about me
༊*·˚ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ ✧˖*°࿐ ˚ ༘ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄*･῾ ᵎ⌇ ⁺◦ ✧.*༊*·˚ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ ✧˖*°࿐ ˚ ༘ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄*･῾ ᵎ⌇ ⁺◦ ✧.*༊*·˚
andra | 20 | she/her | in love w any character that has superhero complex
⁀➷ my requests are open if you have a wish, you can ofc send it to me and i'll do my best to make it just as you would like it
⁀➷ i'm a june cancer!
⁀➷ i can write everything, but is something make me uncomfortable i will not, i have my own rights lol
⁀➷ english is not my first language
⁀➷ you can ask me about anything, movies, series, anime, artists, ANYTHING, and if i don't know something i'll look it up, dw!
⁀➷ i write for me and my best friend mainly
i just wanted to make this for you to know me better, thanks for the support babycakes! 💌
warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, established relationship, soft dom yuuji energy but mostly switchy/pleaser yuuji, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, praise, mild possessiveness, yuuji is a little sweaty from training (sorry not sorry), aftercare mention
notes: first smut i've evert written to post, pls be nice • reader has a bit of a size difference kink (yuuji’s big everywhere) • reblogs & comments keep me alive ily 💌 • BOTH YUUJI AND READER ARE FOURTH YEARS AND OVER 18 YEARS OLD!!!
the dorms are quiet after 1 a.m.
most students are passed out from training or pretending to study while scrolling. yuuji’s room smells like clean sweat, citrus body wash, and the faint vanilla of your shampoo that’s somehow ended up on his pillow permanently.
he’s still wearing his black compression shorts and nothing else — skin shiny, chest rising fast from the late night workout he dragged you along for “just to keep him company”. liar. he just wanted your eyes on him while he lifted.
now you’re both on his narrow bed, your back against the headboard, legs spread over his broad shoulders while he kneels between them like it’s the only place he belongs.
“been thinking about this all day,” he mumbles against your inner thigh, voice muffled and warm. his pink hair is a mess; strands stick to his forehead. “could barely focus on punches ‘cause i kept picturing you like this.”
you laugh breathlessly. “you’re so —”
he cuts you off by dragging his tongue flat up your cunt, slow and deliberate.
your hips jump.
“shhh. let me take care of you, baby.”
yuuji eats you out like he’s starving and you’re his favorite meal. no teasing, no edging bullshit — just hungry, open-mouthed kisses and messy swirls around your clit until your thighs tremble. he groans every time you tug his hair, the sound vibrating straight through you.
“taste so fucking good,” he pants, cheeks flushed dark. “could do this for hours.”
you’re already close when he slips two thick fingers inside, curling them just right while his lips close around your clit and suck.
“yuuji — fuck —”
“yeah?” he looks up at you with those big doe eyes, lips glossy, chin dripping. “gonna come for me? want you to. please.”
that ‘please’ does it.
you arch, thighs clamping around his head as you come hard, gasping his name. he doesn’t stop — keeps licking softly through it until you’re whining from overstimulation and weakly pushing at his forehead.
he pulls back with the goofiest, proudest grin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“good girl,” he breathes, crawling up to kiss you deep so you can taste yourself on his tongue.
your hands are already fumbling at his shorts, shoving them down just enough. his cock springs free — thick, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. he’s so hard it looks painful.
“need you,” you whisper against his lips. “inside. now.”
yuuji makes a broken little sound in his throat.
“fuck — yeah. yeah, baby.”
he lines up, rubs the head through your slick folds a few times, then pushes in slow.
your breath catches at the stretch. he’s big — bigger than anyone you’ve been with before him — and he knows it. always goes careful at first, watching your face like you might break.
“still okay?” he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours.
“mhm. more.”
that’s all he needs.
he bottoms out with a shaky exhale, hips flush to yours. for a second he just stays there, breathing hard, letting you adjust while he scatters soft kisses over your cheeks, your nose, your eyelids.
“you feel so perfect,” he whispers. “like you were made for me.”
then he starts moving.
slow at first — long, deep rolls of his hips that make you see sparks behind your eyelids. but the longer he goes, the more desperate he gets. his grip on your thighs tightens, blunt nails digging in just enough to sting sweetly.
“fuck — you’re squeezing me so tight,” he groans. “gonna make me lose it.”
“then lose it,” you gasp, nails raking down his back. “want you to fuck me hard, yuuji.”
something in his eyes flashes.
next thrust slams deep enough to make you cry out. the bed creaks under you both. he’s panting against your neck, mumbling half-formed praise and filthy promises.
“so pretty when you take it — fuck — gonna fill you up, okay? want you dripping with me.”
you clench around him at the words.
he moans loud enough you’re sure someone down the hall heard.
“shit — you like that? want my cum inside?”
“yes — please —”
he fucks you faster, harder, hips snapping. the wet slap of skin on skin fills the room along with both your moans.
“gonna come,” he warns, voice wrecked. “gonna come so deep — fuck, baby —”
you come first — clenching down so hard he almost blacks out for a second. your nails bite into his shoulders as you shake under him.
yuuji follows right after with a choked “oh fuck—” burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, hot and thick, hips stuttering through it.
he collapses on top of you, sweaty and trembling, but careful not to crush you. his face nuzzles into your neck.
“love you,” he mumbles, pressing lazy kisses to your pulse. “so much.”
you card fingers through his damp hair, smiling.
“love you too, dummy.”
he stays inside you a while longer, soft now, just holding you. eventually he pulls out slow, watching his cum leak out with the dumbest, most lovesick expression.
“that’s so hot,” he whispers.
you swat his shoulder weakly. “perv.”
“your perv,” he grins, already reaching for the towel on his desk to clean you both up.
after he’s done — gentle wipes, soft kisses, pulling you into his chest under the blanket — he whispers against your hair,
I wanted to send a request to your marauder's account with your friend but It wasn’t anonymous and I’m kinda shy, anyways, What a great idea you two had! I’m happy for you! (About creating this account together)
heyyy love, tysm for all the support, i think i already fixed it on the other acc and you can send requests anonymously now, hope you enjoy our page, lyyyy 💕🙌🏻
warnings: none really, just pure fluff, established relationship, james being dramatically in love, mentions of butterbeer & quidditch victory celebration
notes: hope you like it, first post of andra in the acc, ly, please keep the support, more is coming 💌
the common room is alive in a way that only happens after a quidditch win against slytherin.
music thumps from a charmed record player, firewhiskey bottles clink like trophies, laughter bounces off the crimson walls. the fire roars brighter than usual, enchanted flames licking gold and scarlet. everyone’s flushed and loud and invincible.
and then there’s you.
you step through the portrait hole a little late, hair still wind-tousled from cheering so hard your voice cracked during the final dive. your dress catches the light like it was woven from starlight and leftover victory, soft, flowing fabric that shimmers between silver and deep midnight blue, hugging you in all the right places before spilling out like liquid moonlight. tiny charmed fireflies drift around your shoulders, orbiting you like you’re the center of the universe.
james sees you and forgets how to breathe.
he’s mid-laugh with sirius, broom still propped against the couch, quidditch robes half-unzipped and hair more disastrous than ever. but the second his eyes land on you, the room narrows to just one point.
“merlin’s bloody beard,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
sirius follows his gaze and smirks. “down boy.”
james doesn’t hear him.
he’s already moving, cutting through the crowd like he’s chasing the snitch again. people part without thinking—james potter on a mission is a force of nature.
when he reaches you, he stops short, like he’s scared getting too close might ruin the view.
“hi,” he says, voice softer than anyone’s ever heard it. his glasses are slightly crooked. he doesn’t fix them.
you smile, shy and bright all at once. “hi, captain. nice catch out there.”
he laughs once, breathless. “you saw that?”
“i saw everything.” you tilt your head, fireflies dancing in your hair. “you were brilliant.”
james swallows. he’s captain of the gryffindor quidditch team, he’s faced bludgers and slytherins and detention more times than he can count, but right now he feels like a first-year tripping over his own tongue.
“you—” he starts, then stops. tries again. “you look… i mean, bloody hell, love. you look like you walked out of a dream i didn’t know i was allowed to have.”
your cheeks warm. “james—”
“no, seriously.” he steps closer, close enough that you can smell the grass and leather and faint butterbeer on him. his hand finds your waist like it belongs there. “i’ve won matches before. i’ve celebrated before. but i’ve never felt like this. like the win doesn’t even matter next to you standing here looking like… like that.”
he gestures vaguely at all of you—dress, glow, everything—like words are failing him spectacularly.
you laugh, soft. “you’re ridiculous.”
“i’m in love with you,” he counters, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “that’s worse.”
“worse?”
“infinitely worse. devastating, really.” his thumb brushes your side, gentle. “i look at you and my brain just… stops. full quidditch-pitch silence. and then it starts screaming your name on loop.”
you bite your lip to keep from grinning too wide. “poetic.”
“i try.” he leans in, forehead touching yours. around you the party keeps going—remus is trying to stop peter from doing shots off the table, sirius is yelling something about a conga line—but it’s background noise.
“dance with me?” james asks, voice low like a secret.
“here? in the middle of all this chaos?”
“especially here. especially now. i want everyone to see how lucky i am.”
you pretend to think about it for half a second.
then you slip your hand into his. “lead the way, potter.”
he does—pulls you gently into the open space near the fire, where the light is warmest. one hand on your waist, the other holding yours, he starts swaying even though the music is too fast for it. doesn’t matter. he’s making his own rhythm.
you rest your head on his shoulder. he presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your hair, then one more because he can’t help it.
“i’m never letting this win go,” he murmurs against your skin.
“the match?”
“no.” his arms tighten around you. “this. you. us. never.”
and in the glow of the fireflies and the fire and the fairy lights someone strung up across the ceiling, you believe him.
because james potter looks at you like you hung the moon.
→warnings: degradation, creampie, dumbification if you squint.
→notes: my first fanfic here, hope you like it, its short!! not proofread, let me know if there are any mistakes. lowercase on purpose
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧
anger, you found out, was one of the first indicatives for a full moon coming close.
“i’m sorry…” you stutter out, big calloused hands gripping your waist as he moves in and out of you. his answer? a sole grunt, followed by a meaner thrust.
you weren’t really sorry, you knew how close the full moon is, how his mood changes with it, and you also knew how good sex was at that point. so, naturally, you did the only right thing: piss off Remus until he fucks you stupid. you were being dragged to his room before you even realized it.
your nails grip his back in a attempt to cling into something, to find a place where you don’t entirely feel like a ragdoll being messed around with, leaving red marks along his shoulder blades—one more scratch to the ones he would get in a few days by himself. soft whimpers leaving your mouth next to his hair.
“isn’t this what you wanted? isn’t this why you’ve been such a brat?” the warmth of his gasps and words hit against your neck, right next to the brand new bite marks your body owns thanks to him. you can’t talk, not as eloquently as him, at least, granting you a slap in the thigh by the lack of response.
you really try, but the moment your mouth opens, there’s only pathetic sounds that come out in the rhythm of his thrusts. one of his hands move to your jaw, gripping it tight, your eyes, foggy and teary, lock in his, you can almost feel the intensity of them burn you.
“what happened to that smart mouth, hm? too dumb to function? should i give it a better job?” he asks, condescension dripping out of his tone.
you can feel how close you are, your hand sneaking down in between your bodies to caress your swollen bud, bringing yourself to your release with a dragged gasp, he smirks.
his hand releases your face, moving down to your neck where it rests, occasionally gripping for stability as his own release moves closer to him.
it’s too much, you feel it, the overstimulation, the lack of air in your lungs, his grunts next to your ear, and then, his hot, sticky release inside.
his demeanor changes immediately, taking air, the constriction of his hand becoming a soft caress in your cheek, the one gripping your waist now helping you move to a better position in his bed.
“Still with me, love?” he asks, low and soft. if you weren’t so worn out, you would have laughed by the quickness of his change, however, you only manage to nod.
the minutes while he cleans you and him are a blur, tiredness washing over you the moment he dresses you with a long, old shirt.
“was I too rough?”
his question lingers as he moves closer to you in bed, chin over your head, forcing you to nuzzle closer to his chest, the scent of sex still lingering, now mixed with his natural scent.
Summary: It was supposed to be a one-hour job tops. Buy some food for Eddie, deliver it, then meet up with the crew at the Creel house. But Jason and his goons showed up at the worst of times and now she has a bloody nose and a black eye. And unfortunately for Jason, her boyfriend isn’t known for taking ‘accidents’ too well, especially when it comes to the person he loves the most... OR: The very very stereotypical ‘who did this to you?’ trope with Billy Hargrove because I said so.
Notes: English isn't my first language, I apologize for any mistakes I may have made while I wrote this short story.
This is my first time writing for Stranger Things so please be kind :)
Warnings: Billy lives AU! (because let’s be honest, Jason wouldn’t have gotten a chance in S04 if he was alive), the reader and Eddie are besties (because the writer aka me loves him too much to let him go), some very vague very hidden character study, mentioned and/or referenced violence and murder, the writer did her very best to not make the characters ooc, (I wrote this instead of studying for my upcoming exams)
●●●
"Oh my fucking God..." she groaned as she put the stolen metal flask of booze against her skin, right under her left eye. The area was still burning like Hell, even after the unwanted late night swim and hours long journey to the Skull Rock with Eddie. "Be honest Munson, how bad is it?"
She pulled the flask away as she turned toward Eddie who seemed visibly shaken after their escape from the boat house. But then again, she thought, this was his first ever rodeo dealing with the Upside Down. So she couldn’t really blame him for reacting so human-like – she still remembered the first time she herself had seen a Demogorgon for the first time and God she was freaked the fuck out. Then her life took a very interesting turn, because she felt like a veteran at this point in her life.
Eddie hissed as he looked at the left side of her face.
"What? Is it that bad?" she asked.
"Well, sweetheart, let's just say it won't be 'freak hunting season' anymore after Hargrove takes a look at that black eye."
She let out a laugh as she put the flask back to its place – under her eye.
"Yeah, you're right." she said. "For some reason I have this strange gut feeling that Billy won't take it too well."
Eddie joined in on the laugh. "Really? I wonder why."
"Oh, I don't know. Really, I have no idea."
Yeah, it’s not like she witnessed her boyfriend’s overprotective nature or jealousy firsthand…
Billy might’ve changed a lot since the Starcourt incident – hence why the two of them got together in the first place –, but there were times when his old habits came back like a strange force and destroyed everything what was in its way. And if there was one thing which brought the old Billy back, then it was assholes who dared to mess with the person he loved the most: his girlfriend.
She still remembered when she was dropping Max off at school with Billy, and the stupid Hawkins Tigers decided to ask Eddie about his freak girlfriend. Nothing would’ve come from it really if they didn’t choose to explain whom they meant by ‘freak girlfriend’. It was safe to say that Billy was out of the car in seconds and she’d lie if she said that blood wasn’t flowing from the Tigers’ face. And afterwards, well, no one dared to look at her the wrong way or mess with her favorite kids in all of Hawkins – meaning the Hellfire Club finally had a few weeks of peace and quiet. And Eddie – Eddie finally approved her relationship with that ‘piece of shit Hargrove’.
"Well, I won't be the most wanted man in Hawkins anymore at least." Eddie added as he grabbed the stolen walkie from the side of his belt and playfully threw it up in the air and caught it. "It'll be kinda funny. Them hunting us as Hargrove hunts them."
She snorted, which made her nose hurt. She just hoped it wasn't broken.
"I wonder if Jason has a place to hide from him."
"From Hargrove? No way. I don't think a place like that exists yet."
She laughed again and this time it made her bruised left side sting.
Eddie gave her a look. A look she understood well, since she had time to learn how to read him like a book since the beginning of high school. She understood the reason for the attempt to make her laugh as well. And though she appreciated it, they had things to worry about.
"Have you tried contacting them yet?" she pointed at the walkie in his hands.
"I was about to." he said as he stopped playing with it and took a serious look at it. "I might as well tell them to bring us a six pack on their way here. I could really use one of those."
She handed him the metal flask with a smile. "I think this might have something stronger. And I don't know about you, but I could really use something stronger after that night."
"I like the way you think."
She smiled although it turned into an accidental frown.
God she really hoped her nose wasn't broken because then Eddie won't be the only one wanted for murder in Hawkins. But then again – Billy might go on a murder spree anyways. This was strike two for the Hawkins Tigers in his book. Who is she kidding – she already knew this would end bloody for all those dumb jocks.
●●●
She’d never forget the look on Billy’s face. The look of silent relief that she’s alive, that he’s finally standing in front of her – then, that look turned into something else. It changed entirely as soon as he noticed the dark, angry spot under her eye and the dried blood under her nose.
A storm was building in Billy’s eyes. She could see it, and she swore she could feel it too. His muscles stiffened, especially the ones in and around his shoulders. He seemed sharp, ready to jump on someone as soon as she mentioned a damn name. And she was thankful that Eddie was smart enough to take a few steps back and welcome Dustin, because there was always a slim possibility that the person Billy would jump will be Eddie himself.
It only took Billy a few seconds to contain that wrath in himself, a trait he learned for her, then he was all over her: hands holding onto her so fiercely she felt like couldn’t move – not like she wanted to at all –, fingers combed through her hair as she pressed the uninjured side of her face into his chest. She breathed in his cologne and God did she miss it even if it was once again mixed with the cigarettes he must’ve smoked. When he pressed a rough kiss on the top of her head, she felt lighter – then she frowned at the realization that in comparison to his cologne, she probably smelled like damp clothes and fish.
I missed you, she thought. I really missed you. Yet she knew that the moment when they’ll really show any kind of ‘emotional’ emotion, will be when they are alone – especially when Harrington isn’t around.
Billy pulled away first, his hands landing on her jaw. His fingers shook from anger as he tried to hold her as if she was a piece of glass. Her eyes met his as he took a close look at her injuries.
“Jesus Christ…” Steve exclaimed as he finally managed to take a good look at her. “What the Hell happened to you?”
Every pair of eyes turned toward her, looking at the angry area on her face with a shocked expression. It was Max and Steve who eyed Billy nervously, waiting for something – the something they all collectively knew would happen.
“You see, Harrington, that’s what I’d like to know as well…” Billy’s voice had a strange, dangerous undertone as he talked. Eddie sent an ‘I told you so’ look her way.
She just smiled shyly. “A paddle happened.”
Billy raised an eyebrow as his thumb touched the dark purple area under her eye.
Robin, probably from the stress of the situation or from the sight of the dried blood under her nose, started to tell a story from her childhood, about how she accidentally hit herself with a paddle when she was very young. But Steve stopped her before she could really get into the rambling.
She found it kinda funny and overly cute how every single one of her friends was worried about a tiny little blood and black eye, when they had much bigger things to worry about. Hell, even Steve looked like he was ready for war. Even though it wasn’t the right time, she appreciated their worry.
“A paddle happened, you say?” Billy asked, and Eddie decided it was right time to give some context.
“More like Jason Carver and his goons – with a paddle.” he explained.
Billy’s fingers stiffened under her jaw – right, just like she thought: this was strike two for the Tigers and judging by his reaction, the very last strike they’d have in life.
Maybe Billy would’ve taken it more… lightly – if it wasn’t for the fact that his girlfriend has gone missing for a full day. She left the Wheelers’ basement yesterday, not long after noon to make sure Eddie wouldn’t starve in that boathouse. And Billy stopped her multiple times. She thought it was just his protective side showing again, but thinking back at it, it must’ve been this strong feeling in his guts, a feeling she herself knew too well, to stop her because something bad would happen. And that something bad did happen.
He must’ve been full of worry, which meant he got angry and frustrated – probably, most likely. He must’ve given Steve Hell until they arrived, and Max must’ve been tired of always having her brother around.
Yeah, they were all collectively pissed at Jason Carver. He chose the wrong people at the wrong time.
“Well would someone finally tell me, what the fuck he did to my girlfriend?” Billy’s words came out harsh – and she understood that they were meant for Eddie.
But she gently wrapped her hands around his wrists – she gave them a small squeeze as she did so – and pulled them away from her face.
“So, I left to bring Eddie some food, right?” the others nodded all at once as if they were somehow synchronized. “Well – that part went quite swiftly actually. I brought the food, we ate and then Jason showed up with his goons.” Billy seemed like someone who couldn’t wait for the story to be over, so he could finally go and break some noses as revenge. “They had these bats and everything, and they looked through Rick’s house… And they stayed. We couldn’t leave without being spotted. My car was out front anyways either way. Then Jason noticed the boathouse, so we tried to leave with the boat. But the motor went to shit so we had to paddle and those fucking idiots decided to swim after us. Anyways, Jason grabbed my paddle, and I really didn’t want to let go, and that’s how he gave me this--” she pointed at her eye and nose. “--with that stupid paddle.”
All heads turned to look at Billy again – and judging by his eyes and tight muscles, he must’ve heard enough and was ready to be charged for attempted murder. She really didn’t think it mattered that her getting hurt was most likely an accident. Accidents didn’t happen to her in Billy’s book.
Dustin really chose the best moment to avert his gaze and find his compass much more interesting.
“I’ll kill them.” him saying that – it sounded like a plan. “They are so fucking dead.”
Eddie hissed as he took a quick sip from that metal flask. “Yeah – well one of them is.”
Billy seemed to like the verdict the guy has gotten.
“Right – we saw the cops around Rick’s house.” Nancy added.
“Yeah, after Carver’s amazing attempt to stop us, we fell in the lake and this – this guy, Patrick, I think – just got up in the air and his bones—” Eddie swallowed. “He went out like Chrissy.”
She still felt the cold run through her at the memory. Jesus Christ – to go out like that. It seemed worse than getting eaten by a Demogorgon. And she swore to God, she’d never ever let it happen to Max. She was one of her kids and nothing bad will happen to her as long as she’s alive.
“Why didn’t you call us?” Steve asked with a slight scolding undertone – and desperate times called for desperate things, because the look on Billy’s face meant that he agreed with Harrington. “We could’ve gotten here hours ago.”
She held onto Billy’s arm as she felt the tension in him getting very close to snapping.
“Yes, well we swam to the shore and we tried, we tried for a long time, but the walkie was busted.”
“So – we did the thing I always do now, apparently – we ran.” Eddie added with a nervous smile.
She frowned – it’s not like they had any choice. The two of them are wanted criminals, since Jason has seen the both of them in that boat. Yet she knew Eddie felt guilty – he felt horrible about what happened to Chrissy. But nothing could’ve been done differently. The Upside Down can’t really be messed with – Billy was proof of that, and she shuddered at the thought of her boyfriend barely making it out alive.
The others didn’t notice it – they started to collect all the information they had, they started to piece things together as Dustin was still examining his compass. They didn’t notice it, but Billy did. He always noticed everything.
His hands were on her again in mere seconds once again – an occurrence which wasn’t foreign at all. Billy wasn’t shy at all to show any kind of physical affection – well, he wasn’t afraid to show the hugging, kissing, hand-holding and borderline groping kind – the emotional kind was for her eyes only. Really, the only time she had seen Billy being hesitant about showing his love for her in public was at the beginning of their relationship, when he was still in and out of hospitals or when he was quite stressed about being back out in public – especially without his shirt on around the pool because of the long scars which ran along his waist.
Billy’s thumb ran along the left side of her face as Eddie thew his busted watch at Nancy. She could read the silent question in his gaze which still had an angry undertone: ‘Are you okay?’
“I was just worried about you is all.” she said, knowing the question in front of an audience would come out easily.
His lips trembled as he tried to hold back a smile – or a smirk, but his signature affectionate one.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“It fucking stings.” she laughed. “But I’ll live.”
He cupped her jaw, his fingers settling against her neck. He pulled her slightly upwards to make sure she’d look him in the eyes.
“Carver fucking won’t when I get my hands on him.” he didn’t have to use the words ‘I swear’ to say that he meant it. “He thinks he’s some kind of king now – now that I’m gone. He’s always licking the soles of my fucking shoes when he has an upcoming match to get the crowd’s respect, but behind my fucking back he lets his idiot friend group talk shit about my girlfriend – and he himself decides to hurt my girlfriend...”
“Billy…” she began as she held onto his wrists gently, to try and get through to him – gentle touches always seemed to work on Billy, not like she minded, because she liked giving them. “I don’t care about him or his stupid team…”
“Well I do!” he pushed on. “He almost broke your nose—” he suddenly stopped and held onto her face a little tighter to take a better look at her face. “Did he break your nose?”
“Billy.” she tried again. “I don’t care. I’m fine, okay? We have other things to worry about – bigger things – but I promise you that after we deal with those, you can do whatever the Hell you want to him. And I’ll watch from the first row.”
She wouldn’t let her – no way. She’ll make sure Billy and the Tigers won’t ever meet again. She’ll do her very best to keep her boyfriend out of jail. But until then he doesn’t have to know that.
His lips finally curled upwards – and she loved the moments when it happened, God damn her but she lived for those… When he wasn’t playing pretend, when it was an honest to God smile and his eyes lit up with the force of it as well. How he showed his teeth as he playfully licked his upper lip – an act she was sure he did unknowingly as a reflex, yet a thing she found extremely hot, but he didn’t need to know that either.
“Boom!” Dustin shouted out of nowhere and she jumped a little – so did the others – except Billy, who just chuckled.
He leaned in as Steve and Dustin started to argue – a usual occurrence she liked to laugh at – and pressed a long and careful kiss to her forehead.
“Billy…” she began again with a warning undertone. “Promise me.”
“Promise what, dollface?”
“That you won’t bury him six feet under until all of this is over.” she explained. “Promise me, Hargrove.”
His smile turned into a full-on smirk, and she knew his true answer – he won’t try at all.
“I’ll try.” he said instead.
His momentary anger was gone. She knew him well enough to see that. The need for revenge took its place. Her boyfriend was out for blood and there was no way anyone could stop him hunt the Tigers down – or Jason at the very least.
Billy was about to lean to try and shut her up about whatever smart-ass remark she’s got for that, she could already feel breath on his breath on her lips, when Steve Harrington out of all people ruined the moment.
“Hey, lovebirds!” Jesus fucking Christ, Harrington, don’t you have a will to live? “You coming or what? Henderson has this amazing theory to prove me wrong and—”
“We’re coming!” she shouted back before either Dustin or Billy could get into a heated discussion with him. “Let’s go, we have work to do.” she smiled.
Billy groaned as he pressed his forehead against hers and she had the nerve to let out a giggle.
He missed her too, the thought made her smile. Yeah, he missed her a whole lot.
“They are so damn annoying together, those two…” he complained with a barely audible whine.
“Please tell me you didn’t pick on them too much while I was gone.” she laughed as she pulled on his arms to get going – his right one immediately finding her waist. His hand landed on the curve of her midsection, keeping a firm hold on her as if to not let her disappear like that again.
Billy didn’t answer – he just gave her a look, a look which explained everything, and pressed his fingers into her skin, holding onto her arms when she tried to hit him for how ticklish it was.
But she asked Max about it. And yes, Billy gave them Hell, all of them. Steve might’ve been threatened a few times, Eddie was cursed to Hell and back, Max and Lucas didn’t get a single break, but… It was—oddly endearing.
Yes, according to Max Billy was a mess. And judging by her voice she didn’t mind. At least her idiot brother cared for her, like really cared for her, and was much less of an asshole than he used to be.
And surprisingly Billy was able to keep his focus on the mission ahead – finding that gate Dustin theorized about, getting out of the Upside Down, taking down Vecna…
That is, until she ran into Jason at War Zone… Until the jock decided to mess with the shotgun she wanted to buy… Until Billy appeared behind her and without a single word slammed his stupid face into the counter…
●●●
I love the thought of this AU so much it’s insane – forgive me…
summary: a month of perfect, easy dates passes in a charmed bubble. but for james potter, man of action and labels, the undefined "what are we?" question begins to itch. it all comes to a head on a cozy, stormy night in, leading to possibly the most awkward, bureaucratic, and utterly endearing "girlfriend" proposal in wizarding history—followed by a kiss that makes it all worth it.
warnings: fluff, fluff, and more fluff, james potter having a verbal malfunction, kissing, mild swearing, overwhelming sapiness
notes: part 9 of this very doomed series! Idk if i should make another ep, if you have any other idea of this, feel free to share! this one goes for that amazing reader who reminded me of this beautiful fic! i promise i will come up w another fic of jamie, remember requests are open! lyyy 💌
word count: ~1.4k
the flower had been a single, perfect sunflower, delivered by a cheerful little owl at precisely 10 a.m. the morning after the date. the attached note read: had a great time. - j (not a crisis, just a fact). it made you laugh out loud.
that single bloom kicked off a month that felt like living inside a charmed bubble. it wasn’t a whirlwind; it was something better. it was consistent, sweet, and delightfully predictable in its unpredictability.
date two was a disastrous attempt at mini-golf that ended with james magically levitating his ball out of the water hazard when he thought you weren’t looking. you saw, and his sheepish, “i was giving it a fighting chance!” made you snort soda out of your nose.
date three was a quiet afternoon in his garden, where he tried to explain the rules of quidditch to you (as if you didn’t know) just for an excuse to sit close on the bench, his arm eventually stretching along the back behind your shoulders.
date four involved sirius “accidentally” crashing your dinner at a pub, “just to make sure prongs isn’t telling his boring old man stories.” he’d stayed for one drink, given james two thumbs up behind your back, and left after stealing a chip off your plate.
it was easy. it was fun. you learned that james hated celery with a passion usually reserved for dark wizards, that he secretly loved cheesy muggle romance films (the more dramatic, the better), and that the laugh he used in public was different from the real one—a softer, deeper sound that he only seemed to make when he was truly at ease, often with you.
james, for his part, felt like he was discovering a new world. he learned your coffee order by heart, that you got fierce and competitive about wizard’s chess, and that the scent of your shampoo was called “pear blossom,” not just “fruity.” he stopped feeling like “harry’s dad” on these dates and started feeling like just… james. a version of himself he hadn’t accessed in years, one who was allowed to be silly and hopeful and smitten.
but with the comfort came a new, nagging anxiety. the bubble was wonderful, but what was it? what were they? the word “dating” felt too vague, too modern. “seeing each other” sounded like something people said before they ghosted each other. he was a man of labels—prongs, husband (ex), father, potter. he needed to know what box this wonderful, terrifying thing belonged in.
the crisis came to a head during date seven, a cozy night in his living room. a thunderstorm raged outside, you were curled under a blanket on his sofa watching the princess bride, and he was struck by a wave of such profound contentment it felt like a physical ache. he wanted this. always. he wanted the right to call you his.
his brain, the traitor, chose that exact moment to short-circuit.
the movie ended. the credits rolled. you sighed happily, stretching your legs out across his lap. “that never gets old.”
“nope,” james agreed, his voice strained. his heart was hammering against his ribs like a frantic snitch. now. ask now. it’s perfect. you’re cozy, it’s romantic, just ask the question.
what came out of his mouth was not a smooth, romantic query.
“so,” he said, his tone suddenly, bizarrely formal, as if he were about to discuss a business merger. “what is… this?”
you blinked, tilting your head. “this… movie? it’s a classic. a tale of true love and high adventure.”
“no, not the—i mean this.” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, the blanket, the whole scene. “this… arrangement. this… continuing series of social engagements.”
you stared at him, your lips twitching. “our dates? you mean our dates, james?”
“yes! the dates!” he said, sitting up straighter, dislodging your feet. “the… sequential outings. the… recurrent rendezvous. i suppose i’m just… seeking clarification. on the… parameters.”
you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. he looked so serious, so utterly bewildered by his own feelings. “parameters?”
“yes! are we… exclusive participants in these rendezvous? is there a… title? a designation?” he was floundering, his hands moving in helpless circles. “it’s just, in my day, there was a… a process. a sequence of events. and i find myself… desirous of… officializing the proceedings.”
you couldn’t hold it in anymore. a giggle escaped, then another, until you were laughing fully, curling into the sofa cushion. “james potter, are you trying to ask me to be your girlfriend using ministry-level bureaucracy speech?”
all the air left his lungs in a whoosh. his shoulders slumped. he looked utterly defeated. “oh, god. that’s what that was, wasn’t it? i sounded like percy weasley drafting a cauldron-bottom thickness report.” he buried his face in his hands. “i’m sorry. i’ve ruined it. that was the least romantic thing that has ever happened in the history of romantic things. regulus was right, i am a menace.”
you crawled across the sofa, peeling his hands away from his face. his glasses were askew, his eyes wide with horror behind them. “hey,” you said softly, your laughter subsiding into a warm smile. “look at me.”
he did, misery etched into every line of his face.
“did you mean it?” you asked. “do you want to… ‘officialize the proceedings’?”
he nodded, a tiny, desperate movement. “more than i’ve wanted anything in a very, very long time.”
“then ask me properly,” you whispered, your nose almost touching his. “ask me like james would ask. not like department head potter.”
he took a deep, shuddering breath. he reached up and slowly took off his glasses, setting them on the side table—a strangely intimate gesture that made your breath catch. he looked younger without them, his hazel eyes earnest and vulnerable.
his hands found yours, his thumbs stroking over your knuckles. “y/n,” he said, his voice low and clear, finally free of its bureaucratic panic. “i am a forty-two-year-old man who is completely, stupidly, wonderfully crazy about you. will you please, please, be my girlfriend? so i have the right to tell padfoot to sod off when he crashes our dates, and so i can buy you terrible valentine’s day cards without it being weird?”
the laughter that bubbled up this time was pure joy. you leaned forward, closing the last inch between you, and pressed your lips to his.
it wasn’t a cheek kiss. it was real, and soft, and tasted like butterbeer and hope. he froze for a half-second in shock before kissing you back, one hand coming up to cradle your jaw, his touch reverent.
when you pulled back, you were both breathless. you rested your forehead against his, your eyes still closed. “yes,” you murmured. “obviously, yes.”
a grin broke across his face, so bright it could have powered the cottage. “really?”
“really.” you kissed him again, just because you could. “but i’m drafting the official parameters. my first clause is that you are never allowed to use the word ‘rendezvous’ in a romantic context again.”
“deal,” he laughed, the sound rich and full and real. he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as the thunder rumbled outside. he felt like he’d just won the quidditch world cup, caught the snitch, and been awarded order of merlin, first class, all at once.
later, after you’d fallen asleep against him on the sofa, he carefully summoned a blanket and his two-way mirror from across the room with a silent spell.
he angled it and took a picture—not with a flash, just a magical imprint of the moment. your head on his shoulder, his cheek resting on your hair, both of you tangled under the blanket.
he sent it to the only person who would both fully appreciate it and never let him hear the end of it.
the mirror heated up almost instantly. sirius’s scrawled text appeared over the image: official proceedings have been parameterized! my work here is done. also, you look like a sap. love you, prongs.
james smiled, tucked the mirror away, and held you closer, savoring the warm, solid, official reality of it all.
he was james potter, forty-two, divorced, and he had a girlfriend. a brilliant, beautiful, incredible girlfriend.
Hello! Big fan of your James Potter series over here! (Mid life crisis). I was wondering, are you planning to continue it? I have read it over 3 times already hahaha, consider me obsessed.
You are amazing!
Sending love 🫶🫶🫶🫶
mid-life crisis pt.8
pairing: james potter x fem!reader
summary: the first date arrives. in a charming muggle restaurant, the initial, polite awkwardness gives way to something real as james and the reader share stories of their hogwarts days, from his legendary marauder pranks to her own mischievous adventures with harry. the easy connection and shared laughter pave the way for a perfect, hopeful ending... and one very important post-date question for padfoot.
warnings: light alcohol consumption (wine), classic first-date nerves, james potter being adorably vulnerable, a single cheek kiss, mentions of past pranks/mischief
notes: omg, tysm for all the support, and i'm so sorry that i abandoned this amazing fic, i feel like i went to a hell and came back, but here it is, hope you love it and tysm for reading this, will be posting the 9th part soon because I feel like I owe it to you!💌
word count: ~1.5k
james potter was nervous. this was a state of being so unfamiliar to him it felt like a mild illness. he’d faced down death eaters, voldemort himself, and lily evans’s wrath in her prime with more composure than he currently had while tying his shoelaces. he’d changed his shirt three times. he’d owled remus for tie advice. he’d even, in a moment of sheer panic, floo-called lily.
“lily, what do people talk about on dates?”
“...james, you have been on dates before. you married me.”
“that was a hundred years ago! what if i run out of things to say? what if she thinks i’m boring?”
“you are many things, potter, but boring is not one of them. just be yourself.”
“myself is a divorced dad who makes bad pasta jokes!”
“exactly. lead with that. it’s charming. now, i have a date with a very fascinating piece of quartz, so good luck.”
the restaurant was a small, cozy italian place in a quiet corner of muggle london that remus had recommended. it had candles in chianti bottles and checkered tablecloths. it was, james thought, wildly romantic. or at least, it would be if he didn’t accidentally knock over the candle and set the tablecloth on fire.
he saw you before you saw him. you were wearing a simple green dress that made your eyes look incredible, and you were scanning the room. his heart did that terrifying, wonderful backflip again. he stood up, waving a little too enthusiastically.
“you’re here!” he said, pulling out your chair with a flourish that almost took out the elderly couple at the next table.
“i am,” you said, laughing as you sat. “you picked a great spot. no sign of sentient smoke or regulus, so we’re off to a stellar start.”
“don’t jinx it,” james muttered, glancing warily at the kitchen door. he sat down, his knees bumping the table and making the silverware jump. “so. hi.”
“hi.” you smiled, and the knot in his chest loosened, just a little.
the first ten minutes were a minefield of polite small talk about the weather and the menu. it was painfully, excruciatingly normal. james felt like he was performing a role: ‘divorced dad on a date: the sane version.’ it was awful.
it was you who broke the facade. after the waiter took their orders (james chose the simplest pasta on the menu, terrified of mispronouncing anything), you leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand.
“okay, i can’t take it anymore. this is too weird. we’re being too polite.”
james’s shoulders slumped in relief. “thank merlin. i feel like i’m in a play. a very boring play.”
“right? so let’s skip the boring part. tell me a hogwarts story i haven’t heard. a real one. not the one about apparating on the ministry roof.”
a real, genuine grin spread across james’s face. this, he could do. “alright. you want a real one. did you ever hear about the time we bewitched all the suits of armour in the east wing to only speak in limericks for a week?”
your eyes lit up. “no! how did you manage that?”
“it was mostly moony’s spellwork, to be honest. padfoot provided the distraction, and i… well, i provided the artistic direction. they got very rude by day four. filch was apoplectic. mcgonagall nearly transfigured peeves out of sheer frustration, thinking it was him.”
you laughed, the sound like music to his ears. “that’s brilliant. we tried something like that in my seventh year, but we only got one statue to hum the chudley cannons anthem. it was pathetic by comparison.”
“ah, the famed marauder legacy,” james said, puffing out his chest with mock pride. “a high bar to reach. what was your specialty? besides being harry’s sensible friend who kept him from doing truly stupid things?”
“i was more of a charmwork enthusiast,” you admitted. “and i ran a very profitable, if illicit, snack-smuggling operation from the kitchens. got caught once by professor flitwick. he confiscated my bag of cauldron cakes, gave me a week’s detention… and then asked if i could get him a lemon tart next time.”
james threw his head back and laughed, a loud, unrestrained sound that turned a few heads. “that’s fantastic! i knew i liked flitwick. we used the map to coordinate with the house-elves for prank supplies. they were our greatest allies.”
the conversation flowed easily after that, a river of shared nostalgia and laughter. he told you about the time they’d charmed all the pumpkins at the halloween feast to sing a dirge about snape’s hair. you told him about the time you and harry had accidentally set a magical, self-replenishing swamp in a girl’s lavatory (courtesy of a weasley product gone wrong) and had to bribe moaning myrtle with gossip to keep her from telling.
“you know,” james said, his voice growing softer, his fingers tracing the stem of his wine glass. “it’s strange, hearing these stories from your time. it’s like… my history and harry’s history are all mixed up together, and you’re right in the middle of it. you were there for him when i… when i wasn’t at my best.”
the vulnerability in his tone was unexpected, a crack in the confident facade. you reached across the table, your hand covering his. “you were going through a war of a different kind, james. and you got through it. he never doubted you loved him.”
he turned his hand over to lace his fingers with yours. his palm was warm, slightly calloused. “i feel like i missed so much. and now… here i am, trying to catch up on everything all at once.”
“you’re not that far behind,” you said softly. “and you have a pretty good guide.”
dessert arrived—a shared tiramisu—and with it, a new, comfortable silence. the initial tension was gone, replaced by a warm, buzzing connection.
“can i ask you something?” you said, pushing the plate towards him.
“anything.”
“what’s the deal with the flying motorcycle? sirius told me a story that involved a dragon, a case of butterbeer, and the welsh minister of magic, but i’m only about 40% sure he was telling the truth.”
james launched into the story, his hands moving animatedly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. you listened, utterly captivated, not just by the tale, but by the man telling it. this was the real james potter. not the nervous wreck, not the mid-life crisis, but the joyful, loyal, wonderfully chaotic heart of the man.
when the waiter brought the bill, james paid before you could even reach for your bag. “my treat,” he said. “since i was forbidden from poisoning you with my cooking.”
outside, the london night was cool and clear. you stood on the pavement, neither of you quite ready for the date to end.
“i had a really nice time, james,” you said, turning to face him.
“me too,” he said, his hands shoved in his pockets. “like, really nice. the nicest.”
you smiled. “good.”
he took a deep breath, the bravery from dinner returning. “can i… walk you home? or to the apparition point? or… just walk?”
“i’d like that,” you said.
they walked, not towards any destination in particular, just talking. the conversation drifted from quidditch to books to the absurdity of wizarding politics. it was easy. it was perfect.
when you finally reached your doorstep, james felt that familiar panic rising. the end-of-date panic. what was the protocol? a handshake was insane. a hug felt too casual. a kiss…
you solved it for him. you stood on your toes and pressed a soft, quick kiss to his cheek. his skin burned where your lips touched.
“goodnight, james,” you whispered, your face close to his.
he was utterly, completely enchanted. “goodnight, y/n.”
he waited until you were safely inside before turning to leave, a stupid, irrepressible grin plastered on his face. he walked three blocks before he realized he was going the wrong direction.
he didn’t care. he felt twenty years old again, buzzing with the thrill of something wonderful and new.
back at his cottage, he immediately grabbed the two-way mirror.
“padfoot!”
sirius’s sleepy face appeared. “what? is the restaurant on fire? did you try to cook the tiramisu?”
“it was perfect,” james breathed, the grin still threatening to split his face. “she’s perfect. we talked for hours. i walked her home. she kissed my cheek, pads. my cheek!”
sirius’s groggy expression transformed into one of delight. “my boy! you did it! you successfully completed a date without magical or medical intervention! i’m so proud!”
“what do i do now?” james asked, the panic returning. “do i owl her? is it too soon? what’s the statute of limitations on post-date communication?”
“merlin, you’re hopeless. flower. send a flower. not a bouquet, that’s desperate. one flower. something that doesn’t look like it’s from a funeral. and for the love of god, don’t try to grow it yourself.”
james nodded, his mind already racing. a flower. he could do that.
he was, he realized, happily, gloriously doomed. and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
we are a joined acc of two best friends who always share their delulu dreams
jo | 20y/o | virgo | she/her | @ninisarkve
andra | 20 y/o | cancer | she/her | @andrasdreamss
✶⋆.˚ requests are open, feel free to request any crazy idea you might have !!!
✶⋆.˚ jo is a september virgo and andra is a june cancer
✶⋆.˚ hard no for us -> real incest (faux is fine, it's tolerable hahaha), non-consent (cnc is debatable), anything with a minor, pet play, cannibalism (i once read one and until today i'm triggered)
✶⋆.˚ we also accept x male reader requests, just keep in mind we both are female, but we will do our research to make it as accurate as possible !!!
✶⋆.˚ english is not our first language
✶⋆.˚ hard yes for us -> enemies-to-lovers, filthy smut (yes ask for it, we don't mind hahaha), any au you might think of, slowburn, angst, friends-to-lovers, if you want a long series we will do it !!!
✶⋆.˚ characters we will write ab the most -> remus lupin (jo), james potter (andra), regulus black (jo), sirius black (andra), you can totally request w other marauders characters but that's our main, yuji itadori (andra), megumi fushiguro (jo), nanami (jo), gojo (andra), geto (jo), steve harrington (jo), billy hargrove (andra), lexie gray (jo), mark sloan (jo), jackson avery (andra), neteyam (jo), lo'ak (andra), jake sully (andra). you can request other characters, we will look up anything that we don't know !!!
💌| new acc, we wanted to make this since ages ago, we hope you enjoy as much as we do !!!
hello my amazing readers, im so sorry i neglected you for months, but i was working on thisss, please go and show your support, i'll be posting there and i will post again here shortlyyy, i love youuuu 💜
Hey! I am absolutely in love with your “mid-life crisis” James Potter fic. I don’t want to be a bother and you can absolutely ignore this/not answer but I would like to know, how many parts are you planning to write? Do you have any schedule for your updates? (Excuse my English and again, you don’t have to answer) Thank you 💕💕
mid-life crisis pt. 7
pairing: james potter x fem!reader
summary: in a desperate attempt to be normal, harry throws a party. the plan backfires spectacularly when a firewhiskey-bold james potter decides to ask you out by offering to cook you dinner—a declaration that sends a wave of horror through everyone who knows him. the situation culminates in a hilariously stern intervention from your favorite (and deeply unimpressed) uncle figure, regulus black, who lays down the law in a way only a black can.
warnings: alcohol consumption (firewhiskey), social embarrassment/awkwardness, mild language, protective/meddling friends & family, james potter's cooking (the gravest warning of all)
notes: sooo, this is part 6 of the mid-life crisis series! tysm for the support and i’m sorry i forgot ab writing, i was thinking of maybe making 3 more parts sooo stay tuuune, ab schedules i was thinking maybe every monday and friday i'll be posting, i'm having way too many ideas for more fics. regulus is alive and well in this au and has a wonderful, sarcastic uncle-niece dynamic with the reader. the weasleys, draco, neville, and luna make cameo appearances because a party isn't a party without a full cast of chaotic characters. hope you enjoy the cringe and the chaos! 💌
word count: ~1.3k
harry’s idea of “processing” and “moving on” was, apparently, to host a massive, impromptu party at his and ginny’s place. the logic, he explained to you, was that if everyone was there having a normal good time, then everything had to be normal. it was flawed logic, but it came with free butterbeer.
the flat was packed. ron and hermione were in a heated debate with a very amused draco malfoy about the regulations on snitch polishing. neville was enthusiastically explaining the venomous properties of a new hybrid plant to a terrified-looking luna. and in the corner, nursing a firewhisky and looking profoundly out of place, was your favorite person in the world: regulus black.
he wasn't the bitter, haunted man from the stories. sirius’s survival and subsequent dogged determination had dragged his little brother back into the land of the living, kicking and screaming. now, he was your sarcastic, literature-obsessed, perpetually unimpressed uncle figure, who’d given you your first edition of hogwarts: a history and your first proper bottle of ogden’s.
you made a beeline for him, needing a safe harbour.
“there you are,” he said, his voice a low, cultured drawl. “i was beginning to think you’d been carried off by a swarm of overly cheerful gryffindors. it’s a valid fear in this zip code.”
“you love it,” you said, bumping his shoulder affectionately.
“i tolerate it. for you and my insufferable brother.” he took a sip of his drink, his sharp grey eyes scanning the room. “potter’s here.”
your heart did a little flip-flop you desperately tried to quash. “is he?”
“don’t play dumb. it doesn’t suit you.” regulus’s gaze landed on james, who was across the room, laughing a little too loudly at something george weasley had said. “he’s been staring at you since you walked in. it’s unnerving. he looks like a startled deer that’s seen a particularly attractive patch of clover.”
you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “merlin, is it that obvious?”
“only to anyone with a working set of optic nerves.” he turned to you, his expression one of mild curiosity. “care to explain why james potter, aged forty-two, is looking at you like you’ve just hung the moon? and why you keep blushing whenever he’s in your general vicinity?”
before you could answer, ginny swooped in, linking her arm with yours. “there you are! i need to steal her, regulus. girl talk. it’s urgent.”
regulus waved a dismissive hand. “by all means. i was just about to go and tell malfoy his hair gel is offensive.”
as he drifted away, ginny pulled you onto the balcony, away from the noise.
“okay,” she said, her eyes sparkling with quidditch-level intensity. “spill. harry gave me the ‘it’s fine, we’re fine, everything’s fine’ speech, which means it’s the exact opposite of fine. what is going on with you and his dad?”
the cool night air was a relief. “i don’t even know, gin. it’s… a thing. a weird, confusing, makes-my-stomach-flip thing.”
ginny grinned, a fierce, supportive smile. “i think it’s brilliant.”
“you do?”
“of course! james is fit, he’s lovely, and he’s clearly mad about you. did you see what he’s wearing? that jumper is a cry for help. that’s a man trying very, very hard.”
you peeked back through the glass doors. james was indeed wearing a dark green jumper that was just a little too tight across the shoulders. he’d clearly taken sirius’s “mysterious widower” advice to heart.
“but harry…” you started.
“harry will survive,” ginny said firmly. “he’s a big boy. he’d rather have his dad happy and dating his best friend than sad and lonely and burning pasta in that sad cottage. trust me. this is the best-case scenario.”
inside, the party was hitting its stride. the music was louder, and ron had convinced a tipsy hermione to dance. it was in the middle of this chaos that james potter decided to make his move.
he’d had two firewhiskeys for courage. it was, in hindsight, one too many.
he navigated through the crowd, his eyes locked on you as you came back in from the balcony. he looked determined. he looked brave. he looked, regulus observed from his corner like a hawk, like he was about to do something very, very stupid.
“y/n!” james said, his voice a bit too loud. the music dipped slightly as george fiddled with the wireless.
“hi, james,” you said, a smile playing on your lips.
“right. hello. good party.” he rocked back on his heels. “i was just wondering. if you weren’t busy. sometime. maybe you’d like to… that is, if i could… would you like to come over for dinner?”
the question hung in the air. ron, who was nearby, choked on his butterbeer. hermione elbowed him sharply.
you were about to say yes. you were about to say, ‘yes, james, i would love that.’
but james, fueled by firewhiskey and a lifetime of foot-in-mouth disease, kept talking.
“i’m going to cook!” he announced proudly, as if he’d just revealed he’d discovered the secret to eternal life.
a wave of palpable horror swept through the section of the room that had been listening. ron’s eyes widened in terror. george let out a muffled “oh, no.” even draco malfoy, who had no context, sensed the impending disaster and looked vaguely concerned.
from his corner, regulus black, who had been silent until now, slowly put his glass down. the sound was like a gunshot in the sudden quiet.
he stood up, his posture perfectly rigid, and fixed james with a look of pure, undiluted slytherin disdain.
“potter,” regulus said, his voice cutting through the music, which had now stopped entirely. “you are not going to cook for this girl.”
james blinked, his confidence faltering. “i—i’m not?”
“no. you are not. because i have heard stories,” regulus continued, taking a few slow, deliberate steps forward. “stories that would curdle milk. stories of sentient smoke and pasta that could be used as a bludgeon. you are forbidden from subjecting her digestive system to your… culinary experiments.”
he stopped in front of you, placing a protective hand on your shoulder, his gaze never leaving james.
“if you wish to court her,” regulus said, the old-fashioned word sounding both ridiculous and deadly serious in his mouth, “you will take her to a nice restaurant. a muggle one. where the food is prepared by professionals and the only thing on fire is the crème brûlée. am i understood?”
the entire party was staring. harry looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him. ginny was biting her fist to keep from laughing.
james looked from regulus’s stern face to your desperately trying-not-to-laugh one. the firewhiskey bravery evaporated, leaving only sheer, unadulterated mortification.
he deflated like a pricked balloon. “right. a restaurant. yes. that… that sounds much safer.”
regulus gave a single, satisfied nod. “excellent. i’m glad we had this talk.” he turned to you, his expression softening infinitesimally. “you’re welcome.”
as regulus guided you away towards the punch bowl, leaving a shell-shocked james in his wake, the party slowly erupted into noise again—this time, filled with poorly suppressed laughter.
sirius, who had witnessed the whole thing, clapped a hand on his brother’s back as he passed. “nice one, reggie. truly, the voice of reason.”
regulus shrugged him off, but a tiny smirk touched his lips. “someone has to be. this family is a menace.”
you looked back at james, who was now getting a consoling pat on the back from a cackling george weasley. he caught your eye and gave you a small, embarrassed, but genuinely hopeful smile.
you smiled back, a real, full-wattage smile that made his ears turn pink.
dinner at a restaurant. it was a start. a safe, non-flammable, regulus-black-approved start.
