Hiii 🫶🏻 could you write something about James and reader who are fiancé, and James comes home and notices reader isn't wearing her ring ?
(Sorry for any orthograph fault English isn't my first language 🥲🫶🏻🫶🏻)
no apologies necessary, sweetness! thanks for your request <3
James Potter x fiancée!reader who isn't wearing her ring [1.5k words]
CW: implied firefighter!James on account of his shift work though he could just be in another profession that has 48-hour shifts, fem!reader, miscommunication, fluff
James knows that he has a tendency to see the world through rose coloured glasses, but he doesn’t think that his proclivity for positivity lends itself to leaving him ignorant to reality.
He’s perhaps disturbingly optimistic, but he likes to think he has a relatively accurate finger on the pulse of his life. His relationships.
You.
Which is why he feels like the carpet has been ripped out from under him, like the ground has given way and he’s free falling into the depths of hell, like he’s been thrown overboard into the icy ocean surrounded by eerily silent nothingness as he stares at your engagement ring sitting like a flashing red light on your bedside table.
His brain is whirring and overheating, misfiring as it tries to recall any moments of discontent between the two of you, whether he’s ever seen you take it off since he proposed (he hasn’t), whether or not you’ve given him any signs that you’ve been at all unhappy.
He called you last night before you got into bed. He thinks you sounded worried but he figured that was typical; you often express a certain longing – a loneliness – when he takes on 48-hour shifts at the station, but he’s lucky enough that he only has to do that once a month. You hate the idea that he could get called away in the middle of the night, worrying you’ll wake up to terrible news.
But what if it wasn’t worry he heard in your voice last night? Or, what if it wasn't a worry at his expense, but rather because of him? What has he done?
And what can he do?
This is ultimately the thought that motivates him to abandon his work bag in the middle of the bedroom floor and go out in search of you, still in his work clothes, still desperate for a proper shower in his own bathroom, but neither of those were nearly as dire as righting whatever wrong he has caused with you.
He has to fix this; he’s going to fix this.
But his heart stutters and falters when he finds you in the kitchen, kneeling on the counter – despite the step ladder that James had purchased for you in hopes that you’d stop climbing the counters and save his poor, weary heart the worry of you falling – as you pull every single mug down from the highest cabinet.
Oh God, he’s too late, you’re moving out. You’re separating the mugs – the house’s prized collection – into his and hers.
“Angel.” He nearly whimpers; the moniker escaping his lips on an exhale as he catalogues the scene before him. “Wha- what happened?”
You startle at his sudden appearance, though your face quickly crumples int0 a terribly guilty and ashamed expression that has James’ stomach doing somersaults in anxiety and pre-emptive grief.
“Oh, James. You noticed…”
“I noticed?!” He huffs as he gestures at you vaguely as though the nakedness of your ringfinger was glaring to even the most casual observer.
“What happened?” He presses again, urgent this time as he wars with the prospect of pulling you off of the countertop to safety (solid ground) and wondering if that’s his place anymore.
He’s going to throw up.
“I’m so sorry, Jamie, honest.” You insist, sliding off the edge of the counter to stand in front of him; you wring your hands together in front of you looking terribly small and contrite.
“I…I don’t want you to be sorry, Y/N, I want to understand what happened?”
“It was an accident!” The confession seems to burst out of you, shocking you and devastating James. “It was an accident, Jamie, I’m so, so sorry. I know, I know I should’ve been more careful, but-”
“Careful!?” James nearly shrills, his mind running away from him as it concocts images of all the possible accidents and reckless behaviours you could possibly be apologising for. The protein shake he had at the end of his shift churns unpleasantly in his stomach.
“I’m sorry, James.” You murmur quietly, hands pressed together in a silent prayer migrating to your chin as tears threaten to fall from your lashes. “I thought there was room for them all up there but, clearly we have too many and when I turned around it just came crashing down.”
James' brain – and heart and lunch threatening to evacuate through his esophagus – stutters to a halt.
“Room for what?” He manages to get out, rubbing his chest with one hand as though he can convince his heart to return to its normal cadence.
“The mugs.” You admit miserably. “I know it was your favourite mug, but-”
“The one with the polkadots and hand painted heart?” James confirms breathlessly. You nod your head yes, a single tear finally escaping your waterline and leaving a treasonous streak in its wake.
“I know it’s not the same, but I stopped by the ceramic studio downtown and they helped me make a new one, but the drying and firing process takes a lot longer than I thought so I pulled every mug we had down so you could find one to use in the meantime and maybe we could display some of these somewhere else or pack them up but I didn’t mean to break it, James; I’m sorry.”
The silence following your spiel sits in the room like a physical weight as the pieces slot together in James’ mind; his stomach slowly comes to a rolling stop.
“You’re apologising to me because…my mug broke.” He confirms, the end of his sentence lilting up with a silent question mark.
“It was an accident, Jamie, I promise.” You whisper, eyes navigating James’ face as though trying to deduce whether it might be safe to approach.
His shoulders fall suddenly, both in relief and acquiescence; you seem to accept that as a sign that you could manage a cautious step in his direction.
“Are you mad?” You query.
“Not even a little.” James admits, though he does take a moment to mourn the mug he’s loved for years. He doesn’t know if you remember, but you had pointed it out to him on one of your very first dates, laughing at the sheer size of it and calling it ‘absurd’. The sound of your laughter when he insisted he was going to buy it is what pushed him to the conclusion that he loved you, that he loves you. He loved that mug.
But he’s happy to lose it if he was keeping you.
“No?”
James laughs; a breathless, disbelieving and relieved sound that has your brows rising and the corners of your lips threatening to turn up hopefully. “Angel, I saw your ring in the bedroom and, well, I-”
He doesn’t have a chance to explain to you the anguish he felt at the thought of you leaving him when you slap your hands over your mouth and stare at him in shock.
“No!” You holler, the denial muffled behind your hands which then migrate to your chest as though you’re convincing your heart to stay put beneath your breast bone. “Oh my God, no. No, I took it off before I went to the studio! I knew I’d need to take it off at the wheel and didn’t want to put it down somewhere and forget about it! I got home and showered and, well, apparently forgot about it anyway. But at least it was at home and, oh Jamie.”
You’re equal parts fond, equal parts chiding, and equal parts sympathetic at your poor, lovesick, dramatic fiancé. Your fiancé, for his part, is beaming at you.
Flooded with relief at being wrong and chuckling at his own expense, James opts to close the distance between the two of you and holds you tight to his chest like he’s been longing to do for the past forty-nine hours.
“I can’t believe you thought I was leaving you.” You laugh into his chest; James rubs his cheek into the crown of your head like he’s trying to infuse his love for you through your roots.
“I can’t believe you went to a pottery class without me.” He volleys in turn, rewarding him with the bubbly, tinkering laugh that solidified his love for you all those years ago.
“The lady took pity on me on account of my red-rimmed eyes and gave me a discount; I’m sure she’d be very happy to hear my plan worked if both of us showed up for a class together.”
“I’d love that.” James agrees, rocking you to-and-fro at the thought of his poor sweet girl showing up anywhere distressed at all let alone on his account.
“We can make you a whole set of mugs with polkadots and hearts.” You continue, lips brushing against his collarbone like a guileful kiss.
“Thank you, angel.” He smiled, scanning the collection of mugs for one he might be happy to use until he gets his hands on your specially made one, “I can’t wait.”
Helloo, I just read the hottest one and I need a part 2!!!
Maybe one where they already went on that date and exchanged numbers and they're is a fire at a barn at night and reader is the neighbor of that barn and safes the animals from the fire and james is really worried when he found that oit because of the heat and smoke. And she tells him that she kinda grew up on his farm since shes a neighbor and these animals are really really important to her 🤭😌
pairing -firefighter!james potter x fem!reader
warnings - a fire
wordcount - 1.4k
a/n - loved this request so fucking much, thank you so much for requesting it, love 💕
masterlist
The night is calm and quiet, the way it usually is in this part of town. It’s late, and most of the neighborhood is dark, windows glowing faintly with the blue light of TVs or the occasional porch lamp left on. You’ve always liked the peacefulness here, the way everything slows down at the end of the day, but tonight, there’s something unsettling about the stillness.
As you step out onto your back porch, a cool breeze rustling the leaves, you catch a faint whiff of smoke. You hesitate, your mind racing to figure out where it’s coming from. Maybe someone’s having a late-night bonfire? But when you glance over toward the small barn on your neighbor’s property—the one you pass by nearly every day—you see it. A thin, dark plume of smoke rising from the roof, catching the light from the streetlamps. Then, the unmistakable orange flicker of flames.
For a moment, you’re frozen, your heart lurching as you take in the sight. But then instinct kicks in, and you’re running, sprinting across your yard toward the barn. You can already feel the heat as you get closer, and your mind starts to race. How bad is it? Are there still animals inside?
You don’t have time to think about the danger; you just know you have to do something. As you near the barn, you hear the faint sound of your neighbor’s front door creaking open, and then her voice, shaky and panicked, calling out, “Is someone there? What’s happening?”
“It’s the barn! There’s a fire!” you yell back, not slowing down. “Call 911, hurry!”
There’s a pause, and then you hear her fumbling with their phone, her voice shaky as she tries to explain the situation to the dispatcher. You don’t wait to hear the rest; you’re already at the barn door, fumbling with the latch, praying it’s not too hot to touch. The heat presses against your skin, the smell of smoke burning your nose, but the door gives way under your hands, and you rush inside.
The inside of the barn is dim, lit only by the flickering, angry orange glow of the flames creeping along the rafters. The heat is suffocating, and the air is thick with smoke, but you can still hear the frightened bleats of the goats and the anxious clucking of the hens, muffled but desperate.
“Okay, okay, I’m here,” you murmur, more to yourself than to the animals, as you dart over to the small pen where the goats are huddled, their eyes wide with fear. You unfasten the latch with trembling hands, swinging the gate open and gently coaxing them out. “Come on, it’s okay. We’re getting out of here.”
The goats hesitate, but you manage to guide them toward the open door, waving them through one by one. The smoke is getting thicker, and it’s getting harder to see, but you can’t stop now—not when there are still more animals inside. You stumble towards the back of the barn, where you know the chicken coop is, your eyes stinging from the smoke and your lungs burning.
The chickens are in a frenzy, flapping and squawking, and it takes every ounce of patience you have to calm them enough to start gathering them up. You scoop them into your arms, three at a time, feeling their small, warm bodies tremble against you as you carry them out, setting them down on the grass a safe distance from the barn. You can see your neighbor now, still on the phone, frantically waving for you to come over, but you don’t stop to talk to her. There’s still more to do.
Your throat burns as you breathe in the smoky air, but you turn back to the barn, stumbling slightly as you make your way to the last pen. There’s one last goat, huddled in the corner, too scared to move. You call out softly, trying to coax her toward you, but she’s frozen, her eyes wide and wild.
“Come on, girl,” you say, your voice barely audible over the roar of the fire. “I know you’re scared, but we have to go.”
You step closer, reaching out slowly, and she finally moves, inching towards you. The second she’s close enough, you wrap your arms around her, guiding her toward the open door. The heat is unbearable now, and you can see the flames starting to lick down the walls, but you don’t let yourself think about how close they’re getting. You just focus on getting her out.
You’ve barely made it to the door when you hear it—the distant, high-pitched wail of sirens. Relief floods through you, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the sound of cracking wood behind you. You stumble out of the barn, practically dragging the goat with you, and collapse onto the grass as the roof groans and splinters, the flames climbing higher and higher.
The world outside is suddenly too bright, too loud, with red-and-blue lights flashing in the distance, and the hum of the sirens getting closer. You’re coughing, your throat raw and your hands trembling, but you can’t stop staring at the barn, watching as the fire consumes it, unable to believe how quickly everything escalated.
A hand on your shoulder jolts you out of your daze, and you look up to see your neighbor standing there, tears streaking down her face as she takes in the sight of the animals you managed to save. “You… you did it,” she sobs, voice choked with emotion. “You got them all out.”
You try to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace, and you nod, glancing back just in time to see a fire truck screech to a halt on the street. The firefighters are already jumping out, pulling hoses and equipment, shouting to each other as they rush to control the blaze. And then, out of the corner of your eye, you see a familiar figure running towards you, his helmet tucked under his arm, dark hair tousled and eyes wide with worry.
James.
He reaches you in a few long strides, and before you can even say anything, he’s kneeling in front of you, his hands on your shoulders, his gaze frantic as he checks you over. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and urgent, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of injury. “God, I was so scared when I recognized you. What were you thinking, running in there like that?”
“I—I couldn’t wait,” you stammer, still trying to catch your breath. “The animals… they needed help. I didn’t think, I just—”
James shakes his head, his expression torn between relief and exasperation. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, but there’s no real anger in his voice, just this aching, raw concern that makes your heart twist. “I get that you wanted to help, but you could’ve gotten hurt.”
“I’m okay,” you insist, and it’s only when you say it that you realize how much you want him to believe it. “I got them all out. That’s what matters.”
James sighs, and then he’s pulling you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. For a moment, the world seems to fall away, the smoke, the sirens, everything but the steady, solid warmth of him holding you close. “Next time, wait for the professionals, yeah?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “Promise me.”
You nod against his chest, letting yourself relax for the first time since you saw the fire. “I’ll try,” you whisper, and you feel him chuckle, a soft, relieved sound that makes you smile.
When he finally pulls back, there’s still that worry in his eyes, but he manages a small, crooked grin. “That was really fucking brave,” he says softly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. “But please don’t scare me like that again.”
“I didn’t mean to,” you reply, your voice barely audible. “But they were scared, and I just… I couldn’t leave them.”
James studies you for a moment, he hesitates for just a second, and then he leans in, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know,” he says, and there’s something warm and tender in his voice that makes your heart ache.
The sirens fade into the background as the firefighters work to put out the flames, but you hardly notice. For now, all you can focus on is the way James looks at you - this guy who’s still pretty much a stranger - like you’re the most important thing here tonight, and maybe that’s enough to make everything else fade away.
James walks back home, his face dusted in ash, his jacket heavy. He knows Regulus will probably be asleep when he gets home, he'll shower and probably sleep too. He jiggles the doorknob with his key, unlocking it and letting himself in.
James toes off his boots and shrugs off his jacket, walking upstairs. There Regulus is, on the couch, in his boxers, a book in his lap. When James enters the room Regulus immediately stands up and pulls James in for a hug.
"You okay?" Regulus says, kissing James' neck chastely. James rests his gloved hands on the small of Regulus' back, just above his dimples.
"Yes, I am. There was a fire on fifth avenue, that nice blonde woman that works at the grocery store lived there."
"I'm sorry, baby. Is she okay?" James nods. "And you're sure you're okay?" Regulus pulls back, his hands on James' cheeks, checking for scrapes.
One of my GC headcannons is that James is so supportive of like anyone and everyone (he’d be a lil confused but have a spirit) and if he’d guess who someone would like, he’d get it correct
(I need James content so bad so now I’m gonna go reread the poly!marauders x YN fic you wrote)
UPDATE: Feels Like The First Time is out NOOOOW!
Oh James 100% is the most supportive friend in the world. He’s always been!
And omg there’s a new AU for Jamesie dropping tomorrow and it’s gonna be something. Like I just finished writing it and tomorrow morning I’m just gonna edit, and trust me, it’s something special.
a/n: requested for my celebration on my old blog, posted about two weeks ago originally. i think @maddipoof betaed this originally? not completely sure <3 (0.4k)
cw: pet names . fluffy .
firefighter! james potter x reader
The door shut behind you, the click of the lock draining some of the tension in your muscles as you padded further into your house. There was a sort of inherent warmth that came with a place you called home. The kind that was unrelated to the crackling of your fireplace It was more than just a place you lived, though it had been for a while, it was the style of the life you shared with James. It was the late Saturday nights that turned into lazy Sunday mornings, your cheek pressed against James’s freckled chest, the thump of his heart vibrating against your jaw, and his soft snores the only thing echoing off of the walls in your bedroom.
There was water running, the occasional splash letting you know that James was the one using it. He was humming something. You couldn’t tell what, just that you’d heard it before. He sang like an angel so effortlessly and it was funny really, the way heat rose to his face whenever anybody commented on it.
“I didn't know you could sing.” James jumped from his spot in front of the sink, the fork in his hand, slippery from the soap, clattering to the metal basin. He smiled a moment later though, recognizing the cadence of your voice, the way it’d slow down, that bit of rasp at the base of your throat when you’re sleepy or relaxed.
“You’re home early,” He didn’t mean the words with any hostility, just an observation, and besides, you were. James had had his first day off for the first time in months and you hadn’t been offered the same courtesy, hence your decision to surprise him. It was heartwarming really, the way James chose to help you with washing the dishes. To take on just that bit more responsibility, so you’d have one less thing to worry about when you came home. In a way you thought it had to do with guilt – the guilt that came with his long hours and not being able to spend as much time with you as he would’ve liked.
“Thought I'd surprise you,” his lips twisted into an easy grin, the same one as before, the one he had reserved for you.
He pressed his lips to your forehead, holding you there for just a moment before pulling away far enough to whisper, “Best surprise ever,”
i was watching friends and totally thought about this
you were embarrassed now, watching one of the firemen enter your apartment
"don't worry 'bout it love, happens all the time." he winked at you before going into the kitchen, "hold this for me?"
taking off his helmet, holding it out for you, you just silently nodded.
sitting on the island chairs, his helmet perched on your own head you watched as he made his way around the kitchen, cleaning up the little fire you made.
"now, it's all good." he sent you a dazzling smile.
"thank you," you prompted, hoping you'd get his name.
"james." he smiled, leaning his forearms on your island, now standing across from you.
"y/n." you said shyly.
"i get off in an hour, maybe you'd like to get some coffee?" he asked.
"of course, would you bring the firetruck?" you teased.
a key turns in the lock and suddenly the dog is barking up a storm, you can hear his tail thumping eagerly against the hardwood floor right by the front door.
it happens quickly, one second you have a sleepy toddler cuddled in your arms, blinking tiredly as the disney movie you’ve watched enough times to have every line memorized drones on while your hand smoothes flyaway baby hairs out of her face. the very next second, said toddler is stumbling off the couch, all wide eyes and a toothy grin that sends the pacifier in her mouth flying as she rushes towards the source of all the noise.
a gasp. “hello, my darling!”
there’s something about james’ voice that never fails to make your heart swell, no matter how low you're feeling.
it’s been a long day.
when you married james you knew exactly what his line of work meant. long shifts at random hours of the day, dates cancelled last minute, and a whole lot of laundry. and then the danger. at first it was okay, you were still new to it, not entirely familiar with just how dangerous his profession was. but then you guys attended a funeral, a mere couple weeks after you gave birth, for someone in his squad. you've been unsettled ever since.
james could tell, because the man can read you better that anyone else. he noticed how you started stalling every time he was set to walk out the door, how your eyes are always a little glassy when you welcome him home after a shift that runs late. to make it worse, now that you have a baby, a whole child that is equal parts him and you, you can’t help the way your heart gets stuck in your throat the second he starts getting ready for work. for this exact reason, james tries to check in at least every couple hours. a quick text, a picture of him and his team doing whatever they’re doing at the time, and even the occasional facetime call whenever he notices a change in your tone in the text message you send him.
it doesn't help, also, that your daughter picks up on your mood just as easily as her father does. when you’re stressed she’s stressed, when you’re frustrated she sports a matching frown, and when you’re sad she joins you right at the edge of tears, hand in hand ready to jump in. so you try, you really do, to hide how tense it makes you whenever you haven't heard from james in longer than you'd like. you distract her with movies or games or a snack, but she knows, she always knows. and that messes with you even more.
you’re startled back into reality when your daughter lets out a shrieking squeal. “daddy! so pretty!”
her words are lisp and full of awe, and they makes you smile. a smile you know for sure is matched by the one on your husband’s face.
“not as pretty as you, princess, but i tried my best.” you hear a loud smacking kiss and a matching set of giggles. “where’s your mummy, m’heart?”
there’s a crinkling sound and then a distracted “movie.”
when james walks in the living room your body reacts like it always does. thighs clenching and heart sommersaulting. he looks so good standing in his tight navy blue fire department shirt, his thighs thick and strong in the dark uniform cargo pants. you're not typically one to brag, but your husband is a wet dream come to life.
“hello, my angel.” his smile is so wide and so fucking soft, the kind of smile you always rouse up in him no matter the occasion. your daughter comes toddling in front of him, running towards the couch with a toothy smile that matches her dad’s.
“mummy, look!” there’s a bouquet of flowers in her arms, three pretty purple tulips wrapped in see-through plastic. it’s her favourite colour and she’s practically buzzing with excitement. “flowers!”
you gasp indulgently, leaning down to sniff at the flowers. “wow! these are incredible, baby. so pretty!”
“prettiest flowers for the prettiest princess,” james helps his daughter up on the couch with one arm and she quickly stops paying attention to the both of you as she begins to inspect the flowers up close, cooing distractedly to herself. james turns back to you, pushing a different bouquet into your hands, a dimple winking at you from his cheek. “and for my queen.”
he kisses your wobbly smile once, twice, three times until you’re giggling through a wet sniffle and clutching the flowers tight to your chest. this bouquet is bigger, intricate, with bright coloured flowers and baby breath and a small card that reads “for the love of my life”. there goes your heart again.
“these are beautiful, james.” you whisper while he slumps down next to you on the couch, bulky arms coming around you to pull you into his chest. “thank you.”
his full lips press to your forehead then your eyelids then your cheeks and finally your nose. “thought about you all day today, like always,” he winks. “couldn't wait to come home.”
your hand moves instinctively to his head to scratch gently at his scalp. james, always a sucker for getting his hair played with, immediately melts into your arms with a mewl, tight shoulders slowly loosening up and eyes fluttering shut while you crawl onto his lap and press soft, gentle little kisses to his face, fingers still fiddling with his dark curls. there’s a beat of silence, and then “how did today go? everything okay?”
it’s your tone that makes his hands squeeze reassuringly at your hips, eyes squinting open to asses the look on your face. he gives you a soft smile, “went okay.” he knows better than to lie. “there were some complications but nothing i couldnt handle.”
he pulls you in closer when you frown, kissing away all the worried wrinkles from your face. “hey, i’m serious.” he brushes soothes a thumb over your cheek. “i’m always being extra safe now that i have my two girls waiting for me at home. i’ll always come home to you, angel.”
you both know it’s a promise he can’t make. but you appreciate him trying, and you especially appreciate the fierce look of determination on his face when he says it.
you kiss him once more and then settle down on his chest, head tucked under his jaw while you watch your daughter now cradle the flowers to her chest with her eyes glued to the screen. “i just love you so much.”
james’ arms tighten around you, “i love you most, angel. you keep me alive y’know?”
you snort, giggling when he pokes at the softness of your side. “oh i know, someone has to cook for you”
he whines, digging his finger harder into your ribs and smiling wider and wider the more you squirm on his lap. “y’r so mean, baby. you know i—”
but before he can finish there’s a little body jumping on top of you, startling a quiet oof out of you when she lands on your stomach. james is laughing out loud now, heart soaring at having his two girls in his arms. your daughter buries her little face between you, stubby arms trying their mightiest to wrap around the both of you. she squeals, “hugs!”
in that moment, as she smothers your face with kisses and you burst into a fit of giggles, james can’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world. he wasn’t lying before, you really do keep him alive. before he met you he liked the danger, lived for the rush of adrenaline he felt every time he ran into a burning building. and it’s not that he wanted to die, he certainly did not. but now that he has you, the most perfect person in the world, the one that made him believe in soulmates, he can’t even fathom the idea of not making it home.
with his arms full and his heart fuller, he whines again. “hey," the two pairs of eyes he loves most in the world peer down at him. "what about me?”
