accidentally perfect
frat boy!james potter x reader
summary: james is more ready than you think to have a baby, and maybe you are too ⊹ 1.0k
warnings: accidental pregnancy, intoxication (in a memory)
note: man i fucking love birth control… but in a perfect world i’d let james potter put a baby in me any day of the week 😋
· ─ ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─ ·
James’s brothers shout greetings after you as James leads you through the house, up the creaky stairs towards his room. You shoot them little waves, not quite trusting your voice right now.
“You alright, baby?” he murmurs when you’re finally alone. James has always been particularly skilled at reading you like you’re a book he’s already memorized. So of course he knows something's up when you keep walking with your head down and you won’t stop tugging your lower lip between your teeth.
James’s eyes dart to your hands, which you wring nervously, as you sink onto the foot of his bed.
“We, uh,” you clear your throat. “We need to talk.”
James sits next to you, close enough for his thigh to be pressed against yours, and takes both of your hands in his. He caresses the back of your knuckles with his thumb. His brows pinch together in concern. “What is it?” he murmurs, his eyes searching your face for a hint.
James tries not to get too worried before you even tell him what’s wrong, but he can hear his heart pounding in his chest. He can’t recall a time you’ve ever looked so grim, and despite himself, he’s already worried sick.
You swallow hard, mouth opening and closing as you try to find the words. Or maybe the bravery to say them. He squeezes your hands encouragingly.
“I… I’m pregnant, Jamie,” you admit in a shaky whisper, bracing yourself for his reaction. You don’t know what to expect, but you’ve mentally prepared yourself for the worst.
You’ve only ever discussed the prospect of kids with James once—when you were both hammered and waiting for an Uber outside of a 24-hour diner (drunk-you really wanted pancakes). Sitting on the dirty curb under the fluorescent lights, he told you he wanted a big family one day. He told you he can see a future version of himself cradling babies with your eyes. But he was drunk then. Drunk and rambling about fantasies for the far future.
He’s silent now.
James’s hazel eyes dart back and forth between yours, processing your news.
“Are you sure?” he finally asks after several nerve-racking moments of silence.
“I’m sure,” you murmur. Your heart is in your stomach.
He slowly drops your hands, features hardened as he considers this life-changing news. He fidgets as he thinks, taking off his cap to run a hand through his hair, placing it back on his head. Taking it off again and turning it backwards.
“James?” you ask, voice cracking. You’re desperate to know what he’s thinking, hands clenched tightly into fists since he dropped them. Your nails dig into your palms, but you hardly notice the biting pain.
He stands abruptly from his bed, and you assume the worst. He’s angry. Or horrified. Maybe he’ll storm out or yell. This isn’t what he planned. It was only drunk nonsense when he said he wanted kids with you. One day, he said. Definitely not today. You screw your eyes shut to keep from crying.
A moment later, you feel his hand graze your knee.
“Baby, look at me,” he says softly.
You force your eyes open, and you gasp sharply at the sight in front of you.
James is down on one knee, a dazzling diamond ring held between his forefinger and thumb. His lips are stretched into a grin, eyes glassy with emotion.
He says your name in a low voice.
Your gaze is transfixed on the ring, your expression one of total surprise. You can’t wrap your mind around the fact that he already had this.
“Were you-? You were gonna ask me?” you ask, voice a pitch higher than usual from the shock.
“Not- well, yes. Not until after we graduated, but fuck it, baby. I love you, and we’re gonna have a fucking baby! So,” he pauses to take off his hat, clutching in his free hand, which he holds over his heart. “Will you marry me?”
You’re already nodding before the words leave your lips. “Yeah. Yes,” you answer, reaching for him.
He surges forward, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, arms wrapping around your waist as your hands come up to cup his cheeks. The doubt in your heart melts away in an instant as you feel his body curl around yours, and his tears beneath your thumbs.
When you pull away, he takes your left hand, and with shaky fingers, he slides the ring onto your finger. It’s a perfect fit.
He laughs happily, like all his dreams are coming true, and plants a big kiss on top of the shiny ring. The image of him is blurry through your teary eyes, and he wipes at your cheek with his knuckle when a tear slips out.
(Later, he’ll tease you for being so emotional. You’ll say to him, “I’m pregnant, what’s your excuse?” and he’ll laugh and he’ll kiss you until his lips are rosy.)
“I thought you’d be upset,” you admit, almost ashamed to have doubted him. “I-I thought you were upset.”
“No, no. Never. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says softly, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. “I am pumped, baby. Is it earlier than we would’ve planned? Yeah, but so what? I knew I wanted this one day. Why not now?” he beams, like his bright future’s already unfolding in front of him. He’s dumb with youth, still thinking anything is possible in the way only a 22 year old with his whole life ahead of him could.
A part of you wants to be cynical and remind him how hard this will be. But when he looks at you like that, with love in his eyes and a smile so wide it carves a rare dimple into his cheek, you can believe anything’s possible too.
“Why not now?” you echo.
“I love you so much,” he says earnestly. “And we’re gonna be okay. All three of us. It’s gonna be perfect.”
heyy! could i request a sirius fic where they are dating and the marauders notice he's rubbing off on her alot (she's wearing black, maybe gets the love curls theory, makes jokes only someone as witty as him would make, etc) you can take it from there however you'd like :)
MY REFLECTION IS YOU. — SIRIUS BLACK masterlist.
synopsis | the longer you stay in your relationship with sirius, the more his attributes rub off on you.
AN | guys university is not for the weak this last month has been rough 😭 2.3k fluff
You’ve never considered yourself particularly prone to imitation. You’ve always been the sort who prides yourself on being distinctly, stubbornly you—your own tastes, your own quirks, your own way of seeing the world. Even when you started dating Sirius, you held fast to the idea that you wouldn’t just become “Sirius’ girlfriend,” moulded into some matching set.
But apparently, not even the strongest resolve stands a chance against the gravitational pull that is Sirius Orion Black.
You don’t notice it at first. It begins in little, harmless ways—the sort of slow drift that only your friends seem to catch, and only once they’re looking for it.
It’s James who spots it first, mid-conversation in the common room when he stops, stares at you for a long moment, and then nudges Sirius so hard he nearly spills his tea.
“Oi. Pads,” he says, pointing right at you as though he’s made some extraordinary scientific discovery, “does she look… more like you today?”
Sirius glances up from where he’s sprawled across the sofa, one leg kicked over the armrest. His eyes sweep you from head to toe, and then he beams—an expression so bright it could probably power Hogwarts for three days.
“My love always looks that beautiful,” he says, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “She’s just brooding,”
“I’m not brooding,” you shoot back.
“You absolutely brood,” Remus murmurs over a book, not even glancing up.
You open your mouth to argue—only to realise, unhelpfully, that you are wearing head-to-toe black. Not unusual for Sirius, but for you? A bit.
The thing is… you hadn’t noticed.
You look down at your outfit, then up at Sirius. He’s wearing nearly the exact same thing. Well, half of your outfit is his, to be fair.
“Merlin,” James whispers, “she’s becoming him,”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you say, gathering your books. “I dressed like this because it’s comfortable,”
“And fits the vibe of your beloved?” Peter asks cheekily, earning a shove.
Sirius winks at you. “Can’t help it. I’m contagious,”
“Like a disease,” Remus adds without looking up. “Or an STD,”
Sirius flips him off. You sigh, but your heart is doing that ridiculous flutter thing it’s learned since you started dating him. You almost roll your eyes at yourself.
Absolutely pathetic.
But fine. Maybe the outfit was a coincidence. Maybe you reached for black unconsciously because someone spends half his time draped over you like a pure-blood decorative scarf.
Still—no big deal.
Except it keeps happening.
Two days later, you're getting ready for class when you lean into a mirror in the girls’ loo and pause.
Your hair. Your hair, which normally lies smoothly in whatever arrangement you force it into, has begun to—
Curl.
Not frizz. Not wave. Not coil.
Curl.
Soft, loose, glossy curls that fall into the exact pattern Sirius’s hair always has after he’s been flying: windswept, careless, annoyingly attractive.
You tilt your head. One curl bounces. Another settles neatly over your forehead.
“…Oh no,” you whisper.
There’s no reason for this. No humidity, no potion spill, no over-zealous charm-gone-wrong.
Just you.
And—the universe apparently cackling at you.
Later that day, you walk into the Great Hall and Sirius’s fork clatters right out of his hand.
“Oh, yes,” he breathes, staring at your hair like it’s a religious experience. “I’ve infected you,”
“Please,” you mutter. “Don’t say it like that,”
He stands, immediately tugging one curl affectionately. “Love curls,” he declares. “It’s a thing, they’re real,”
James snorts. “You and that bloody love-curls theory,”
“It’s real!” Sirius insists proudly. “Look at her!”
You swat his hand away but he looks so delighted—so breathless, even—that the embarrassment melts into something warm.
Remus lifts his head, studies you, and nods slowly, smugly. “He’s right. You look just like him. Tragic, really,”
“I hate all of you,” you say.
“You adore us,” Sirius replies, tugging you into the seat beside him. “Come here, darling. At least let me enjoy your descent into darkness. Literally,”
“Is this what dating you does to a person?” you ask.
“Absolutely,” James says.
“Consider yourself lucky it’s only the hair,” Remus adds. “Pads has many, many worse habits,”
Sirius gasps. “I am a perfect gentleman,”
You snort.
James snorts louder.
“Fine,” Sirius relents, waving a hand. “I’m a moderately decent gentleman,”
And then he leans in, voice dipping low just so you hear: “And you look beautiful.”
Your stomach flips. Again. You wish your self-respect would stop evaporating so quickly whenever he says things like that.
—
A week later, the Marauders are working on their Transfiguration homework when it happens.
James says something—something painfully easy to make fun of, as usual—and you open your mouth without thinking.
The joke lands.
Brilliantly.
Too brilliantly.
Sirius freezes. “Hold on—”
Remus closes his book, eyes sparkling. “There it is,”
Peter whispers, “She’s becoming too powerful,”
You blink. “What?”
Sirius stands, pointing accusingly yet proudly. “That was my joke.”
“It wasn’t your joke,” you scoff. “I made it,”
“Yes,” he concedes, “but it was delivered with my level of wit. And comedic timing. And sheer, unparalleled charm,”
You stare. “…Are you saying I’m funnier now because of you?”
“Yes,” all four say at once.
You gape at them. “God for if I have a good sense of humour without outside influence,”
“It’s definitely Sirius,” Remus says.
“Absolutely,” James agrees.
“I’m just too influential,” Sirius adds, flipping his hair.
You roll your eyes so hard it nearly counts as exercise.
But later—when you’re curled beside Sirius near the fire, his head on your shoulder—you find yourself smiling against your better judgement.
Because the truth is… you have grown sharper. Quicker, wittier, bolder. Not because he’s rubbing off on you, exactly, but because being with him makes you braver. Makes you want to match him, push him, catch him off guard.
And that feeling—the way you rise to meet him—is addictive.
—
It doesn’t fully hit you until the night of the Gryffindor party.
Music’s blaring. People are dancing. The room smells like butterbeer, warmth, and mischief—standard Marauder chaos.
You slip in wearing (again) all black.
You hadn’t meant to. You really hadn’t. But when you tried on other things, they didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel like you.
Which is odd, because black has never been a signature of yours.
But tonight, you step into the room and you feel confident. A little dangerous. A little… Sirius.
You enter laughing at something one of the girls said, only to find the boys watching you like a pack of thrilled, nosy crows.
James whistles. “She’s gone full Sirius,”
“Even the jacket,” Remus observes.
“It’s leather,” Peter adds unnecessarily.
And Sirius—Merlin, Sirius looks like you’ve just walked in wearing a wedding dress and vows.
He crosses the room immediately, a grin spreading slow and wicked. “Look at you,” he murmurs, taking your hand. “Bloody hell,”
“You lot need to stop overreacting,” you say, though your cheeks burn.
“We’re not overreacting,” James argues. “This is a phenomenon.”
“A transformation,” Remus agrees.
“A contagion,” Peter says.
“A blessing,” Sirius declares smugly. “Is that my jacket?”
“No,” you say, but your laugh betrays you.
Sirius pulls you closer until your chest bumps his. “So,” he says softly, brushing a strand of your now-curling hair behind your ear, “how do you feel about ruining your reputation as a wholesome, innocent student?”
You roll your eyes, pushing him lightly. “My reputation wasn’t that good to begin with,”
“True,” Remus calls from behind you.
“Oi!” you snap.
Sirius chuckles and leans in, lips brushing your ear. “You know, if you keep dressing like this, people are going to think you’ve joined me in my descent into rebellious glory,”
You tilt your head in mock-seriousness. “Would that be so terrible?”
He stares at you—for a long, soft moment, all mischief draining into something far more sincere.
“No,” he says quietly. “Not terrible at all.”
The Marauders exchange knowing looks behind him, smug little gits that they are.
—
It’s late.
Everyone has left.
You and Sirius remain in the now-quiet common room, sprawled together on the sofa, your head tucked under his chin, his fingers idly stroking the curls he’s suddenly obsessed with.
“You know they’re right,” he murmurs eventually.
You shift slightly. “About what?”
“You’re rubbing off on me. And I’m rubbing off on you,”
You scoff. “Don’t make it gross,”
He laughs and kisses the top of your head. “I’m serious,”
You tilt your face up. “You are Sirius,”
He groans. “I regret teaching you how to be funny,”
“No you don't,” you tease.
He smiles—soft this time, not the exaggerated grin he uses to hide things.
“No,” he agrees, voice quiet. “I really don’t,”
You wiggle (because you refuse to call it nuzzling even when it is obviously the latter). “You think I’ve changed?”
“I think,” he says slowly, “that you’re still you. Just… braver. Louder. A little darker. Sharper. More… reckless. In a brilliant way,”
“So you think I’m copying you?”
He shakes his head. “No. I think you’re choosing what you like. And some of those things happen to be parts of me,”
You breathe out. Relief. Warmth. Something like understanding.
Sirius traces a finger along your jaw. “I didn’t mean to turn you into a mini-me,”
“You haven’t,”
“Well,” he amends, “maybe aesthetically,”
You smack his shoulder.
He laughs, then grows serious again. “But I don’t want you to think you’ve lost yourself,”
You look at him fully. “I haven’t lost anything. I just gained a few cursed traits,”
He snorts. “Sexy cursed traits,”
“Yes, yes, we all know you’re the pinnacle of attractiveness, Black,”
He grins triumphantly. “Thank you,”
“That was sarcasm,”
“I’ll take it,”
You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. “You know… I think the boys exaggerate it. I’m not turning into you,”
“Oh, you absolutely are,” he says. “Which is lovely, by the way. You pull off my vibe better than I do,”
You raise a brow. “Do I?”
He nods, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “You’re stunning. And dangerous-looking. And clever. And… well, intimidating, actually,”
“I intimidate you?”
He smirks. “No. But James is terrified,”
“Good,”
He laughs again—full and joyful and so very Sirius.
Then he leans in, resting his forehead against yours.
“Truthfully,” he murmurs, “the reason I love it… is because it feels like you’re claiming me. Not just dating me. Choosing me. Wearing me in little ways,”
You blink. The softness of that hits somewhere deep.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you whisper.
“I know,”
“It just… happened,”
“Everything good just happens,” he replies gently.
You don’t argue.
Not when he touches you like you’re something precious. Not when he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Not when being with him makes everything bolder, brighter, sharper.
Not when the truth is—
You do like how you feel around him.
Stronger. Braver. A bit reckless. A bit wild.
A bit Sirius.
He kisses you, slow and warm, and you melt into it because you always do, because he kisses like he’s discovering you all over again.
When he pulls back, he whispers, “You’re still you, love,”
“And you’re still you,” you reply.
“Unfortunately,” Remus calls from the staircase, making both of you jump.
“Oh, for—” Sirius throws a cushion at him.
James appears behind him, yawning. “We weren’t eavesdropping,”
“You absolutely were,” you say.
“We’re Marauders,” James replies. “It’s part of the job description,”
Sirius groans. “Can you lot not ruin my tender romantic moment?”
“Not if you keep having them in communal spaces,” Remus says.
Peter waves from upstairs. “We’re happy for you!”
You bury your face in Sirius’s chest. “Kill me now,”
Sirius wraps his arms around you proudly. “No, darling. You’re perfect. And mine. And matching me. And—”
“Pads,” Remus warns, “stop talking.”
But Sirius doesn’t stop. He just kisses your temple and holds you closer.
“I like you in black,” he murmurs for your ears alone. “I like your curls. I like your wit. I like you,”
Your heart stumbles—because damn him, damn him entirely, he means all of it.
You take a breath, soft and steady. “I like me too,” you whisper.
“There she is,” he grins. “My girl,”
“Don’t get cocky,” you reply.
He smirks. “Too late,”
And as the boys file away, snickering and whispering loudly about your “Siriusfication”, you just roll your eyes and sink further into his warmth.
You’re still you.
Just a version of you that feels a little freer. A little more daring.
A little more… him.
★ ── thank you for reading ! if you enjoyed this fic, please consider buying me a coffee <3
Hi!!! Do u think u could write a fluffy humour james potter x fem reader fic about the reader being the commentator for the quidditch matches and james has a crush on her and keeps pulling stunts to impress the reader and shes having none of it and keeps making comments on the speaker like "oh for the love of godrick potter stop showing off and fly properly" and "I think that move is called the "look at me I'm pretty" maneuver" and it just makes james carry on to annoy reader aswell as impress them
u obviously don't have to do it but I think it would be funny <3
𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗘──𝗝𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗦 𝗣𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥. masterlist.
synopsis | james has the massivest crush on the quidditch commentator, and so naturally tried to keep your attention on him at all times.
AN | sorry for taking the longest break ever oops im still alive promise— 1.3k fluff
You’ve been told, more than once, that you have a very expressive voice. Some would call it dramatic. Others might say sarcastic. Professor McGonagall calls it “concernedly unprofessional.”
But the Quidditch commentator’s booth needs someone who can fill silence, identify plays, and not faint when someone plummets forty feet in midair. That someone, apparently, is you.
You enjoy it. Truly. There’s a thrill to narrating every loop, dive, and risky manoeuvre. The crowd always cheers. The professors pretend not to. And you… well, you get the best view of everything.
Unfortunately, that includes James Potter.
James, as in Gryffindor’s golden boy, resident menace, captain of ego-inflation, and currently the reason your voice is hoarse.
James, who has decided that your voice is the voice. The one he must impress at all costs.
And oh, Merlin bless you, he has not stopped trying.
---
The Match of the Century (if you ask James) begins, like all things involving James Potter, with far too much enthusiasm.
“And we’re off!” you announce, tapping your quill against your clipboard. “Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw! Quaffle immediately in the hands of— oh, naturally— Gryffindor’s team captain James Potter,”
There’s a cheer. A roar, really. James soaks it in like a plant that's never seen sunlight.
“He’s heading down the pitch with— is that a wink? Yes. He is winking. Merlin’s beard. Potter, if you crash because you’re busy flirting with the audience, I refuse to take notes for the hospital wing,”
A few people laugh. You don’t look at James, but you know—you know—he heard.
He puts on an extra surge of speed.
“Oh for the love of Godric, Potter,” you groan into the microphone, “fly properly.”
Beside you, Professor McGonagall sighs loudly. “Perhaps fewer editorial remarks and more commentary.”
“Yes, professor. Apologies, professor. Potter still flying like someone told him his reflection is on the pitch, professor.”
McGonagall pointedly looks away.
James does a barrel roll that is entirely unnecessary.
The stands erupt in cheers.
You close your eyes and breathe.
“He calls that move the 'look at me, I’m so handsome' manoeuvre,” you announce dryly. “Very advanced. Requires absolutely no regard for one’s spinal integrity,”
James beams. Actually beams. He is delighted. Which is terrible, because now he’s encouraged.
—
Later that day, when you foolishly think you’re home free, you’re sitting at a courtyard table, quill behind your ear, trying to do homework. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Your bones feel soft.
This feeling lasts exactly nine seconds.
James swings into existence beside you like he was fired from a catapult.
“You think I’m handsome?”
You close your eyes. “I think you’re insufferable.”
“But handsome,” He grins.
“No.”
“But you said—”
“That you think you’re handsome.”
“Well, yes,” he admits, folding his arms. “I do,”
You open your book wider, as if you could hide inside it. “Then congratulations, you have self-awareness. Most wizards can’t manage that until at least their third divorce,”
He laughs, loud and bright and warm—much like him, annoyingly.
“You’re funny,” he says.
“Yes. Tragic, isn’t it?”
His grin softens just a little.
You do not look at it.
—
You’re not meant to be at Quidditch practice. You know that. But you had to return something to Marlene, who is currently refereeing drills.
You’re not even near the pitch for one minute when you hear it:
“You’re here!!”
James shouts it like a battle cry.
Instantly, his flying becomes… dramatic. He dives. He spins. He does a move that looks like he’s trying to court gravity in a duel.
You cup your hands around your mouth like a makeshift megaphone.
“Potter,” you call, voice echoing, “if you die attempting something stupid while I’m present, I will not be emotionally responsible!”
James performs a complicated flourish mid-air that looks like a swan having an existential crisis, then looks—very briefly—like a kicked puppy when he realises you weren’t watching.
—
By the third match of the season, the entire school has realised James Potter is performing for your commentary.
And they love it.
“Gryffindor leading by ten points,” you narrate. “Potter approaches—no, he poses—over the goal hoops. Very intimidating. Yes. Terrifying. A real threat to structural seriousness,”
James blows you a kiss.
You drop your forehead onto the microphone with a loud thunk.
McGonagall places a hand on your shoulder. “Deep breaths, dear,”
“I can’t,” you whisper. “He’ll hear them and think I’m swooning,”
McGonagall makes a sound dangerously close to a laugh.
Meanwhile, James somehow manages to score while backwards.
“That goal brought to you by James Potter’s astounding ability to multitask,” you announce. “He can be both deeply irritating and annoyingly skilled at the same time. A gift, truly,”
The Gryffindors cheer.
James winks.
You vow to bury yourself in the Forbidden Forest.
—
It’s the final match of the season. The stands are packed. The air hums. James is vibrating with excitement or nerves, you can’t tell.
The whistle blows.
And—for once—James does not show off.
He flies well. Brilliantly, even. Sharp manoeuvres. Clean passes. Perfect precision. No theatrics.
You’re stunned.
“And Potter—well. That was… professional. I don’t know how to commentate when he’s behaving normally. Someone send help.”
People laugh.
But James doesn’t look at you.
Not once.
Your stomach does something that feels suspiciously like disappointment.
He plays beautifully. He scores. He leads.
But every time you expect him to look up—he doesn’t.
You should be relieved.
You are not relieved.
When Gryffindor finally wins and the stands explode into cheers, James lands on the pitch and is instantly mobbed. You pack up your notes. You leave the booth. You walk slowly.
And then—
“Hey!”
You freeze.
You turn.
James stands there, hair wind-mussed, chest heaving, smile soft. Not big. Not cocky like “hey I just won the quidditch cup again for the third year in a row”. Just… hopeful.
You blink. “You didn’t show off today,”
“No,” he says. “You didn’t like it,”
You stop breathing for one very stupid moment. “Oh,”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I… might have been trying too hard,”
“James,” you say, and his eyes snap to yours. You haven’t called him James before.
You step closer. “Don’t change for other people,”
His breath catches.
“I just…” You gesture helplessly. “You were going to fall off your broom, you knob,”
He laughs. Soft. Real. Warm.
“So,” he says, “if I promise not to die tragically—”
“Yes.”
He blinks. “Yes…?”
You nod, cheeks burning. “Yes. I’ll go out with you.”
There is a beat.
Then James Potter—brilliant, ridiculous James Potter—lights up like you have handed him the sun.
He steps closer, grin alive again, but this time softer.
“So… can I, like— kiss you then?”
You pretend to consider.
“Well,” you say thoughtfully, “only if you promise not to perform an aerial backflip while doing it—”
He kisses you.
The world goes quiet.
And when he pulls away, he says, “Keep watching me, okay?”
Like you’d do anything else.
★ ── thank you for reading ! if you enjoyed this fic, please consider buying me a coffee <3
“Oh for the love of Godric, Potter,” you groan into the microphone, “fly properly.”
Beside you, Professor McGonagall sighs loudly. “Perhaps fewer editorial remarks and more commentary.”
“Gryffindor leading by ten points,” you narrate. “Potter approaches—no, he poses—over the goal hoops. Very intimidating. Yes. Terrifying. A real threat to structural seriousness,”
“And Potter—well. That was… professional. I don’t know how to commentate when he’s behaving normally. Someone send help.”
i didn't know i needed a lee jordan!reader. i love you lee jordan!reader.
“I just…” You gesture helplessly. “You were going to fall off your broom, you knob,”
He laughs. Soft. Real. Warm.
“So,” he says, “if I promise not to die tragically—”
“Yes.”
He blinks. “Yes…?”
You nod, cheeks burning. “Yes. I’ll go out with you.”
“So… can I, like— kiss you then?”
You pretend to consider.
“Well,” you say thoughtfully, “only if you promise not to perform an aerial backflip while doing it—”
He kisses you.
The world goes quiet.
i loved this. it was like the sweetest thing ever and the banter was top notch. love commentarist!reader. love tumblr user marauroon <3
I just stumbled across your blog and I must say after only reading two of your fics I can’t wait until I have time to dive into more of them. Even just the summaries feel compelling enough for me to want to read them all haha
Hi!!! Do u think u could write a fluffy humour james potter x fem reader fic about the reader being the commentator for the quidditch matches and james has a crush on her and keeps pulling stunts to impress the reader and shes having none of it and keeps making comments on the speaker like "oh for the love of godrick potter stop showing off and fly properly" and "I think that move is called the "look at me I'm pretty" maneuver" and it just makes james carry on to annoy reader aswell as impress them
u obviously don't have to do it but I think it would be funny <3
𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗘──𝗝𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗦 𝗣𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥. masterlist.
synopsis | james has the massivest crush on the quidditch commentator, and so naturally tried to keep your attention on him at all times.
AN | sorry for taking the longest break ever oops im still alive promise— 1.3k fluff
You’ve been told, more than once, that you have a very expressive voice. Some would call it dramatic. Others might say sarcastic. Professor McGonagall calls it “concernedly unprofessional.”
But the Quidditch commentator’s booth needs someone who can fill silence, identify plays, and not faint when someone plummets forty feet in midair. That someone, apparently, is you.
You enjoy it. Truly. There’s a thrill to narrating every loop, dive, and risky manoeuvre. The crowd always cheers. The professors pretend not to. And you… well, you get the best view of everything.
Unfortunately, that includes James Potter.
James, as in Gryffindor’s golden boy, resident menace, captain of ego-inflation, and currently the reason your voice is hoarse.
James, who has decided that your voice is the voice. The one he must impress at all costs.
And oh, Merlin bless you, he has not stopped trying.
---
The Match of the Century (if you ask James) begins, like all things involving James Potter, with far too much enthusiasm.
“And we’re off!” you announce, tapping your quill against your clipboard. “Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw! Quaffle immediately in the hands of— oh, naturally— Gryffindor’s team captain James Potter,”
There’s a cheer. A roar, really. James soaks it in like a plant that's never seen sunlight.
“He’s heading down the pitch with— is that a wink? Yes. He is winking. Merlin’s beard. Potter, if you crash because you’re busy flirting with the audience, I refuse to take notes for the hospital wing,”
A few people laugh. You don’t look at James, but you know—you know—he heard.
He puts on an extra surge of speed.
“Oh for the love of Godric, Potter,” you groan into the microphone, “fly properly.”
Beside you, Professor McGonagall sighs loudly. “Perhaps fewer editorial remarks and more commentary.”
“Yes, professor. Apologies, professor. Potter still flying like someone told him his reflection is on the pitch, professor.”
McGonagall pointedly looks away.
James does a barrel roll that is entirely unnecessary.
The stands erupt in cheers.
You close your eyes and breathe.
“He calls that move the 'look at me, I’m so handsome' manoeuvre,” you announce dryly. “Very advanced. Requires absolutely no regard for one’s spinal integrity,”
James beams. Actually beams. He is delighted. Which is terrible, because now he’s encouraged.
—
Later that day, when you foolishly think you’re home free, you’re sitting at a courtyard table, quill behind your ear, trying to do homework. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Your bones feel soft.
This feeling lasts exactly nine seconds.
James swings into existence beside you like he was fired from a catapult.
“You think I’m handsome?”
You close your eyes. “I think you’re insufferable.”
“But handsome,” He grins.
“No.”
“But you said—”
“That you think you’re handsome.”
“Well, yes,” he admits, folding his arms. “I do,”
You open your book wider, as if you could hide inside it. “Then congratulations, you have self-awareness. Most wizards can’t manage that until at least their third divorce,”
He laughs, loud and bright and warm—much like him, annoyingly.
“You’re funny,” he says.
“Yes. Tragic, isn’t it?”
His grin softens just a little.
You do not look at it.
—
You’re not meant to be at Quidditch practice. You know that. But you had to return something to Marlene, who is currently refereeing drills.
You’re not even near the pitch for one minute when you hear it:
“You’re here!!”
James shouts it like a battle cry.
Instantly, his flying becomes… dramatic. He dives. He spins. He does a move that looks like he’s trying to court gravity in a duel.
You cup your hands around your mouth like a makeshift megaphone.
“Potter,” you call, voice echoing, “if you die attempting something stupid while I’m present, I will not be emotionally responsible!”
James performs a complicated flourish mid-air that looks like a swan having an existential crisis, then looks—very briefly—like a kicked puppy when he realises you weren’t watching.
—
By the third match of the season, the entire school has realised James Potter is performing for your commentary.
And they love it.
“Gryffindor leading by ten points,” you narrate. “Potter approaches—no, he poses—over the goal hoops. Very intimidating. Yes. Terrifying. A real threat to structural seriousness,”
James blows you a kiss.
You drop your forehead onto the microphone with a loud thunk.
McGonagall places a hand on your shoulder. “Deep breaths, dear,”
“I can’t,” you whisper. “He’ll hear them and think I’m swooning,”
McGonagall makes a sound dangerously close to a laugh.
Meanwhile, James somehow manages to score while backwards.
“That goal brought to you by James Potter’s astounding ability to multitask,” you announce. “He can be both deeply irritating and annoyingly skilled at the same time. A gift, truly,”
The Gryffindors cheer.
James winks.
You vow to bury yourself in the Forbidden Forest.
—
It’s the final match of the season. The stands are packed. The air hums. James is vibrating with excitement or nerves, you can’t tell.
The whistle blows.
And—for once—James does not show off.
He flies well. Brilliantly, even. Sharp manoeuvres. Clean passes. Perfect precision. No theatrics.
You’re stunned.
“And Potter—well. That was… professional. I don’t know how to commentate when he’s behaving normally. Someone send help.”
People laugh.
But James doesn’t look at you.
Not once.
Your stomach does something that feels suspiciously like disappointment.
He plays beautifully. He scores. He leads.
But every time you expect him to look up—he doesn’t.
You should be relieved.
You are not relieved.
When Gryffindor finally wins and the stands explode into cheers, James lands on the pitch and is instantly mobbed. You pack up your notes. You leave the booth. You walk slowly.
And then—
“Hey!”
You freeze.
You turn.
James stands there, hair wind-mussed, chest heaving, smile soft. Not big. Not cocky like “hey I just won the quidditch cup again for the third year in a row”. Just… hopeful.
You blink. “You didn’t show off today,”
“No,” he says. “You didn’t like it,”
You stop breathing for one very stupid moment. “Oh,”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I… might have been trying too hard,”
“James,” you say, and his eyes snap to yours. You haven’t called him James before.
You step closer. “Don’t change for other people,”
His breath catches.
“I just…” You gesture helplessly. “You were going to fall off your broom, you knob,”
He laughs. Soft. Real. Warm.
“So,” he says, “if I promise not to die tragically—”
“Yes.”
He blinks. “Yes…?”
You nod, cheeks burning. “Yes. I’ll go out with you.”
There is a beat.
Then James Potter—brilliant, ridiculous James Potter—lights up like you have handed him the sun.
He steps closer, grin alive again, but this time softer.
“So… can I, like— kiss you then?”
You pretend to consider.
“Well,” you say thoughtfully, “only if you promise not to perform an aerial backflip while doing it—”
He kisses you.
The world goes quiet.
And when he pulls away, he says, “Keep watching me, okay?”
Like you’d do anything else.
★ ── thank you for reading ! if you enjoyed this fic, please consider buying me a coffee <3
I saw your post about asking for some request and I'm not really sure if I remember this correctly since my memory is bad but I think you said that you werent gonna make an epilogue of the "1 to 100", I was hoping to ask if I remembered that correctly or my brain made it all up..
hi !! that is correct m’fraid
i have no plan for how an epilogue would go and i worry it might just cheapen the story if i add something i never planned to write for it ☹️
i know people want to read more of it (which is super great thank you for the enthusiasm 🙏) but if i add anything else it just won’t be as thought out and i wouldn’t be happy with it—
summary ━━━ in which you and james are dating, and you’re the only one shocked.
pairing ━━━ james potter x reader
content ━━━ no warnings, fluff, humor, hogwarts!era, bf!james, fem!gryffindor!reader, second person pov, 1.4k words.
You wake up to the familiar sight of James Potter’s sleeping face mushed into your pillow, thick curls falling into his closed eyes as he breathes evenly.
Peering out the tower window, the first signs of light slowly begin rolling into the clouds.
Getting out of bed is no longer a struggle for you.
A few weeks ago, when your best friend had first started sleeping beside you every night—it’d been impossible to escape his arms before he woke up.
Now, you slip out of James’ hold with practiced ease, entering the bathroom to get ready for the day.
You’re staring at your reflection as you brush your teeth when arms suddenly wrap around your waist from behind.
James nuzzles into your neck, pulling you against his chest. “Missed you.” He murmurs, tone warm and heavy with sleep.
You laugh softly, bending down to finish rinsing before straightening out. You lock eyes with him through the mirror.
“It’s been two minutes, Jamie.” You tilt your head in amusement, and his hold only tightens.
“Can you two not do this today? It’s six in the morning.” Marlene interrupts the conversation, glaring at you two through sleep addled eyes.
James’ only response is to hold you even tighter, holding eye contact with the blonde as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek.
“Sorry, Marls, what was that?” He smirks, the menace that he is.
Marlene just scowls, turning around. “You are the most annoying couple I’ve ever met.”
James doesn’t react to her words, but you frown in gentle confusion. Couple?
Before you can question further, your best friend leads you out of the bathroom and back to your wardrobe.
His hands rest on your waist comfortably as he stands behind you, looking at your clothes from over your shoulder.
He points to a brown plaid skirt sitting at the top of your pile. “Tha’s m’favorite skirt on you.” He mumbles, and you raise a brow.
“Really?”
He nods, lazily nosing the line of your jaw. “Mhm. Makes me forget we’re at school.”
You breathe out a soft laugh. “We’re always at school, Jamie. We live here.”
He chuckles with you, before you feel a sharp pinch at your waist.
You let out a soft yelp, pouting up at him as he gently rubs your pinched skin.
“Aww, m’sorry, sweetheart. Was that too sore, yeah?” He mimics your pout, cooing.
A hot flush floods your cheeks before you can stop it and you look away. “That was mean, Jamie.” You mumble.
James turns you around to face him properly, his hands gently cupping each side of your face as he looks down at you. His thumbs gently caress your cheeks.
“Forgive me.” He says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“I don’t even know what you did that for.” You continue pouting, not quite ready to let it go yet.
James smiles, thumb brushing over your cheek once more. “You were being smart with me, honey.”
“Because I am smart.” You retort quickly.
He raises a brow pointedly, and you turn away again. “Be quiet.” You grumble.
“Didn’t say a word, love.” James smiles.
Before you can respond, a pillow suddenly hits him square in the face.
“Oi-”
You turn to look at the other beds and find Mary sitting up and glaring at your best friend.
“What in Merlin’s name was that for, Macdonald!?” He stares at Mary in shock.
To be fair, both Marlene and Lily would be likelier candidates to toss a pillow at James before sweet Mary.
“As Marlene has already said, it is six in the morning. If you are going to continue bothering your girlfriend—go do it in your dorm!”
Mary doesn’t wait for a response, which is fortunate; as both you and James are struck speechless at her outburst.
For two very different reasons, though—something that becomes increasingly clear by the second.
“Can you believe that?” James looks at you with wide eyes.
You nod, mirroring his look. “I know right?”
“She completely snapped!”
“She called me your girlfriend!”
Instantly, you both freeze, blinking at each other in confusion.
Marlene looks up from her corner of the room, Mary sits up again, and Lily rises from the dead like she’d been up the entire time.
All of them are staring at you now, and you furrow your brows.
“…I feel like I’m missing something.”
James steps closer to you, brows also furrowed. “You…” He blinks, “Sweetheart…we’re dating.”
You cross your arms, suddenly feeling a bit defensive. “Would’ve been nice to know the memo.” You mutter, avoiding his eyes, feeling embarrassed.
Your best friend (boyfriend?) lets out an incredulous laugh. “Honey, I- Are you okay? Did you bump your head in the night, love?”
He looks so genuinely concerned—and that, paired with the way the girls are still staring—is starting to make you feel like you’ve lost it.
You huff softly, narrowing your eyes up at him. “No, Jamie, I didn’t bump my head. I’m just struggling to understand how we could possibly be dating!”
His face falls into a look of hurt then, and your eyes widen as you step closer—panicking.
“No, not like that! I just mean-” You sigh in frustration, frowning. “We don’t act like a couple at all!”
Everyone blinks at you again, and your frown deepens. “Why are you all staring at me like that?” You mumble.
Marlene speaks up first. “Darling, he’s in your bed every night.”
You look away, cheeks heating up. “He sleeps easier with someone next to him!”
Lily raises an unimpressed brow. “He could literally write an entire book just listing all the pet names he calls you.”
“He gives everybody nicknames. That’s just how he is!” You defend yourself again.
This time, Mary looks at you like you’re a child learning about magic for the first time again. “His mum calls you her daughter-in-law.”
“She says hi, by the way.” James butts in quietly, a soft smile on his face. “And that she misses you, is expecting you to stay over for at least three days during the next break, and to expect a package from her in the next couple of days.”
Your eyes soften and you melt a little at the thought of Effie. She’d practically been your second mother from the day you and James first became friends.
“Aww, tell her I said thank you! And that I’ll write to her soon, I’ve just been busy with-”
“Focus!” Mary cuts in, and you immediately close your mouth, looking back at her.
It truly is jarring to see sweet Mary so affirmative.
“As I was saying, daughter-in-law?” She raises a brow.
“We’re just close like that! She’s family!” You continue trying to defend yourself.
James finally shakes his head, gently tilting your chin to focus solely on him as he looks at you incredulously.
“Love, I asked you to be my girlfriend.”
You immediately shake your head. “Nuh-uh. I would remember that.”
But James just nods, caressing your cheek. “I did, baby. I said, ‘Sweetheart, will you be my girlfriend?’ and then you said-”
“Jamie, I’ve always been your girlfriend.” You finish his sentence in a soft murmur, now recalling the exact conversation he’s talking about.
The night he started sleeping in your bed.
“See? You remember.” He smiles, and you look up at him in shock.
“…I thought you meant like how Lily, Mary, and Marlene are my girlfriends!” You say, looking completely mortified at your misunderstanding. “And like Sirius is my boy-”
James’ eyes darken and he pulls you closer to his chest, cutting you off with a low growl. “Sirius is not your boyfriend.”
You gently smack his chest, looking up at him reprimandingly. “Not like that, silly!”
James only pulls you closer, nuzzling into your neck and sighing softly before he rests his forehead on your shoulder.
After a few moments, his own begin to shake and you furrow your brows in concern—thinking he’s crying.
“Jamie?” You murmur softly, only to gasp when he suddenly tilts his face up. He’s not crying, you realize—he’s laughing.
And when you lock eyes again, he pulls you into an achingly tender kiss against your lips.
You sigh softly, melting into the embrace as your arms move to loop around his neck.
When he pulls back, he presses his forehead against your own and smiles down at you.
“My silly girl,” he murmurs, pad of his thumb brushing against your bottom lip, “how can you call me that when you, little miss, didn’t even realize we were dating, uh?”
You blush softly, curling into him. “You’re being mean.” You pout. “You’re not allowed to be mean to your girlfriend.”
He laughs softly, raising a brow. “Oh, so you are my girlfriend now, hm?”
And this time, when you smile up at him and say, “Jamie, I’ve always been your girlfriend.”
eventual james potter x fem!reader; inevitable angst and annoyance as james slowly matures over his time at hogwarts. slowburn. total word count: 56.3K
NOW, dear readers and followers, I want to share a fanfiction I read in one sitting yesterday.
The incredibly talented @marauroon has woven this story together with great skill.
The story consists of seven chapters, each describing a year at Hogwarts. As you read each chapter/year, you grow with the characters. You fall in love, you hate, you drown in homework stress, and you experience all the ups and downs of friendship.
I never imagined this story would draw me in so much. I thought I'd read it to pass some time, but now I can't get it out of my head, and I think I'll read it again from the beginning.
The childhood excitement and arrogance of the early years leave a sweet smile on my face, but especially after the fifth chapter, the fifth year—look, I can't describe it, you have to read it ! Each year is so appropriate for that age. We experience childhood, then adolescence. Priorities and worries change, and it's all so natural—so typical of that age. Even though the last two chapters / last two years are amazing, my heart is still in the sixth chapter/sixth year :))
YOU HAVE TO READ IT. I DON'T KNOW HOW ELSE TO PRAISE IT!!
I'm not sure if this counts as a mini spoiler, but even though the reader is a Gryffindor, being in the Gryffindor common room gave me peace. And yes, as a fiery Slytherin. THIS PERSON KNOWS THEIR STUFF!!
P.S. Sorry, but I think you'll be seeing me in your wish list for a while because I'm currently experiencing the excitement of discovering an amazing author.
You've completely ruined me! After reading your James Potter x reader '1 TO 100', I can't get into any other fanfics.
(Not sure if this is a spoiler!)
In Chapter 6, when he finally signed his name, a tidal wave of emotions hit me. Then, the moment I read that he didn't send the letter? I wasn't disappointed—instead, my heart leaped into my throat with another, completely different kind of intensity. I have to tell you, this is the best and most unforgettable scene!
ahhhhh thank you so much !!!
after how long it took me to write, i’m so glad people are enjoying it as much as they are, it gives me such a massive sense of satisfaction 🙂↕️
summary: on your fifteenth anniversary, sirius and remus gift you and james a photo album that has you gasping in embarrassment in front of harry and closing it with a loud slam. despite that, and the warning on the front page that says 'Harry, if you’re reading this, think again', your son can't help himself. He should have thought again. And again. And maybe perhaps just one more time.
wc: 1.9k+
cw: suggestive themes and two explicit sentences, discussion of inappropriate images, mentions of r! and james having harry before marriage (when they were 18)
Harry Potter loved his family.
Even though he pretended to hurl when his dad whisked you for a kiss that had you swooning long after he pulled away, or pushed you away when you kissed him on the forehead, hugging him for a little too long in front of his friends, Harry could not have asked for better parents.
So when it was your and James’s fifteen year anniversary, Harry didn’t tease about how it seemed mathematically unusual that he was already past the fifteen year old mark. He didn’t take a close look at photos from your wedding, inspecting all of the photos baby Harry was in, curled in his grandparents' arms for most of the night. He didn’t make a comment about how his parents were only thirty three with a grown teenager, relatively younger in comparison to the parents of other kids in his year.
No, Harry did none of that. Instead, he watched fondly as his father held you in his arms on the couch, whispering sweetly to you.
He smiled, mimicking the looks on both his parents’ face. You were curled into James’s chest, staring at your husband with an unbeatable expression of love that only your James himself could out do. James was pressing sweet kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, and the briefest one on your lips before shying away from you. Harry caught glimpses of your youth in these moments; mischievous, affectionate, and definitely a pain to every one of the single friends around you.
The front door slammed open. You and James didn’t even pull away from each other as Sirius Black sauntered into the living room, a grinning Remus Lupin on his heels. Harry furrowed his eyebrows. His godfathers looked like they were up to no good.
“Happy anniversary.” Remus announced, shifting his weight back and forth from the balls to the heels of his feet. “Did you know,” Sirius started, pointing a finger up in the air, “That exactly fifteen years ago today, minus approximately ten minutes, the two of you were having sex?” You laughed in shock, asking “What?” and James pulled you closer to him. Harry grimaced in disgust.
“Yeah, we came to wake you up, said it’s bad luck to see each other on the day of your wedding. Door was locked, you told us it was too late, and we warned you that we would break into the room, but then we heard-”
“Stuff.” Remus cut him off, raising his eyebrows. You felt your cheeks go hot, remembering how your fiancé — back then — had spoken to your best friends while thrusting into you at an unforgivable pace. Your high pitched moan as you orgasmed had thankfully alerted your two friends not to enter the room.
“Don’t know much about bad luck now.” James chuckled, glancing down at you with a grin. “Anyway!” Remus announced, drawing your attention back to the two men. “We made you a little gift.”
“For every time we’ve seen too much!” Furrowing your eyebrows, you looked past your two best friends to glance at your son, sat alone on the couch, not even pretending not to be listening. His face was contorted in repulsion.
Sirius thrusted a thick photo album in front of you, and you shuffled in James’s hold to release your arms from the bundle of limbs you were wrapped in. You gently took the album from Sirius’s hands, smiling softly “Aw, thank you guys.”
“Oh, you won’t be thanking us for long.”
Concern overtook you at Sirius’s words, and you opened the photo book. The first page was blank, apart from writing that said ‘Harry, if you’re reading this, think again.’ James’s chest rumbled with a whole-hearted laugh. You glanced up at your best friends nervously before hooking your finger into the next couple of pages. You turned to a random page in the booklet.
You gasped loudly, immediately shutting the photo album.
The couple in front of you seemed proud with their work, a loud laugh escaping them both despite the horrified look you shot them. James was silent next to you, and you twisted your torso to look at his expression. His eyes were wide, cheeks so red you were sure his glasses would begin fogging up.
“Anyway, we’re going to take Harry out to diagon alley for a couple of hours. For no reason.” But Sirius turned around to wink at you as he left the room with Remus, who slung an arm over his shoulders. Harry wordlessly followed his uncles, shrugging.
He did not want to know what was in that album.
Would be the furthest thing from the truth. He itched to find out. So badly, that when he sipped at a milkshake in diagon alley with his godfathers, he was twitching in a poor attempt not to ask about their gift. So badly, that when he was left alone at home that night while you and James went for dinner, all Harry could think about was sneaking into your room and looking through those pages.
Giving up, Harry pushed himself off his bed, opening the door to his parents’s bedroom with one last look down the corridor. He took in a deep breath; no one was home. Harry briefly took notice to the empty potion vial on your bed side table, wrinkling his nose as he realised what it was. Birth control. Taking a couple of steps closer, Harry peeked into the open drawer, looking for the black leather of the photo album.
It wasn’t there.
He rounded the undone bed to open his dad’s bedside drawer. Bingo. Harry reached for the leather-bound album, fingers curling around the curve of the album’s spine. He leaned back on the wall behind him, sinking down onto the floor. No way was he going to sit down on that bed. Harry flicked open the album, and immediately, his cheeks went red.
His godfathers knew him too well.
‘Harry, if you’re reading this, think again.’ He did, extending his arm to tip the book back into the drawer, before shaking his head and snatching it back. He flipped the page over, and his breath immediately hitched in his throat at the sight. Sirius’s words from his morning echoed in his head; they made sense now. ‘For every time we’ve seen too much!’ The two photos that took up the space of the first page of the book dated back to your time at Hogwarts.
Harry knew you and James began dating within the first month of your fifth year at Hogwarts, but you didn’t look fifteen in this photo. Maybe seventeen, possibly older. But it was hard to tell with the way your faces were hidden. Of course, the images moved – much to Harry’s dismay. In the first photograph, James was carrying you, and your legs were wrapped around his torso, the skirt of your uniform riding up your legs, creasing under James’s hands, which were groping your backside.
You were pressed up against the wall of a dark hallway, your arms tightly wrapped over James’s shoulders, his glasses smushed between your faces as you made out deeply. The image of your tongues flattening against each other was grotesque. Harry had seen his parents make out before – a quick snog when you thought no one was looking. James would tug you closer to him by the wrist, wrapping an arm around your waist when you turned your attention to him.
It was often in the kitchen, if not the backyard, but James would press his lips against yours, and you would part your lips to welcome his tongue into your mouth for a quick, greedy lick against yours. James would pull away, his trousers slightly tighter around his crotch, and you would wipe the space around your lips to conceal any evidence.
But this kiss, in this image, was like nothing he’d seen before. Your body was moving against James with a desperation he hadn’t seen before, his dad’s hips frantically grinding against your centre as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, your tongues eagerly battling for control over the kiss.
He couldn’t imagine it, but the next photo was much worse, and he instantly regretted not listening to the note on the front. Harry huffed. There should have been a second warning. By looking at the second image, Harry decided that you and James had just turned eighteen. His dad’s hair was had looked to be freshly cut, not long like the previous photo, almost an afro around his head. Here, it was trimmed neatly, curls soft, the stubble on his face barely there. You wore shorts, exposing your legs, and Harry could see that you had the cheeky smiley faced tattoo on your thigh, which you’d admitted to getting on your eighteenth birthday with his dad, Remus and Sirius.
You were clearly at a party in this photo, with drinks littering the kitchen countertop in front of you, both you and James looking like anyone would after hours of partying. One hand on the countertop, the other reaching up into the cupboard over you, you were biting your lip struggling to get something as you stood on your tippy toes. You raised a knee over the side of the counter, top, and just as you were about to push yourself off the ground, a hand rested on your hip, halting your movements.
James pressed his body against yours as he reached above you, arm stretching up higher than yours to grab a bag of chips for you, wedged in the cupboard. James unnecessarily pressed himself onto his tippy toes, stumbling forward as he lost balance, his crotch dragging against your ass before he fell flat on his feet. Your eyebrows raised in the photo, but you smirked, spinning around and looking at James with a slight tilt of your head. James’s face flushed, a shy look overtaking his features as he poorly attempted to maintain confidence.
Harry almost heard your hum as you stared down his father, just a boy in this photo, before your fingers curled around the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him against you. James’s body pressed against yours and you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his. The bag of chips fell to the floor as both of James’s hands came to rest on your hips, already deepening the kiss with you. It was difficult for Harry to believe that those two teenagers in the image would be having a child that same year. Him.
Just before Harry could witness something he didn’t want to see, the image flashed, and the entire scene repeated itself. That’s enough, Harry decided, but he couldn’t help but wonder what had made his mother gasp so loudly as she shut the photo album. He tried mimicking your earlier movements, fingers dipping past a couple of pages. Triumphantly, he turned these pages over, but the second he caught a glimpse of his dad on his knees, back to the camera, Harry made a disgusted noise, shutting the book with a loud slam.
He scrambled back on his feet, dropping the book in his father’s drawer and closing it before rushing out of the room to return to his bedroom, forgetting that his parents’ bedroom door hadn’t been open when he first came in.
Luckily for him though, you and James were too busy kissing your way up the stairs and into bed to notice the detail.
taglist (tagged both the marauders + golden trio taglist because it's centred around harry and james): @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @juliet-f017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @why-am-i-like-this18, @theoraekenslover, @animalcrossingshameless, @azure-drag0ness, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @girlontheblock, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @cakiebleh, @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @potterheadlovespotter, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots
annaxmalina
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
jbbartram-illu
areudirty
stormborns
