I'm in the process of making smaller masterlists for the purpose of âš organisationâš (and this was getting a little overcrowded and messy) so bear with !! but you can still find links to all my fics here!â„ïž
Harry Potter
Marauders Era
Sirius Black x Reader
Remus Lupin x Reader
- I Know You
- Memories
- More Than A Disease
- A Little Less Lonely
- A Million Times Over, To Protect You
- And Now Iâm Your Favourite Person
- Sibling Drama
James Potter x Reader
- Iâve Got You
- Way Out of His League
- Panic
- It Was Always You
- All About You
- Paper Rings
Hogwarts Mystery Era
Charlie Weasley x Reader
- So Letâs Prove It
- Quidditch Captain
- Completely Enamoured / Part Two
- The Chase
- Dinosaurs are Alright, but Dragons are Cooler
- Christmas Market
Chemicals
Golden Trio Era
Draco Malfoy x Reader
- Late Mornings
- Remember Me (angst)
George Weasley x Reader
- Dazzle
Avengers
(full warning these are three years old and probably not all that great but I thought I would include them anyway)
summary four times james almost kisses you and one time he does. [9k]
warnings fluff, mutual pining, getting together, first kiss, idiots in love, first date, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, suggestive language/theme, late 90s au, rugby player!james
<3
James Potter is a little obsessed with you. In a cool, extremely chill and normal way, he thinks. It's hard not to be, here, at some random party half drunk and pushed into your side, with your perfect hand held protectively over his head, shielding him from the hubbub of partygoers.
"Still feeling poorly?" you ask, pushing the hair from his eyes.
"I need a haircut," he says, distracted by your touch.
"No!" you protest in a whisper. "No, James. Your hairâs lovely, please don't cut it. What would I run my hands through if you did?" You say all this with a lopsided smile, one corner pulled up higher than the other, and a conspiring tone.
He blinks rapidly. Maybe he doesn't need a haircut after all.
Your fingertips push into the thick tresses at his hairline and scrape back. He shivers in light pleasure and reaches out to grab your thigh where his head is resting, indulgently absorbing the warmth of your body.
You barely notice, pulled back into a conversation with a girl on the sofa opposite. James feels his phone pulse in his pocket and is reluctant to retrieve it, worried you'll pause your ministrations. He watches you take a sip of your drink and almost spit it out laughing and deems you distracted, struggling with his phone, just drunk enough that his motor skills are fucking with him as he snaps it open.
Sirius told me to tell you that you look pathetic. Love Remus.
James scowls at his phone and lifts his head from your leg to look towards where he thinks his friends are located. Sure enough, they haunt the kitchen doorway with equally humorous looks on their faces, Sirius smug to Remus' pitying. James flips Sirius off and finds it returned, a perfectly painted and manicured finger held aloft.
You giggle by James' ear. "I hope that's not for me."
"Definitely to me. You'll have to forgive him. He was dragged up," he says, groaning at his embarrassing mates.
"Don't be cruel," you admonish, nudging him with a naked elbow.
His phone chirps again.
I also think you look pathetic. It's cute. Do you want food? Love Remus.
Moons u rly don't need to sign off every txt. Not hngry. Luv u
OK. Love Remus.
James laughs at his friend's hopelessness and tucks his phone away.
"I'm never cruel," he tells you.
You neaten the rolled up hem of his short sleeve unthinkingly and he can't help how much he wants to kiss you. It's all in the little things, he knows. You put your fingers in his hair and he's happy to lie in your lap like a dog; you fix his clothes and he wants to kiss you stupid; you smile at him sweetly, asking if he still feels sick, and if he is does he want you to go sit with him outside for a bit? He's ashamed of the heat in his chest.
James finds himself at your side with an inch between your legs, a porch bench swinging underneath you.
"I don't want to hurt your feelings," you say tentatively. He feels an alarming rush of vertigo at your words, until you continue, "But I think you could benefit from some mild temperance."
He scrubs his face, nausea ebbing as you clarify. He thought for a moment you were going to reject him before he even confessed.
"Yeah, maybe. Wouldn't have any reason for you to take care of me then," he says, startled and sounding it. He winces before he's done. You make a humming sound.
"You hardly need to be drunk for me to take care of you."
He sits with this and looks out over the garden. It's a nice space, the home in a wealthy neighbourhood, twinkling fairy lights strung up over the porch and solar powered lamps peppered down a keenly landscaped stretch of green grass and flowerbeds. There's a pretty stone path leading down to the end of the garden where a grey-white fountain spurts water. It sounds calm if you can ignore the sound of the party, which he finds himself more and more able to do as your knee creeps closer to his.
He wishes, and hates himself for it, that he'd worn shorts. Craves that tiny skin on skin contact when your thigh touches him. You must be cold in your skirt, a midi slit up one side that shows the smooth stretch of your outer thigh, colder on your top half in a spaghetti strap shirt and a loose knit cardigan.
If he thought you'd accept it he would offer you his jacket, but you won't. He's tried before. I don't want you to get cold, Jamie.
"You really don't think I should get a haircut?" he asks self-consciously, tugging a hand through his unruly waves.
"No," you say seriously, turning your torso towards him.
"It's a little long," he complains.
"James, please." You lift your hand up to replace his, pushing his hair back.
"I'll look like Sirius soon enough."
You shift. The bench sways. You push your second hand in his hair and pull it all away from his face gently. He can feel the cool breeze on his bare, clammy forehead as you sit there with your hands in his hair
You run your hand through his dark mop one last time, then stop with your hands braced at the back of his head, a big smile on your face.
"Don't cut it," you implore him seriously, looking into his eyes.
He deserves a medal for not leaning into your arms right then and there.
"How do you keep it so soft even though it's this thick?"
He doesn't understand how you can continue a conversation like this without melting. He's melting. You're talking like everything is normal, fingers twined between ink dark strands and fingertips massaging his scalp.
"I⊠I oil my roots before I wash it." He doesn't share how his mum insists on doing it for him most of the time now he's back home from school.
"You can definitely tell," you murmur.
His eyes shut. He blames it on his drunkenness and not the feeling of your hands.
"James?" you ask quietly.
"Yeah?" he asks, though it sounds more like an unintelligible hum.
"Are you tired? D'you need to go home?"
"Maybe." He does feel suddenly like his limbs are made of stone.
"Who are you going home with?" you ask.
You stand. The bench wobbles. One hand falls out of his hair to rest on his shoulder and his skin warms where it lands, the other tucking stray pieces of hair behind his ears. He opens his bleary eyes and is met with a silver of your midriff, promptly closing them again to push evil thoughts from his mind in which he kisses stripes over that naked skin for hours.
"Sirius is driving me home," he admits reluctantly.
"Let's go look for him."
James reluctantly follows you with a little wobble. His inebriation has faded as the night progresses but a general tipsy dizziness prevails. You press a hand to his lower back and he narrowly avoids trodding on your strappy sandals.
"I don't see him anywhere. Can you text him?" you ask.
James grabs his phone. You both press your backs to the wall to make way for some passersbys. He doesn't bother with texting Sirius: Remus always answers.
Where r u??
Went to get food. Love Remus.
When will u b back?
Sirius wanted Molly's Kitchen. Love Remus.
Molly's kitchen in MILTON KENYES?
Sorry. He is very convincing. Love Remus.
I know he is⊠luv u see u never when i die here abandoned & cold
See you tomorrow. Love Remus.
It takes him so long to type this all out he's surprised when you're still by his side. You're looking at the picture frames hanging on the wall with the patience of a Saint.
"They ditched me."
"Oh," you say.
"Yep."
"Well, you'll just have to come home with me," you say breezily.
He gawks. You fish your keys out of your cardigan and brandish them like a lump of gold. "I have leftover pizza. Or we can order in. If you're hungry?"
He's not. "Sure. Whatever you want."
"We can walk. It's not that far. If you can walk?"
"I can walk."
Barely. He knows it would've been a lovely stroll with you in the lazy summer air, sun still ligphting the sky despite the time, gauzy pinks and blues skimming the white-gold horizon, if only he hadn't been half cut. Your skin is shiny as finest silk and a gentle breeze floats your perfume towards him and he's close to admitting maybe he's obsessed with you in a way that isn't cool at all by the time you make it to the front door.
It's a mostly silent journey until you're shutting your bedroom door behind you and he's wondering how he got here, sitting at the end of your bed. Your room is an extension of you that he can't take in fast enough. He doesn't know what to do with his hands.
You lean down and unstrap your sandals and he toes off his own shoes, trying not to look at how you're bent over, at the silhouette of your legs in your light skirt. Next is your cardigan. He feels like a bachelor in the 1800s, hungry and guilty at your naked skin.
Your silver anklets click together as you weave past him to your bedside table. You flick on the glass shade lamp and an array of multicolour sprays up the wall and your hands. He's mesmerised.
"Pizza," you mumble to yourself, and then looking up at him, "James, I don't have any pajamas for you. Um⊠oh, and your jeans are gonna be uncomfortable. Do you wear boxers?"
"I- I- yeah. Yes." When he tells this story later, much later, he will not recall stammering here.
"Well, if you wanna sleep in your boxers I don't mind. Better than those awful jeans. I'm gonna heat up the pizza. Bathrooms right there," you point at the door, "if you need it. Are you still feeling sick?"
"No," he says, a smidge overwhelmed.
You reach out and cup his cheek for a second as you pass. He sits in your aftermath and worries he may not make it through the night.
Watching you eat is a strange pleasure. To get to watch you eat is the first, and then the face you make trying to catch a string of cheese is a close second. Now, lying shoulder to shoulder with you, too hot for the duvet and in his boxers he can't get the image of you out of his head. He's too afraid to turn and see the real thing in case you think he's trying to cop a feel.
He'd insisted on sleeping on the floor and you'd laughed so much you went warm in the cheeks. "No, James, that's okay. You're with me."
You'd swapped your skirt for a pair of loose cotton pants. The fabric of which brushed against his calf as you squirmed restlessly.
"It's too warm," you complain.
He's so tired he can barely answer. "Yes."
"I'm gonna open the window," you declare. You climb over his legs and there's so many points of contact he thinks he might go blind.
Window opened, you stand at the sill and pick your vest away from your skin, looking over your shoulder at him, catching him mid-heady gaze. If you care you don't show it, smiling at him with your big hoop earrings still in, your necklace, your bracelets. He frowns to himself. Are you supposed to sleep with jewellery?
You climb back into bed, standing at the edge and flopping down much closer to him than you had been before. It wafts a ridiculous gust of your intoxicating smell over him.
"It's supposed to be this hot all week," you say morosely.
"The miraculous nature of British summer time," he murmurs.
You laugh breathily. "How awful. When it's cold I want the sun to come out and when the sun's out I miss the rain."
He turns his head to watch you talk.
"I like the sunshine." You tilt your head up, in a deep debate with yourself. "It's the humidity I can't deal with. It makes my hair so frizzy. I want soft hair like you, and-" you pause. "Watcha doing?"
"Do you sleep with these?" he asks, poking at the hoop hanging from your earlobe.
"Oh. Sometimes. You're not supposed to, 'cos they're big and all, but I forget."
"Can I?"
"Sure, yes. Please."
He nods and brings his other hand up, pulling the latch off your hoop and sliding it from your ear. He climbs up onto his elbow and presses his fingers to your jaw, turning your head into the pillow so he can reach the other. You're decidedly pliant and quiet under his touch as he pulls the second out. He puts them down by your shoulder and pulls on your necklace until the clasp is in sight.
He's holding his breath. You're looking up into his face with wide, soft eyes, and he catches the tremble you resist as he pulls the necklace free from your neck.
"Tickles," you say sheepishly. He's close enough to feel the warmth of your exhale on his skin.
He drapes the necklace next to your earrings but can't bring himself to move. Your eyelashes twitch. Your lips part and he can see the tiniest sneak of your tongue.
The way you're looking at him is dazzling, dizzying. He smooths down the hair closest to your neck that he'd disrupted while detangling your necklace, ignores the unsteadiness in his hands, presses his fingers to the side of your throat.
Your eyelashes kiss as your eyes drift shut, and he leans down just as you turn your face from his.
"You're drunk, Jamie," you whisper, covering his hand with your own.
He knows you're right. Though drunk seems dramatic at this point, admittedly there's alcohol in his system, and he lets himself fall back into your sheets.
"Sorry," he says.
You bring your arm across your front to grasp his shoulder in your palm. Time moves slow.
"James?"
"Yeah?"
You brush the tousled hair from his face, your touch featherlight and familiar now against his temple. His heart soars as you cuddle in closer, skips when you touch your lips to the muscle of his bicep. "Sleep well," you say warmly.
You break the kiss and stroke the skin there gently with your thumb before turning on your back.
-
so u didn't kiss her?
u r exacerbating my pain, Black
Good. Ur pain SHOULD be 'exacerbated' idiot.
i was tipsy. she didn't want me 2
and in the morning when u were sober ??? couldn't have kissed her in between waffles????
she acted like it didn't happen so I did 2
oh my god! U r so dumb !
James dropped his phone in his lap, feeling the humiliation of his defeat tenfold. Sirius was right, James should have kissed you at breakfast. Maybe. Or at least made his intentions with you clear. He wasn't trying to kiss you because he was drunk or because you were there, he was trying to kiss you because he was hopelessly endeared to you and hoped you might want to put up with him for a bit. Or years. Whatever, it's not like he was planning the wedding or anything. Yet.
He very much hadn't kissed you the next morning. You'd gotten up before him, an angel in your new fresh clothes and your hair out of your face, skin dewy and fucking hell was he lovelorn. He'd been sick as a dog at the table and you'd mistaken it for a hangover, pressing a cup of water into one hand and two ibuprofen in the other, smelling like sweetness behind him.
"Temperance," you'd said encouragingly, lips by his ear.
He relayed this all to Remus over the phone on the bus home, who had listened without judging for the most part up until that point.
"Oh, James."
"You think that's bad?" he'd asked.
"James."
"Just. Don't tell Sirius?"
"I won't." A lie, evidently. At least I can be mad at Remus' blather mouth rather than my own pussy footing, James thinks happily, pulling a throw cushion over his face.
"I'm an idiot," he says into the cushion. It doesn't say anything back.
-
James Potter isn't your boyfriend to your whimsy disappointment, but you think he might want to be.
You'll admit that his tipsy almost-kiss was a speed bump where you worried that awkwardness would wedge between you ruthlessly, but the next morning he'd made enough jokes to have you tearing up and looked at you so adoring you assumed that point moot.
You dress extra pretty tonight, a million different trinkets, silver thin bangles that jingle. Please, you think. Please, James, just ask me on a date.
You're sick of motives. These days you only go so you can see James, tired of party drugs and alcohol and sweaty guys looking at you in that way where you know exactly what they're thinking.
You spy him now, pressing through the doorway with his entourage behind him. You think this with love. His two tallest friends are always right by his side, and a smaller girl trails behind them that you think is called Emmeline.
The first half of his friends that you knew of had arrived earlier in the evening along with your only mutual friend, Mary. You give her a saccharine smile as you peel away, not bothering to hide where you're planning on going.
She smiles indulgently and turns to the short-haired girl, Dorcas. Guilt-free, you wheedle past people you don't know and some that you do, giving pause when one of your friends from school appears. By the time you've finished menial well wishes you can't see James anymore.
"Looking for someone?"
You jump and spin on your flat shoes.
A relieved smile works its way across your mouth.
"James, you startled me," you say, voice light, pressing your fingers to your sternum.
"Sorry, sweetheart. Here." He gestures his big hand to you.
A flower. You take its stem between your fingers gingerly.
"Where'd you get this?"
"Saw it on the way."
You twirl it around and watch its petals dance before passing it back to him.
You smile despite yourself at his crestfallen expression and take a step closer.
"Put it in my hair?" you ask.
His brown eyes lighten, hot amber tea steeped in his irises. He's careful as he sews the flower's delicate stalk into the hair closest to your ear, his mouth hovering just over your forehead. You half hope he's going to press a kiss to your skin before he steps back. He doesn't, though his fingertips give you almost the same pleasure as he flattens what are already well tamed baby hairs.
You want an excuse to stay close to him. He'd done it all by himself the last time by participating in a drinking game he had no chance of winning and needing somewhere to lie down. Your lap had been open. You'd prefer he stray from any recreation of this tonight, and are saved from thinking up a new excuse when he taps the toe of his shoe into yours.
You look down at the rubber toes and then up at his face.
"Want a drink?" he asks.
You pull your shoe back just enough to hit his again. "Depends. What kind?"
"We brought a keg, not that I think you're interested in that."
"Nope," you agree, wrinkling your nose with a grimace.
His answering smile is ridiculously contagious.
"You don't strike me as someone so picky."
"I know what I like," you say, demure. "But I'll try anything once."
His eyes darken, sticky sweet; a playfulness edged in something like I dare you.
"Let's hope I can get you something that sticks," he says back, twice as smooth.
An immeasurable pleasure eats up your spine as his hand comes between your shoulder blades, steering you into the kitchen. He exchanges hellos with guys you don't know huddled around the kitchen table playing cards. One of them lights a cigarette and James stands between you and the twisting smoke, opening his arm out to the countertops covered in drink.
"What do you want, baby?"
You cross your legs and lean forward, pretending to read labels.
"How about you pick for me?" You turn your head to the side and enunciate each word through lips barely parted, eyes tracking his hands where they hang at his sides. His left hand twitches.
"And if you don't like what I choose?"
You straighten up slowly, "Then you'll make me another."
He laughs and you know he can see through all the aloof confidence you carry around you, can see you for who you are, but it doesn't read as cruelty so much as a kindness. You feel the layer of coolness you'd layered on slip away and smile at him with too much teeth, pleased when his hand claps your shoulder and he steps forward to make you a drink.
The concoction he makes is a little too sweet for you but you drink it without complaint, sitting up on the counter where there's room.
He leans with his hand braced behind him next to your thighs, face close to your own and beautiful as he talks to you, brown skin cooled by the white fluorescents and eyes shiny. You can see the smattering of dark stubble coming in if you look, which you aren't. Except that you are. Hungry, you soak in his little details. Tiniest scar by his mouth. Beauty spot not far from it under his nose, almost invisible against his skin. Wavy hair in tighter curls tonight and smelling of coconut or almond or something, fresh and fragrant and thick. His glasses, black wire frames, slide down his nose so often it drives you crazy to watch him push them back up.
Eventually, unable to resist the temptation, you straighten them on the bridge of his nose mid-sentence. He pauses to blow air out of the side of his mouth, warding off a curl dipping close to his eyebrows as you do, and the silence stretches even when your hands are safely returned to your lap.
"You lookâŠ" You press your lips together in an attempt to fight off a nervous giggle that slips out anyways as you continue, making the words less serious than they're meant to be, "Pretty. Or handsome. If you prefer."
He puts his drink down on the countertop. You knead your own fingers.
"You look pretty too. Handsome, if you prefer," he returns, creeping closer still. Your chest burns with the pleasure of being complimented. "So much jewellery tonight, you're a mirror ball."
"You don't like it?"
"Didn't say that."
You lift a hand, let all the bangles drop down your arm. "I may have bordered on excessive," you admit, abashed.
"Don't worry, I know all about excessive," he placates, picking his drink up pointedly. The image of him plastered and poorly pops up in your head.
"Yes, well, I was hoping you'd stay sober." You run your finger over the rim of your glass, unable to look at him. "In case I need some help."
His hand reaches out, a finger hooking under one chain bracelet and tugging gently. You can feel his gaze on your face, feel as he puts his drink down again with a final clink. His hand closes around your bracelet.
His fingers are gentle as his other hand slowly, slowly works up your face, fingertips pushing over the delicate, smooth skin of your cheek. His thumb finds a home at the bottom of your chin and he uses it to guide your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze.
It's intense because you want it, because he's handsome, because he's funny, because he's awfully, terribly kind. Because something between you both fits together like it's meant to, and you just know that if he kisses you everything is gonna work out like it should.
His eyes are on your lips. You follow his eyes with sick excitement and miss when he slips your bracelet off of your wrist.
You look between you both. He holds the silver links between his fingers. It's the only one he would've needed to unclasp, the rest are seamless bangles. This one, silver with small blue cut gems, is just his style.
You hold your palm out, mourn his hand as it falls from your face. You both look down between you as you wrap the tennis bracelet around his wrist and click it into place.
"There," you say, so quietly you're worried he might miss it. "Something for me to take off'a you."
His hand finds your face with purpose now, almost pulling you toward his own beaming face and he's opening his mouth, about to say something with a laugh already on his lips when a shattering crash echoes from the living room and into the kitchen. James stills, hand moving down to squeeze your shoulder protectively as he turns to the door.
A barking laugh. James turns back quickly, apologetic, murmuring a "Jump down?" and pushing his forearm under your armpit to help you down off of the counter.
As soon as your canvas shoes touch down, he takes a light hold on your wrist and pulls you along, following the guys who'd been playing cards. In the living room, Sirius sits at a coffee table with a knife in his hand. Sticking into his hand, blood already pooling around it in a black crimson horror that has half the room in morbid silence and the other half panicking.
Remus, at Sirius' left, is laughing with tears running down his cheeks, sounding like he's one guttural guffaw from throwing up. Sirius looks pretty cool about the whole thing, cooler when he spots James in the doorway.
"Prongs! Come and pull this out, would you? I'd do it, but I can't seem to make myself grab it."
Remus let's out another sobbing laugh. You can't help but giggle from behind James' shoulder, and Sirius zeroes in on this.
James drops your hand, walking forward and bending at the waist.
"Hey, don't think because you're his girl now that means you-fuck! Oh fuck, what the fuck-" Sirius presses the open sleeve of his dress shirt hurriedly into the wound, freshly opened. James holds the knife he'd just pulled free in his hand distastefully.
"Alright, hotshot, run your mouth in the car. You need stitches."
"Fuck's sake."
James drops the knife on the table and shoves the wounded boy's head with the flat of his palm, earning another curse. Remus, finally extending some friendly generosity, pulls the dark shirt he's layered over a t-shirt off and encourages Sirius to wrap it around his hand.
Sirius protests. "This'll give me an infection."
"Fuck off and die, then," Remus suggests lightly, wiping at his eyelashes with the side of his pinky finger.
Sirius wrinkles his nose. James tries to shepherd them both from the room, which has once again grown loud with laughing, most of it at the absurdity of Sirius injury.
"What did I tell you about pinfinger?" James asks scornfully.
"Not to play it," Remus supplies, stepping over people's feet with little apology.
You watch the sorry threesome make their way to the door, a disheartened feeling creeping in.
James opens the front door and pushes Sirius through it, torn looking back at you.
"Remus can't drive, so I'll have to take him," he explains.
"You still have my bracelet."
A weak argument. He can hear your disappointment. He smiles, eyebrows pulling up in⊠sympathy? Empathy? Apology? You can't tell what, only that he looks soft as butter as he says, "I'll call you? We can arrange a time for you to take it back."
"Okay," you agree, much too happy, just as he's pulled out the door by a bloody hand.
-
James doesn't have your number. He realises this in A&E, close to midnight with Remus asleep on one shoulder and Sirius slouched in the other, waiting for the plastics to come and assess if Sirius has done any permanent damage to his finger.
"I don't understand how you can stab yourself in the hand and fuck up your finger," James mutters for what's likely the fifth time.
Sirius sighs unhappily. "It's ligaments or tendons or something. I might very well have cut through a cord that needs to remain uncut."
"You're an idiot."
"Thanks, James."
"Yeah, you're welcome." James slouches a little lower in his chair to take the strain off of his best friend's neck in a show of genuineness. He does love him, after all, even after shocking displays of public stupidity.
"Sorry for cockblocking you," Sirius says.
"Vile. Wasn't gonna turn out that way. Though I was hoping I might actually make a real move tonight. I did make a real move," James shakes his head, disgruntled. "I was seconds away from kissing her. Your idiocy couldn't wait 30 seconds?"
"Wasn't exactly timing it, mate."
"Yeah."
James digs through his pocket for his phone. He never knows where the damn thing is. Your bracelet is tight to his skin and he looks at it with keen longing, imagining your nicely shaped nails running under it.
He shakes it off, goes to unlock his phone, and this is where he realises he doesn't have your number.
"Do you have Y/N's number?" he asks Sirius.
"No." It sounds like why would I?
"Fuck."
"She's Mary's friend, isn't she? Ask Mary."
He sighs and does as he's told, scrolling through contacts until he finds Mary MacDonald's.
Hi mary was wondering if u have Y/N's phone #
And why should I give it to you, Pots? :3 :D <3
pls mary I am not above begging u
While that would be a sight, I meant why do you want it? But please tell me more about the begging part!!! <33
mary
What are your intentions with my Y/N? She's much too sweet for you to manhandle <33
James blushes at her wording and groans aloud. "Girls are impossible."
"Yep," Sirius says tiredly.
James doesn't want his or your business passed around, and if he tells Mary, Mary will tell Dorcas and Dorcas will tell Marlene and Marlene will tell everybody she knows and will find it very, very entertaining as she does. He doesn't plan on awarding her the pleasure. He tells a white lie.
I found her bracelet and want to give it back :]
I'll give it back for you ;) <3
not that I don't trust u M but its super nice, id prefer to give it in person myself
OK OK I'll stop yanking your chain now Jamesie dearest hahaha. Her number is +44 XXXX XXXXXX. I trust the bracelet gets back to her in one piece. btdub, how's siri? <3
crying and shaking like a lamb, thanks m xoxo
He adds your number to his contacts and then stares at it until the nurse calls for Sirius and they get up to meet her, leaving Remus to blink awake confused at their departure.
-
hi Y/N, this is James
You look down at your rarely used phone and feel a warmth like sunshine unfold in your tummy. You don't use any emoticons, though you want to.
Hi James, how are you? How is your friend?
im amazing how r u? doctors are hopeful that he'll live, but it's up to him now :,(
James
kidding. he is fine. R u busy right now?
no I'm not busy why?
can I call u?
You call him rather than answer. He picks up straight away.
"James," you say quietly.
"Sweetheart," he says back. "Hey, hi. I had to get your number from Mary Magdalene."
"Wow, what was she like?"
"Uh⊠bloody? Which one was she?"
"I don't know, James," you say, laughing behind your hand.
"What are you doing today?" he asks.
You preen though he can't see. "Nuthin," you say, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth. "Why'd you ask?"
"Trapped you there, baby. Don't you know you're supposed to wait until after I tell you what I'm planning before you say you're not busy?"
"Oh, weird. Something just came up."
"Uh-huh. Anyways, busy or not, if you want to: I've got a match later. If you want to come." He sounds nervous. It's a new look on him.
"Do I get to sit pretty on the sidelines with the other girls?"
"You can stand, if you like. But yeah, otherwise. Oh, unless you have some kicks. I doubt it would take much convincing to get you on the team."
"How's that?"
"Well, you know. They aren't blind. Dumb, sure, but we play rugby. Not exactly a honeypot of intelligence, all it would take for half those guys is your pretty smile-"
"You're plenty smart," you cut off his compliments.
James gags. "Keep it to yourself. It starts at six, but come whenever. Oh- do you need me to pick you up?"
"No, that's okay. I'll walk. It's warm out."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. It'll be nice. I'll wear team colours." You're almost afraid to suggest it until he makes a very happy noise that he coughs to hide two seconds too late.
"See you at six, then?"
"Definitely. You owe me a bracelet."
"It's a date." He hangs up before you can say goodbye. Good thing, because you spend the next ten minutes with your face in your hands, smiling so wide your cheeks ache.
It doesn't quite feel like a date on the sidelines but you're too busy walking on sunshine to care. You watch as James throws the ball behind him, torso twisting, bulky arms flexing. His shorts and socks are stained green and his shirt grips tight to his chest.
You can see why he wanted a haircut; ink dark hair falls in his eyes as he sprints after the team and he has no hands to tuck it back.
You'd been a little late, trying too hard to look effortlessly radiant at home and forgetting the time. As soon as you'd arrived, out of breath and half-dressed, you stood at the side of the pitch close to watchers but maintaining a small gap trying desperately to catch his eye. It was obvious when he saw you - he smiled beatifically and raised a wide palm in greeting before getting into position for a scrum.
After a while there's a halftime break where he comes bouncing off the field to your side. He goes straight in for a hug, brave, warm, exactly what you wanted, arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground half an inch with the force of it.
You wrap your arms around his neck and pretend it's all an inconvenience, wobbling on tiptoes. "You're getting grass all over me."
"Oh no," he says, faux worried.
He smells like so many things. Deodorant and sweat, grass and dirt and salt. You press your nose into his hair and smell the almond oil there with a lopsided smile.
He lets you down, holding you at arms length.
"You're so fucking pretty."
You try not to burst into tears, turning your face so he can see the heart on your cheek made up of glitter in his team colours. "It's the team rep."
"No, it isn't," he says, running his hand down your face to straighten your head, pausing with his fingers under your chin.
Your bracelet is still on his wrist. You can't find it in yourself to be embarrassed at the lovesickness you're feeling.
You push his hair from his face. He, reminded of this affliction, levels you with a squinting glare. "This is all your fault."
"Sorry, Jamie," you say, biting back a guilty smile.
"It's fine," he concedes immediately. You're suddenly overwhelmed by the power you have over this poor boy.
"How long is the break?"
"Halftime? About ten minutes left."
You nod, thinking to yourself. "Well, um. You can say no, but. I can plait your hair back, if you want. Out of your eyes."
"You can?" he asks, brightening.
"Yeah, I can."
James sits on the bottom bench of the stand and you stand behind him, your fingers raking through his windblown curls in lieu of a comb. He sits strangely still, more controlled than you thought possible of him as you braid back the longest strands at the front of his scalp, sliding your fingers through his hair as kindly as you can. The small intimacy of it all has your heart racing.
Securing the dark braid with a bobble, you take in the back of his head. His soft shiny hair is oil black in the sun, his skin painted with gold. His neck begs to be kissed.
You rub your hands down the back of his neck, across the curves of his trap muscles and then down his chest, leaning on him so you can press your lips to the highest point of his cheek in a shy kiss. He tilts his head to catch your eye as you pull back.
"Done?" he asks, something indistinguishable in his voice.
"Done," you confirm.
His face is close enough to spot the beauty mark adjacent to his cupid's bow. You resist the urge to kiss that, too, and stand at full height. He copies you. You find that the stands underneath you makes you taller, his eyes are level with yours.
"How's it look?"
"I did alright," you say modestly. "Though maybe a haircut isn't the worst idea."
He laughs and looks down, reaching for your hands. He's different without his glasses, not more or less handsome, but different. The focus of his face changes, and you find yourself distracted by his eyes, his nose, his mouth.
He holds your hands like a prince, brushing his thumb over your fingernails. Then, in true royal fashion, he brings your hand to his mouth. A kiss pressed to your knuckles. One kiss becomes two, two to three, a peppering of pecks up your hand and over your pulse and up your arm. He reaches your sleeve. His hand follows his mouth until he's holding your elbow in his hand like you're a sacred being, pulling you in.
You drift together. His hands cup your upper arms and guide you slowly to the left as he ducks in.
A piercing whistle leaps through the air. You flinch apart like guilty kids, his hands a searing heat through your shirt sleeves as the call for halftime's end rings. Loudly.
He grimaces bitterly. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I don't know why this keeps happening to us, I'm-"
"Going to get in trouble," you finish, peeling his hands off of your body. "Go on, before they get mad."
"Your bracelet-"
"Keep it. It looks good on you, anyways."
He leans in and holds you by the neck. Your heart is a hammering racket for no reason - all he does is peck your forehead, quick and firm. Then he pulls back all sorry looking and scrambles over the bench and the kit to get back into position.
You sit down heavily on the cold metal seat behind you and cover your chest with your hands, taking deep breaths through your nose.
He catches your eye from the pitch and winks.
-
"Be thankful it was your mouth and not your nose."
"Explain what you mean," James demands, wincing at his split lip.
You match his stride. James, having been hit in the face with the rugby ball hard enough to bruise and cut his top lip, had refused to let you look at him, despite the horror it had provoked, and then had refused to let you walk home alone. I'm not getting in your car until you see a doctor, James, I mean it.
Fine, then we'll walk.
So you walk. The sun is setting, the sky a mix of white-pink and light blue, a bleeding yellow light throwing big shadows every which way. You step out of the shade of a towering, green leafed tree where the main road began. Before James can stop you, you jump up onto the small metal barrier that stops cars from driving on the pavement and walk across it like a balance beam.
"Please don't," James says.
You ignore him, using your arms to stop yourself from toppling into the road. A small revenge considering he had ignored your medical advice. James lets you do this for around 10 seconds before he grabs your hand in his. You wobble along the last meter of barrier with your joined hands held aloft and tight before you finally let him pull you back down onto the pavement, giggling breathlessly. Cars careen past, each one wafting a breeze of petrol and fallen leaves towards your legs.
Fingers interlocked, you walk. You take in the relative beauty of your town in its approaching dusk, meandering past roundabouts and roads, back gardens and a corner shop.
You persuade James inside the shop and beeline for the cold drinks at the back. The open fridges cool your clammy skin.
"What one do you want?" you ask him.
"Anything. Whatever you're having."
You grab three identical cans and ignore his raised eyebrows as you bring them to the front of the store, the cashier hidden behind lollipop stands, magazines, a plastic shield plastered in leaflets for upcoming events. There's a small TV in the corner blaring summer music that you can't help but hum as you emerge from the shop, swaying your hips in time.
"Who's the third for?" James asks, accepting his can. You tuck your own in your bag and grin.
"You! For your lip," you say. "It's swollen."
"Doesn't hurt."
"Don't believe you."
He reluctantly takes the can from you and complains loudly, exasperated at having two full hands, one pressed to his face. You wiggle your empty one at him in bad sportsmanship. Before long you're standing outside your home and James is hesitating.
"Do you want to come in?" you ask, half-hopeful.
He shakes his head. "I can't, I have to take Sirius to get his hand looked at again by plastics."
"Too bad," you murmur, looking at his chest and then his face. "Thank you for walking me. I know it's out of the way."
"You're never out of the way," he says seriously.
You slide your fingers into the loose hair behind his neck, rub your thumb across the line of his jaw.
"Get home safe," you murmur as you lift up on your toes, shoes creasing. You press a half-open kiss to his jaw where your thumb had been moments before and close your lips over his skin slowly. You linger, pressing a second on top.
There's an unspoken acknowledgement between you both when you pull away. A promise.
He looks a picture of defeat walking down your front path. Covered in dirt and grass and sweat and blood, hair messy and chased by the last rays of sun. You watch until he's at the end of your street, butterflies thrashing in your tummy as he presses his index and middle finger to where you'd laid your kisses, as though checking his pulse.
-
James' parents own a restaurant. He knows, in his right mind, that this is a lame place to take you on a proper first date, only it's the hottest week of the year and everywhere else with outdoor seating is fully booked.
"I don't mind, James. Actually, I'm excited. I've never seen Sirius in a uniform," you say.
He scowls and scoffs melodramatically over the phone until you apologise to him for your terrible, awful, sick joke.
Technically, the Potter's restaurant is fully booked too, and he watches the books like a hawk for a week while his lip heals until he catches a cancellation. He instantly jots down his name. He's caught in the act by Euphemia.
"James," his mum had said, words drawn out. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
So really, he isn't sure why he thinks this date will go well. Everybody who works here knows him, and even as he waits outside for you under the dark wood porch a server comes up to him and nudges him with his elbow emphatically.
You turn the corner and he stops breathing, a vision in your sundress and sandals. He watches your anklets dance as you approach, eyes roving up your body devotedly until he finds a smile that matches his own in tenacity playing on your glossy lips.
He wants to kiss you then but wants more to foster a perfect, romantic evening first, so he's careful as he brings his hands up to your face appreciatively. Your hands hook around his elbows, an excited glaze in your eyes.
"Hi, pretty girl."
"Hi," you say, hushed by shyness.
He caresses your cheeks lightly, worried about smudging your makeup. Your eyes close when his hands move up, sliding over your hair to rest behind your ears. Sparkly earrings hang from each earlobe.
"You look beautiful," he says, because fuck it if James hasn't got game.
Your smile turns pouting at his words. He wants to record your voice and play it back when you say, "Thank you, James," in the softest tone he's ever heard from you.
He wants to stay like this. He swears he could happily stand in this bubble of the world with you and count your eyelashes, memorise the flecks of colour that surround your pupil, but you shimmy out of his hands and prompt him inside.
"Come on, handsome, I'm hungry." And then, inside the restaurant. "Oh my god. It smells amazing. What smells amazing?"
He has no clue. He's reluctant to go to the bar with you only because he knows exactly who stands behind it - Sirius, in his neat uniform, a towel thrown over his shoulder and a bandage wrapped around his hand.
He's well-behaved when he sees you, though a few things he says has James reaching to wring his neck.
"How's your hand?" you ask.
Sirius sets down James' pint and grabs for another glass, shovelling ice and pouring juice. "It's alright. The bandage is for health and safety, not because it's actually injured anymore."
"Plastics said he's fine," James interjects, raising the dark ale to his lips.
"Perfect," Sirius amends cooly, "is what they said. Head to toe."
James corrals you out onto the mezzanine before you can fall in love with the uppity bartender.
It gets worse from there. A server who's known James since he was in nappies takes your orders, an extremely handsome server with a deep dusky voice and black skin so smooth he's practically carved from stone.
"And what's for you, babygirl?" he asks after airing out every embarrassing thing James has ever done on restaurant grounds.
You're still laughing, but you turn to James with all the confidence in the world as you ask, "What do I get, James?"
He feels a little better after that.
The patio is perfect. The sun's out, the breeze is light. Every now and then he has a hint of your smell, sunscreen and perfume. Your leg bounces under the table, a tinkling sound of silver, and you lean forward. He doesn't look at your chest where the necklace hanging over your collar bones disappears, thank you very much, but you're so obviously perfect and he's attracted to everything - your body and your gorgeous face, yes, undeniably, but your voice! Your laugh, your smell, the way your hands move. The way your every word about him drips adoration. The pride in your tone as you recall what should've been his perfect match (if he hadn't been hit in the face).
After a lazy dinner and a second round of drinks he's buzzing and you're lovely, like a flower, bloomed and prettier than anything he's ever seen.
You leave the table and walk along the woodchip path and kids play area to look out over the lake, a dark shimmering sheet split in half by twisting white light, the sun falling from the sky.
The evening grows marginally colder, especially at the lakefront. At the first sign of discomfort he works his arm over your back, hand pressed to the dip of your shoulder
He's waiting for you to look at him before he kisses you.
"It's so pretty," you sigh happily.
Across the lake is a backdrop of green trees and a small, rustic boathouse. A family of ducks swim past, shepherded by a squawking swan.
"Bully," he mutters.
You hum. "Why is there only ever one nasty swan per lake?"
"Gotta fill their quota."
"The poor duckies," you sympathise. "Look, there's one of the fancy ones with a green head over there."
He follows your finger but gets distracted by the bracelets adorning your wrist, can't help but think about how you'd asked him to take them off.
"James, this is⊠it's really perfect. It's amazing."
He pulls you in a little closer. "I'm glad," he says, though he's finding it hard to respond - he can barely open his mouth. "I wanted it to be."
You finally turn to face him. He guesses his change in tone is what does it, because you sound similarly low and love-sticky when you murmur back, "Everything. It's all been so perfect. Everything with you."
He can't take it. He darts forward, so close to kissing you that the air between you is charged with it. When his nose grazes yours he gives pause, tries to work out what you're thinking as your tongue wets your lips.
Your eyes are closed. He shuts his own and-
"James! James Fleamont Potter! You come up here and help your mam!" his father's voice calls.
He drops his forehead against yours and lets out a pained exhale.
"Dad," he calls back, refusing to move. "I'm a little preoccupied."
"What? James, look, I don't have my glasses and your mother needs someone to write tomorrow's daily special!"
He pulls away from you and sends a heated look over his shoulder, one he's sure could melt metal and that his father can't even see. "And tomorrow's daily special, this couldn't wait until TOMORROW?"
"James, I've no clue what's turned you into such a sour puss tonight and I don't have time to work it out. All I'm asking is that you do this chalkboard for us and then you can get back to-"
"Dad! Dad! Alright, I'm coming!" he hollers back, cutting his father off before he can blow a gasket. "Jesus Christ," he says under his breath, defeated. You frown sympathetically at his embarrassment.
"You should probably go help your parents," you say, sounding similarly disappointed. He nods, unwilling.
"Just, don't move," he pleads.
You smile, total understanding on your face, and he's only taken a few steps from you when you turn back to the lake and your shoulders fall.
Fuck it, he thinks.
He turns your body with his palm on your shoulder and soothes your surprised flinch with a hand on your neck, your eyes meeting for a startled, excited handful of seconds before he's finally, finally, surging forward. You gasp into his mouth and his fingers tighten on your neck, lips aligned with your lips and searching deeper, parting to invite you in. You follow, a dance, a hand pulling you out of the road, a tether, and you taste like everything he's ever thought you might all at once.
You press your spread fingers over the fine material of his dress shirt and moan when he catches your top lip between his. He kisses, again and again, feels you slip through his hands like water. He hooks his arm around your head to keep you in place as he wades into you, slowing, softening, pulling away to plant one, two, three gentle kisses over it all like a balm. You respond to each one amorously. His chest rears to explode at your dizzy, pretty panting when it's over.
He loosens his arm to pull back and take in your entire face. Your eyes are shimmering, lips wet. He wipes his thumb over your bottom lip, finds it burning hot.
"Oh," you whisper.
"Oh?" he asks, endeared and amused and insanely happy.
"I didn't think it would feel so different to all the little kisses from before."
"Good different?" he asks, the damp pad of his thumb smoothing over the warm hill of your cheek, stolen bracelet scraping your skin.
Any anxiety he has unfurls and dissipates into nothing when you smile and lean in for a second kiss. "Good different," you confirm against his open mouth, "everything with youâŠ"
He pulls you as close as any person can be to another person. He has a pretty good picture of what you were going to say, anyways.
<3
my masterlist
marauders tag list @marimorena06 @glimmering-darling-dolly @siriuslystfu@thatblackravenclaw @thatonecomfyjumper @lupinlust @touchdeprivedwh0re @vi0letblu3s@mooncalvin @gaysnowrose @thatonecomfyjumper @set-myself-on-fire @decafcoffew
**these are not my fics! this is just a massive list of some my favorites :) fics are divided up by Marauders Era Sirius and Lightning Era Sirius along with a list of Sirius Black masterlists!**
Marauders Era Sirius / Young Sirius
About what I said last night. by @rainandhotchocolate đ„
accent by @httpbakugou đ
american!reader
A Moment by @glasschampagne đ
Sirius and Y/N canât stop bickeringâŠuntil Mr. Remus Lupin decides to meddle
and we run by @winterwisteria đ
in an attempt to escape the paparazzi, sirius black hitches a ride with the first person he sees. rockstar!sirius black x reader
hello :)) i just started a bookstagram to keep track of what i've been reading and to just keep living in fictional worlds in every way i can. since this is my little community of readers i thought i'd let you all know if you want to follow (if you do, please tell me you're from tumblr!!)
here's the link: https://www.instagram.com/bookish.daydreaming/
Summary: Charlie and reader, childhood sweethearts, best man and maid of honour at Billâs wedding, canât help but imagine their own future wedding. Inspired by the Vamps song Chemicals.
Warnings: This is literally pure fluff. I also started writing this in September and am now finishing it mid-April so thatâs a good indicator at how my final year of uni is going.
Wordcount: 1350
Charlie Weasley couldnât help but admire the scenes around him as strings of fairy lights lit up the sky, sun setting in the horizon. He had never been a wedding fanatic, but he had to admit that his family had truly managed to pull of the wedding of a lifetime, he could almost feel the magic buzzing in the air around him. He had stood proudly by his brotherâs side, glad to finally see Bill so happy with Fleur, and as radiant as the bride had looked, he couldnât help his eyes from straying to her side.
Just behind of the bride stood y/n, his y/n, who seemed to be sneaking glances at Charlie at every opportunity as well. The gold dress she was wearing flowed elegantly down her body, and her y/h/c hair shimmered against it, creating a halo effect. Whenever Charlie caught her sly glances â which was every time, given he couldnât look away from her â her cheeks would flush and she would quickly avert her gaze, still so easily flustered by him after all those years.
When the wizard officiating the wedding declared his brother married, the wide grin on y/nâs face, the tears threatening to fall down her cheeks, had Charlie smitten over her. Standing close enough, some of the stars cascading over Bill and Fleur also floated around her, and Charlie found himself wondering not only how he had been so lucky to find an angel wondering the earth, but that she loved him just as purely as he did her.
Theyâd both been swept away after that, reconnecting with old friends, catching up with family members they couldnât see often enough. Occasionally, Charlie caught her light, melodic laugh over the general chatter. He couldnât help but roll his eyes when he caught two red heads of hair twirling her under their arms, politely carrying on his conversation although he desperately wished to go and join his beloved.
The first dance had come and gone, and with the party in full swing y/n had been stolen from partner to partner, not a second left for Charlie to intervene. Heâd been dancing too, twirling his mum around as she tried not to burst into tears yet again, as well as Ginny â he couldnât help being a protective older brother, even if she was nearly all grown up herself. Now, he looked across the floor, easily finding y/n gliding so elegantly in Billâs arms, Fleur dancing with her father. Bill caught Charlieâs eye and winked. Charlie let out a sigh of relief, thanking Merlin for his brother, who had no doubt caught his longing stares, the same way he had all those years ago back at Hogwarts.
He made his way across the dancefloor, weaving his way throughout the couples, stopping before his older brother. He tapped y/n on the shoulder, heart beating faster at her confused face turning into a delighted beam when she noticed who was by her side. âMind if I steal you away, draga mea?â Her hands fell into his, gleaming eyes gazing at him intently, cheeks flushed from a mixture of the dancing and being in Charlieâs presence. âIâve missed you.â
âHave you had a chance to, considering youâve barely looked anywhere else all night?â Charlieâs laugh was bright as she smiled cheekily up at him, breaking his gaze only as he spun her around, skirt swaying with her.
He caught her back in his arms, hands instantly going to rest on her lower back as hers laced behind the back of his neck. Chest to chest, breathing in sync. âThis whole day has been stunning, donât you think? I havenât seen Bill so happy in years, and Fleur just looks radiant. Itâs been perfect.â
They had danced their way into a corner of the dancefloor where they now stood closely, still stepping in a circle in time with the music. Subsumed in their own universe, they didnât notice the chattering of those closest to them, the coos of onlookers at the best man and maid of honour â did you know theyâre high school sweethearts?
âI reckon we can top it.â Charlieâs smile back was electric, so sure of himself and yet still a question underlying in his words.
âThatâs not even up for debate. This was cute, sure, but weâll blow this out the water. Plus, the groom will be much hotter at our wedding.â That was all the confirmation Charlie needed, not an if but a when. They both knew it would happen, and until the right situation presented itself neither of them minded the wait.
A noise cut through their blissful bubble, a throat being cleared, and both heads turned to find the current groom with an unamused stare. âI heard that.â He shook his head in dismay as y/n shrugged.
âI said it was cute!â She felt a tug on her wrist as Charlie leaned close to her ear and suggested taking a break. She followed him out of the tent and into the garden until they were at the top of the hill they had sat watching so many sunsets over the years. Before she had even realised the crispness of the evening air around them, Charlie had wrapped his jacket around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as they lay on the grass beneath them and doing his best to shield her from the cold. She followed him down after a pause, admiring him as she too often did.
Her head rested on his shoulder as their hands rested on his chest, intertwined. âDo you ever think about our wedding?â Charlie asked, voice quiet in the still air around them.
âCharlie Weasley, is this you proposing?â Y/n laughed lightly as she teased him.
âConsider it a half proposal I sâpose. Iâm going to ask you to marry me, thatâs a promise, but Iâll do it properly. Thereâll be a ring, and Iâll be a lot more nervous, and you know it wonât go as smoothly as I plan it to.â
âSounds perfectly us, then.â They sat in a comfortable silence as she pondered his question. âI guess I have thought about it. Where it would be, who Iâd want there, which traditions weâd stick to and which we would make our own. Have you?â
âLove, I think about it all the time.â Her heart picked up at his words as she couldnât help but tear up at the sincerity and warmth of his tone, adoration dripping from his words. âI think about getting ready in the morning with Bill passing notes between us because you know we wouldnât go a morning without talking â especially a morning as important as that. I think about seeing you as you walk down the aisle and how Iâll definitely cry because I still canât believe Iâm lucky enough to be loved by you. And weâll dance, weâll give the most excellent speeches and Iâll count myself the luckiest man in the world to be by your side through it all. I think about being able to call you my wife, on our wedding day and every day afterwards as I get to wake up next to you each day, the best part of my day.â
âCharlie.â The tears were pooling in her eyes as she looked at him, the one who was unfalteringly by her side, who believed in her no matter what and who made her heart soar without even trying. âThat was â you are ââ she struggled to find the words to fully encapsulate what she was feeling. âI love you.â
He leaned down towards her and she met him halfway as their lips touched in a tender kiss, a pouring of emotions between them, moving together in blissful harmony. They broke apart, y/n resting her head back on Charlieâs shoulder as his grip around her tightened, pulling her so close she was practically on top of him.
She lay there, thinking of the scenes below and imagining when it was her turn, when her soul was finally connected to Charlieâs.
He lay there, thinking of the ring which was currently hidden in his bedroom, planning the earliest time he could give it to her and they could start the rest of their lives together. Â
Summary: Charlie and reader, childhood sweethearts, best man and maid of honour at Billâs wedding, canât help but imagine their own future wedding. Inspired by the Vamps song Chemicals.
Warnings: This is literally pure fluff. I also started writing this in September and am now finishing it mid-April so thatâs a good indicator at how my final year of uni is going.
Wordcount: 1350
Charlie Weasley couldnât help but admire the scenes around him as strings of fairy lights lit up the sky, sun setting in the horizon. He had never been a wedding fanatic, but he had to admit that his family had truly managed to pull of the wedding of a lifetime, he could almost feel the magic buzzing in the air around him. He had stood proudly by his brotherâs side, glad to finally see Bill so happy with Fleur, and as radiant as the bride had looked, he couldnât help his eyes from straying to her side.
Just behind of the bride stood y/n, his y/n, who seemed to be sneaking glances at Charlie at every opportunity as well. The gold dress she was wearing flowed elegantly down her body, and her y/h/c hair shimmered against it, creating a halo effect. Whenever Charlie caught her sly glances â which was every time, given he couldnât look away from her â her cheeks would flush and she would quickly avert her gaze, still so easily flustered by him after all those years.
When the wizard officiating the wedding declared his brother married, the wide grin on y/nâs face, the tears threatening to fall down her cheeks, had Charlie smitten over her. Standing close enough, some of the stars cascading over Bill and Fleur also floated around her, and Charlie found himself wondering not only how he had been so lucky to find an angel wondering the earth, but that she loved him just as purely as he did her.
Theyâd both been swept away after that, reconnecting with old friends, catching up with family members they couldnât see often enough. Occasionally, Charlie caught her light, melodic laugh over the general chatter. He couldnât help but roll his eyes when he caught two red heads of hair twirling her under their arms, politely carrying on his conversation although he desperately wished to go and join his beloved.
The first dance had come and gone, and with the party in full swing y/n had been stolen from partner to partner, not a second left for Charlie to intervene. Heâd been dancing too, twirling his mum around as she tried not to burst into tears yet again, as well as Ginny â he couldnât help being a protective older brother, even if she was nearly all grown up herself. Now, he looked across the floor, easily finding y/n gliding so elegantly in Billâs arms, Fleur dancing with her father. Bill caught Charlieâs eye and winked. Charlie let out a sigh of relief, thanking Merlin for his brother, who had no doubt caught his longing stares, the same way he had all those years ago back at Hogwarts.
He made his way across the dancefloor, weaving his way throughout the couples, stopping before his older brother. He tapped y/n on the shoulder, heart beating faster at her confused face turning into a delighted beam when she noticed who was by her side. âMind if I steal you away, draga mea?â Her hands fell into his, gleaming eyes gazing at him intently, cheeks flushed from a mixture of the dancing and being in Charlieâs presence. âIâve missed you.â
âHave you had a chance to, considering youâve barely looked anywhere else all night?â Charlieâs laugh was bright as she smiled cheekily up at him, breaking his gaze only as he spun her around, skirt swaying with her.
He caught her back in his arms, hands instantly going to rest on her lower back as hers laced behind the back of his neck. Chest to chest, breathing in sync. âThis whole day has been stunning, donât you think? I havenât seen Bill so happy in years, and Fleur just looks radiant. Itâs been perfect.â
They had danced their way into a corner of the dancefloor where they now stood closely, still stepping in a circle in time with the music. Subsumed in their own universe, they didnât notice the chattering of those closest to them, the coos of onlookers at the best man and maid of honour â did you know theyâre high school sweethearts?
âI reckon we can top it.â Charlieâs smile back was electric, so sure of himself and yet still a question underlying in his words.
âThatâs not even up for debate. This was cute, sure, but weâll blow this out the water. Plus, the groom will be much hotter at our wedding.â That was all the confirmation Charlie needed, not an if but a when. They both knew it would happen, and until the right situation presented itself neither of them minded the wait.
A noise cut through their blissful bubble, a throat being cleared, and both heads turned to find the current groom with an unamused stare. âI heard that.â He shook his head in dismay as y/n shrugged.
âI said it was cute!â She felt a tug on her wrist as Charlie leaned close to her ear and suggested taking a break. She followed him out of the tent and into the garden until they were at the top of the hill they had sat watching so many sunsets over the years. Before she had even realised the crispness of the evening air around them, Charlie had wrapped his jacket around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as they lay on the grass beneath them and doing his best to shield her from the cold. She followed him down after a pause, admiring him as she too often did.
Her head rested on his shoulder as their hands rested on his chest, intertwined. âDo you ever think about our wedding?â Charlie asked, voice quiet in the still air around them.
âCharlie Weasley, is this you proposing?â Y/n laughed lightly as she teased him.
âConsider it a half proposal I sâpose. Iâm going to ask you to marry me, thatâs a promise, but Iâll do it properly. Thereâll be a ring, and Iâll be a lot more nervous, and you know it wonât go as smoothly as I plan it to.â
âSounds perfectly us, then.â They sat in a comfortable silence as she pondered his question. âI guess I have thought about it. Where it would be, who Iâd want there, which traditions weâd stick to and which we would make our own. Have you?â
âLove, I think about it all the time.â Her heart picked up at his words as she couldnât help but tear up at the sincerity and warmth of his tone, adoration dripping from his words. âI think about getting ready in the morning with Bill passing notes between us because you know we wouldnât go a morning without talking â especially a morning as important as that. I think about seeing you as you walk down the aisle and how Iâll definitely cry because I still canât believe Iâm lucky enough to be loved by you. And weâll dance, weâll give the most excellent speeches and Iâll count myself the luckiest man in the world to be by your side through it all. I think about being able to call you my wife, on our wedding day and every day afterwards as I get to wake up next to you each day, the best part of my day.â
âCharlie.â The tears were pooling in her eyes as she looked at him, the one who was unfalteringly by her side, who believed in her no matter what and who made her heart soar without even trying. âThat was â you are ââ she struggled to find the words to fully encapsulate what she was feeling. âI love you.â
He leaned down towards her and she met him halfway as their lips touched in a tender kiss, a pouring of emotions between them, moving together in blissful harmony. They broke apart, y/n resting her head back on Charlieâs shoulder as his grip around her tightened, pulling her so close she was practically on top of him.
She lay there, thinking of the scenes below and imagining when it was her turn, when her soul was finally connected to Charlieâs.
He lay there, thinking of the ring which was currently hidden in his bedroom, planning the earliest time he could give it to her and they could start the rest of their lives together. Â
I hope everything's going well, please take things easy, and be gentle with yourself <3
đđ thank you anon. it's been rough im not gonna lie but im making my way through it. trying to make progress. trying to remind myself to do the things i love (especially writing).
but opening my asks box after not posting anything in months and a fic in an even longer time and seeing this has made me feel a whole lot better, so thank youđ€
Summary: Charlie and reader, childhood sweethearts, best man and maid of honour at Billâs wedding, canât help but imagine their own future wedding. Inspired by the Vamps song Chemicals.
Warnings: This is literally pure fluff. I also started writing this in September and am now finishing it mid-April so thatâs a good indicator at how my final year of uni is going.
Wordcount: 1350
Charlie Weasley couldnât help but admire the scenes around him as strings of fairy lights lit up the sky, sun setting in the horizon. He had never been a wedding fanatic, but he had to admit that his family had truly managed to pull of the wedding of a lifetime, he could almost feel the magic buzzing in the air around him. He had stood proudly by his brotherâs side, glad to finally see Bill so happy with Fleur, and as radiant as the bride had looked, he couldnât help his eyes from straying to her side.
Just behind of the bride stood y/n, his y/n, who seemed to be sneaking glances at Charlie at every opportunity as well. The gold dress she was wearing flowed elegantly down her body, and her y/h/c hair shimmered against it, creating a halo effect. Whenever Charlie caught her sly glances â which was every time, given he couldnât look away from her â her cheeks would flush and she would quickly avert her gaze, still so easily flustered by him after all those years.
When the wizard officiating the wedding declared his brother married, the wide grin on y/nâs face, the tears threatening to fall down her cheeks, had Charlie smitten over her. Standing close enough, some of the stars cascading over Bill and Fleur also floated around her, and Charlie found himself wondering not only how he had been so lucky to find an angel wondering the earth, but that she loved him just as purely as he did her.
Theyâd both been swept away after that, reconnecting with old friends, catching up with family members they couldnât see often enough. Occasionally, Charlie caught her light, melodic laugh over the general chatter. He couldnât help but roll his eyes when he caught two red heads of hair twirling her under their arms, politely carrying on his conversation although he desperately wished to go and join his beloved.
The first dance had come and gone, and with the party in full swing y/n had been stolen from partner to partner, not a second left for Charlie to intervene. Heâd been dancing too, twirling his mum around as she tried not to burst into tears yet again, as well as Ginny â he couldnât help being a protective older brother, even if she was nearly all grown up herself. Now, he looked across the floor, easily finding y/n gliding so elegantly in Billâs arms, Fleur dancing with her father. Bill caught Charlieâs eye and winked. Charlie let out a sigh of relief, thanking Merlin for his brother, who had no doubt caught his longing stares, the same way he had all those years ago back at Hogwarts.
He made his way across the dancefloor, weaving his way throughout the couples, stopping before his older brother. He tapped y/n on the shoulder, heart beating faster at her confused face turning into a delighted beam when she noticed who was by her side. âMind if I steal you away, draga mea?â Her hands fell into his, gleaming eyes gazing at him intently, cheeks flushed from a mixture of the dancing and being in Charlieâs presence. âIâve missed you.â
âHave you had a chance to, considering youâve barely looked anywhere else all night?â Charlieâs laugh was bright as she smiled cheekily up at him, breaking his gaze only as he spun her around, skirt swaying with her.
He caught her back in his arms, hands instantly going to rest on her lower back as hers laced behind the back of his neck. Chest to chest, breathing in sync. âThis whole day has been stunning, donât you think? I havenât seen Bill so happy in years, and Fleur just looks radiant. Itâs been perfect.â
They had danced their way into a corner of the dancefloor where they now stood closely, still stepping in a circle in time with the music. Subsumed in their own universe, they didnât notice the chattering of those closest to them, the coos of onlookers at the best man and maid of honour â did you know theyâre high school sweethearts?
âI reckon we can top it.â Charlieâs smile back was electric, so sure of himself and yet still a question underlying in his words.
âThatâs not even up for debate. This was cute, sure, but weâll blow this out the water. Plus, the groom will be much hotter at our wedding.â That was all the confirmation Charlie needed, not an if but a when. They both knew it would happen, and until the right situation presented itself neither of them minded the wait.
A noise cut through their blissful bubble, a throat being cleared, and both heads turned to find the current groom with an unamused stare. âI heard that.â He shook his head in dismay as y/n shrugged.
âI said it was cute!â She felt a tug on her wrist as Charlie leaned close to her ear and suggested taking a break. She followed him out of the tent and into the garden until they were at the top of the hill they had sat watching so many sunsets over the years. Before she had even realised the crispness of the evening air around them, Charlie had wrapped his jacket around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as they lay on the grass beneath them and doing his best to shield her from the cold. She followed him down after a pause, admiring him as she too often did.
Her head rested on his shoulder as their hands rested on his chest, intertwined. âDo you ever think about our wedding?â Charlie asked, voice quiet in the still air around them.
âCharlie Weasley, is this you proposing?â Y/n laughed lightly as she teased him.
âConsider it a half proposal I sâpose. Iâm going to ask you to marry me, thatâs a promise, but Iâll do it properly. Thereâll be a ring, and Iâll be a lot more nervous, and you know it wonât go as smoothly as I plan it to.â
âSounds perfectly us, then.â They sat in a comfortable silence as she pondered his question. âI guess I have thought about it. Where it would be, who Iâd want there, which traditions weâd stick to and which we would make our own. Have you?â
âLove, I think about it all the time.â Her heart picked up at his words as she couldnât help but tear up at the sincerity and warmth of his tone, adoration dripping from his words. âI think about getting ready in the morning with Bill passing notes between us because you know we wouldnât go a morning without talking â especially a morning as important as that. I think about seeing you as you walk down the aisle and how Iâll definitely cry because I still canât believe Iâm lucky enough to be loved by you. And weâll dance, weâll give the most excellent speeches and Iâll count myself the luckiest man in the world to be by your side through it all. I think about being able to call you my wife, on our wedding day and every day afterwards as I get to wake up next to you each day, the best part of my day.â
âCharlie.â The tears were pooling in her eyes as she looked at him, the one who was unfalteringly by her side, who believed in her no matter what and who made her heart soar without even trying. âThat was â you are ââ she struggled to find the words to fully encapsulate what she was feeling. âI love you.â
He leaned down towards her and she met him halfway as their lips touched in a tender kiss, a pouring of emotions between them, moving together in blissful harmony. They broke apart, y/n resting her head back on Charlieâs shoulder as his grip around her tightened, pulling her so close she was practically on top of him.
She lay there, thinking of the scenes below and imagining when it was her turn, when her soul was finally connected to Charlieâs.
He lay there, thinking of the ring which was currently hidden in his bedroom, planning the earliest time he could give it to her and they could start the rest of their lives together. Â
CONGRATS ON 2K YOU DESERVE IT AND SO MUCH MORE!!!! my drabble request: domestic bliss w james please <3 just heart-aching lovely intimacy <3 sorry if this is vague ilyy
thank you so much! and thank you for your request, I hope itâs somewhat like what you pictured! <3
James Potter smelled like you. He smelled like his expensive cologne and fig soap, even smelled a little of sweat, sometimes, which you couldn't say you hated, but undeniably he had begun to smell like you.
You buried your face in his neck and your hands under his arms to leech his warmth. He'd turned away from you in the night, snook his way into being the little spoon. You refused to begrudge him this;Â you knew how it felt to be held by him, like nothing could ever touch you. You hoped that you could give him the same sense of safety as you snuggled close to his back. You'd never tell him this, but you couldn't wait for summer when he'd forgo a shirt in the night and tuck you up over his bare chest, when you could press your nose into his skin and breathe in his smell.
He was bound to start smelling like you eventually, he spent so much time in your bed. A month after you'd started seeing each other he'd showed up at your door in the middle of the night looking exhausted.
"I promise this isn't a scheme to cop a feel and you can turn me away, I won't be offended, but I really can't sleep and I think it's because I miss you."
That was the first time you'd realised he loved you.
You kissed his neck at the memory, overwhelmed with love. Your lips touched his skin, the soft, dark baby hairs at the nape of his neck. He slept soundly, light snores a comfort to you. Your arm was going dead under his head and you shifted it carefully away, dotting what you hoped were soothing, gentle kisses to his skin. You stole the other hand from under his arm, on pins as you sat up and attempted to move soundlessly from the room.
You normally wouldn't leave him. He was gorgeous and he was yours. You had nowhere else to be but there with your arms around him, soaking in his sunshine warmth for as long as he'd let you. But today was a special day â his birthday.
You shuffled down the stairs, socks slippery over the wood panelled stairs. You avoided the creaky last step with a little jump that always made your heart skip and swung around the banister.
Your hallway was covered in photographs of James, of you both, of you family and friends. Every kitchen visit was a tour of your relationship. A favourite was taken on your fourth date, where the two of you sat on a bench outside the Christmas market. He'd insisted on carrying both of your bags. They had been so heavy that every sip of his hot chocolate had been a struggle. You'd taken pity on him and held your cup to his mouth, the whipped cream leaving a ring over his top lip.
"You have something," you'd said, gesturing smugly at his face.
"I can't reach," he'd complained.
You'd kissed the cream away and licked your lips afterward, revelling in how he couldn't do a thing about it. It had been a good night.
Buttery yellow light spilled through the kitchen window and illuminated a smaller photograph of James with his parents on either side. You'd taken it yourself, had made eye contact with him over the lense. He'd smiled so brilliantly at you that despite months of dating you'd swooned, loving knowing that the person he was smiling at like that was you.
You moved through your kitchen in a familiar dance. Kettle filled and switched on, mostly-fresh loaf of bread retrieved from the bread bin, serrated knife collected from the drying rack. You sliced thick wedges of sourdough and popped them in the toaster as the kettle boiled and then poured the steaming water into mugs with tea, two tea bags for James and one for yourself. While it steeped you buttered your toast, spread a thick layer of blackcurrant jam over his like you knew he favoured.
You had it down to a science. The domesticity of your simple life.
You would've set the plates and mugs on a tray to take upstairs if you hadn't heard his footsteps on the stairs.
You sighed, moving the tea to the kitchen table instead. "Must you always ruin my plans?"
"So harsh!" he said, voice hoarse with sleep. He set a hand on your shoulder and leaned over you for his tea. "Ruin. How awful."
You pretended to be annoyed. "I'm serious."
"I bet you are," he said, voice dripping in ire. He leaned down to kiss the side of your face where your ear met your cheek, a featherlight press of his soft lips, squeezing your shoulder as he did.
"Stop, I'm mad with you."
"You're mad with me? I've woken up on my big day to find my heart missing."
You beamed, turned and wrapped your arms around his neck lightly, holding him apart. The hand that wasn't holding his mug of tea came up to cup your elbow.
You sighed through your nose.
"I was trying to make you breakfast in bed and-"
"How darling,â he said happily.
"-if you'd only had the good graces to stay asleep-"
"Wasn't my choice."
"-I might've succeeded."
"You know I can't sleep without you near," he murmured, perfect mouth tilting up into a lovelorn grin.
You held your hand up to his cheek and shook your head at his charms, heart softening as his words registered. He smiled and took a sip of his tea, looking much too pleased.
You gave him your most loving smile, leaning upwards. "Happy birthday, handsome."
He put down his cup of tea to kiss you, big hands nothing but gentle as they grasped the hills of your hips.
"The toast-" you began.
"Leave it," he said kindly, the tips of your noses touching. "I've seen something more appetising."
You wanted to be offended on your breakfast's behalf. You couldn't find it in you.
besides from my celebration, i thought it would be a great idea to also give you fic recommendations from (even more) talented writers! Iâve been collecting a lot of fics for the past few weeks to give you a list thatâs all worth reading:))
and this also a reminder to support other writers in this platform because we all put effort into our works! thank you!
please read the warnings on each of the fics! some contain non-con and dark themes. respect each one of the writer's guidelines.
Hi love can I pls request a James potter x fem!reader fluff with baby harry i just hv a lot of baby fever right now so â„ïž
i love this!! <3 honestly me too i spent the 30 minutes today watching baby videos instead of doing homework. anyways! here you are :))
>>>>
when james woke without you by his side, keeping him warm, slight panic ran through his body.
as quickly as he could, without tangling himself further in the sheets, he rose from the bed and slipped his robe around his bare body, his feet into a pair of slippers.
padding to the door, he heard a pair of giggles, the most beautiful giggles as far as he was concerned, fill the air of the brisk house and calming his nerves.
the skin on jamesâ back rose to form little bumps and thatâs how he knew you had opened up the windows to let in the morning sunlight and air, claiming that you loved how it filled the house and how harryâs face lit up in the bright light. an expression that reminded james of you.
the man made his way down the stairs as quietly as he could, yours and harryâs laughter growing while the two of you spoke about something completely random.
âand then the dragon attack-ded the castle! and every-fing went up in flames!â james smiled as he listened to how his three year old described a book you guys had been reading, adding his own sound effects for dramatic flair.
âdid it now? and what did the prince do?â you spoke softly, listening intently to your sons speech.
âhe sliced him! chopped him into bits!â you laughed at harryâs motion that he made with his little hands.
âoh my goodness! and the princess? did he save her?â james has peeked around the corner and looked into the kitchen at how you had served harry and yourself a pancake breakfast. eating yours along with the boy, all the while being entertained by his thrilling story which youâve heard a million times over.
âmhmm. saved her, and they kissed.â the boy made a face of disgust, making you scrunch your nose up at him in laughter.
you had caught the snooping eye of your husband, making you smirk and lean in to whisper something to harry.
the boys head whipped around to look directly at james before it broke out into laughter.
âdaddy! you were spying on us!â emerging from the place where he was watching his two loves, james held a bright smile on his face.
âi wanted to hear the story too!â he protested, planting a kiss to his sons head as he sat down next to him.
âno! only for momma.â harry pouted, curling his sticky, syrup fingers around your hand as you fed him another bite of pancake.
james feigned offense and devastation, placing a hand over his chest and shutting his eyes. like his son, he had also had a flair for the dramatic.
âiâm wounded! iâm so sad.â he looked at the boy who, like you, held so much compassion for those who were upset or hurt. harry, concerned with his fatherâs condition, reached a small hand out to stroke his dads face, feeling the small amounts of stubble that had grown on his face.
âdonât cry, daddy. iâll tell you later!â harry spoke softly, making james agree and smile against him as he placed another kiss to his sticky cheek.
âwhat, no kiss for me?â you grumbled, leaning over your son to meet your husband in the middle, capturing his, now, sticky lips in yours.
âewww!â harry gagged from behind the two of you, making you both smile into the other.
âkissing! gross! like the prince and princess.â pulling away from each other, james laughed and watched as you picked harry up, sitting him on the kitchen counter and cleaned his being up the best you could from any sticky residue.
âcome on, why donât you go find something to wear for today.â you say to the boy, setting his feet firmly on the ground before ushering him upstairs to his room so you could have two minutes with your love.
james, after making sure that harry was upstairs safely, came over to where you were cleaning up the dishes and wrapped his strong arms around you.
âand howâre you on this fine morning?â his mumbled words were delivered to the crook in your neck as he planted numerous kisses there.
âlovely. and you?â drying your hands, you turn to wipe the syrup off of jamesâ lips, planting a kiss there afterwards.
âoh, just grand. iâve got a lovely family, donât i?â you hum, burying your face in jamesâ firm chest, relishing in the short but sweet moment you two had together before a shout broke through the house and tore you away from it.
âmomma! iâm stuck in my shirt! help! itâs eating me!â your son shrieked as if a boa constrictor was around his head, but thatâs harry for you, always exaggerating things just like his father, who you also had to help into his shirt once or twice before.
the two of laughed to yourself before james planted a deep kiss to your lips.
âiâve got him. you relax for a minute.â sighing, grateful for your husband, you smile at the man before heâs rushing up the stairs to âsave his son from the dreaded shirtâ.
James Potter: Marauder, resident Gryffindor daredevil, and, as it turns out, a very good study partner. Especially after you save him from nearly getting caught after a prank.
masterlist
The Hogwarts library is blissfully quiet at this time of day. The mid afternoon sun traces patterns on the stacks of faded and worn books around you, highlighting sections of text as if the light alone knew the answers. Most students are out chasing the post-lunch sleepy haze in their dorms, which means that you get to enjoy the solitude in peace.Â
Well, not exactly complete peace. Gradually, you become aware of a sound in the hallways outside the library, one that gradually builds in intensity until even the librarian, Madam Pince, starts glaring around her as if in search of someone to shush.Â
1st prompt list w/ peter parker â âmy lipgloss is all over your lips.â & âyou ramble and itâs adorable.â đ
word count: 1.7K
genres: University!AU, fluff
summary: In an attempt to preoccupy Peter as he rambles about his day, he and you enjoy the sweet sides of one another.
authorâs note: Iâm sort of back from my break. Bear with me as I catch up with all the notifications I missed. Additionally, I enjoyed writing this because there was no deadline and the break that I gave myself help with my creativity a lot.
âSo, after I finished making the solutionââ Peterâs eyes remained closed while he chewed on the muffin that you had given him. âChocolate?â
âAndâŠ?â You leaned closer.
âBanana?â
âYes.â You nodded in satisfaction.
While Peter took the subway that day, he devoted a great majority of his time texting you about how much he despised his chemistry lab. It was moments like that that made you glad you had told him to stop swinging his way back home when he was annoyed and just take the subway because âtexting or calling me to rant while swinging around New York is going to have Aunt May buying you a new phone every month.âÂ
This is what prompted you to save some extra muffins you had made in one of your classes to play a simple game of guessing ingredients with him, as you both sat on the bed facing one another. If you did not preoccupy him with a task while he ranted and rambled, he would have circled your apartment more than twenty times as he made his points. This would have inevitably caused the neighbors below to send a message in the group chat asking if Peter was going to stop.
Your boyfriend had an unbeatable ability to get fervent or teed up quickly with just the right inconvenience. He could go on for centuries without ceasing for a moment to breathe and it was often unstoppable once started.Â
Now, he was spouting off additional details while eating the next muffin without even remembering to tell you what main ingredient he was guessing you put in the treat.
Summary:Â It wasnât a holiday. It was just a regular, lazy Sunday morning.
Contains: Super tooth rotting fluffy fluff.
A/N: I miss my puppies so I wrote this to comfort myself. Future husband, take notes hon.
âCome on, now. No peeking.â James chuckled, palms pressed to your closed eyes as he guided you into the living room.
âJamesie.â you giggled childishly as you fumbled blindly. âWhat is it? Just tell me!â
It wasnât a holiday. It was just a regular, lazy Sunday morning. But you couldnât deny there was excitement in the air. James had dragged you out of bed the second heâd seen your eyes flutter open. âIâve got a surprise for you, peanut!â heâd giggled. He was still in his pajamas, as were you. He didnât even give you a chance to brush your teeth or comb out your bedhead before he was throwing you over his shoulder and giving your ass a resounding smack.
As you came to a halt, you didnât need to be able to see to know that James was grinning ear to ear as he clicked his tongue. âIn a minute! Such an impatient little thing.â
