-star Yelp review if that were a thing”

You let out a soft laugh and slid your fingers into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

James immediately melted.

He let out a low, contented hum, eyes slipping shut, the tension in his body dissolving completely. You thought if he was a cat, he would’ve started purring.

“Mmh. Keep doing that, and I might never get up” he mumbled, voice already laced with drowsiness.

“Wouldn’t mind that” you teased.

Because, really, who in their right mind would complain about this ?

No one, that's who.

And surely not you.

James hummed in response, his arms tightening around your waist burying himself further into you. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. 

His lips brushed absentmindedly against your collarbone –a barely-there press of warmth that sent a quiet shiver down your spine.

This. This was perfection.

Then, because James Potter simply could not help himself, he tilted his head up again.

“So, uh... just out of curiosity. How often do you think I can get away with this ?”

You smirked. “That depends”

“On ?”

“How well you behave”

James’ eyes darkened slightly, though amusement still played at the edges. 

“Define behave” his voice dropped, all smooth and teasing, like he could coax an answer out of you if he said it just right.

You arched a brow, pretending to think. 

“Well, let’s see. No stealing the blankets at night. No pretending you don’t hear me when I ask you to grab something from the kitchen. And definitely no distracting me when I’m trying to get work done”

James gasped, offended.

“That last one is unreasonable and you know it”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, is it ?”

“Yes. It is literally part of my rights as your boyfriend to distract you”

You hummed, pretending to ponder your decision.

“Well, if we can do nothing about that…” your hand cupped his cheek, slender fingers applying a gentle pressure to lift his face up from that cocoon of warmth he had nestled himself into.

He blinked. “I-wait. What ?”

Before he could fully register what was happening, you leaned down and captured his lips in a slow, lazy kiss.

James melted.

Like, gone. Out of commission. Absolute goner.

The smug confidence he had a second ago ? Obliterated.

His hands, which had been lazily resting at your waist, tightened, pulling you closer like he never wanted to let go. One of them trailed up your spine, fingers tangling into your hair, holding you there like this was oxygen and he needed it to breathe.

You sighed against his lips, feeling the way he shuddered, the way his grip on you tightened, like he was physically trying to keep himself from falling apart.

Like you had just ruined him.

And maybe you had.

Because when you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, James just blinked at you, dazed and utterly wrecked, lips still parted like he hadn’t quite caught up with reality yet.

You bit back a smirk.

Unbelievable.

How had this man made a full-time career out of turning you into putty, and yet one well-placed kiss had him looking like he’d just been personally blessed by the universe ?

You dragged your fingers lazily through his curls, watching the way his lashes fluttered at the sensation, the slow, dopey grin tugging at his lips.

Completely gone.

You tilted your head, murmuring teasingly against his mouth “Was that up to your standards, Mr. Five-Star Review ?”

James, still grinning –and still absolutely useless– just nodded.

"Five stars ? That was worth the entire Milky Way, baby"

You let out a laugh, and he practically glowed at the sound, his fingers flexing against your waist like he wanted to bottle it.

Then, before you could say anything else, he tilted his head, brushing his nose against yours in that infuriatingly sweet way of his.

"You know-" he murmured, voice all warm and syrupy "-if this is part of my reward system, I promise to be so good"

You smirked, fingers tracing idle patterns into the back of his neck. “Do you now ?”

James nodded solemnly, though the grin he was fighting gave him away.

“The best. Model citizen. Proper gentleman. Will hold doors, carry bags, call you milady unironically if I have to”

You snorted. Loudly.

"Now that, I need to see"

He hummed, tilting his head up like he was about to deliver the most profound statement of his life.

“Mmh. Maybe after another kiss”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “That so ?”

He nodded again, already leaning in, his lips curling mischievously.

You let your fingers drag slowly down the back of his neck, feeling the way James shivered under your touch.

The moment stretched, thick with something warm and electric, the air between you charged in that intoxicating way it always was whenever you teased him like this.

You leaned in deliberately, lips hovering just over his, close enough that you could feel the ghost of his breath, the heat radiating off his skin.

James, for all his usual smugness, stilled, his lazy smirk faltering into something softer, deeper. His lips parting slightly, his pupils dark and expectant.

Waiting.

Wanting.

You let your gaze drop to his lips, watching as his tongue darted out just once, a quick, unconscious flick, like he was already tasting the kiss before it happened.

And, God, he was beautiful like this.

All that usual bravado stripped down to this, his sharp edges melted, his hands twitching slightly where they rested on your hips, fighting the urge to pull you closer.

His restraint was admirable.

His patience ?

Well. That was something you just had to test.

You leaned in that final inch –only for your lips to land on his cheek instead.

Soft. Chaste. Infuriating.

James let out a dramatic, suffering groan, his head thunking back against the cushions.

“Tease” he mumbled, voice hoarse, his hands finally losing their battle as they gripped your waist, fingers pressing into your sides like he was physically holding back the urge to grab your face and kiss you properly.

You pulled back just enough to grin down at him, impossibly pleased with yourself.

“What ?” you asked innocently, tilting your head “You asked for a kiss. You didn’t specify where, love”

He cracked one eye open, glowering.

“Oh, that’s dirty” he grumbled, before huffing dramatically and rolling onto his back, taking you with him.

You yelped as you landed against his chest, sprawled across him, your laughter cut off when his arms wrapped around you, pinning you against him with the strength of a human vice grip.

“James-”

“Nope” he said, shoving his face into your neck like a petulant child, muffling his words “You’re stuck here now. Actions have consequences”

You laughed, wiggling in his hold, but he just tightened his grip.

“James”

“Mmm. Nope”

“I-”

“Shh. Thinking about my suffering”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself, your fingers naturally finding their way into his curls again, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He made a sound, deep and content, his body practically melting beneath you.

“See ?” you teased, voice softening “That wasn’t so bad”

He exhaled heavily, but his hands had already started skimming over your back again, lazy and unbothered, like he’d completely forgotten why he was fake-pouting in the first place.

“Mmh” he hummed “Don't know. Still feel like you owe me”

You smirked, arching a brow. “Oh ?”

“Yeah” James sighed dramatically, finally tilting his head up again. Looking at you.

That expression.

Soft. Mischievous. A little challenging.

Maybe even a little hopeful.

Like he was just waiting for you to put him out of his misery.

You let the moment stretch for a beat longer, lips quirking.

Then, with a small, amused sigh, you finally gave in.

And kissed him properly.

For a few moments, the two of you just stayed like that, tangled together, basking in the warmth of each other’s touch.

You felt him smile against your lips before he pulled back just enough to murmur “So… hear me out”

“Oh boy” you sighed, already knowing. 

James just grinned, completely unbothered by your lack in faith in him.

“What if we made this a permanent arrangement ?”

You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head at him. “A permanent arrangement ?”

“Yeah. Like, an official thing. A contract, even” he lifted his head slightly, hie expression the picture of seriousness “Something binding. A legally recognized agreement that states you will be my official human pillow for the foreseeable future”

You stared at him, an eyebrow quirked in amusement, lips twitiching. 

“You want to draft a pillow contract ?”

James nodded, almost professionally. 

“For accountability purposes”

You rolled your eyes, a disbelieved chuckle leaving your lips before you could stop it. 

“You’re ridiculous”

“But lovable” he pointed out.

You exhaled, shaking your head, your heart betraying you with the sheer amount of fondness you felt for this man.

“Fine” you relented, rolling your eyes as if you weren’t already completely gone for him “You win. You can rest on me whenever you want”

James grinned like he’d just won the lottery, wasting no time in smacking a quick, eager kiss right on your lips.

“But” you added, poking him in the ribs “I reserve the right to move if you start drooling”

“Excuse me ?” he gasped, offended “I do not drool”

You smirked. “That’s not what the couch cushions say”

James gasped again, dramatically this time, like you had personally insulted his honor “That was one time-”

“Oh, it so wasn’t”

James pouted, pulling you even closer and pressing his forehead against yours with a grumble.

“You wound me” he muttered, a mock distraught lilt to his voice.

You grinned, the warmth of him, the smell of him, completely surrounding you as you pressed a kiss to his jaw, lingering just enough to feel the way his breath hitched.

“I think you’ll survive just fine”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly, inviting you to keep going.

So you did.

You let your lips trail along his jawline, slow and lazy, your fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly in a way that made him melt.

“Well” James sighed, voice lower, heavier, the tiniest shiver running through him “If this is how you comfort me, I guess I’ll forgive you”

You laughed against his skin.

“How generous”

James smirked, but there was something else in his eyes now, something wicked, something that sparked just before–

Before the menace shimmied down.

Yes. Shimmied. Like a man with a mission.

“James-”

Your protest was cut off by laughter, because he was determined, wriggling lower and lower with expert precision, slipping out of your hold like a human-sized golden retriever trying to find the perfect spot on the couch.

And then, with a triumphant sigh, his head landed where he had been aiming all along–

Right on your chest.

James let out a deep, satisfied hum, snuggling in, his nose nuzzling into the soft fabric of your shirt like this was some long-lost paradise he had just returned to.

“Now we’re talking” he exhaled in sheer satisfaction, like the heaviest of weights had been lifted from his shoulders, snuggling even deeper, and muttering an appreciative “Mmh. Yep. Definitely five stars”

You blinked down at him, helpless to fight the way your heart swelled, a smile threatening to bloom against your better judgment.

“Should I start charging you for this service ?” you teased.

James hummed, content, his lips brushing absently against the skin just below your collarbone.

“I’d go broke, baby”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your fingers finding their way back into his hair, your nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

He groaned, pressing his face deeper into your chest, mumbling something incoherent that you were pretty sure translated to never stop doing that.

Before you could fully process how utterly whipped this man was, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss there –just because he could.

You pulled back slightly, blinking down at the mop of messy chocolate strands currently buried between your collarbones. 

“Do you make a habit of kissing all your pillows ?” you asked, voice mildly amused despite the unreasonable warmth now flooding your chest.

James, completely unashamed, grinned against you. 

“Pillows don’t usually deserve appreciation, but this one ?” his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns against your waist, his voice dropping to a reverent murmur “This one gets special treatment”

A full-body shiver rolled through you.

And James, that absolute menace, felt it.

His smirk was obnoxiously satisfied as he nuzzled in even deeper, practically purring as he molded himself further against you.

You rolled your eyes, trying –truly trying– to ignore the overwhelming affection clawing at your ribcage. And utterly failing.

“Jamie, you’re gonna choke like this” you warned playfully, fighting against yourself not to let out the endeared laugh threatening to spill.

He made a noncommittal noise, fully unbothered.

“Best way to go, honestly”

And that was it.

Not one beat missed. Not a single ounce of shame registered in his voice.

You stared wide-eyed at the mop of untamable chocolate curls right below your chin, completely bewildered by the words that had just come out of your boyfriend’s mouth.

Did this man, the actual love of your life, just casually declare that he would willingly –no, gladly– perish via boob-related asphyxiation ?

Because that was what it sounded like.

Was that a normal thing for a person to say ?

No. No, it wasn’t.

And yet—here you were.

"James"

“Mmm ?”

"James, get up"

"No"

You sighed, trying to nudge him off, but it was useless.

Because this man –this grown, six-foot, sport-trained, annoyingly fit man– was currently clinging to you like a koala experiencing its first-ever existential crisis.

And you knew –you knew– that there was no reasoning with a man who had just fully committed to making your chest his final resting place.

"James-"

"No"

"You cannot suffocate yourself on my–"

"I can and I will"

"You will not"

James lifted his head just enough to look at you with actual betrayal.

"How dare you harm a man in his final moments ?"

A stunned laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous”

James smirked triumphantly.

“And yet-” he murmured smugly “-you don’t seem to mind it”

He barely gave you a second to respond before he nuzzled right back in, burrowing into your chest like you were some long-lost paradise he had finally returned to.

You stared at the ceiling, dead inside.

How was this your life ?

You used to have dignity.

You used to be a strong, independent person.

And yet, somehow –somehow– you had become a glorified human mattress for your very large and very needy boyfriend.

And the worst part ?

You didn’t even mind.

You sighed deeply, fingers slipping into his hair against your better judgment. James melted immediately, exhaling in a way that was obscenely pleased. Like if he were any more relaxed, he'd have dissolved into a puddle of mushy, lovesick goo.

Then, with the solemnity of a man about to deliver a groundbreaking presidential address, he cleared his throat.

You barely had time to register the shift before he–

“Ladies” James began, his voice smooth, reverent “It’s always a pleasure”

Your mouth fell open.

Did he just–

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“I just wanted to take a moment to express my deepest gratitude” he continued talking to your breasts, completely ignoring the look of utter disbelief and sheer horror plastered on your face and sighing dramatically “For your service. For your warmth. For providing me with the best naps of my life”

Your soul, quite frankly, left your body, just straight-up abandoned you.

“James–”

He shushed you.

Shushed you.

“I’m having a moment with my girls, baby” he whispered, like he was delivering a speech at fucking Buckingham Palace.

You gaped at him. “You are not-”

“I am” he placed a hand over his heart “They deserve it”

You had never contemplated murder so seriously in your life.

James, completely unbothered, pressed on. 

“I promise to treat you with the respect and admiration you deserve. To appreciate your softness in all its glory. To-” he paused, tilting his head “Actually, I feel like I should name you”

“For the love of God, James. Don’t you dare-”

He gasped. 

Gasped. 

“That’s a brilliant idea. Baby, why haven’t we named them ?”

You smacked his arm, your eyes so wide they threatened to fall out of your skull. “Because they are literally attached to my body ?!”

But he wasn’t listening. No, the absolute menace was thinking, brows furrowed in deep concentration.

“They deserve names that reflect their greatness. Something regal. Something powerful”

He snapped his fingers. “Got it. Thelma and Louise”

You groaned. “Absolutely fucking not”

James ignored you. 

“Or maybe Hall and Oates ?”

“I- What- Aren’t they both men ?”

“Gender’s nothing but a social construct, darling”

“Ok-”

A sudden gasp interrupted you, as if he had just discovered the meaning of life itself.

"Baby- Baby, I’ve got it"

You sighed, already regretting everything. "James, no"

"Yes" he insisted, eyes alight with the thrill of an idiot about to say something profoundly stupid "Bonnie and Clyde"

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

"You want to name ‘your girls’ after two actual criminals ?"

He nodded solemnly, as if he were making the most reasonable suggestion in the world. "Iconic criminals. Star-crossed lovers. Thrill-seekers. Just like us, babe"

"Just like us ?" you repeated, incredulous "James, they literally died in a hail of bullets"

"Tragic, right ?" he sighed dramatically, resting his cheek against your chest. "Just two outlaws against the world. Inseparable. Madly in love. Probably great at robbing banks"

You stared at him, completely dead inside. "Are you about to compare my chest to a highly coordinated armed robbery ?"

James lifted his head just enough to grin at you. 

"Well” he mused, eyes twinkling “they did steal my heart"

You were done. So done, in fact, that you just gave up entirely.

"I cannot believe this is my life" you muttered, shoving your hands over your face.

James, the absolute menace, took this as encouragement and nuzzled back in, pressing obnoxiously reverent kisses between his newly christened 'Bonnie and Clyde'.

"Rest easy, my loves" he murmured dramatically "Your legacy shall live on"

"James-"

"Shhh" he hushed, patting your side "They're outlaws, baby. They don’t play by the rules"

At that point, you seriously considered pushing him off the couch. Or out the window. 

Maybe both.

You shook your head, defeated, completely annihilated by your boyfriend’s questionable choices.

James grinned, entirely too pleased with himself. 

“Oh, come on. I’m just having a bit of fun” he chuckled lightheartedly, turning his attention back to your chest with the solemnity of a man who had just finished writing a best-selling novel “Well, ladies, whatever your names may be, just know –you have my eternal devotion”

And then, as if he hadn’t just committed the most embarrassing crime against you, he nestled back in with a satisfied hum.

You stared down at him, deadpan. 

“You’re an actual menace”

“And yet, despite that, you love me” he mumbled, already half-asleep.

You sighed, your fingers automatically sliding into his hair once again. It took him less than two seconds to turn into a puddle, his entire body going limp as he exhaled in the most ridiculously pleased way possible, like he had just been given an award for the best nap ever.

“Unfortunately” you muttered, your heart melting just a little bit too, because, yes, he was a ridiculous man, but he was your ridiculous man.

And, as much as you complained, you couldn’t deny it --having James like this, warm and completely wrapped around you, was its own kind of perfect.

The Pillow Contract (Unofficially Signed & Approved) 

Clause 1: James gets unlimited chest pillow privileges.

Clause 2: Y/n reserves the right to kick James off if he drools in his sleep.

Clause 3: Cuddles are mandatory.

Clause 4: James won't ever refer to Y/n's chest as ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ again. Penalty: annulment of Clause 1.

Hello beautiful people 💗

I have no idea of where this thing spouted from. It popped in my head, and I had to bring it to the world 😂.

This is my first attempt at a more humorous type of fic. I had so much fun writing it, and I really hope it didn't downright suck, and you had a good time reading it, too.

Let me know what you think!

Thank you for reading, and I'll catch you in the next one <3

[zephyrchama]

When there's a big scary bug on the doorknob and you go ask Lucifer to get rid of it. And he huffs and sighs and rolls his eyes, because really? A measly bug? Are you being serious rigjht now? You know who you're asking, right?

He walks with his arms crossed because this is just so ridiculous. You know magic. Just magic the bug away. You don't need his help. You are so much bigger than a tiny pest. You could crush it. Yes, you could. And then wash your hands or your foot or whatever you used to crush it. Stop acting like Cerberus is on a rampage. This isn't that complex. It's a bug.

And then he goes and obliterates the doorknob bug anyway. Because he loves you. Are you happy now? Lucifer is expecting a show of appreciation for his efforts. Something simple isn't enough. He saved you, didn't he? From the bug. It was such a menace. He expects more than a little "thanks."

[yasministration]

One of us - platonic!marauders x reader

summary: when the marauders find out you're an animagus, you're forced into the beginning of a friendship with them. wc: 1.2k+

With a piece of toast halfway through your mouth, actively listening to Evan’s story, the last thing you’d been expecting on a Monday morning was for Dumbledore to stand up for an announcement. “Will the following students please report to Professor McGonagall’s office.” The old wizard cleared his throat and Evan rolled his eyes, mockingly starting to list off the names of the marauders. “Sirius Black,” You and Evan burst into a fit of giggles at the accuracy of his prediction, listening closely for the other students’ names. “James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and,” Dumbledore paused, squinting his eyes at the slip of paper he was staring at as Evan mumbled ‘Remus Lupin’.

“Uh, Y/N L/N.” You felt all the blood drain away from your face and Evan’s jaw dropped from where he sat in front of you. You felt everyone’s eyes turn towards you and furrowed your eyes in confusion. Evan widened his eyes at you, nodding his head towards the entrance of the Great Hall. You gestured at him with your hands, expressing how you had no idea what you'd done, and grabbed the rest of your toast, sticking it between your teeth as you gathered your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

Turning around, you were surprised to find the three other students lingering in the doorway, waiting for you. You bit through your toast, catching the piece of bread in your hand as you sped up your footsteps, catching up to them. The gears in your head churned as you thought about every single rule you broke in your last seven years at Hogwarts. But why on earth would you be called to see the head of gryffindor house when you weren’t even a gryffindor? You gasped, stopping in your tracks. The three boys in front of you spun around to look at you, a panicked look on your face. “Oh, looks like someone knows what they’re in trouble for.” Sirius teased in a sing song voice, a smirk making its way on his face.

“Oh, can you tell us please! Because, we’re probably in trouble for the same thing, and we always get in trouble so it could be anything! And you, you never get in trouble.” You grimaced at Pettigrew’s little rant, debating whether you should tell them. You shook your head quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat, saying with an embarrassing squeak “I can’t tell you.” Because being an unregistered animagus was not only breaking school rules, but breaking the law. And the only reason you would be called to Professor McGonagall’s office was because she too, was an animagus, and she’d be the only Professor who would know how to deal with situations like these. You looked at the three boys in front of you, rushing past them. But if that was the case, why on earth would they be called into her office too?

You huffed, making the final turn to Professor McGonagall’s office. You put your fist up, ready to knock, but held yourself back. “Hey,” You turned your head to look at the boy speaking to you, a gentle smile on his face. “Don’t worry. If you were in real bad trouble, you wouldn’t be called in with other people.” James nodded towards his two friends, mumbling “Speaking from experience here.” You scoffed in amusement, unable to help the small smile on your face, finally knocking on the wooden door. The “Come in!” was instant. You gulped, smile instantly dropping.

The three of you entered the room in a single file line, sitting down on the four chairs lined up in front of the deputy headmistress’ desk. Professor McGonagall didn’t look up at you until you were all settled, slamming a stack of papers down on the wooden surface of her desk. “Well,” She started with her familiar croak, adjusting her glasses on her nose. “This isn’t how I thought I’d start my week, but what’s life without surprises?” You laughed nervously at her words, but you could tell from her monotonous voice and serious facial expression that you were out of order.

“Recently, a few members of staff have heard students talking about how animals from the forbidden forest are getting comfortable and wandering on school grounds.” You sucked in a sharp breath, straightening your posture as you peeked at the three boys from the corner of your eye. They were glancing right back at you. “More specifically, mentions of a stag, the grim, and a white tiger.” Professor McGonagall looked straight up at you. “Ms. L/N the dog and stag may get away with it, and no one has even noticed the rat, but a white tiger? Students are claiming they’ve made the scientific discovery of the century because white tigers are apparently inhabitants of Scotland now. Scotland!!”

You felt heat rush to your face as she said those words, reaching up to take her glasses off and folding them in front of her. You smiled nervously, rearranging the the tie around your neck as you said “Frankly, Professor McGonagall, I’m not quite sure I know what you’re talking about.” A noise of disagreement came from Sirius, who was wincing at your challenging tone. Professor McGonagall reached for her wand, and you barely had time to react before she was mumbling “Revelio” under her breath. You felt your bones shift, the familiar warm feeling of your animagus form overtaking your body. You squealed, or rather roared, your thick, furry paws sending you leaping into the air as you quickly forced yourself to take shape of your human form again.

You stood awkwardly next to the chair you’d be sat on, patting your hands down on your hair to tame it and straightening out your shirt. Sounds of amazement came from the three marauders at your animagus state, watching as you calmly sat down, clearing your throat. “Alright then.” You muttered, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “You need to sign these registration forms.” The four of you made sounds of exclamation, standing up in unison. “That’s what I thought.” Professor McGonagall continued, a satisfied smile on tugging at her lips, “Now you four be careful. If I call you up here again, know that these forms will be waiting for you.”

You all made noises of agreement, speeding towards the door. You slammed the door open, taking a deep breath when you finally escaped Professor McGonagall’s wrath. You sighed, looking to where Remus Lupin leaned against the wall waiting for his friends. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at your dishevelled state. “Moons, you’ll never guess!” Sirius brushed past you, ranting on to his friend about your transformation. “Oh my goodness, be quiet!” You snapped, spinning on the balls of your feet to face him. Remus laughed, watching as James slung an arm over your shoulders, saying how you had to transform for them again, whilst Peter went on about how soft your white fur looked.

“You know what this means don’t you?” The tall boy called out, looking at how your shoulders became stiff and you tried prying your hair out from under James’s arm. You raised your eyebrows in question, prompting Remus to go on.

“It means you’re one of us now.”

[lqveharrington]

Buried in a Book | R.L.

summary: While you were part of the biggest friend group in Hogwarts, you’re often in your own world to even register the plans they make.

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

includes: remus being the best boyfriend in the entire world, reader feeling a little insecure, reader’s last name is rawlings (no, i didn’t realize how close it was to rowling until later 😞)

a/n: someone spam message me to finish my coryo series please 😭🙏

One of the best things about being in Gryffindor were the people you made friends with. From rule-breakers — such as James and Sirius — to heavy rule followers — Lily Evans herself — it was so diverse. You could throw pranks with the marauders while being a prefect. By the end of sixth year, the group was tight knit and it seemed as if nothing could ever ruin it.

But there was one thing they would typically forget about with their rambunctious nature. They always forgot about you in their plans. It wasn’t as if they did it intentionally. No, it was because you were always off in your own world, and when they made plans you didn’t hear them. Usually one of the girls would tell you, or your loving boyfriend, but you felt awful every time.

Today was no exception.

Sirius and Marlene made plans to Hogsmeade during breakfast for the weekend. And of course the rest of the group seconded that call and hurriedly ate their food to prepare for the trip. Being oblivious to everything that was happening, you continued to read your novel until Remus cleared his throat as a small warning.

Hearing this, you put a finger to your last sentence and looked up at him, eyebrows knitting up in confusion at the lack of noise coming from around you. “Where did they all go?”

“They made plans for Hogsmeade about…” He looked down at his watch, tapping it softly. “… Five minutes ago.”

He stacked the plates surrounding their area, your eyes watching his movements in silence. You thought you were listening to them this morning, but the last thing you heard before you got fully immersed was the next prank Sirius wanted to pull on Severus Snape.

Frowning, you carefully put your bookmark into your book and leaned your head on Remus’ shoulder, voice coming out quiet. “I didn’t realize.”

Remus wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your temple for assurance. “It’s okay, dovey. You were so invested in your book that I didn’t want to bother you.” He gently helped you up from the bench and pulled your closer to him, his slender fingers tracing patterns on your shoulder. “Besides, I get to have quality time with my best girl.”

A soft smile graced your lips at his comment, but a small part of your mind was eating at you. What if they were talking about something important and Remus wasn’t there to tell you about it? You guessed the girls would, but you would bet they would forget to tell you before you realized they left you.

“Is there anyway specific they asked us to meet then?” You murmured as you entered the Gryffindor common room where only a young first year was sitting by the fire and reading a muggle book.

“I think we both know the answer to that.” He played with the ends on your hair as he pulled around to face you properly. He twisted the ends and watched them unfurl until meeting your eyes.

You looked up and shook your head in amusement as you both said “The Three Broomsticks” at the same time. You scrunched your nose and smiled again when he kissed your forehead as a short parting gesture.

By the time you left the common rooms and made it to The Three Broomsticks, they were just leaving, causing another wave of guilt pass through you.

“There you two are! We were wondering when the both of you would make it.” Sirius pushed in between the both of you to wrap his arms around yours and Remus’ shoulders. “You guys missed out on Evans chugging down her butterbeer because Dorcas dared her.”

You blinked and looked over to Lily in surprise, but the wave of guild began to crash again. “Oh, that must’ve been interesting.”

“Very.” He nudged your side softly before noticing how weary you looked. “You okay there, Rawlings?” His voice got quiet and leaned closer to you. “You and Moony didn’t… You know?”

“Godric, what is wrong with you?” You push him away and dust the invisible dirt off your side. “No, I didn’t realize you guys left us so we went back to the common room before coming here.” You roll your eyes and trudge into Honeydukes with a frown on your face.

“Just a question!” Sirius called after you and look toward Remus instead. He gave him an unimpressed look and peeled Sirius’ arm off of him, raising a brow at the man. “She knows I was joking, right?”

“She does, but she’s not in the mood.” Remus rolled his eyes at Sirius as well before following your steps into the candy-filled store. “And for your information, the time span between leaving us and coming here wouldn’t give us enough time to make it satisfactory.”

Sirius creased his brows in confusion before gaping at his best friend. He looked back at James in shock before watching Remus enter the store with a smirk on his face. “Never in my entire life have I heard Remus John Lupin talk about his game like that.”

You watched young wizards and witches mess with the candy from the corner of Honeydukes, fiddling with your own sweater. Well, technically it was Remus’ but he gave it to you sometime last year. But as you played with the loose thread, the same guilt came back to gnaw on your feelings.

It was fine when it was only you missing out on the unplanned fun, but when Remus misses out on fun that he could’ve seen made you upset beyond belief. You didn’t think your own behavior could affect Remus this badly. And it’s not like Sirius helped when he asked about you and Remus.

“Dove?” Remus rounded the corner and found you biting the end of your thumbnail, making him sigh. He gently pulled your hand away and met your eyes. “What’s wrong, dovey?”

“Nothing.” You mumbled, wiping your hand on your sweater. You grimaced at the feeling but looked at Remus with solemn eyes. “Where’s the rest of them?”

He laced his hand with yours, squeezing it softly. “They went to Tomes and Scrolls. I think they’re buying gifts? I’m not to sure.”

You frowned, “When did they say that?”

“They didn’t. They were just heading in that direction when I left them.” He brought your hand up and kissed your knuckles. He watched your glazed eyes blink to get rid of the wet. “Talk to me, my love.”

You raised both brows at the name and felt your face warm. It was rare for him to call you his love, so everytime it made you feel like a child in a candy store, which was technically half true given the setting.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of annoying I zone in and out of our conversations with that whole group?” You finally spoke after a good second, fiddling with his fingers in anticipation for his answer. “We never get to do anything fun or on time because of me, and I’m not too sure why you still bother with me because of it—“

“Dovey,” Remus gave you a small smile, tilting his head down fully to speak only loud enough for you. “Do you really think I care what we miss with them? As long as I have you with me, I couldn’t care less.”

You gently squeeze his hand, “Don’t you want to hate me just a little bit?”

“Never.” He kissed your head. “Why would I ever hate you for your quirk? I think it’s cute that you get to immersed in your own world when reading. And you know why I love it so much?”

“Why?” You smile and tilt your head up to perfectly meet his own tilted head.

“Because then I get to hear all about what happens from your beautiful voice.” Remus grinned his wolfish grin, adjusting the sweater you have on. “So don’t worry too much about me missing out on those pricks because they don’t talk about anything worthwhile.”

You roll your eyes and let out a noise of surprise when he softly connects his waiting lips to yours. Instantly, you melt and return the kiss with equal passion before breaking apart, smiling giddily at him.

“What was that for?” You lay your cheek on his shoulder as shyness took over your body, especially with so many people around you both.

“Just love you.” He thumbed your waist now, nudging his chin onto your head softly. “And I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[lupinsversion]

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐝

• summary: when james finds himself talking to the other marauders about reader.

• contains: lovesick james potter, fluff

• word count: 493

masterlist || requests

James lounged in the common room by the fireplace, a goofy smile on his face as he thought about the girl who had completely captured his heart. The other Marauders: Sirius, Peter, and Remus noticed his smitten expression and exchanged knowing glances.

Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes and chuckled. “Look at him, all lovesick and heart-eyed."

Sirius smirked, raising an eyebrow at James' dreamy expression. "Oh, someone's got it bad," he teased, his gray eyes sparkling with amusement. "I've never seen you like this, Prongs.” He added, the nickname carrying a hint of friendly mockery.

Remus chuckled lightly, leaning back against the chair he was sat on. "You've fallen, and fallen hard," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and affection.

James' cheeks flushed slightly as the Marauders called him out on his smitten state, but he couldn't deny the truth. He was completely smitten, and he couldn't stop the happy thoughts that filled his mind. But he tried to play it cool. "Oh, shut it, you lot.” He retorted with a sheepish smile, trying to regain a sliver of dignity.

Sirius chuckled, the smirk still playing on his lips. "Face it, Prongs, you're whipped.” He teased, enjoying having the upper hand in the playful banter.

Remus glanced back at James with a perceptive gaze, noting the speed at which James had fallen head over heels for this girl. "You know, Prongs, you fell for her like a ton of bricks," he pointed out, his tone laced with amusement. "I've never seen you this smitten this quickly before."

James leaned back against the couch, a silly smile still on his face. "Yeah, yeah, I know. That lil' shit tripped me, and now I can't seem to get her out of my head." He spoke in an overly affectionate tone, his words dripping with smitten adoration for the girl.

Sirius' smirk widened at James' confession, amused by his smitten state. "Oh, so she's a little heartbreaker, eh? Got you on your ass quicker than a bludger to the head."

James chuckled at Sirius' observation, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "You know what's even funnier? She actually tripped me. Our first meeting, and she literally sends me toppling on my ass."

Sirius burst out laughing, the image of James being tripped by this girl was too humorous to not find it hilarious. "Oh, that's brilliant! Tripped you, eh? How very...graceful of her.” Sirius teased with a smirk.

Remus chuckled lightly, enjoying the playful banter. "Seems like she left quite the impression, Prongs. First meeting and you already fell for her, quite literally.” He quipped, a smile playing on his lips.

James rolled his eyes playfully, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. "Oh, shut it, Moony. It wasn't my finest moment," he joked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "But you know what they say, all's fair in love and war. She got me fair and square."

© lupinsversion 2024

[godricgryffinsnore]

The Heart On The Map ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : Harry’s secret affection for you quite literally glows, and a certain map reveals more than just footsteps. It's cozy, romantic, and sprinkled with the perfect amount of mischief.

warnings : Extreme fluff (like heart-squeezing, kiss-you-softly fluff), Secondhand embarrassment (Harry being adorably awkward), Teasing from friends (Ron and Hermione’s chaos), Magical PDA (glowing hearts on enchanted maps 💘), Slight possessiveness (in the “you’re mine and I worship you” way), Uncontrollable grinning and swooning may occur (reader beware). 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.

word count : 1.1k

main master list <3

banners : @dollywons and @saradika-graphics

There were many things Harry Potter kept secret.

Like how he added double sugar to his tea when Hermione wasn’t looking. Like how he practiced his “relaxed, totally cool” smile in the mirror every time he passed you in the corridor. And most sacred of all—more than the passwords to Dumbledore’s office or the secret of the Chamber—was the Marauder’s Map.

But not for the reason you might think.

You see, somewhere between sixth year’s chaos and seventh’s slow-burning hush, Harry Potter had done something rather... sentimental. And completely irrational, if you asked Ron (which Harry never did).

He’d charmed a heart—small and shimmering—onto the very parchment the Marauders created, and it glowed, ever so softly, around one specific dot. Yours.

Not Ginny. Not Cho. You. The girl who laughed like a spell misfiring. The girl who once beat Malfoy at chess and made it look like art. The girl who borrowed his quill and returned it with tiny daisies drawn all over the feather.

And worst of all—or best, depending on how you looked at it—the girl who had no idea.

── .✦

It started on a Thursday.

A rainy, sleepy sort of Thursday, where the windows of the common room wept soft silver trails and the fire crackled with just enough drama to be comforting.

You flopped beside Harry on the couch with a groan that could’ve summoned a Healer.

“I’ve written ‘henceforth’ six times in this essay. Is that even legal?”

Harry laughed, setting the map aside (too quickly, if anyone were watching).

“You could say 'thus' instead,” he offered, but you shook your head.

“No. I’m reclaiming henceforth. It’s powerful. It’s poetic. It’s—” You paused, eyes narrowing. “Wait… was that the Marauder’s Map?”

Harry went rigid, like someone had hit him with a mild Petrificus Totalus. “Um. No?”

You arched a brow.

He sighed. “Yes.”

And before he could think—before his brain could outrun his heart—you were leaning over him, plucking the parchment off the cushion like it owed you answers.

It opened easily in your hands, revealing the winding paths and pulsing names. You blinked.

“Wait. Is that… a heart?”

Silence. A heartbeat. A single crack from the fire.

Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Hero of the Light, Slayer of Serpents and Secrets, turned beet red.

“I—it’s just… it’s not a big—okay, yes, it’s a heart,” he mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s dumb, I know. I can remove it—”

“Don’t,” you said, suddenly soft.

He peeked at you through his fingers.

You were staring at the heart-shaped glow, your own name twinkling in its center like stardust caught in moonlight.

“It’s cute,” you whispered. Then smirked. “Slightly stalker-ish. But cute.”

He groaned, flopping backward dramatically, his glasses askew.

“Why am I like this?”

You leaned closer, your hair brushing his shoulder, voice low and warm.

“Because you’re completely whipped for me, Potter.”

He made a strangled noise. “I am not whipped.”

You gently tapped his chest. “Then explain the heart on the ancient, priceless magical document.”

“I just… like knowing where you are,” he muttered. “So I can walk you to class. Or sit near you at lunch. Or save you a seat in the library.”

You bit your lip, your heart doing acrobatics. “That’s… very sweet. And sort of terrifying. But mostly sweet.”

Harry looked up at you then, every ounce of Gryffindor bravery burning in his stupidly green eyes.

“I like you, you know,” he said, breathless. “Really like you. Possibly dangerously. You make me forget how to speak in complete sentences sometimes.”

You smiled, slow and blooming.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I like you, too.”

And then, in the hush of the firelight and the steady tap of rain, you leaned down and kissed him. Soft. Honest. Like a promise and a poem had collided into lips.

Somewhere beneath the couch, the Marauder’s Map pulsed. The heart glowed brighter.

Harry Potter, for once, didn’t care who saw.

── .✦

It had been three days since the Marauder’s Map incident.

Three days since Harry had declared his undying affection with a magical glowing heart. Three days since you’d kissed him and made his brain short-circuit like a faulty Remembrall. Three days of absolute, uninterrupted, lovesick bliss.

Unfortunately, three days was also about as long as it took Ron Weasley to notice anything.

── .✦

"What's that glowing on the map?"

It happened during a perfectly innocent evening in the common room. You were working on homework. Harry had pulled out the map for “patrolling purposes” (translation: to check where you were every seven minutes). And Ron, bless his nosy soul, had leaned over his shoulder mid-yawn.

Harry froze. The map, sprawled open across his lap, was very clearly displaying your name, outlined in the shape of a fluttering, glowing, pulsating heart.

“Oh,” Ron said. “Oh. Oh?”

Harry panicked.

“That’s—nothing. A bug. A map bug. One of those… cartographical hexes.”

“Mate,” Ron deadpanned. “There is a literal love heart glowing around her name. What sort of maps have bugs shaped like affection?”

Hermione, already suspicious, looked up from her book. “What love heart?”

Ron grabbed the parchment and pointed like he’d discovered Atlantis.

“This! Look! Look at it twinkling, Hermione. Twinkling! Like it’s in love!”

Hermione took one look and broke into the most insufferable smirk this side of the Black Lake.

“Harry,” she said sweetly, too sweetly. “Did you… customize the Marauder’s Map?”

Harry buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean for anyone to see it!”

“Oh my God,” Ron said, now thoroughly scandalized. “This is worse than when Fred used the map to track Angelina’s bathroom schedule.”

You, meanwhile, were trying (and failing) not to laugh. “So… I’m twinkling now?”

Hermione was grinning. “Darling, you’re radiant. You have a magical beacon of Harry Potter’s undying affection around your name.”

“UNDYING AFFECTION?!” Harry squeaked.

Ron looked personally betrayed. “You put a heart on the map and didn’t tell me? What happened to bro code?”

“Ron, you nearly hexed yourself trying to flirt with a portrait last week.”

“That portrait winked at me!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’re both hopeless.”

You leaned into Harry’s shoulder, cheek pressed to his robe, and murmured, “You can keep the heart, by the way. It’s cute.”

Harry turned red. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Really,” you hummed. “Might make one for your name next time.”

Ron clutched his chest like you’d stabbed him with a Cupid’s arrow. “I swear, if I see two glowing hearts, I’m transferring to Durmstrang.”

“Can’t,” Hermione said without looking up. “They’d never survive your emotional constipation.”

“Oi!”

── .✦

The heart stayed on the map. You added a star next to his name the next day. Ron did, in fact, see it and screamed into a pillow. Hermione stole the map once just to annotate it with color-coded bookmarks.

And Harry?

He just looked at you every time it glowed, whispered “she’s mine”, and blushed so deeply even the Fat Lady giggled.

[cqnnamongirl]

(and his punk furry boyfriend)

[totalrager]

Bill prefers a more hands-on approach when it comes to gaming.

cw: set between late 90s/early 2000s, fem!reader, r is not a #gamergirl for plot purposes, ooc to the max bc bill isn’t allowed within 50 feet of the opposite sex :P

Nailed to the wooden door, painted in bold, red letters, is a giant sign that reads ‘NO GIRLS ALLOWED’.

“You break a single thing in here, and I’ll call the cops, I swear to god.”

“Great, anything else?"

“Touch my comics, and you’re dead.” 

The threat rolls off your shoulders as quickly as he said it.

It’s been like this ever since you walked through the front door.

After getting a call, at 2 a.m. might you add, Bill had been real adamant about you coming over; something about his usual visitors being 'too busy doing other stupid bullshit' and wanting to show off his mad skills at a new game he'd purchased.

Had you not been on the verge of falling back asleep, you would've called him on his shit and made him admit that he really just wanted to see you.

Regardless, and in hopes of putting an end to the semi-rantish call, you said yes.

Bill, having finally gone through his extensive rule list and coming close to having you sign a contract, unlocks the wooden door and pushes it open; the worn-out stairs squeak loudly as the two of you make your descent into the dark room.

As if it were second nature, he felt around in the air for a moment before yanking on a dangling cord. The only source of light reveals his magnum opus.

The basement was exactly as you pictured it.

Hanging on almost every wall that didn't have a giant bookshelf pushed in front of it, several shelves were bearing multiple miniature knick-knacks and large posters featuring what you assumed was every single sci-fi movie to have ever existed.

Towards one of the corners of the room was a beat-up table covered in a fictional map, surrounded by over a dozen mini figurines; a battle having clearly taken place the night before.

But what stuck out to you the most was that it was noticeably clean.

Y'know, for a guy.

Aside from the clutter of personal belongings that bordered on a novice level of hoarding, there was not a single speck of dust.

No crumpled papers, bits of plastic, fast food wrappers, or anything. You could be mistaken, but you’re almost positive he vacuumed, too; Hell, even the tiny waste basket shoved next to the couch was empty.

Was this all because you were coming over? Did he want to make a good impression? 

The thought alone sends your guts aflutter with some bizarre version of flattery.

As your gaze flits all around the room, you feel a heat radiating from your host’s laser-focused gaze aimed directly at your face.

“What?”

“You look… different.”

Okay, so what if you actually put some effort into your appearance, doused yourself in your favorite perfume, and put on your nicest pair of jeans?

It’s not like you wanted to look somewhat decent for the guy you were maybe-kinda-sorta seeing or anything; even if said guy couldn’t give any less of a damn about how you looked.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrug nonchalantly, hoping he wouldn’t see through your thinly-veiled ruse, “I always look like this. Are you just now paying attention?”

God only knows the amount of ridicule the little weasel’d dogpile you with if he found out you got all ‘prettified’ just for him.

Plus, his ego would over-inflate to unprecedented levels and take out all mankind like a modern-day version of the meteor that ended the reign of dinosaurs.

Luckily, with one last eye flicker and a low, noncommittal ��hm’ from the back of his throat, the brief subject is dropped.

Guess you both did some light primping.

He moves further into the room, not before throwing back a witty 'You should take a picture; it'll last longer.'.

“I can’t help it; it’s not every day my pookie bear lets me into his holy sanctum to play with his little toys.” You flutter your eyelashes at him, earning a disturbed sneer in return.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What? Pookie bear?” you feign innocence. 

“Yes, that. Only pussywhipped normies use that cutesie crap and I refuse to subject myself to such standards.”

“Whatever you say, snookums.”

“I so loathe you.” Bill let out one last aggravating sigh before busying himself with the gaming system he’d mentioned over the phone.

As he connects a couple of wires to his TV, you awkwardly hang around for something more to do, settling on picking at a hang nail just to have something to busy your hands with.

The solution comes when you make eye contact with a nearby shelf, a couple of out-of-box action figures practically beckoning you over.

“Ooh! What if we each grabbed one and made them kiss and junk? Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

You snag a figure that had a very Baywatch David Hasselhoff-y vibe with puffier hair and a gun strapped to his hip and deepen your voice, holding it up close to Bill, “Listen to the chick, punk. She’s got the right idea.”

A certain lasso-handling heroine is also thrown into the mix as you adjust your tone to be more smooth and confident.

“I agree, Please help me declare my undying love for…” You pause for a moment in an attempt to recall the gunslinger’s name, “that guy.”

Bill scoffs 'unamusingly' at your childish display and (lightly) swats the hand holding the intergalactic smuggler away from his face, “Like Han Solo would ever be caught dead making out with a woman who wears her panties out in public to fight crime.”

“Pssh, He’d be lucky if Wonder Woman even glanced in his general direction.” 

He pauses, “How do you know who Wonder Woman is?”

“Can’t tell you; it’ll take the mystery out of our relationship.” (You thumbed through a stack of comics when he wasn’t looking.) “Are you going to show me how to play or what?”

As if on cue, the TV’s noisy static blaring through the speakers smoothens out to a more upbeat and inviting tune, making way to display the psychedelic home screen of one Mario Kart 64.

You let out a delighted ‘oooo!’ before plopping down next to your kinda-sorta boyfriend on his circular carpet as he fiddles around with two controllers, ensuring that both are fully functional and cooperating.

Bill messes around with the game select screen, making sure to pick two players before moving on to the character select screen, the more exciting of the two.

There are eight options for you to choose from, ranging from a human plumber to... you want to say a punk dragon with a mohawk? 

Before you can make a decision, you're given some unwarranted advice: "You can be peach, obviously."

“Are you saying that because I’m dainty and pretty like her?”

“Uh, no. She’s pink and the only girl.”

As appealing as that sounds, another character had already caught your eye. “Forget that. I want to be the green dino thingy.”

“Yoshi? Out of the question, I already chose him.”

“No way, I want him!”

“No, fuck off! I picked him first!”

“BILL, PLEASEEE!”

“Get off of me!”

———

After the two of you take the time to have a well-rounded and productive discussion ("STOP THROWING CUSIONS AT ME!"), you come to an agreement.

“Whatever, I wanted to be Toad anyway.” He eventually concedes.

A triumphant giggle bubbles past your lips, earning a heatless scowl from Bill, as the game finally, finally begins.

You watch as a quick runthrough of the track displays itself: a hilly, rainbow-y mess set deep in outer space; cartoon logics, who were you to argue.

As the countdown begins and the competitors rev up their engines, a previously forgotten problem makes its way to the forefront of your mind. “Wait- Bill- I don’t know the controls!”

“Can’t help you, gotta win.”

And the race is on!

As he moves freely around the map and plays out maneuvers only capable of being done by someone who already knew every trick in the game, all you managed to do was move forward a couple feet, change the camera angles, and then crash straight into a wall, where you remained until the end of the race as Bill, as expected, effortlessly places first.

To add insult to injury, right before crossing the finish line, one of the last remaining CPUs nails you with a projectile. "Oh, come on!"

He lets out a victorious and annoyingly mocking cackle as the rankings are given, placing you at dead last, right underneath a literal ape.

You jut your bottom lip out in disdain, “Does unfairly beating me make you feel good about yourself, Dickey?”

“It really does. Thanks for asking.”

"Jerk."

"It's not my fault you're so bad at this."

“I am trying my-“ a sudden warmth descends upon you as a pair of flannel-covered arms wrap themselves atop of your own, “-best.”

He’s initiating contact! holy shit, holy shit, don't make any sudden moves or he’ll get spooked. Oh my god!

Bill ‘hand-holding is for douchebags’ Dickey was willingly pulling a slightly less messy version of the pottery scene from Ghost; all in the name of showing you how to play a game meant for kids.

During all this overthinking, he's also pointing out each multi-colored button and its designated purpose. 

So it's possible he doesn't consciously realize the very intimate hold he has on your right now.

Oh well, you'll take what you can get.

Is that aftershave you're smelling? Since when has he ever worn that?

“-button to perform slides on turns so you don’t lose any speed, but it’s a move for more advanced players, such as myself, and I doubt you’d be able to do it correctly.”

Wait, how long has he been talking for?

Any sound tumbling out of his mouth sounds exactly like it’s coming from one of the offscreen adults in Peanuts.

"You’re holding it wrong.”

You blink. “W-what other way is there? I don’t have three hands.”

“The controller's only meant to be held by the middle and right part.”

You nearly swallow your tongue as Bill maneuvers your hands, which were getting embarrassingly clammier by the second, into the correct position.

He then chooses another track, one that was covered in cows, and the countdown begins once again.

Except this time, once the little guy on the cloud makes it to one, instead of focusing on winning and jetting off to remain ahead of the other racers, his cart remains at a standstill next to yours. “Okay, press A to go.”

That should be easy enough to find!

One measly little A shouldn’t be an issue.

You stare down at the controller, and a beat of awkward silence hangs thickly in the air.

“Uh...”

Unseen by you, Bill rolls his eyes. “Are you new to the English language? You’re hopeless.”

He presses your thumb down, and by some odd miracle, Yoshi is finally moving forward, this time without hitting any barriers.

Like the world's most annoying teacher, he helps remind you again and again what button serves what purpose, all while keeping his hold on you.

While it initially flustered you, you started to get used to the added heat and focused on actually winning.

When he feels that you've finally got a grasp on the controls, he gives you full-reign of the controller and drops his arms; although, Bill doesn't seem to go too far, simply choosing to hang them loosely around your waist.

You don't think much of it, too preoccupied dodging a few cows whose life mission was to be run over.

"Stupid asshole," you murmur angrily under your breathe as a green plumber bumps into your kart and nearly sends you veering off course. 

The race gets even more intense when you finally manage to catch up and riding the red plumber's ass for first. 

"Throw it already, he's right fucking there!" Bill encourages, his grip tightening from excitement.

Your arm jerks to the right as if the movement will help Yoshi avoid a banana placed by the unfair CPU racer. "I'm trying, I'm trying!"

"Then throw the damn shell!"

"Stop backseat driving!"

With the checkered finish line in sight, you make the last ditch effort to twart your opponent and toss the green shell.

You both watch with bated breath as it hits the white fences along the sides like the world's most annoying pinball, inching closer and closer to its intended target before it finally makes a-

"Direct hit!"

At the absolute last second, Mario is sent toppling over like the giant tool he is, making a clear path for Yoshi, the ambitious little dinosaur, to take first place.

"I did it!" The wide grin on your face nearly splits your face in two as Yoshi lets out his victory... cheer?

You don't dwell too much on it.

Maneuvering yourself around and then tossing your arms around his neck, you relish in the small, dare you say, proud expression displayed on your boyfriend's face,  "Did you see that?" 

This time, you can see when he rolls his eyes, "Duh, I was right here." 

"How does it feel to be dating someone with better gaming skills than you?"

"Please, I could've played better than that in my sleep."

"Is that a bet I hear, Mr. Dickey?" You twirl a lock of his auburn hair in between your fingers.

You're not sure exactly when it clicks, but the sudden realization of the extremely close proximity he's placed himself in brings an abrupt end to the light teasing between you two.

Bill's entire face turns a brilliantly bright cherry red as he scrambles back over to his side of the floor, accidently knocking you on your ass and stammering the whole way, “T-tell anyone about this and I-I’ll just say you were c-coming onto me.” 

Initially, you thought that you accidentally overstepped your boundaries and caused him some grief, knowing how weird he is with physical contact, all of which is thrown out the window when he keeps glancing over at you.

You snicker, "Don't worry, I liked it too."

He sucks his teeth in what you took as dismissal, "whatever."

The tiny smile he's fighting so hard to stamp down says otherwise.

He quietly grabs his controller and returns to the map selection screen, scrolling through the submenus until he finally settles on one.

You take the silent hint and reach for yours, keeping your distance and refocusing on the screen.

As the two of you settle back in, Bill not-so-subtly scooches himself closer to you, tensing slightly when his leg makes contact.

Not wanting to ruin the moment, you just slump further into his side, leaning your head on his shoulder.

It takes every fiber in your body and then some to not squeal in pure ecstasy when he returns the small gesture by squishing his head on top of yours.

"YEAHHH, EAT SHIT!”

“WHEN DID YOU GET A RED SHELL?!”

extra:

"Hey, freak. Have you seen my sewing kit? I got a couple grudges to- what the hell?”

Jane watches in complete shock as the whirlwind formerly known as her brother frantically shoves pile after pile of trash into a large bag.

There’s a couple more just like it in terms of size piled up in the corner; right beside them is a discarded feather duster and a tangled-up vacuum cleaner.

"I didn't touch your shit," Bill calls over his shoulder, "can't you see I'm busy?"

“Since when do you clean?”

Her only answer is a grumbled 'mind your damn business' as her brother proceeds to dump last night's leftover campaign fuel into the overstuffed garbage bag in his tight grasp.

"Is it for a girl? It's a girl, isn't it?"

The younger Dickey takes a moment to soak in the fact that her brother, the selfish bastard that couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about other people, was actively making an effort to try and impress another human being and allowing them to step foot into his ‘nerd cave’.

You really can’t make this stuff up.

"Y'know,” she drawls after a moment of complete silence, an almost cat-like smirk stretching itself across her pale cheeks, “for a while there, I thought you weren't interested in girls."

"Oh, for the love of- GET OUT!"

[solsticehymns]

one thousand kisses later... oneshot (hogmarch 2025!)

james potter x f!reader / fluff / established relationship

part of the hogmarch challenge (week 2) arranged by the lovely @thatdammchickennugget!!! <333

summary: “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to laugh.” James Potter has been keeping track of every kiss you’ve ever given him—because of course he has. Now, with just six left before he hits a thousand, he’s determined to reach that milestone. The only problem? You’re having way too much fun making him really work for it.

a/n: i got the idea for this one thinking of what he could be admitting after the dialogue and this came to mind. counting kisses because this man is so sentimental he would so. and reader just being so used to it. and then the kisses section rly got away from me lolol i loved LOVED writing this omfg thank you again to the challenge creator!!! mwah mwah all my love, sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 2953

James’ thumb traces slow, deliberate circles against your knuckles, the movement as instinctive as the steady cadence of his breath beside you. The warmth of his palm, the firm yet unspoken assurance in his touch, anchors you in the present—effortless, like muscle memory. Evenings like these have become a ritual, a quiet communion where words feel secondary to the intimacy of shared silence.

Above, the Quidditch pitch sprawls vast and unoccupied, its expanse dwarfed beneath a sky unfurling in a never-ending tapestry of stars. The crisp night air carries the scent of freshly cut grass, lingering traces of broomstick polish, and the ghost of rain that had slicked the field earlier. The stadium lights have long since faded, surrendering the landscape to the moon’s silvery luminance, which pools in soft highlights along the dewy terrain.

It’s quiet here, just the two of you stretched out on the damp grass, hands loosely intertwined in the space between.

You sneak a glance at him from the corner of your eye, taking in the disheveled mess of his hair, still windswept from practice, the faint pink tinge clinging to his cheeks from the lingering chill in the air. He looks entirely at ease, legs bent, arms sprawled, a lazy grin flickering at the edges of his lips as he watches the sky.

You love him like this. When he isn’t performing, when he isn’t the center of attention, when he doesn’t have to make anyone laugh. Just James—warm, familiar, effortlessly yours.

The two of you stay like this for a while, breathing in sync, the steady rise and fall of his chest a quiet rhythm beside you. Every few minutes, he gives your hand a soft squeeze, an unconscious gesture, a silent acknowledgment. You squeeze back each time, matching him, a wordless conversation neither of you ever need to speak aloud.

Then, breaking the comfortable stillness, James exhales an exaggerated sigh. “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to laugh.”

You smirk, finally turning your head fully toward him. “James Potter, you have never been serious a day in your life.”

He shifts onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you properly. In the dim glow of moonlight, his hazel eyes gleam, filled with something playful—but beneath it, something softer, something careful. “No, really.”

You sigh, dragging out the moment, feigning reluctance. “Fine. Go on.”

James inhales like he’s bracing himself, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly before he finally says, completely serious, "I've been keeping track of every single time you've kissed me."

You blink. Then again, slower this time. “I’m sorry—what?”

He flops onto his back, eyes tracing the constellations overhead, as if the sheer vastness of the sky will make this any less absurd. “I have a tally.”

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “You are actually insane, Potter.”

He turns his head toward you, wearing that signature lopsided grin, his expression utterly remorseless. “994.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow, squinting at him. “994 what?”

“Kisses.” His grin widens as he lifts your joined hands, pressing an overly dramatic kiss to your knuckles. “Which means, darling, I am only six away from one thousand. A truly historic milestone.”

You groan, flopping back onto the grass with a laugh. “Unbelievable.”

“I prefer devoted,” he corrects, completely unbothered, his fingers remaining wrapped around yours. “And if you cared about me at all, you’d help me reach my goal before the end of tonight.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you think so?”

“I know so,” he replies, full of confidence, dimples appearing as he smiles.

You hum, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. No, I think I’d rather let you suffer a little. Really let the anticipation build.”

He gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve just betrayed him. “Cruel.”

“I prefer entertaining,” you tease, flashing him a mischievous grin. “You’ll get your kisses. Savor the wait, Potter.”

His eyes narrow slightly, analyzing you. “So you’re actually making me wait?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

He tilts his head like he’s already scheming. “Unless I can change your mind.”

You scoff. “Good luck with that.”

His grin turns downright devious. “Oh, I do love a challenge.”

Kiss #995

James is entirely serious about his tally, which becomes glaringly apparent when he slides into his usual seat at the Gryffindor table the next morning, eyes locked onto you with painstaking expectation. He props an elbow on the table, rests his chin in his hand, and simply stares as you butter your toast.

You glance up, then do a slow double take at the unwavering intensity. “Oh, you were serious about that?”

“Deadly,” he replies without hesitation. “994 and counting.”

Sirius, mid-bite of toast, pauses to squint at him. “Counting what, exactly?”

“His kiss tally,” you announce flatly, taking a measured sip of pumpkin juice. “Apparently, we’re now operating on a quota system.”

As if synchronized, Sirius and Remus exchange a look before collapsing into laughter.

“Oh, mate,” Sirius wheezes, shaking his head as he shoves his plate of eggs toward James. “You actually told her?”

James shrugs. “She had to know eventually.”

Remus smirks. “And you thought she’d be the one embarrassed?”

You roll your eyes, sliding your plate toward James. “Alright, tally-keeper. If you want your precious milestone, make yourself useful—get me another slice of toast.”

James brightens immediately. “Consider it done.”

With the reflexes of a seasoned Seeker, he snatches a fresh slice from Remus’ plate and drops it onto yours before leaning in expectantly, lips already pursed.

You shake your head, fighting back a fond smile, and indulge him with a quick kiss. “Satisfied?”

“995,” he sighs, blissfully, as he leans back against the bench. “We’re so close.”

Sirius groans dramatically, tipping his head back. “Oh, come on. That was way too easy! If he’s this invested, you’ve got to make him work for it.”

Remus nods sagely. “You hold all the power here. He should be earning every single one.”

You hum, tapping your chin in mock consideration. “You know, that’s actually a fair point.”

James sits up straight, immediately on high alert. “Now, hold on—”

Sirius claps a hand on your shoulder, grinning. “We expect great things from you.”

James groans, dropping his forehead onto the table. “Oh, have mercy.”

Remus pats his back sympathetically. “You’ve made your bed, mate. Now you’ve got to lie in it.”

Kiss #996 (and #997)

After breakfast—and after the Marauders’ relentless teasing—you and James make your way to Transfiguration, his grumbling uninterrupted for the entire walk. He’s still dramatically lamenting how unfairly the odds have been stacked against him, as if he’s the victim in all this.

“You do realize,” he murmurs as you both slip into your usual seats, “that I could just steal a kiss at any time, right?”

You smirk, casually setting out your parchment. “And yet,” you say, deliberately slow, “here you are. Kissless.”

James lets out a deep, suffering sigh, dropping his forehead onto the desk like he’s been mortally wounded.

Professor McGonagall strides in before he can argue further, commanding immediate silence. The class shifts into its usual rhythm—quills scratching against parchment, the occasional hum of animated transfigurations occurring at the front of the room. You fall into effortless focus, copying notes with the kind of diligence that James very clearly lacks.

A nudge against your elbow. Not subtle.

You glance over. James, unsurprisingly, is not paying attention. Instead, he’s scribbling something on your parchment, his handwriting as unruly as his hair:

Trade you one (1) kiss for my Transfiguration notes.

You roll your eyes but can’t help peeking at his parchment. His notes are… shockingly thorough. Surprisingly detailed. Suspiciously unlike him.

James notices the hesitation, taps the page with his quill, eyes alight with mischief. “Fair trade,” he mouths.

You pretend to deliberate, then—slowly, deliberately—write beneath his offer:

Two (2) kisses if you write mine for me.

James’ grin spreads instantly. Without hesitation, he grabs your parchment, setting to work with uncharacteristic dedication—quill moving far more efficiently than it ever does for his own assignments. His tongue peeks out slightly in concentration, brows furrowed, utterly determined. You bite back a smile.

When he finally slides your parchment back—smug, expectant, practically vibrating with anticipation—you lean in, just enough to keep him waiting.

Then, in the quietest, quickest motion, you brush a kiss against his cheek before returning to your notes like nothing happened.

James blinks, stunned.

“That’s one,” you whisper, barely hiding a smirk.

James, gaping at you: “You—That was a scam.”

Professor McGonagall clears her throat. James snaps his mouth shut immediately, though his expression remains scandalized as you calmly return to note-taking like you hadn’t just completely outplayed him.

You don’t need to look at him to know he’s already plotting revenge.

And sure enough, the moment you step out of the classroom, he steals both the kisses you promised—996 and 997—before you can even protest.

Kiss #998

The next class of the day stretches on, your quill gliding across the parchment as you meticulously record every detail of the lecture. The words flow effortlessly, your focus unbroken, absorbed entirely in the rhythm of note-taking. You don’t notice much beyond the steady murmur of the professor’s voice and the quiet scratch of ink on paper.

James, however, is only half-listening. His quill spins idly between his fingers, forgotten, as his gaze drifts between you and the clock. The world hums in the background, distant and unimportant, because you have become the only thing worth noticing. The furrow of your brow when concentration takes hold, the way your lip catches between your teeth as if to keep a thought from escaping—he sees it all.

And, most importantly, he hears the quiet grumble of your stomach.

Without hesitation, James reaches into his bag, retrieving a small treacle tart he had swiped from breakfast. It’s neatly wrapped in a napkin, still intact despite the journey through his books and ink bottles. He had pocketed it earlier without a second thought, knowing with absolute certainty that you’d need it by now.

Without a word, he slides it across the desk toward you.

You blink, startled out of your focus, finally looking up. “Did you just—”

He doesn’t even glance at you. “You’ll get cranky if you don’t eat.”

For a moment, you just stare at him. It’s such a small thing, so automatic, so unspoken. He hadn’t tried to make a joke out of it, hadn’t even looked for acknowledgment—just noticed, and acted.

Your heart does a double flip, and before you can think twice, you reach out, and with a hand on each of his cheeks, squish them together until his lips pucker up. James barely has time to make a sound of protest before you press a quick, warm kiss to his ridiculously smooshed lips, then release him just as fast.

James freezes.

“Wait—” He blinks, visibly processing. “That counted?”

You pop a bite of the treacle tart into your mouth, smirking. “That counted.”

James grins like he’s just won a bloody Quidditch final.

Then, leisurely, like he’s savoring the moment, he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. "Finally. A hard-earned kiss."

You roll your eyes, turning back to your notes. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Potter.”

And James? James spends the rest of the lesson plotting increasingly elaborate acts of kindness, just in case it earns him another one.

Kiss #999 

By the time classes end, the courtyard is bathed in golden afternoon light, the air crisp with the lingering bite of autumn. It should be the perfect setting for productivity—a quiet place to focus, to get ahead on assignments. That, at least, was your plan.

James Potter, however, has other ideas.

At first, his distractions are subtle. He leans in under the pretense of “helping” with your notes, pretending to read over your shoulder, though he clearly isn’t absorbing a word. His breath tickles your ear, his presence a warm, familiar weight beside you.

Then, his tactics escalate—stealing your quill, doodling nonsense in the margins of your parchment, dramatically balancing a book on his head as though this is some great test of skill rather than his latest attempt at entertainment.

You warn him once.

You warn him twice.

By the third time, you snap your book shut with a sigh of exaggerated patience.

“James,” you say, rubbing your temples, “if you can sit still for ten minutes, I will consider granting you number 999.”

James immediately straightens, eyes gleaming. “Done.”

What follows is the most excruciating ten minutes of his life.

You watch—completely entertained—as he physically battles his own nature. His leg bounces uncontrollably, his fingers twitch on the table, his lips part and press together over and over as he stops himself from talking at the last second. He looks like he’s about to explode.

At eight minutes and twenty seconds, he officially breaks.

“I can’t—just kiss me!” he exclaims, dramatically flinging his quill across the grass. He throws his hands up, eyes wide with sheer, unbearable suffering, looking every bit like a man on the brink of collapse.

You burst out laughing, so hard your shoulders shake. James looks desperate, betrayed—like you’ve asked him to endure some great personal tragedy.

“Merlin,” you wheeze, “that was genuinely pathetic.”

James grabs your hands, shaking them slightly, his tone genuinely bordering on begging: “Please.”

Still laughing, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips, indulging him just enough to make up for his suffering. The dramatic groan of relief that escapes him is so ridiculous that you feel it vibrate against your mouth.

“Very cruel,” he murmurs when you pull away, eyes shining with amusement.

“You love it,” you whisper back.

James sighs, grinning. “I do.”

From a nearby bench, Remus casually flips a page in his book. Without looking up, he deadpans, “Wow. You should do that anytime you want him to shut up.”

Kiss #1000

The rest of the day had passed without James mentioning it—not once. No expectant looks, no teasing remarks, no casual attempts to steal it early. If anything, you were the one avoiding the topic now. The thought lingered in the back of your mind, a quiet weight you weren’t quite sure how to shake.

The common room is nearly empty by the time the moment finally comes. The fire in the hearth has burned low, its embers casting a soft, flickering glow across the worn-out couches and the red-and-gold tapestries lining the walls. Outside, the castle is quiet, the usual evening hum of students fading into the slow hush of late-night stillness.

James is beside you, his back against the armrest of the couch, legs stretched out, looking for all the world like he has no worries at all. His hair is messier than usual, falling over his forehead in unruly waves, and there’s something so familiar, so achingly easy about the way he sits there, watching you like you’re the most interesting thing in the room.

Not once has he said, One more to go, love. Just get it over with, darling, make my year.

And for some reason, that makes your heart beat just a little too fast.

You shift slightly beside him, curling your legs up onto the couch, closer than before. The fire crackles softly, casting long shadows across the floor, and you suddenly realize your hands are fidgeting in your lap.

James notices. Of course he does.

“You alright?” he asks, voice quieter than usual.

You nod, but your pulse jumps when his fingers brush over yours—just briefly, just enough to make you look up. Hazel eyes meet yours, warm and waiting, patient in a way that makes your chest ache.

And suddenly, it almost feels like the nervousness of a first kiss, only it’s been a thousand. You wet your lips, heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

"You ready for number one thousand?"

James exhales, a soft breath that almost sounds like a laugh. But it’s not cocky, not teasing. It’s something softer, something real.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “I think I’ve been ready for a while.”

The words settle between you, quiet and golden, and suddenly the air feels thick—charged in a way that makes your stomach flutter. This is different. Not just another kiss to add to the tally. Not just a number.

You lean in, slow, uncertain—but James stays perfectly still. Waiting. Letting you choose. Letting you want it.

And oh, you do.

So you close the distance, pressing your lips to his, and it’s not hurried, not teasing, not playful. It’s gentle, like something delicate settling into place. James exhales against you, like he’s been holding his breath for longer than either of you realized. His hand lifts, fingertips ghosting over your cheek, as if he’s afraid to touch too much and break the moment.

When you finally part, you stay close, foreheads nearly touching, his breath warm against your lips.

James lets out a soft, breathless laugh. “Worth the wait.”

You smile, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of his sweater. “Yeah.”

Neither of you move away.

Outside, the castle sleeps, the fire flickers, and James just looks at you like he already knows this is one of those moments he’s going to remember forever.

Then, after a beat, his lips twitch into a grin. "Can't wait for a million."

You roll your eyes, huffing out a laugh as you nudge his shoulder. "Merlin, Potter, you really think you're getting that many?"

James grins, leaning in just a little, voice warm with certainty. "I plan on earning every single one."

☀️🌻 masterlist

[sw5w]

Gather Round the Map Reader

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:36:55

[juleswritesstuff]

Holy hands, will they make me a sinner ?

You seem to have a little secret. Regulus figures you out immediately.

regulus black x fem!reader

warnings: smut

“If you bore holes in them I won't be able to finish my essay, Y/n” 

His voice brings you back from the apparent state of trance you had unconsciously fallen into. Blinking rapidly, you regain perception of the walls of your dorm room surrounding you and the myriad of books scattered across your bed.  You shift your gaze to his gray eyes and you find them already set on you.

“Pardon ?” your voice has a confused edge that almost makes him chuckle.

“My hands” he explains, his tone as neutral as ever “You were staring”

Your eyes go a little wide, like you had been caught stealing the last chocolate frog of the stash. You swallow, trying to compose yourself as best as you can.

“I was doing no such thing” you declare, a bit too solemn and defensive to be the truth.

Regulus pins you with an unimpressed look, his left brow arching just enough to tell you that he isn't buying any of your bullshit.

A defeated sigh leaves your lips. 

It is no use hiding something from Regulus Black. He will find out one way or another, and you got caught right with your hands in the jar.

“Ok, fine” you admit, lifting your shoulders to make it seem like the most casual thing ever “I was looking at your hands”

Regulus’ expression doesn't change, but the glint of amusement flashing in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed.

“More like ogling, I would say” even his tone has a playful bite to it.

You like this side of him. The Regulus who is able to relax a bit and let go when he is surrounded by the people he is comfortable with.

But carefree Regulus also means menace Regulus apparently.

“I wasn't ogling” you grumble, rolling your eyes “I was just admiring them” 

His eyebrows furrow.

“Why ?” he seems intrigued as the question leaves his lips.

Why, he has the courage to ask.

Well the answer is that Regulus Black has the prettiest, hottest, most gorgeous hands you have ever laid eyes on.

They are elegant, slender, the little veins underneath the pale skin gracing your eyes with their presence with every movement he makes, every flex of his muscles, producing a delicious design that hypnotizes you. 

They are smooth but decorated by light calluses, undoubtedly caused by Quidditch, that create a divine contrast with his otherwise untainted skin.

His fingers are long, lean, clad in silver rings that make your mouth water with how exquisitely sultry they make him look.

And suddenly, but not surprisingly, you find yourself imagining what it would feel like to have those hands on you, exploring every inch of your body, dancing on your skin like flames dance in the cold hair of the night. The cool metal of his rings being at odds with your scorching hot skin, making you hiss as his skilled fingers create a burning path over your body, traveling everywhere. Your legs, your thighs, your hips, chest, shoulders and stopping right at your neck, wrapping delicately, reverentially around it. Worshipping the sensitive skin, feeling the erratic pulse of your heart and-

“You’re doing it again” his words interrupt your spiraling for the second time that day, sounding dry and apathetic as always, but a hint of teasing twinkles in the otherwise coldness of his eyes.

“You have nice hands, that’s all” you manage to say without giving away all the less than pure thoughts flooding your mind in that moment. “From an artist point of view, obviously” you add, shrugging, trying to make everything less than obvious.

You really hope Regulus didn't learn to cast a Legilimes in his free time, otherwise you were well and truly screwed.

Bringing up your passion for drawing is futile and you know it. You know he knows the drooling over his hands isn't for the sake of art. You can't fool Regulus Black, not even if you try to.

Which is both extremely annoying and criminally hot in your humble opinion.

But pretending is the only thing you can do to not feel embarrassed, holding onto the hope that maybe he doesn’t have you all figured out.

“So you’re saying that your interest is purely artistic ?” he cocks a brow as his head tilts slightly.

There’s something in his voice, in his eyes, that you can’t quite figure.

Your forehead scrunches in confusion.

“Yes, of course” you answer, trying to hide the stutter of your voice as best you can.

You are pretty sure he knows that you aren’t telling the truth, he somehow always knows. He reads you like an open book, and, for someone who doesn’t engage in showing his emotions too often, he is pretty damn good at reading the ones of others. 

So why that question ? You almost expected him to tell you to cut it out and get back to study because that essay isn’t gonna finish itself.

This is new, unexpected. 

Interesting.

“Would you like to draw them ?”

Your eyes go wide in surprise.

Wait.

What ?

Never, in all the years you have known each other, had he offered to model for you. 

He knew about you having an interest in arts, he even saw a couple of your drawings and paintings and he often asked about them and how they were coming up, but he never asked to be in them.

You never brought up the suggestion either. He is a reserved guy and he loathes having eyes on him, so you figured he would’ve never accepted even if you did.

That never stopped you from sketching him from afar, though. Those gorgeous features deserve to be portrayed.

But why the sudden proposition ?

You aren’t stupid. Regulus might know you like the back of his hand, but you could say the same about him. And this, whatever this might be, is not like him at all. 

Regulus never does anything for nothing, there is always an explanation, a reason to his every move. You think even his breaths are perfectly calculated.

But this time the why gets lost on you, and the harder you try to understand the less it all makes sense.

“I can see the gears in your brain twinsting and turning,” he says, calm and composed as ever.

He is sitting on your bed, the quill he was using to write his Charms paper now abandoned next to him. His back is perfectly straight, leaning on the headbord to support his weight. The raven strands of his hair create soft waves that frame his face in a delicate and enchanting way. His lips are stretched in a rare, playful smile, curling up slightly on the left side.

He is beautiful. Dangerously so.

“It’s just-” you are confused, there is no doubt about that, but most of all you are intrigued “You have never asked me before”

“I know” 

That’s his only answer. Simple, concise. Enigmatic. 

Just like him.

“So why now ?” 

The question escapes your lips before you can stop it. You can’t help it, curiosity is consuming you, and the possibility of learning a new part of him makes your skin tingle with excitement.

“Why not ?” he shrugs “There is a first time for everything, right ? So why not now ?”

There is still that glint of something in his eyes. You don’t know what it is, you don’t think you would be able to give it a name even if you knew, but it's there, and it’s strong.

“I’ll get my supplies then” 

You slowly get up from the bed, feeling your heart in your throat in a mix of anticipation and nervousness, and you retrieve your album and a pencil.

When you sit back down you notice that the books have been neatly stacked in a small pile next to your bed and all the papers, previously scattered all over your sheets, are nowhere to be seen.

“Figured we might need the space” he says, like he read your mind.

“Thank you”, you give him a small smile before opening your album, turning the pages one by one, until you find a blank sheet, ready to be filled.

“Where do you need me ?” 

The way he utters those words with the utmost nonchalance, apparently unaware of the effect they have on you, nearly sends you into cardiac arrest.

Everywhere, you think, before mentally smacking yourself.

You need to get a grip, for Merlin’s sake.

“Right there is fine,” you're able to say without your voice faltering “just angle your hands towards me, so the light is right”

He does as he is told, adjusting his position and moving his hands a bit to the right, veins on full display and rings shining under the warm rays of the sunset seeping through the window.

“That’s good” your mouth is suddenly dry as you gulp at that sight.

He is a bit far, and the light doesn’t hit as perfectly as you had expected, but you’ll work with it. If squinting your eyes a bit is the price to pay to maintain your mental sanity, then so be it.

Then you start drawing. The only sound filling the room is the gentle scraping of your pencil as your eyes focus on the white sheet in front of you, your gaze shifting to his hands ever so often to take a peek at them, like you haven't learnt every detail by heart.

You can feel his eyes on you. You try not to focus on it, but the shivers those pools of the color of a summer storm send down your spine are difficult to ignore.

“You’re straining your eyes” he blurts out of the blue.

Observant as always.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, your gaze never leaving the paper “this distance is good for perspective” 

“But it’s a problem for the lighting”

Those words make you lift your head up, your brows knotted in a frown.

How does he-

“And what would you know about the lighting ?” you eye him suspiciously, a small grin curving your lips.

“I guess all your rambles about that muggle painter weren’t in vain” he says, and there’s a cheekiness in his tone that is completely new to you “Caravaggio, right ?”

Your grin turns into a full smile.

“Right,” you nod, your eyes widening a little “I can’t believe you actually remember”

“I remember a lot of things,” he remarks defensively.

“Only those important enough to you” the teasing in your voice is light, playful, as your pencil glides on the sheet swiftly, adding strokes and shadows here and there.

There’s a beat of silence.

One second. Two. Three. And then-

“Exactly”

Your hand halts every movement, freezing completely. You look up from your paper and you find his gaze already on you.

Suddenly you are lost. Your heart is beating so fast you wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually able to hear it.

The implications of that single word swirl in your brain, creating a hurracane of thoughts that almost gives you whiplash. 

He doesn’t give you the time to even think properly about what he may have just suggested, because he decides to speak again. 

“I can come closer if you need me to” his voice is lower, deeper, oozing with that same something he’s had in his eyes since he caught you staring at his heavenly hands.

You want to scream. You have no idea of what the hell is going on and it’s confusing the shit out of you.

You know he is asking for that forsaken drawing you still have in your lap, but it somehow doesn’t feel like it. The electricity in the room is so high it feels like an open cable sending sparks flying everywhere, setting the air on fire. 

The only coherent thought in your brain is a chorus of yes, please and nothing else.

So you cave.

“You can,” you manage to say, because the necessity to protect your sanity might be strong, but the need to have him close to you is apparently stronger “if you want to”

His gaze is so penetrating you feel it in your soul, consuming you from the inside out and setting your whole body ablaze.

It’s compelling, hypnotizing even. 

“This is not about what I want, Y/n”

Oh, the way those words leave his perfect lips, making shudders erupt all over your body should be studied. 

Your world shifts on its axes and it starts spinning ten times faster. Because he knows. 

He knows. 

“We're not talking about art anymore, are we ?” you ask, swallowing soundly as your breath gets stuck in your throat.

“Were we ever talking about that in the first place ?” his question is rhetorical. He doesn’t need an answer because he already knows it. He figured you out, like he always does.

So what was the point in pretending anymore ?

“No,” you admit “I guess we weren't” your trembling hands move the paper out of the way.

There is a spark in his eyes. It’s foreign, thrilling even, and it makes your skin prickle in the best way.

Suddenly he moves. He shifts his weight forward, approaching you slowly. The veins in his arms and hands bulging from the pressure and knocking the air out of your lungs in the process.

“So tell me” he whispers, crawling to you bit by bit, like a hunter advancing towards his prey. He seems to be calm, poised, totally in control of his body as he comes closer and closer.

It’s his eyes that betray him. 

They have always been the window to his feelings, talking more than his mouth ever did. And right now they are burning, engulfed by a heat that makes your legs weak and your heart roar. The realization hits you, a rush of adrenaline running through your veins.

They are hungry.

“Tell you what ?” you stutter, unable to regain a hold of yourself. You can’t breathe, your palms are sweaty, you feel hot all over and he is close, so damn close.

He stops right in front of you, mere inches between your faces and a tension so heavy you can cut it with a butter knife.

“What you want” the warmth of his breath delicately caresses your skin. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, his eyes following the movement intently almost making you squirm under his gaze.

“You seem to know what I want” you murmur breathlessly, your body heating up in response to his proximity. 

Those hands, protagonists of some of the filthiest dreams you’ve ever had, are right next to you. Close enough to graze the skin of your thighs with his knuckles, but never indulging in the act. Like he is teasing you, waiting for you to beg for it. You shift your gaze to them and you swallow hard, the need to feel them on you growing stronger every second that passes. 

You are about to fucking combust.

His silver eyes are still fixed on you, intense and magnetic, as they follow your line of sight.

“I won't move a muscle unless you tell me to, Y/n” 

Those words, mouthed so close to your lips and mixed with the low, velvet-like husk of his voice, make your legs clench and your stomach churn in the best way possible.

You can’t take it anymore.

You move forward, abandoning your position on the bed to place your legs on each side of his hips, almost straddling him. Your hands are on his shoulders, helping you to keep your balance, feeling the lean muscles underneath the shirt as you hover over him.

His head tilts up, eyes sharp and hot and glued to yours. You hear him suppress a hiss as your thighs brush his hips. His arms are still next to him, hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white.

He is restraining himself. From touching you. 

Your thoughts are clouded, your mind hazy and completely out of it. The only thing you want right now is for him to place those perfect fucking hands on you and never stop.

“Do it” your voice is so weak and breathy it’s a miracle he hears you.

“Do what ?” he mouths, so close to your lips it makes your head spin.

You’re needy, desperate even, but you don’t care. You don’t have time to think right now. You want to feel.

“Touch me” you beg.

“Where ?” he sounds just as gone as you are, and you finally crumble.

“Everywhere”

It’s nothing more than a whisper but it shakes the both of you like an earthquake. 

You meet in the middle, your lips colliding and completely knocking the breath out of you.

His mouth is sinful, greedy, chasing yours with a hunger that almost makes you melt on the spot. You get lost in the softness of it, in the ungodly brush of your tongues making you moan breathlessly. You bite and nibble and lick and he follows you, matching the languid pace just as eagerly, as your hands tangle in his hair, pulling at the black strands delicately. The low groan that escapes his throat sends goosebumps all over you.

You are so focused on the filthy dance of your mouths that you almost miss the agonizingly slow graze of his fingers on the exposed flesh of your legs, gently tracing a path on your thighs.

The metal of his rings meets the hotness of your skin and you hiss.

Oh, it’s just as delicious as you imagined.

“Ah- fuck” you pant, millimeters away from him. Your head feels light, dizzy. 

You feel like you’re dreaming, lost in your own fantasies.

But his hands running up and down your thighs feel too fucking good to be just a product of your imagination. They travel slowly, excruciatingly so, making you lose your mind with every new inch of skin they explore. 

Until they sneak under your skirt, reaching your hips to gently knead the supple skin, applying enough force to bring you forward.

“Sit” It feels more like a plea than an order but-

Holy shit.

A gasp escapes your mouth before you can stop it.

Every cell of your body threatens to explode as he pushes your weight on him all the way, making you straddle him completely.

“Fucking finally” he curses, more to himself than to you, like he has been waiting for this moment his whole life.

His eyes are dark, fogged up by lust and need, and it's the lewdest thing you have ever witnessed.

“I have never seen you like this” you whisper directly on his lips, nibbling on the plush flesh.

He smirks, smirks for Salazar's sake, as his fingers move, reprising their mission to make you lose every ounce of control.

“It seems you were busy looking at something else”

His thumbs rub the skin of your inner thigh in a hypnotizing manner, sending bolts of electricity down your spine.

You whimper as they get closer and closer to your core, your grip on the junction between his neck and shoulder tightening in pleasure.

But he must take it as some sort of sign of discomfort because he halts suddenly.

“Want me to stop ?” his eyes search for yours, the veiled concern in them making your heart stutter.

“Don’t you even dare” you say, a mere breath away from him before you dive in, capturing his mouth again.

It's messy and dirty and you get addicted to his taste way too quickly.

His hands move up, massaging your skin at every caress of your tongues, until they reach the hem of your panties.

He moves away from your lips for a quick moment, and he looks at you.

The silent ‘Can I ?’ written in his eyes almost makes you swoon.

You nod your head.

“I need words, chérie” he whispers sensually.

The combination of his right hand so close to your most sensitive spot, his left one traveling up to your hip, holding it tightly, posessivly, and that fucking pet name almost make you cum on the spot.

“Yes” you practically beg.

Only then he resprises his journey of exquisit torture along your body.

“Shit-” you quiver as he kisses your neck, branding the sensitive skin with his lips and teeth. His hands move, fingers skilled and sinful as they reach your heat.

You mewl as they make contact with the light material of your underwear.

“Jesus Christ” hs hisses a groan “you’re soaked”

A series of choked out whimpers leaves your lips as he strokes his fingers over your panties, feeling your wetness through the fabric.

“Fuck- Reg” a moan ripples from your lips when his thumb brushes your clit tentativley, making you gasp. Your hands fly to his hair, lightly pulling the soft strands with trembling fingers.

“Look at you, all horny and needy over my hands” his voice is tantalizing but you can hear the breathlessness, the strain in it. He is affected by this just as much as you are and it makes you go almost feral.

“Please” you breathe. You don’t even know what you’re begging for. Your mind is too hazy, too fogged up by lust and need to have a single coherent thought in it.

But he sure does know, because his digits move your panties to the side, just enough to glide over your slickness, making contact with the tender skin of your folds and spreading your wetness all over.

Finally, finally the hands consuming your every thought are on you, right where you had craved and imagined them the most.

You arch your back in ecstasy, biting your lip.

And it’s when his middle finger eases inside of you, slowly breaching your velvety walls, that you lose it completely.

The air gets knocked out of your lungs, liquid fire engulfs every cell of your body, every nerve and muscle consumed by pleasure.

“Regulus-” it’s the only thing you manage to mewl as he slides in and out of you in a rhythm so sensual and sultry it makes you melt. The cold metal of his ring meets the warm, sensitive skin of your cunt with every prod, creating a delicious contrast.

You never break eye contact, your gazes locked together drinking in every little detail, every wave of bliss swimming in them.

“Is this what you fantasized about, love ?” he pants right on your lips “All the times I caught you staring, is this what you were imagining my hands doing ? Fucking you senseless, feeling how tight and needy you are ?”

His words are as dirty as his eyes as he slides another finger into you, making you inhale sharply and stretching you out so good you could almost cry. 

“Ohmygodyes” you moan as your hips start moving to their own accord, meeting the prodding of his fingers eagerly, riding his hand like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

“But this is not the only fantasy you have, right chérie ?” he teases, going faster, harder, pumping mercilessly and leaving you a blubbering mess.

His left hand leaves its place on your hip and moves up, grazing the soft skin of your stomach, the supple and tender flesh of your breasts, the natural dip of your collarbones, worshipping every inch of your skin in their path, until they reach their goal.

“I bet you thought about this too, didn't you ?” 

You were always sure this would remain just one of your daydreams, the kind of dirty thought that should remain in your mind and nowhere else. But Regulus Black was Regulus Black and reading you was one of his favorite hobbies.

It still comes as a surprise, though, when he delicately wraps his hand around your throat, resting it there, feeling every pulse of your heart, every pump of your blood and adorning your neck with the prettiest fucking necklace you could ever ask for.

“Yes” it’s nothing more than a breath, but it sends him into a frenzy. His right thumb rubs your clit relentlessly, adding to the unforgiving pace of his fingers sliding in and out of you with lewd, wet squelches. The whimpers coming out of your mouth are raw, filthy and downright pornographic as you feel your orgasm approaching.

Your head is in the clouds, a hundred thousands miles from earth as the only thing you can focus on is the feeling of his hands on you, fucking you to your release as the one on your neck squeezes the faintest bit, enough to almost send you over the edge.

His left thumb leaves its place right above your jugular, moving upwards to caress your jawline, your cheek and, lastly, your lips.

You can feel the digit caressing the red, bitten flesh, brushing it with reverence, worshiping it with his whole being. His heated gaze is bewitched, entranced by your mouth parting, welcoming him past your lips, and lightly grazing the pad with your teeth before enveloping it wholly.

“Bloody fucking hell, Y/n” he rasps, voice low and dangerously close to pleading as you suck on his thumb like it's the tastiest treat you have ever put in your mouth.

The hand on your cunt speeds its pace, pounding in and out of you like a fucking machine, the vibrations on your little bundle of nerves getting more intense by the second, sending you over the edge in a mess of moans and whimpers.

“Reg, fuck, I'm-”

You reach your release with his name on your lips, back arched and hips rolling to help you ride your orgasm on those unholy fingers of his. 

Your vision is blurred, your brain fuzzy and overwhelmed by bliss as you slowly come back to your senses.

It takes you a few seconds to regain control of your body and mind, but when you do you are graced with a vision you are sure you will never forget.

The ever composed and collected Regulus Black is right in front of you with his expression contorted in pure lust, eyes bleary and unfocused, hair tousled by your hands relentlessly stroking them, lips red and glossy from the heated kisses, tie loose, crooked and shirt crumpled.

He is a mess.

The hottest mess you have ever seen.

You're still not fully out of your head space when he speaks again.

“You're loud” he grins, his tone teasing but still a little raspy.

“You're filthy” you bite back weakly, your voice hoarse and strained. 

“Maybe. But I don’t think I'm the only one” 

The fingers that have been inside of you not even a moment ago are now in front of you, coated and glistening with your essence.

He slowly brings them closer to your mouth, and you don't even think twice before eagerly welcoming them inside it.

The taste of yourself mixes with the metallic tinge of his rings as you suck leisurely, restraining a moan before he takes them out with a wet pop.

“Sale fille” he groans in french, lowly and right on your parted lips, before he dives in an alluring kiss. (Dirty girl)

It's slower than all the others you shared, but it's deeper, sensual and it almost gets you worked up all over again.

His tongue meets yours in a erotic dance and when the taste of your very essence coats his tastebuds a moan rumbles in his throat.

“You're sweet” his voice is nothing more than a whisper as his teeth nibble at your lower lip gently.

“Want me to find out if you're sweet, too ?” You offer with a teasing smile on your lips . His hands might be your biggest fantasy, but they sure as hell are not the only part of him you fantasize about.

“Eager, are we ?” he teases playfully, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “Not today, chérie”

The little pet name creates butterflies in your stomach and makes your cheeks warm, but doesn't hide your disappointment. 

“Why ?” you ask, your hands going to fiddle with his tie.

“As I told you, this is not about what I want” he explains, his arms circling you in a loose hug “and I don't know if you noticed, but it's pretty late”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, and only then you realize that the sun has already set and the room would be totally surrounded by darkness if it wasn't for the few magic candles lighting up automatically when twilight hits.

Your eyes widen.

“How long have we been here for ?” your voice has a panicked hint to it, making Regulus laugh.

“I'm pretty sure dinner is getting served right now” he says nonchalantly, like it's the most normal thing ever to engage in sexual activities with your best friend and miss supper because of it.

“Which might be for the best,” he adds.

“Why ?” you ask in genuine confusion.

“Because I’m the only one lucky enough to hear your dirty little sounds” he says with a shit-eating grin before kissing you again.

Thank you for reading 💖

[httpvomitello]

A Man with a Pretty Face and a Slutty Waist .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: Sirius has always enjoyed receiving compliments, and has received many of different types, but he didn't expect to be praised like that by you. And in front of his friends.

sirius black x f!reader

Sirius Black had heard many things about himself in his life.

Some called him charming. Others, reckless. McGonagall preferred a menace to the sanctity of Hogwarts (her words, not his). But what he had never been called—at least not directly—was what had just come out of your mouth.

"A man with a pretty face and a slutty waist."

Sirius blinked. "I—what?"

You smirked, biting into an apple, looking thoroughly unbothered.

Remus choked on his tea. James dropped his quill. Peter just gaped at you, like you had physically knocked the wind out of him.

"What did you just call me?" Sirius asked, half in amusement, half in offense.

You leaned against the Gryffindor common room couch, taking another slow bite of your apple, dragging out the moment as if it wasn’t killing him. "I said what I said."

Sirius stared at you. You stared back.

James was the first to break.

"Slutty waist?" He repeated, wheezing. "Oh my Merlin, that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard."

Remus, still trying to recover from his near-death experience, wiped at his mouth. "Where did you even get that from?"

You shrugged. "Just the truth. He’s got a tiny little waist and a dramatic flair. It makes sense."

Sirius scoffed, crossing his arms. "I am not tiny-waisted."

You gave him a once-over, slow and deliberate, before quirking a brow. "Oh, love, you so are."

James leaned back, laughing so hard he nearly fell off the couch. "Pads, she’s got you there."

Peter nodded solemnly. "Yeah, mate. It’s undeniable."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "I don’t need this betrayal from my own friends."

"You strut when you walk," Remus pointed out, smirking.

"I do not strut."

James and Peter nodded in unison. "You do."

Sirius threw his hands up. "Unbelievable."

You, the absolute menace that you were, leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand, eyes glinting with mischief. "It’s not a bad thing, Black. It just means you’ve got style."

Sirius narrowed his eyes at you. "This feels like an attack disguised as a compliment."

"Can’t it be both?"

James howled. "Merlin, I love her."

Sirius rolled his eyes, but you could see the faintest hint of pink dusting his cheekbones. "You’re insufferable."

"And you," you countered, standing up and tapping a finger under his chin, "are just mad that I’m right."

Sirius tried very hard to remain unaffected, but the way you were looking at him? That smug little grin? It was dangerous.

Before he could think of a proper comeback, you turned on your heel, tossing your apple core in the bin with impressive precision. "I’ll see you at dinner, boys."

And with that, you walked away, leaving four very stunned Marauders in your wake.

Sirius stared after you, mouth slightly open, processing what had just happened.

James clapped him on the shoulder, grinning like a madman. "Mate, I think I’m in love with your girlfriend."

Sirius blinked. "My what?"

Remus sighed, taking a sip of his tea. "You’re doomed, mate."

Sirius, for once in his life, had nothing to say.

[yasministration]

not a love confession - professor!remus lupin

summary: when harry and remus are back from hogwarts, there is a clear tension between the student and his godfather. so when sirius bribes harry to tell him what's going on, he reveals that he caught remus kissing the new charms professor. wc: 4k+ cw: some suggestive themes, kissing, professor x professor relationship, sassy harry charms professor!reader

The savoury scent of something warm and homemade filled the air of the Potter Manor, though the atmosphere that accompanied it didn't match. All throughout dinner, neither Harry or Remus looked at each other, the student and his godfather worrying the three other adults sat at the table. It was Harry and Remus’s first night back from Hogwarts, and as per usual, a celebration was in order. However, a somewhat awkward silence overtook the dining table as Harry and Remus silently poked and prodded at the food on their plates, accusing words lingering on the tip of their tongues.

But as Lily squinted her eyes, staring at her son and her best friend, she realised that it wasn’t anger left between them. No, it was humiliation.

Shame.

Guilt.

“What’s going on with you guys?” Lily finally interrogated, putting her fork down. Remus and Harry, sat opposite each other, looked up at each other in unison before glancing down at their food again, voices squeaking in synchrony as they yelled “Nothing!” Sirius scooted his chair closer to Harry, ducking down and stage whispering, “I’ll get you tickets to the Chudley Canons game next month if you tell me.”

Remus ducked his head with a sigh, knowing the agreement him and Harry had come to was instantly broken. It didn't matter how ashamed Harry was of his own actions, or fearful that his parents might find out — the reward was just too great.

“Uncle Remus has a crush on the new charms Professor!” Before his friends could comment, Remus huffed, countering with “Harry almost got expelled last week!”

The gasps around the table doubled in volume, three heads across the table shooting back and forth between the two men, the age gap between them forgotten as they snitched on each other like twelve year old boys. James’s jaw was slack, and he calmly put his utensils down. “Okay, hold on.” But Lily had already cut in, pointing an accusing finger at Remus. “I knew you had a crush on her!” Harry slumped in his chair in relief, but his mother wagged a finger at him, saying “I’ll get back to you later, Mr. Potter.”

“Wait, all this awkwardness just because you have a crush on someone?” James laughed, stabbing at a piece of sweet potato on his plate. A silence fell across the table once more. Remus was glaring at Harry with a warning intensity James, Sirius and Lily hadn’t seen from him in years. Harry’s lips parted, before he shut them closed again. “Remus…” Sirius teased, reaching across the table to poke his friend in the arm. Remus’s face went red, his hard front breaking for just a second — long enough for Harry to admit “I caught them snogging in his office!”

“For fuck’s sake, Harry!”

Truth to be told, Remus didn’t know why he didn’t tell his best friends about you sooner. He had always been open with them about his romantic life, but for now, he wanted to keep you to himself, away from any judgement. It was all just, so new.

It started at the beginning of the school year, which was almost ten months ago now, when he had noticed a new figure figure coming to sit at the staff table. You looked professional, all poise and stern expressions, but when you had introduced yourself to him as the new charms professor “because Flitwick can only handle so many students” as you had said, something else had come through.

A kindness that was rare to find. A mischievous glint in your eyes.

So Remus made it his mission to be your friend, or at least a friendly face in the crowd of much older staff and students near half your age. He knew you were younger than him — you were a student at Hogwarts, but not whilst he was there — and yet it only made him more intrigued. The students caught onto this blossoming friendship immediately, asking Professor Lupin (Hogwarts' token favourite teacher), about you.

The newbie. Fresh meat.

But more importantly, you were the newbie Professor Lupin approved of — perhaps as something even more than a coworker.

To the students of Hogwarts, you were strict, setting homework once a week and not letting anyone leave the classroom until everyone had at least cast the spell correctly once — which usually wasn’t a problem because you were that great of a teacher. Similarly to Remus though, they saw something in you, like the way your lips tugged upwards when playful banter filled the classroom, or how you turned your back to them when someone made a dirty joke, trying to hide your delighted chuckle. They softened you over time, showing you that sternness wasn't required for greatness.

Remus answered the questions he got from his students in the most professional way he could, saying “She’s a brilliant witch” or “She could definitely beat me in a duel” which sometimes concerned his students as he was their defense against the dark arts professor. But the questions only got more vigorous after he walked into your classroom one day while you were teaching the same group of seventh year students who relentlessly asked him about you.

“Oh sorry.” Remus said, freezing in the doorway of your classroom at the realisation that he had barged into the middle of your lesson. You smiled fondly, eyes softening at the sight of him. “It’s alright, Professor Lupin, come in.” As he walked into the classroom, he took note of how all the desks were pushed to the side, some students sat on the floor whilst others stood proudly, attempting to cast the newest spell you had taught them. It was a tricky spell, and Remus was impressed with the number of students who so effortlessly cast it with a quiet whisper and a subtle wave of their wands. You had morphed their messy spell casting into one of elegance that only masters could acquire. Subtlety that would be hidden from duelling partners, potentially saving lives.

What Professor Lupin didn’t notice was that nearly everyone halted their work, listening in on the conversation between you. “I think these may have slipped in with my papers when we were marking essays together the other day.” Remus held out a couple of essays for you to take and you thanked him with a smile, oblivious to the eyebrows raised around you.

“Has Professor McGonagall given approval of the trip for the seventh years?” Remus nodded at your question, furrowing his eyebrows as he tried remembering the date. “She’s given confirmation for november 10th, and we need parent signatures by october 30th.” You nodded, absentmindedly flicking your empty hand in your direction, prompting a pencil and notebook to fly towards you from your desk.

If your students weren’t interested before, they sure were now. Wandless magic wasn’t common in the wizarding world, countless wizards who tried to conquer the feat giving up when no signs of magic appeared. It was difficult to control; it was majestic. “November 10, october 30th.” You mumbled under your breath, jotting down the information as you swayed from the balls to the heels of your feet.

“Okay, so can we do the assembly for it next week then?” You asked, continuing to write things down. “Yeah, I’m free for first periods all of next week but tuesday.” You nodded, raising your voice by the slightest bit to ask your students “When does the year group have a free period one?” The response was instant, and you raised an eyebrow, suspicious that they had been listening in on your conversation.

“Alright, perfect.” And as Remus left the room, everyone dropped their wands to bombard you with questions about your wandless magic. “Get used to doing non-verbal spells and then we can discuss wandless magic.” You told them, turning around at the feeling of someone staring at you. Harry Potter. Remus’s godson, if you weren’t mistaken. Besides him, the two students you had never seen leave his side, gossiping excitedly, the curly-haired girl shooting the ginger boy next to him a pointed look whilst nodding her head in your direction.

That afternoon, Harry burst into Remus’s classroom, immediately asking “What’s going on with you and Professor l/n?” Remus looked up from where he was grading papers and ran a hand through his hair.

“What?”

“It’s so obvious you like her!" The seventeen year old started, slumping down in the chair facing his godfather's desk. "I bet you even took those essays from her just so you had an excuse to come into her classroom.” Remus shook his head, deciding not to answer his godson as he continued marking papers.

"Oh don't ignore me! Even Hermione was saying that she saw you guys walking together by the black lake and can I just say, you sit next to her at every single meal. It's not subtle."

Then, the best thing that could have happened to Harry did. The door opened, and in came the familiar voice of his charms teacher. “Hiya Remus. Oh sorry, I didn’t realise you had company.” Harry grinned widely, looking back at his godfather with a knowing look on his face. Harry opened his mouth, ready to tease, but Remus was already spoken.

“Don’t be. He’s just here to bother me.” You giggled at that, the sweet sound causing Remus to perk up happily. Harry’s eyes went wide at the view, and he held back a grimace. No way did you have that much of an effect on Remus. “Well Harry, since you’ve got so much time on your hands, I’m assuming you’ve finished my essay?” Harry’s face went red and he spluttered, trying to find an excuse. Remus laughed loudly, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

“It's due tomorrow, isn't it?” He asked, and you nodded, walking deeper into Remus's office, taking a seat next to Harry. "I have loads of time, then." He dismissed with a wave of his hand. Your eyebrows rose at his words, mildly amused at the casual conversation he partook in.

"Harry." Remus warned, attracting the eyes of his godson, who finally took pity on him. "Yeah, fine, I'll leave." He mumbled, dragging his feet out of the office. As the door slammed shut behind Harry, Remus felt his cheeks heat up at your individual presence. It had become such a familiar thing to him, and yet every time he found himself alone with you, he felt more nervous than the last, trying to find new ways to relate to you.

It didn’t stop him from finding excuses to be with you alone though, slipping to Professor McGonagall that doing curfew rounds would be enjoyable with someone he could talk to about things, like the upcoming seventh year trip. Even as he gave McGonagall his poor excuse, and she shot him a knowing look, he shot her a grin, sighing in relief when she jotted his name down next to yours on the curfew plan.

“And here I thought your casanova days were over, Mr. Lupin.” Remus had blushed furiously, but thanked her nonetheless as he left her office. He made sure to thank her again a few weeks later, when the curfew rounds had proven to bring you closer to each other, not shying away from cozying yourself into the older Professor's side, muttering something about the cold. Every time, Remus wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his warm arms bringing you a comfortable heat that your abandoned jumpers could never achieve.

It seemed that this yearning wasn’t one sided though, because it was only a week later that you poked your head through his classroom door whilst he was teaching, your footsteps quiet on the stone as you entered the room. Remus was sat on his desk, a smile on his face as he spoke to his students about something that didn’t relate whatsoever to the subject he taught. He didn't know why he entertained their ideas, and yet, he never tried to stop it.

As he caught your eye, lingering in the back of the room, he rolled his eyes playfully, finally bringing his students’ attention to you. “It’s always this class, isn’t it?” He complained jokingly. You hummed in agreement. “Perfectly confident speakers and yet horrible essay writers. One would think those went hand in hand.” You laughed as the students all began talking at once, coming to their own defence, and approached Professor Lupin.

“Would you like to come to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow morning?" You asked in a low whisper, the students' chatter giving you the briefest moment of privacy. Remus froze, a flush overtaking his features at your invitation. "I need to grab some things for my upcoming lessons.” Remus nodded, enjoying the secret conversation amongst the room of students.

“Oi, would you stop flirting and make a move already!?”

The room burst into a fit of laughter and Remus furrowed his eyebrows. “Detention, Harry. And whilst you’re there, you can finish last week’s essay you never gave me.” The class ‘oohed’ at Remus’s instant reply, and he ignored his godson’s immediate complaints. If Harry thought he could be the only pain in the ass in this room, he thought wrong. Remus squinted at his godson before turning to you, sending you an apologetic look. You smiled at him, taking a seat next to him on the spacious desk.

You leaned in closer to Remus, bringing your voice down to a whisper as you nodded towards a few students in the back of the classroom. They thought they were being subtle, but the slow movements of their hands only caught your attention, the sound of creasing parchment painful in Remus's ears. “Passing notes. Should we have some fun?” Remus nodded eagerly, and you pointed your hand in the direction of the note being passed around, wiggling your fingers slightly. A squeal caught the attention of the other students, who watched as the folded parchment flew across the room into your hands.

“Any guesses for what’s written in this note?” You asked, and immediately, someone yelled “A love confession!” You and Remus chuckled quietly as you unfolded the piece of parchment. Your shoulders stiffened as you read the recognisable messy scrawls of two of your students.

‘theyre so into each other it’s actually embarrassing’

‘they need to fuck and get it out of their system’

‘professor l/n? nah, she's giving more like professor lupin’

‘i’m sayingggg’

'theyre my dream age gap relationship'

'yeah this is the height difference i deserve'

'i bet they make out in his office after hours'

'dudeee curfew rounds too.'

'nah i don't think so bc they have their own rooms'

'oh. i see.'

'sex all night every night'

'its okay. as long as theres a ring on her finger by the end of the year.'

'lol, i think we'd know tho. bc right now the sexual tension is through the roof'

You hummed, folding the paper back up. “Not a love confession.” “Disappointing really” Added Remus with a snort.

“Right? Tell us something we don’t already know.” Remus’s eyes widened and a gasp was heard from the back of the room. You stared at the parchment until it caught fire in your grip, the paper turning into ash in your hands, which you instantly wiped away with another spell.

“Tell us something we don’t know.” Remus echoed, and you turned to face him, feeling suddenly confident. “Well, we have known, haven’t we?”

“I have. Wasn't aware you did too.”

"Interesting bet though."

"Yeah, we could probably push things in their favour."

You hopped off the desk with a shrug of your shoulders, nodding towards the students who had been exchanging the note. “You two, come with me.” At once, both students began apologising, “Professor, we’re so sorry, we didn’t-” “We didn’t, it wasn’t-” Your laughter interrupted them as you repeated, “Come on.” and that’s how they knew they weren’t really in trouble. After all, you had received one too many detentions as a student because of exchanging notes in class, and you wouldn’t cause the same misery upon your own students. Especially not when it came to pondering about your Professors' private lives.

Remus let his students leave after that, but they all insisted on knowing what was in the note. He didn’t tell them. Obviously. But he spent the rest of the day thinking about what you were like as a student. He had his mischievous moments, getting in trouble for the pranks he plotted with his friends, missing assignments dates because he didn't want to do the chapter readings. But what were you like? Were you one of the girls who giggled with her friends in the back of her classroom? Or did you write notes down vigorously, showing the teachers you had their respect until you could finally speak your mind when you left the classroom? Fuck, did you sneak out past curfew to find some broom closet to make out with your boyfriend in?

Remus briefly wondered if he should ask Professor McGonagall about you. Or at least, if she would approve of the two of you together. Did she think you'd make a good match? When she taught you, was she reminded of him due to any similarities? Or were you both stars waiting to collide?

There was so much to you Remus hadn't discovered yet.

And that's when it struck him, in a moment of panic and awe. He had agreed to go to Hogsmeade with you. He had agreed to go to Hogsmeade with you and he had agreed that ‘they need to fuck and get it out of their system’. When he had agreed that 'the sexual tension is through the roof.'

It only dawned on him then, sitting alone in his classroom. You had openly stated that it was something you knew. That — fuck, did that mean you wanted to fuck him? In secret passageways when you should be doing your curfew rounds? Late at night in his private quarters? All night every night?

Remus almost stood you up the next day, just in fear of having to face you again, the knowledge of your desire for each other out in the open, introducing a game of 'who would make the first move?' But he forced himself to find you at Hogwarts’ entrance hall nonetheless. You straightened up when you saw him, and Remus genuinely didn’t know what overtook him, but one moment he was standing across from you and the next he was cupping your cheeks and pressing his lips onto yours.

You gasped into the kiss, but brought your hands up to Remus’s chest, hands curling around the collar of his shirt, peeking over his thick jumper. Remus broke away from the kiss, his eyes going wide. “I’m sorry, I don’t know wh-mmph-” He was pulled into another kiss, eagerness shining through it, your lips steady against his. Your lips separated from his with a loud smooch, and you immediately looked down at your feet, suddenly shy.

He caught a glimpse of the real you, just then.

Remus chuckled, the shyness on your face reflecting your youthfulness, and he softly pinched your chin between his thumb and index finger, encouraging your head up so he could properly look at you. He leaned down, capturing your lips in one last, short kiss, before pulling away again and saying “Come on, you need to get some things from Hogsmeade don’t you?”

Your trip had been quick — you only had one hour to spare before you both had classes to teach — but you couldn’t help but get distracted along the way, Remus stealing kisses from you, knowing you’d have to be discreet with them upon your return to the castle. You stumbled into alleyways with a rebellion Hogwarts Professors couldn't show, but desperate lips had found each other and portals were opened to glimpse into each other's past. You weren't the careful kind as Hogwarts students, neither of you. But as Professors? You were. At least, for as long as possible. You were careful all the time, kisses shared in either of your classrooms only lasting a couple of seconds as the weeks went on.

You saved the affectionate moments for nights when you’d sneak away to Hogsmeade, in the corner of the three broomsticks or hidden away at hog’s head pub. Or for nights when he'd knock on your door, poking his head in to find you still marking papers. He'd distract you then with loving kisses and gentle hands.

But Remus just couldn’t help how nosy his godson was.

The door to his office had been locked — for good purpose too. But Harry had tried the door handle once then decided that coming into the office while Remus wasn’t there couldn’t hurt.

Except, it did a little, because the office wasn’t empty. No, Remus was there, holding you in his arms as he tilted his head to the side, lips locked with your in a passionate kiss — a good snog, Harry called it later, when telling his friends the story. His friends, who would promise to keep their mouths shut, despite the rumours that were spread around the castle the next day, as though they didn't already exist.

Somewhere in the castle, your seventh year student was pocketing the three galleons she was promised — easiest bucks she had every made, all thanks to a silly bet. But your relationship went further than exchanging kisses behind closed doors. On most nights, Remus slept in your bed, arms keeping you snug against him. After full moons, it was you instead of Madame Pomfrey tending to his wounds, leaving kisses on the tender skin and offering to cover his lessons the next day instead of Professor Snape. Over the next few months, you had warmed up to your boyfriend's godson, exchanging playful banter with him whenever he walked into Remus's office to find you there instead.

But Remus wasn’t going to give Lily, James and Sirius that entire explanation, and he surely wouldn't tell them about how he had strictly told Harry not to utter a single word about you to his parents or Sirius. He wouldn't tell them how Harry had furrowed his eyebrows, shrugging his shoulders as he said "Why? They'd all love her." Nor how on the way to the Hogsmeade train station, Harry called out for you, jokingly pleading for you to meet with his godfather at least once a week over the holiday, otherwise he'd be unbearable. He wouldn't mention how you had laughed, and Remus had caught up to you, shamelessly pressing his lips against yours for all the students around you to see as he whispered in your ear that he'd see you after tomorrow.

No, Remus wouldn't say anything. Not when the lights in the room were so bright and everyone felt like teasing, no wine in his bloodstream yet to ease away his humiliation. He would only tell them by the fireplace when Harry went to bed, admitting to them that he didn’t want to scare you off. He’d tell them that you were new to him, younger than any girlfriend he ever had, which made him afraid.

He'd share the rest of his fears too.

Like the irrational worries asking if you would get along with Lily, even though she was seven years older than you? Even though she had a teenage son, who you taught on a daily basis? Would you laugh along with Sirius's jokes, giggling at Remus's expense when embarrassing stories were told just for the sake of bonding? Would you accept the most vulnerable stories James would share, his emotions loud and proud, exchanging ones of your own despite the difficulty? Or would you be a stranger, closing in on yourself at their intimidating personalities, scared away by Harry Potter who would take every chance to poke fun at his two professors?

So for now, Remus settled with “Harry almost got expelled last week.”

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[dreamyblanket]

Hello it's my first time asking I don't speak English frequently so excuse me if i made a mistake

can you draw caramel arrow cookie teaching reader how to make a campfire and stargazing

I really love how you draw her

Thank you for the kind words! //^^//

[pinkdaiisies]

Ease My Worried Mind - R.L.

Remus Lupin x reader

Summary: Reminiscing about photos on Remus' nightstand. Also some serious conversations and thoughts about Remus' condition. (Remus is in loooveeee; fluffy; kissing)

Words: 1.1k

Notes: Guys this is so good. Like I'm actually so proud of this one. Pleaseeeee comment and let me know what you thought of it, comments are super appreciated!!! (I thrive on validation) Please enjoy! (Also the title is from the song 'Layla' !!)

___

It took loads of convincing to be where you are now. Remus' bed was quite comfortable. The scent of him in the sheets comforted you. Remus was in the bathroom about to take a shower.

Lyall, Remus' father, didn't like company over so close to the full moon. Remus' excessive chatting about you since first year made him believe that you were a trustworthy enough person to allow in his house.

Even though you were in your later years at Hogwarts, none of the other boys had been to Remus' home. Except James when he picked Remus up to take him to his house. Even then, Lyall and Hope didn't allow James to come inside.

It wasn't them being rude, you could tell that they were just protective over Remus. His friend group at Hogwarts was the first one he was ever allowed to have.

Lyall and Hope had been very kind to you since you had arrived, but you could tell they were nervous about the full moon being so close. They were almost too nice, but it was an awkward nice.

As your thoughts roamed about Remus and his family, you looked around at Remus' room. The walls were plastered with posters of various rock stars and movies. Upon his nightstand there was a framed picture of him with James, Sirius, and Peter. Remus was sandwiched in between Sirius and James. Sirius' arm was around Peter's shoulders, and James' hand was squishing Remus' face. The picture moved and you could see Sirius's head fall back in laughter. You reflected on the moment fondly, you had taken this picture.

Your eyes kept roaming, and lying on his nightstand was another picture. This picture was encased in a charm meant for a necklace. You picked up the charm and smiled fondly. This picture was of Remus and you. You could remember this moment exactly.

_

"Could I have a refill please." Peter said quietly as the waitress walked by ignoring him.

The group giggled at Peter's embarrassment. Although you and Remus paid no mind to this, you two were having your own conversation in the corner of the half booth table your friends had picked.

"It's alright mate, i'll go get one for you." Sirius stood up and walked to the bar, Peter following quietly behind.

The Three Broomsticks was a bit too warm for late spring, but the frost in your butterbeer made up for it. Remus' arm around your back and hand on the side of your thigh probably didn't help either, but this heat you didn't mind as much.

At this moment, Remus was whispering something silly in your ear, and you giggled. Then all of a sudden there was a bright flash in your face.

"Godric, you two. Off in your own world the whole time we've been here. Don't know why we go to Hogsmeade anymore!" James said as he snatched the camera from Lily.

"Didn't they look so cute though! That's why I took the picture," she said towards James. "You guys are going to be grateful for that picture, you look so good y/n!" Lily finished as she tried to take the camera back from James. James used this as an opportunity to stand up and put the camera in the air, much to tall for Lily to reach.

___

The picture was good. Your makeup and hair looked perfect, and Remus looked absolutely smitten as he whispered in your ear. The picture moved and cutoff mid giggle, going back to the moment when Remus leaned in.

"I'm out." Remus walked in, hair wet and messy, the only thing on was his boxers.

You put the picture back in its spot on his nightstand. When you took in his appearance and lack of clothes you blushed.

Remus dried his hair messily with his towel. He then reached in his dresser and unfortunately pulled out an old t-shirt. Putting the t-shirt on, he walked over to his bed, where you were still laying. He crawled into bed, while crushing you in the process. You laughed as he put almost all of his body weight on you. Eventually, he rolled over, and you two were lying side by side.

You looked over at him.

"Remus do your parents know that I know?" You asked him intently.

Remus looked back at you, not expecting such a serious question. You knew he didn't like talking about it, so every time you did, it shocked him.

"Yes. They do." Remus looked at you gently. "That's probably why they're acting so weird. Usually when people find out that I'm a werewolf, they don't normally want to be in our home," Remus said with a tight lipped smile, "Especially laying in the werewolf's bed." You rolled your eyes and giggled. It made sense, it did. The stigma around werewolves was still very outdated. The wizarding world wasn't very open minded.

Your hand went to hold Remus' cheek. Your thumb traced the scars on his face. Your gaze held his admirably.

Remus' thoughts raced throughout this moment. One thought was the loudest though: He was so lucky to have you in his life.

Remus was able to be vulnerable with you, which he wasn't allowed with everyone else. He was also able to tell you every thought on his mind. Most of all, he was able to trust you with the biggest secret anyone could ever hold.

Remus leaned in and kissed you gently on the lips.

"I love you," Remus said as he moved his hand on top of yours, still upon his cheek.

"I love you so much more Moony," your voice barley above a whisper, face leaning in once more for a kiss.

Remus moved his lips against yours vigorously. So much passion being shared between the two of you. Unfortunately, the only thought that passed through your mind was how you wished Remus hadn't put that t-shirt on.

Eventually you pulled away, breathless, you stared into Remus' face. Scar adorned, yet gorgeous. If Remus didn't have those scars he wouldn't look right, you thought. Those scars made him who he was, and you wouldn't have him any other way.

You both laid on your back for a while, staring up at the ceiling. Suddenly, Remus popped into your line of vision above you.

"Let's go for a walk," He said, while getting up from the bed. You immediately followed him, and put on your shoes.

If this was how being at Remus' house was, you'd never want to leave.