SLEEPY JAMES POTTER who can’t help but lay on your chest and bury his face into your skin. He inhales your scent like a man starved—audibly and unabashedly. He’ll press tiny, tender little kisses against your neck as his body relaxes into you.
SLEEPY JAMES POTTER who locks his arms around your waist and keeps you pinned to the bed so you can’t escape his cuddles. He won’t put all of his body weight on top of you but he’ll make sure you’re not going anywhere.
SLEEPY JAMES POTTER who glares at the other marauders when they come barreling into the dorm—interrupting the cuddle session with their loud hippogriff footsteps. He’ll pull your face to the crook of his neck as if to shield you while he stares his friends down.
“Oi, keep it down yeah, fellas?” He’ll grumble, fingers gently carding through your hair—the gentle gesture a stark contrast to his obvious irritation. “M’tryin’ to nap with m’love.”
SLEEPY JAMES POTTER who promptly goes back to ignoring the world because all that matters in this moment is you, and being in your arms.
Just SLEEPY JAMES POTTER in love with you <3.
note ━━━ first blurb kinda nervous. hope you angels enjoy!
hey! how about james not letting reader go home alone and he's like "i'll see you off it's no problem" but reader doesn't want him to miss out on the party, i feel like he would be so set on walking reader home.
thank you for requesting!
James Potter x reader, fluff - 1.2k
You feel guilty when James appears on Sirius’ front stoop, slinging his jacket on. A puff of condensation appears while he rubs his hands together and he bounces on his toes, smile bright and kind.
“Ready?” He asks.
“Sure.” You mumble, turning to walk down the steps of Sirius’ home.
James seems perfectly happy to be walking you home, had practically bitten off your arm to have the opportunity. But it doesn’t stop the guilt bubbling in your stomach every time you think about the fact that James has left what is still a fully in swing party to see you home. James is the life of every party – talks to everyone, is always up for Sirius’ silly games, has the loudest laugh and the biggest smile. He’s the centre of every room, a bright light that makes everyone ten times more jovial. You wonder if he even really notices or enjoys those facts, considering he was so willing to leave. With you. Your stomach roils.
“Are you warm enough?” James asks as you walk, hands stuffed in his pockets.
It’s not quite spring yet, but it’s fast approaching. Someone might wish to tell mother nature. The night air is cold and thin – your jacket does little to fight the biting cold, but you don’t dare tell James as much. You know him well enough to know he’d give you his own jacket and you already feel guilty enough, you’d simply never recover if he made himself freezing cold just for your own gain.
“Yeah, all good, James.” You assure him, falling into step beside him as you approach the cross walk at the end of Sirius’ street. “Thank you for walking me home. You really don’t have to. You could still turn back, I’m only a couple minutes down the road…”
James makes the same noise of disapproval he did when you’d tried to shut him down the first time, back in Sirius’ kitchen. “Well then it’ll only be a couple minutes on my way back, won’t it?” He grins, turning briefly as he walks to look down at you.
His eyes are so kind, determined in his stead. Your tummy flutters at the thought and you have to remind yourself that that’s just James. Kind, funny, caring.
You roll your eyes good naturedly at him, shoulders bumping as you step down from the curb onto the road. James, without even really realising, places his arm out to halt you, checking there’s no traffic coming before continuing. It’s only once he’s assessed the situation that he talks again.
“How did your presentation go, yesterday?” He asks.
He notices your surprised silence, he adds, “Remus mentioned you were stressed about it.”
You nod, turning into the alleyway that connects your street to the main road. James steps closer to you in the darkness. You become all too aware of how good he smells, how warm he feels. You push on, regardless.
“It went okay, I think. The proposal got approved, so that’s this campaign finished and I’ll be on to the next one, next week.” You tell James, aware that you’ve slowed ever so slightly so you’re just behind him. James doesn’t seem to mind that you’re very obviously offering him up as bait should someone come down the alley.
James doesn’t know the ins and outs of your job, only that you chop and change projects all of the time. You only get the ball rolling on them before passing them on and starting another one. James can’t imagine spending so much time on something only to have someone else see it through. “Well, that’s good, at least. I knew you’d be fine when Remus brought it up.” He compliments.
You’re suddenly glad for the darkness of the alleyway when you feel the heat that creeps up your neck at his kind words. “Thank you.” you mumble, blushing.
“You have much on next week?” James asks.
The streetlights along the front of your house come into view. You feel a little resentment about it, selfishly wishing you could spend a little more time with James.
“Nope. Just the early stages of prep, should be a light week.” You answer.
“Fancy dinner? Wednesday?” James asks.
“Sure, I need to talk about a book we want to promote with Remus, anyway.” You follow James into the light of the street.
James hums, looks like he’s debating saying something, having an internal argument with himself. He stops, dead in his tracks and you almost bump into his back until he turns to face you. He looks down. His hair flops into his eyes, he forces himself to take a breath.
“What if it was just us?” James asks, trying to stuff his hands further into his pockets.
“Like you and me?” You ask dumbly.
James fights a smile, and probably a snide remark about how he couldn’t have meant anyone else. “Yeah.” He breathes.
Your heart stammers. He’s James. Your friend. Who is incredibly sweet, who dotes on you, who flirts and brings you sweet treats and leaves parties to walk you home. It makes sense, suddenly. Perhaps he doesn’t do that for everyone. Shit.
“Like a date?” You’re aware of how silly you sound but you need to be sure.
“Not like a date,” James’ smile is slow to start, but when his teeth peak through, you can tell he’s sure, “a date.”
Your cheeks dimple when you smile, red with both cold and your ridiculous blushing. “I’d like that.” You tell him, honestly.
James nods once, schooling his features, “perfect. Okay, c’mon, let's get you home before you freeze.”
You follow him dumbly, still reeling. Your house comes into view along the street and suddenly, the dread you’d felt at leaving James is gone. You’ll see him in a few days. On your date. God, what a revelation.
When you reach the bottom of the path to your house, James’ hand reaches for yours. It’s warm, soft skin brushing against yours. You turn to him, smile genuine, if a little nervous.
“I’ll see you Wednesday?” He asks.
He’s so handsome.
“Yes.” You tell him, biting back the most ridiculously happy smile.
Turning to walk up the path is hard. Your conversation feels unfinished, you feel reluctant to leave James. You get three steps away from him when your feet stop of their own accord and you turn to look at him. He’s already watching, waiting until you get into the house to leave. If you think twice about what you really want to do, you’ll talk yourself out of it.
James looks amused, if confused, when you approach him at lightning speed. His glasses bump your nose as you stand on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. It’s warm, the scent of cologne filling your nostrils. James looks infinitely happy when you pull away, fingers lifting to touch where you’ve just left a glossy mark on his cheek.
“Thank you for walking me home, Jamie.” You whisper, fingers brushing his when he returns them to his side.
James’ smile is the brightest you’ve ever seen, like the sun, “best decision I’ve ever made, lovely girl. Goodnight.”
You wave, too flustered to say anything, and make to your house, where you pray Lily has left Sirius’ party since your departure so that you can call her and freak out.
When you're feeling unmoored and unsure about love, James is a constant
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
cw: mental health issues, idk what this is really just kind of word soup
James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words
You watch James reheat last night’s dinner on the hob. A pasta recipe he found in an old book of his grandmother’s. In a handful of minutes he’ll dish out enough for each of you, put one of the short-tined forks you like in your bowl without even having to think about it, and come join you in front of the television. You’ve been glued to it since you got home from work.
You wonder if he wishes you weren’t here. If he wishes you were closer or father, maybe standing behind him in the kitchen, passing back and forth sweet touches and chatting about your days. You want James to want that, you think. You want him to miss you.
It’s not fair, because you’re the one pulling away. You don’t know what you want from James, either. You want to be doted on (in obscene amounts. A soft, pitying voice and knowing how you feel without you saying and wearing him around like a jumper) and you also want to be left alone. You keep finding yourself in the middle distance, the least satisfying compromise.
“Shit. Angel”—Least fitting epithet. It melts you in a way that burns—“could you grab the rolls from the freezer? I forgot to thaw them.”
“Sure.” You get up, joining him in the kitchen. Was this James’ way of asking for you to join him? You feel guilty for making him ask. James deserves someone who offers to help.
You wonder if James is thinking the same thing. You wouldn’t blame him for wanting someone better, who does more than you. He probably wants someone who leaves the house more often than to go to work.
You do, sometimes. Not as much the last few weeks. The last few weeks, you’ve gotten up, gone to work, come home, eaten dinner in front of the television, and gone to bed. You’ve barely been conscious. (It’s better than being conscious. Any time consciousness creeps up on you, lately, you end up feeling too wretched to do anything at all.) The days drag on in dribs and drabs. If you unfocus your eyes, it’s two weeks ago, and everything exactly is the same.
James definitely deserves better than that.
You hold a couple of bread rolls over the steam coming off the pasta while James cleans the dishes you forgot to clean the night before. When he comes back and sees what you’re doing, he clicks his tongue approvingly, reaching around you to give the pasta a stir.
“Brilliant girl,” he says, bending closer. By the time his lips brush your temple, the rest of him has already turned away.
You wait for a glow that doesn’t come.
It’s not brilliant, anyway; James is wrong. All you end up with is soggy, half-frozen bread and too-hot hands.
He eats it anyway. In front of the television, as has become your ritual, not talking. You feel like you haven’t talked to James in ages.
He talks, of course, about small things, but nothing substantial. It’s your fault for not asking the right questions. You know his team has drafted a new player who James likes, but you don’t know if he misses his old teammate. You don’t know how his dad is doing apart from his frustrations with the unknown pest in his garden, or what James’ favorite song of late is, or what actually ended up happening with that thing he was going to bring up with his coach.
James wouldn’t know much of the same sort of information for you, but that’s not his fault. You haven’t been much of anything for a while.
“Hey,” says James, during a commercial break. You look over and see that his bowl is empty, set on the coffee table. You’re still picking at yours. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay,” you say, wary.
He glances at you, then back at the television. He looks almost nervous. “I wondered if—okay.” James seems to resolve something inside himself, turning to face you fully. “Here’s the thing. I don’t want you to feel weird about it, I’m just asking because I want to know.”
Dread sinks like a stone down through your middle. “Okay.”
“I can’t tell if you’re just upset or upset with me.”
You blink. It’s wounding, though you have no right to be the one wounded. Gore seeps from you anyway. “I’m not upset with you, Jamie.”
He nods. Then, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” you say, softly, “I’m sure. I’m sorry for making you think that.”
“It’s okay, don’t be sorry.” James brushes you off easily. He reaches for your leg, rubbing as his eyes go back to the television. Some ad for dog kibble. Once again, you wait for a warmth that doesn’t come. “You just haven’t seemed like you wanted to be around me very much.”
“I’m trying to.”
James turns back, hurt embedding itself in his features. “I don’t want you to have to try to, angel.”
“Sorry, that’s not what I meant. I’m just not…I don’t want to do much. It’s not you.” You pause to look at him sincerely. “You’re the best part.”
James has been indelibly lovely, as much of late as ever, but it’s like you’ve forgotten how to appreciate it. It doesn’t burrow itself inside you like it should. You crave his attention, but when he kisses you, compliments you, knows your favorite fork, you don’t feel loved the way you think you usually do. You don’t feel much at all.
It’s unsettling. Like a food that used to be your favorite, your death row meal, suddenly tastes bland in your mouth.
“The best part?” James echoes, teasing and yet somehow sincere at the same time. He’s aiming for levity but seeking reassurance, and you have no reservations about giving it to him. James loves you (though you can’t imagine why, can’t figure how the you you’ve been recently could be meant for love at all) and you love him.
“Of course you are,” you say.
His smile fades. Not into sadness, but something more pensive. He’s considering you. Your show is back on the television, but neither of you turn to face it. “You seem tired,” he says, kindly.
You shrug. “It’ll go away.”
It’s strange, knowing something and still not believing it. You’ve laid in bed the past several nights in a row drowning in the dread that this might never go away. It feels innate to you, inextricable, the way some parasites take over their hosts. But you find you can tell the truth for James’ sake.
James hums. “Do you want to be around me now?”
“Yes,” you say, automatically.
“You don’t have to say that if you don’t feel like it, sweetheart.”
“I do.”
“Okay, then…” He shuffles around a bit, looking almost shy. And a shy James Potter is enough to make you hold your breath. “Want to have a cuddle for a while?”
You move into his hold wordlessly, letting your boyfriend fold his limbs around you until you’re practically wearing him like a jumper. James sets his lips to your head.
lily evans is a diy queen she'll make literally anything she sees in a magazine! as such she has drawers upon drawers full of buttons and scraps of fabric and paper with cute prints that she saves for future crafts
Hi, hope you’re doing well! I just recently found your blog and I absolutely love it!! I don’t really have a very specific idea but how do you feel about James Potter just straight up, head over heels, yearning for the reader? I personally have always seen him as a yearner in a Noah Calhoun or Laurie Laurence kind of way, but I know however you depict him will be amazing. Thank you for your time!! 💝
hiya, thank you so much for your request, and for being my first ever request! sorry that its taken so long to post, i’ve rewritten this about a hundred times and i’m still not 100% happy with it but i hope you enjoy and it’s what you were thinking. james is for sure a yearner in every lifetime, thanks again lovely 💗
James potter x reader ❀ 1.6k words
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James Potter loved people in such a way that it made it almost impossible for him to tell when he was in love. He had grown up watching his parents love, so he was no stranger to it. They loved each other so fiercely and so openly, felt everything with their whole hearts, that it was hardly surprising James turned out to be the same way, too.
He was attentive and caring by nature. The kind of person who remembered how his friends took their tea, who turned up early to help set up and stayed late to tidy, who walked his friends home and waited until he saw their lights switch on, knowing they were safe and sound. He remembered important dates, and the not‑so‑important ones too.
He knew exactly what to say to make Sirius laugh, the sort of ridiculous line that had him full‑on barking with laughter. He knew Peter’s nervous tells and what to say to cheer him up, and he always carried Remus’ favourite chocolate with him, which was a much‑needed crutch on the bad days. He loved loving his friends.
It took James falling in love with you to realise that not all love felt the same, that he could feel and give so much more than he had been. He had always given his heart so freely, so easily, without hesitation. But with you there was something deeper beneath it; with you, love felt like something warm and squishy, something that made his chest ache as if it might explode. James wasn’t all caught up on biology, but he was fairly certain hearts couldn’t actually explode. Though if anyone could make his, it would be you.
It was easy to love you, James thought. To love every little part of you. He loved your sweet smile and kind words, the way your nose scrunched up when you were concentrating too hard, and the way your hands gestured when you talked passionately about something important to you. He loved the way your voice softened when you said his name and how you always made space for him beside you. The way you always reached for him, tucking yourself snuggly into his side, arms wrapping around him from behind, your hand searching for his.
James loved the quiet moments when you read out loud to him on lazy afternoons, curled together, or when you fell asleep with your head settling comfortably against his shoulder. He found his eyes instinctively drawn to you, how you made every room feel warmer, even if it was just to him. Every time you laughed, he wanted to bottle up the sound. He was completely and utterly in love with you.
He did not want to want more, always telling himself that what he had with you was enough. Everything you gave him, everything you would give him, was already more than enough. James knew how lucky he was to call you his friend. And yet, every time you smiled at him, soft and unguarded, something inside him ached for more. It seemed impossible that something this perfect, this beautiful, could remain unspoken, that it could stay quietly beneath everything you had been building together since the very first day you met.
James didn't know where to start. He wasn’t even sure it was possible to find the right words to describe what he felt for you, that all‑encompassing feeling that made him feel all fuzzy and light inside, like you’d made his whole world brighter just by existing in it. It wasn't as if he could walk up to you and ask if you were also deeply and madly in love with him, could he? The idea made his stomach flip.
And yet, ignoring it proved far more difficult in practice than in theory, because loving you was not something he could simply turn off. When you filled him in on good news, eyes bright, practically vibrating with energy, all he could think about was grabbing you by the waist and kissing you senseless, just to show you how incredibly proud he was. And when you rambled excitedly about your day, words tumbling over each other and hands moving just as quickly, he wanted nothing more than to still them long enough to press a kiss to your knuckles, to brush his lips against your temple, to keep calling you love and darling and have you finally understand exactly how he meant it.
At some point along the way, in between the steady rhythm of building this friendship, this life together, you became so good at loving each other that neither of you had ever said those three little words out loud, at least not in the way that made them count. It was in the extra toothbrush beside his, in shared drawers and shared spaces, in the way he could glance across a crowded room and find you already looking at him, your eyes glowing and saying everything he needed to know. In going to events as each other’s plus one and no longer correcting people who told you what a handsome pair you make or that’ll be you up there at the altar next time!
James could feel all of those little, unspoken moments rushing at him now. Every shared smile, every brush of your fingers, every loving glance. He hadn’t come over to your place with the intention of telling you that he was very much in love with you, head over heels in fact, and had been since the very first moment he saw you. But seeing the afternoon sun lying low and spilling gold across the room and painting you with a warm glow, filled him with the need, the urge, to tell you exactly how he felt. Except he had barely spoken at all, sitting on your sofa mulling over how on earth he was going to bring it up. It wasn’t exactly something one could slip into casual conversation, as if he could just say, “so, the weatherman said we might have a spot of rain tomorrow… oh, and I’m very much in love with you, by the way!”
You were lying all soft and languid across his lap like a cat, using his thighs as a cushion, a book resting in your hands. The rest of the room seemed to fade away as he gazed down at you, at the curve of your cheek and the rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair caught the light, the gentle parting of your lips as you read each line of your book. Every little thing about you held him entirely. He was right, you would be the very reason his heart burst. He wanted, more than anything, to pause this exact moment so that he could always feel this impossibly full.
“Jamie… is everything okay?” You tilted your head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you met his eyes, full of something kind and curious. “You’ve gone very quiet, and you’ve been staring at me for the last… I don’t know, ten minutes? Are you about to confess your undying love to me or something?”
James’ eyes widened and for a heartbeat he simply stared at you. His shoulders stiffened and he swallowed hard, eyes flickering away before snapping back to yours as he tried to determine if you were being serious or just teasing. “I—can you read minds?” he asked, leaning closer and tapping your forehead lightly, as if searching for some hidden magic.
You laughed softly, pushing yourself upright and catching the hand still poking your face. “Not exactly,” you said, your thumb brushing over his knuckles, soothing him with the gentlest touch.
He was suddenly very aware of how loud his heart was beating and wondered if you could hear it too, if you knew that you were the cause of it.
You blinked up at him, quiet for a moment, and then your expression shifted. The teasing faded, replaced with something softer, as if you could sense what he was thinking. Perhaps it was because you were thinking it, feeling it, too.
You brushed your hand against his again before cupping his cheek, your thumb running warm circles along his skin. “Will I have to use my mind-reading powers to find out how much you want to kiss me,” you murmured, “or will you show me?”
His heart tugged as you moved closer, like an invisible string pulling you toward him. And he wondered if you really were magic.
And then he kissed you.
His hands rose to cradle your face, pulling you close, thumbs brushing your cheeks with care. Your lips met his instantly, hot and electrifying, tasting sweet and warm in a way that made him flush. Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to draw a soft exhale from him, and the kiss deepened. It was all-consuming, and when you were suddenly smiling into the kiss, James wished nothing more than to stay tangled in this moment with you forever.
When you broke apart, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, he could feel the warmth of your skin and the rapid beat of your heart. At the feel of your pulse, at what his kiss had done to you, the pull of your lips became irresistible, and when he found them again, the kiss was slower, deliberate, leaving you gasping and making little breathy noises that he wanted to completely devour.
And as the sun dipped lower, spilling gold across the room, everything else faded away. There was only this, only you. Together. As if you had always been moving towards this moment.
this is a lily evan's appreciation post. it's for the lily evans lovers and kinnies. here you go. praise her. she is god. she is goddess. she is lily fucking evans.
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