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.
cw: working out, weight training, pointed out muscle definition
"You've got three more, for sure." James urges you on, looking far too relaxed for your liking where he stands above you, his arms crossed over his chest and his stupidly big muscles bulging against his thermal long sleeve.
Your abdominal muscles feel like they're ripping apart. If you weren't concerned about the ten kilogram kettlebell falling from where it's raised above your head and cracking your skull open, you'd consider throwing it at James' stupidly amused face. You raise your legs, put them back down and James counts, "Two more."
It takes every bit of energy, every morsel of motivation to finish the final set of leg raises, and you allow the kettlebell to tumble out of your grasp and to the left with a loud exhale of pain. You've been attending Personal Training with James long enough to not be embarrassed about the groan that follows, or the way you curl up into a ball. It's nearing the end of your hourly session, and James laughs at your dramatics. "You're not gonna catch your breath with your lungs constricted like that." He chides, and his hands comes into view.
You grumble, hating that you know he's right. Your muscles squeeze uncomfortably as he helps you up, despite you allowing him to take most of your weight. You've seen him workout, before, you know he pulls double your body weight with ease. He smiles wide when you're standing, gives you a little tug until you're stumbling closer to him. He smells like the gym, a little bit of woodsy cologne.
Your cheeks heat and you release his hand with a quiet, "Thanks." It's not like you're blind, James is beautiful. He's ripped and he's tanned, and his hair is stupidly soft. But it doesn't help that he's cheeky and funny, or that he's such a nice guy you always feel guilty for the profanities you spew at him on shoulder and back day. James picks up your abandoned kettlebell with ease and sets it on the bench you've claimed in the small studio gym.
"You good to hit legs for a couple before we finish?" James asks, and you know you don't have much of a choice because he's already turned and is walking towards the barbell weights in the corner.
You hum, reaching for your bottle of water, "Sure."
James lifts two twenty kilogram plates and walks them over to where you're standing. You try not to look at the way his muscles pop with the weights in each hand and James pretends not to notice you growing flustered. He sets them down next to each other and does the same again. By the time he's done, you've caught your breath.
"Elevated Sumo Squats," He gives you a knowing grin. He's fully aware how much you hate these, and he's unapologetic about it. "You know the drill, foot on each set of plates, squat until the kettlebell touches the floor."
You nod, "'Kay."
James holds out a hand as you step onto the weight plates, careful they don't slip out from under you and then hands you the kettlebell. "Try for ten. If you get to ten, we'll go for twelve."
You huff, a smile playing at your lips, "Just say try for twelve, James."
"Okay," James grins, "Go for twelve."
With a petulant eye roll, you start. The first set is never the problem, and James knows this. He watches you closely, an eye on your form at all times. You try not to think about the fact half of his job is staring at your ass, and you definitely try not to wonder if he likes what he sees. Sleeping with your Personal Trainer would be wildly inappropriate. You know James takes his job seriously, but it's hard not to imagine such things when he's standing over you muttering affirmations and praise. It's even harder when he reaches forwards, his fingertips grazing the top of your ass cheek, his voice low as he murmurs, "Keep your head up, back straight. You'll feel it more here."
You nod, mouth dry. "Like this?"
James nods at your corrected form. "That's ten, try two more."
The weight thuds against the ground when you're done and James helps you off of the plates. "How'd that feel?" He asks, fingers gentle as they grasp your wrist, turning it until he can read your heart rate from your smart watch.
"Like I'm gonna be waddling, tomorrow."
James huffs a laugh through his nose, "Well your heart rate is in zone four."
"Gross, so unfit." You snatch your wrist back.
He shakes his head, hands you your water, "Means you're working hard, pushing yourself. And pushing yourself gets results."
You answer with a shrug, swallow the water. James takes it back, nods his head to the plates. "Go again, this time, hold a half squat on the way back up for a couple seconds."
"That's hateful. You're being hateful."
"You got it." James encourages.
James' eyes your form carefully, nods subtly to show he's happy with it. "Working tonight?" He asks.
He has an incredible talent for making conversation at the worst times but you indulge him nonetheless, always willing to talk to him outside of what muscles you're working, and how to correct your form. "Nah. A rare day off."
"Lucky."
You smile, "Yeah, I feel so lucky right now."
James laughs. He laughs like a summer breeze. His eyes light up and his lips twitch. For a guy who looks like he could drop absolutely anyone who came near him, he's incredibly soft-hearted. It always stuns you, how kind and bright he actually is.
"You have clients til' late?" You ask, even though it feels like your lungs might explode.
"Thats eight," James tells you, "No. Just one after you."
You nod, "Early finish. Work harder, Jamie."
James unfolds his arms to point at you, tsking before he orders, "I was gonna have you stop at ten. Go for twelve, now."
It goes on like that through your final set, steady conversation that barely leaves the area of general small talk. You help James put the weights away, even when he tells you not to bother, even though you can only lift one where he lifts two. He checks your watch again, is happy with how hard you've pushed yourself.
"Are we taking progress pictures, this week?" You ask, scooping up your water bottle and car keys.
James shakes his head, "Next week, but I wanna show you something."
He guides you to the mirror against the weight wall where he stands behind you. It's hard to ignore the way he towers over you, almost swallowing you whole, and the inappropriate thoughts that spring to mind, the things you could do in the mirror, the things you'd love to see him do. You swallow. James lifts his hand, his fingertips grazing your shoulder, "You see how your shoulder is more rounded, now, instead of flat?"
You nod, scared to speak.
"That's muscle. It's the same here," His fingertips blaze a burning trail down your arm, "Your biceps, your abs," They skim over your waist, dip around your back, "Your glutes, your thighs, calves," He removes his hand, fingers flexing at his sides as though he's physically straining not to touch you. "All the muscle is growing. You're getting along so well you don't need progress pictures to notice it anymore."
Your face feels like it's on fire, your body leaning back into him until you feel the heat of his body, your shoulder brushing his arm. "So you're worth the money, then?" You ask, voice hoarse.
James smirks, his eyes lighten a little, "Oh, for sure."
Your eyes meet in the mirror, his head tilts a little downwards into a nod. "Same time next week?" He asks.
"That works." It comes out in a breath, your eyes unable to leave his.
You're not sure what normal behaviour is from a PT, but this doesn't seem like it. The thought of him acting like this with other clients makes your tummy twist uncomfortably, and you come to the startling realisation that you may be well and truly fucked. There's a reason you look forward to going to the gym, even though it takes all of your energy, there's a reason you save your nicest gym sets for the days you attend training. There's a reason you find yourself purposefully having the wrong form, if just to feel James' touch. It's wildly inappropriate, you know that. But you can't stop it or change it.
James nods, "Okay, well. You did great today. You should be chuffed."
He's so genuine, so nice, so fucking handsome. His brows hook in the middle at your hesitation, the way you force a smile onto your lips as you step away, turn to face him. "Thanks, James."
"Give me a message if you need anything, but if not, I'll see you next week." His eyes flick to the metal door, which creaks open and his next client comes through.
You hate the way you feel relief at the man who waves at James, the fact it's not some beautiful, toned woman. It makes you feel childish.
"Cool. Bye, James."
He waves, letting you start to walk away before he approaches his next client. The door swings shut behind you after a small smile to the man waiting, the cool air dousing you with a cold, startling reality. Your relationship with James doesn't extend past the gym, past a professional setting where you're paying James to train you. He'll never see past that.
And if James is inside the gym getting shit from his best friend about flirting with his cute client, about being so stupidly infatuated that he's come into work on his day off just because it suited you best, well, that's no ones business but his.
summary: reader has a bad gym experience and jamie gets protective
cw: working out, mention of potential injury, mentions of sexual harrassment (ass grabbing)
sidenote, that I've seen a lot of this behaviour in the gym before and it makes me sick. writing about it and imagining how jamie would handle it makes me less sick. imagining big strong pt!james making the world better, one set of keys at a time. please, always be aware of your surroundings if you are working out at the gym, especially alone <3
James pulls you out from under the bar of the smith machine by the hips seconds before it clatters to the ground with a sickening thud and clang of metal. You stumble under his harsh hands, land on the ground at his feet and let out a pained whoosh of breath. Luckily, the gym is empty save for the two of you, sparing you the embarrassment of having people watch the commotion.
He's on you in an instant, gentle hands that cradle your neck as he crouches in front of you and pushes your head from side to side with a little pressure from his thumbs. All you can do is blink, try to process what, exactly, just happened. "You're not sore here?" James asks you, brows furrowed and almost touching in the middle, his fingers pressing into the base of your neck.
Your first thought is that James doesn't suit frowning. A silly thought, considering you almost decapitated yourself with a one hundred kilogram squat rack. "No. Just my ass from crash landing." You don't fail to notice the way your voice sounds distant, detached.
James' hands are warm on your neck, a burning touch that you want to lean into. You don't, and it's gone as James collapses down across from you, his elbows resting against his knees. His face turns stern, "What's going on?"
You feel like you're being scolded, and maybe you should be. It's a well known fact that form is everything, that being distracted in the gym can lead to serious injuries. You'd known you wouldn't be able to focus today, you'd known you should've stopped that set and corrected yourself when you could feel the weight more in your back than your legs. But, you hadn't. You're distracted, you're angry. You'd walked into the gym full of frustration and it'd almost ended terribly.
Tears fight their way to your eyes and they burn. You feel a lump forming in your throat that forces you to look away from James. Kind, patient James, who allows you the moment to collect yourself as you pull your legs to your chest. "Shitty week." It comes out mumbled, your voice defeated.
James nods understandingly. "A shitty week doesn't make you lose focus like that, though. There's something more to it."
It's not like James to push. He's friendly and he's kind, he can be a menace when he wants to be, and sometimes you even think he's flirting with you - but he never pushes. You want to open up, you want to step out of that weird area of professionalism you can never seem to get past with him. But unloading your shitty week on him doesn't feel like the way to do that. So you shrug, pulling your knees to your chest until your chin rests atop them, "I'm just stressed. I'm sorry I didn't say anything, I knew my form was wrong but I was too distracted to stop and fix it."
"I don't care that your form was wrong," James shakes his head as though offended you'd think such a thing, "I mean," He pauses, searching for the words, "Obviously, I care that it was wrong because you almost got hurt. But what I mean is that you should've told me you were stressed, that you were feeling a bit distracted."
You find yourself nodding, eyes downcast at your crossed ankles.
"I was waiting for you to correct the form yourself. If I knew you were distracted, I'd have told you to stop. I'm sorry, too." James' voice has turned soft, less stern. He nudges his foot until it's in your line of vision, tapping it against yours until you're looking up.
He's waiting with a smile, his eyes gentle and patient. It feels odd. New, foreign. You can't really describe the feeling. "A guy grabbed my ass in the gym, yesterday." You breathe out, unsure really of what it is that's made you tell him.
It could be that you trust him. It's hard not to build trust with someone in James' position, it's literally his job to stop things like one hundred kilogram bar bells falling on top of you. Or, it could be that not telling anyone, reliving how powerless you'd felt, going over everything you could've done differently, it's eating you alive. Sharing this with James, who sees every day what gyms are like, how people in some gyms behave, you have a feeling that he'll get it. That he'll help you process.
But, he doesn't say anything. Just stares with a look that you can't read. The muscles in his arms shift, his hands clenching around each other tightly, and his jaw clenches. You think he might not say anything, though, you know James is better than that. The silence stretches until the tears in your eyes abate, then James finally croaks, "He what?"
Your veins crackle with the anger in his voice, the darkness that clouds his eyes. You'd never have imagined James in such a light if he wasn't sitting right in front of you, the very picture of livid. You shrug, as though feigning nonchalance might abate the white hot anger you know very well the feeling of. "I was doing those stupid kick back thingies you're always on about. Just messing about as a cool down, trying to correct my own form. He came over and started giving me advice, which I thought was just him being nice."
James shakes his head, remorse like a white sheet of dread across his beautiful face. You swallow, picking at a hangnail on your thumb, "He kind of just," You shift your hands as though grabbing your own hips, "Grabbed me like that and my throat went dry. When he was leaving he grabbed my ass and said 'you're welcome'."
"You didn't report him to the gym staff?"
You shake your head, lip trapped between your teeth. "I wasn't even planning on telling you until I nearly killed myself with the smith machine."
James sighs, one of his hands coming up to rub at his face. He looks nauseous, almost. "I'll get you a set of keys for this gym. You can work out here, from now on. No one will bother you."
It's a nice offer. It makes your heart swell and your cheeks heat. James has always gone above and beyond. He fits you into his schedule despite your crazy work hours and never charges you for the session if you have to cancel day of. But the reason you don't have a membership at his gym is because it's not in your price range. So you smile, kind, if a little tight lipped, "James, you know I can't."
"I'm not saying get a membership. I'm saying I'll get you a set of keys. You can come and go as you please, even after work, whatever time you want." His voice is thick, his eyes earnest and almost pleading.
"I can't ask you to do that."
James scoots closer, fingers flexing as though he might reach out for you, but is stopping himself. He chases your gaze, waits until he has it, until your lips part under the weight of it and your heart hammers against your chest, to speak. "You're not asking. I'm offering. I can't believe that happened to you and it makes me so angry. I'm not going to sit by and do nothing about it."
You sigh, unwilling to argue when James sounds so passionate, so sure of himself. A smile makes its way to your lips, timid, unsure, "Thanks, Jamie."
He nods. "Any time."
"Are you sure the owner won't mind?" You ask.
James grins, some of the mischievous twinkle returning to his eyes, "He's my best mate, it'll be fine."
He offers you a hand as he stands, the storm clouds passing and the weight already lifting from your chest. It feels brighter, in the gym. You take James' hand, let him pull you up. He does his signature move of tugging you until you're stumbling towards him, his laugh echoing off of the concrete walls when you curse him out for it.
"Start from the beginning?" James asks, moving to return the smith machine to where you need it to be.
You take a breath, watch the way his shoulder muscles strain against his top as he bends and lifts. It brings a smile to your lips, the feeling of familiarity you hadn't felt upon entering the gym earlier. "I believe I was at five reps when I dropped the bar."
James tsks, "Dropping it doesn't count as a rep. Call it four."
"Cruel."
James only winks, offers you his award winning smile as you settle yourself under the bar. This time, with the correct form. He nods, and you twist to unlock, eyes on his in the mirror.
"That's one." He grins, crossing his arms over his chest.
cw: smoking, past rejection, implied self-esteem issues
summary: reader isn't as subtle as she thinks about her crush on jamie
James is propped up against the hood of his car when you pull into the space next to his. He's talking to Sirius and Remus, who stand a few paces in front of James, both smoking a cigarette. Technically, they're not supposed to smoke on campus, but you doubt anyone would be stupid enough to mention that to Sirius Black and his infamously smart-mouthed boyfriend.
James turns his gaze to you as your engine cuts out, keys jangling in your hand and he lifts his hand in a wave. You wave back, half focussed on collecting the multitude of things on your passenger seat and stuffing them into your bag. The carrier bag in your footwell snags your attention, heart stammering a little with the reminder of what lies inside. It's cool. In your opinion, a very cool poster. One you know James has been looking for, for months. His favourite band.
But there's a voice in the back of your head, one born of being fourteen and asking a crush out, only to be told you'd gotten the wrong idea. A voice born of years of being lusted after, but not wanted. It's a voice that tells you James might assume you got this poster because you fancy him and find it weird.
And, sure. You might have went to the lengths of scrolling the internet for hours and paying extra for express shipping because you couldn't wait to see his smile when he unveiled it, to watch his eyes crinkle at the corners with excitement. There's something so overwhelmingly pretty and soft about James Potter. You've been living with that heavy admittance in your chest all semester and next week, your final term of sharing classes with James will end and you want him to remember you. You want to be able to say you tried.
But you don't want him to know all of that.
With a glance, you look back to James. He's waiting patiently for you, still talking to Sirius and Remus. The bag crinkles when you pick it up, the anxiety prickling over your skin like a heat rash. His friends offer you kind smiles when you exit the car, bag slung over your shoulder and the framed poster in hand. "Your engine doesn't sound great, love. You checked your oil recently?" Sirius asks, foregoing a proper greeting.
James laughs at the same time Remus rolls his eyes, akin to a love sick fool even when he's pretending not to be. "Ignore him," Remus drawls, flicking his cigarette to the ground, "He's decided he's going to be a mechanic."
In the year you've known Sirius Black, he's decided he's going to be an artist, then the lead singer of a band, then a lawyer, then a pilot, and now, he's going to be a mechanic. You hope, one day, that one might stick. Though, you've seen how much he loves his motorbike and would put money on the mechanic idea sticking around for a while longer than the time he wanted to buy a zoo.
"Oh, right. You can have a look if you like, but Jamie filled the oil last week." You tell Sirius, who scowls at his best friend.
James smiles kindly when you settle beside him against his car, leaning over to bump your shoulder with his bicep. His height difference is nothing, compared to Remus, but you still have to look up to meet his kind eyes. "Hi." He says.
"Hey."
Sirius scoffs, "Hi."
James pointedly ignores him, "What's in the bag?"
Your eyes nervously flick to Sirius and Remus, the former becoming incredibly interested in what's in the bag as well. Remus must sense your hesitation, because he grabs his boyfriend by the wrist and turns to walk away. "See you later, Prongs. Bye, love."
Sirius can be heard causing a scene even when Remus has dragged him half way across the student parking area. You smile after them fondly.
"You gonna make me guess?" James asks, pushing off of his car to stand and face you.
You have to crane your neck even worse to meet his eyes at this angle, but it's worth it. They're so light in the morning sun they look crystallised. He looks amused, lips twitching as he looks down at you. Heat prickles over your skin as he assesses you. "What's in the bag?"
You hand it to him, wordlessly, and nod for him to look inside. He pulls the frame, turning it until he can see the poster inside. His brows furrow, then lift, his lips parting in surprise. Genuine joy passes through his eyes and you wonder how someone can be so readable, so expressive. His beauty astounds you.
James looks at you, mouth opening and closing like he can't find the words.
"It's for you," You offer, rather dumbly, "Obviously."
James laughs a little breathless, the sound sending your heart slamming into your rib cage. "Where on earth?" He asks, bewildered.
"It's a secret. But I know how long you've wanted one, so I had it framed for safe keeping."
"Thank you," James slides the frame back into the bag, sets it to lean against the front of his car. "Seriously, thank you."
You shrug, hoping it's somewhat believable. "No big deal."
James rolls his eyes at your nonchalance. "Can I hug you? Is that too much? I feel like I should hug you."
You laugh, the feeling of anxiety lifting as James reaches forward to wrap his arms around you. He's warm and soft and smells like cologne and freshly washed clothes. His arms squeeze you tight, his nose buried in your hair where he's hunched over.
"Let me take you to dinner or something, as a thank you." James says as he pulls away, unlocking his car to place the frame safely in the passenger footwell.
"Really, James, you don't have to do that. It's just a poster." You wave him off, pushing off of the car and collecting your bag.
James follows as you walk, shoulder to bicep, skin brushing and your heart in your mouth from the contact alone. "I'm taking you to dinner. Not because I have to, but because I want to."
You find yourself fighting a smile, "Well if you want to." Your voice is teasing an it makes James smile.
"I do. It's a date." James tells you, like it's nothing.
You've halted in the doorway he's holding open for you, head tilting to look into his face. To be sure. To make sure he's not kidding, to make sure he doesn't mean a 'friend date'. He smiles, knowingly.
"You're not subtle, you know," He ushers you through the door, eager to make it to your class on time, "That poster is not easy to find, nor is it cheap."
"It's what friends do." You protest, cheeks warm and palms sweaty.
You brace for rejection, for a joke, for the 'I just don't see you that way'. But James rolls his eyes, reaching around you for the door to the classroom, "Friend's don't go on dates."
"We haven't been on a date." You laugh, incredulously, leading James to your usual seats.
It's a nice feeling, a warm feeling, to feel suddenly safe within your conversation. To feel the normal level of comfort you do with James, even when putting yourself out there. James frowns, "We've been on multiple dates. The library, the cafeteria, the coffee shop just off campus. We even went to that Ethics seminar that one time!"
It takes looking at him to realise he's kidding, the corners of his lips twitching up until he can't fight it anymore. It should be unsettling, for him to make a joke of it. But as he sits, his hand brushes over your shoulder, a gentle touch that sets your skin on fire. "I'm kidding, when I take you out for real, there'll be no confusion on whether or not it's a date."
His breath fans over your ear, warm and his voice thick and you think you might pass out, saved only by the entrance of your professor. James settles in, sends you a wink that has you more flustered than it should.
"Noted." You whisper, though you don't imagine James has heard you.
summary - james and reader end their lazy day with some lazy sex.
hehe enjoy :)
James' fingers are soft where they weave playfully in and out of yours; a fleeting touch, there and then not, ticklish, familiar. It's a touch born from love and care, gentle and heartfelt, the need to be close to you, touching you, as though reminding himself that you're real. That you're there, on his couch, in his life. That you're not going anywhere.
Sometimes, the way he loves you is too much. Not like suffocating. Never suffocating. But, it bleeds into your soul, heavy and genuine, and fills, and fills, those achey parts of your past, those dark times and lonely nights, it fills, and fills, until you feel like you might burst. James loves so big, so vast, that you don't feel enough to contain it. It's a squirmy feeling, to love James in return. To be treated so well, loved so much, that you feel the exact same way, the exact same amount, possible more. There are no words to describe how much you love James Potter. Only that sometimes, your skin and heart, your soul, they burn with it.
The television casts blue flashing lights across your joined figures on the couch, limbs intertwined, hearts beating as one. Steady, comfortable, home. It's peacefully quiet; the flat, the world outside. No one is looking for either of you, you have no work to get to, no practices to attend, no birthday dinners or pub outings. It's just you and James, entwined as one on his couch. His chest rises and falls against your back, slow and steady, a constant reminder that he's there, he's yours. All yours.
His arm is strong where it's hooked over your waist, thumb brushing softly against the warm skin of your tummy, his other arm hooked under your head, fingers extended in their gentle dance with yours. Ever moving, ever existing, his love, gentle and constantly surrounding you. It's all too much, the reminder that this is your life, your love, that James is as much yours as you are his. You feel so much, so strongly.
You can't be blamed for pulling your fingers from his - as much as an effort as it is, to leave that touch behind - and shifting in his hold until you're facing him. His eyes leave the television, chin tilting to look down at you. His expression is soft, if a little confused, but he leans down to press his lips to the crown of your head regardless, before he questions, "Okay?"
You nod, a little breathless, as you chase his lips. Up, up, until they're touching yours. It's a lazy kiss. Most of your day has been lazy, barely leaving the couch, takeout for dinner, sitcoms on the television. But there's fire there, burning in your chest, the love you have for him, for the moments like this, burning you from the inside out. One hand cups the back of your head, the other squeezes gently at your hip, his lips pushing against yours slowly, softly, lovingly.
He only ups the ante when you whine, push yourself closer to him, hands sliding from his sides to his shoulders. James' lips open, tongue darting out to meet with yours, his grip becoming tighter against your hip.
He pulls away, breathless, his lips a little swollen, and the flash of the television shows you how his eyes have darkened slightly. Your skin is burning, heart thrumming, overflowing with want and need. James smirks knowingly, if a little cocky. "What happened to having a lazy day?" He asks, voice lilted with that low, husky tone that makes the hairs on your neck stand at attention.
You find yourself shrugging, entirely too coy for the way you feel inside. "Lazy sounds perfect to me."
James scoffs, but seems to agree as he turns you back around, flush to his chest. You bite your lip in anticipation, goosebumps awakening in the path of James' fingers. They're gentle, teasing, as he runs his fingertips along the side of your thigh, starting at your knee and moving up, up, up. Too slow, it's too much, the feeling of his hard chest behind you, his touch, the warm, short breaths he's breathing against the skin of your neck.
Your leg lifts for him of its own accord, his fingertips tracing patterns against your hip. He finds the thin band of your underwear, tracing it, closer and closer until your breath hitches and you whine. James doesn't make you wait, he never does. Not when you initiate, not when you're needy. He pushes up his rugby jersey, exposes the skin of your stomach. The air in the room soothes the burning in your tummy as his hand hikes your leg up higher, until your foot rests on James' thigh, slightly behind you.
"Jamie," You breathe, fingers encircling his wrist, "Please."
James hums, presses his lips to the pulse point of your neck, "So warm, baby. Bet you're already wet."
It's dizzying. The amount of want, how bad you need him. You only whine in response, high, needy, just how James likes you. His fingers slip lower, brushing the lace of your underwear against you. The friction has you bucking your hips, directly into his fingers, bumping against the bundle of nerves he knows well. His fingers press hard and solid, unmoving, just resting there until you're fisting the material of his pyjama top and begging him to move.
James relents, presses a gentle kiss to your jaw as he moves your panties to the side. You feel the cocky grin against the side of your temple when James realises he was right, fingers gliding through your folds with ease. It feels like too much and not enough, and you try not to physically cry out when his fingers leave you, only to appear in front of your face. He holds them close to your mouth, slick and dripping and a bold faced reminder of how easy you are when it comes to James. One look and James Potter can have you writhing in your seat.
"Suck, baby." He murmurs, fingers pressed to your lips.
It's James who groans when your lips open, tongue darting out to lick your own slick from his fingers. All you taste is yourself, hot and heavy on your tongue until James removes his fingers.
"Always so good," He whispers, teeth nipping at the skin of your ear.
His fingers move, once again, through your folds collecting and gathering slick, always teasing but never entering where you want him to. He circles your clit lazily, enough pressure to have you whimpering, bucking back against him, but not enough to have you seeing stars. He's gentle, even like this. Until he's decided you're worked up enough. He adds pressure, circling your clit in tight, fast movements, before pressing into you with his middle and ring finger. He goes back and forth, circling, then pumping in and out whilst you writhe against him on the couch, head thrown back and jaw hinged open.
He murmurs sweet nothings into your ear, encouragements and compliments until you're seeing stars, gushing all over his hand as your vision goes white, clenching around his fingers. Your legs shake, but you don't feel satiated, your nerve endings on fire.
Luckily, James doesn't wait, just pulls his pyjama bottoms down far enough that you can feel him hot and hard against your ass cheeks as he gives himself a few pumps and then lines up with your entrance. One hand lazily circles your clit, the feeling sending jolting waves of pleasure through you, whilst the other guides him in. He's heavy, large, thick as he fills you. You don't want time to adjust, so you moan a loud, "Fuck. More, Jamie, more."
His hips seem to snap up to attention of their own accord and you can't help the scream that emits from your mouth in pure pleasure, either. His hand comes to lift your leg higher as his hips snap forwards and backwards, hitting everywhere you need him to. He's fast and hard, his movements untamed as he grunts in your ear, moans praise and how good you feel over and over.
Your body feels like it's on fire, hot with pleasure and burning with the way he fucks you. Your leg aches with the stretch as James holds it up but you're too gone to care, too busy chasing pleasure as James fucks with so much power you swear the coffee table is getting closer, the couch shifting across the wooden flooring. You're screaming, probably loud enough that the neighbours might complain. It's too much, too good, and when James mutters in your ear, a soft command, a gentle command of, "Come for me, baby. C'mon." You're gone.
Your body tenses, the overflow of heat and burning desire from before flowing out of you in bursts as you convulse against James. He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, just commands, "Another."
You moan, his name, profanities, you're not actually sure, just relish in the feeling of James' teeth as they scrape against the skin of your neck, your shoulder, the feeling of his hand pulling your leg impossibly higher, his free hand groping your breast. It's dizzying, the euphoria you're chasing.
James is relentless, hips slamming against the plush of your ass, his dick full and grazing against your sensitive walls. He has you coming all over again, clenching around him, hard and wet and gushing, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.
He grows sloppy, listening to your whimpers, feeling the convulsing of you around him, body tense when he comes, too, spurting into you. You feel it, warm and thick against you, a moan tumbling from your lips as James slumps behind you, lips to the back of your head.
His hand rubs at your hip, hard but soothing, easing the ache.
"Where the hell did that come from?" He asks, breathless.
He sounds amused, incredulous.
You shrug, trying to bring yourself back to full alertness but your bones feel like mush. "Just love you is all."
James coos, pulling you impossibly closer. You feel some of him slip out of you and down your thigh, his cock twitching as it softens, "Love you too, baby."
His touch turns soft and gentle, a lulling movement against your skin that has your eyes drooping. You'd be content to stay like this, forever. Joined, content, warm. But, eventually, James hauls you up with a promise of being lazy all over again in a nice warm bath, which overflows and splashes out of the sides, much like the feeling in your chest, the steady beating in your heart.
heyyy read you're looking for requests so here's one! james coming from hockey practice (i love hockey player james) and you tell him that a guy from uni has been hitting on you and stuf. he doesn't get mad just queasy, but then he needs reassurance too!
thanks for requesting, angel!
cw: insecurities, language, unwanted advances
1.4k, modern au, ice hockey James
The tell-tale sound of James' bag being abandoned haphazardly by the door alerts you to his presence. The door clicks shut soon after, followed by a heavy sigh. He's likely exhausted - always is after practice, especially if he and Sirius get caught mouthing off and are punished with bag skating.
James rounds the corner into the living room at the same time you pause your show and sit up to greet him. He doesn't acknowledge your abandoned plate from dinner or the pile of unfolded washing on the arm chair to his left. Instead, he gives you a tired smile and collapses into a heap beside you on the sofa. "Hi, bug." He mumbles, chin tucked into the neckline of his hoodie. Exhaustion seeps from his voice.
"Hi, handsome." You soothe, hand reaching out to toy with the curls at the nape of your boyfriend's neck. They're still damp from his post-practice shower, the smell of his body wash sweet and heady in your nose. "How was practice?"
He lets out a long suffering sigh, leans into your touch, "Stressful. The team isn't where we need to be for the playoffs. Coach made sure to let us know how angry he is about it."
You hum softly, scoot closer to James on the sofa until you're practically in his lap. James likes touch, he likes the connection, the intimacy, the weight of your body on top of his. You're happy to indulge him, the flowers that your boyfriend brings about your rib cage blossoming as his arm wraps around your middle, hoists you fully onto his lap. "What does he expect, you know? Half of his team graduated out, last year. He only has a couple of you guys left and the rest are freshmen." You try to justify James, but it seems the reminder only further sours his mood.
"Yeah, try telling him that. He thinks everyone is just born to be in the NHL, that these guys should already be up to standard, that they don't need the same exact training and coaching that we got." James' voice is thick with coiling tension, even if his muscles seem to be relaxing under you.
You smooth the baby hairs under your fingers, tilting your head until his eyes meet yours, "You're their captain, baby," You smile, "I bet they'd listen to it a lot better coming from you. They like you, look up to you. You be their coach if coach isn't going to step up."
Your boyfriend smiles, the sun peeking through storm clouds. A glimpse of your Jamie. He leans forwards, lips soft and gentle as he presses them to yours. He hums into the kiss, hands squeezing your hips. "Thanks."
"Anytime, handsome."
"How was your day?" James asks, feet stretching out to sit atop the coffee table.
You'd scold him if you weren't so busy quelling the beating of your heart. Any kiss from James sends you reeling, has done since the first time in freshman year. You don't think you'll ever get over the fact that he's your boyfriend. That he loves you as you love him, that you'll grow old and grey together. It never quite feels real.
"Good. Productive. We have a project due for McGonagall's class on Wednesday so I just worked on that most of the day." You don't feel the need to mention that you pointedly worked alone on your half of the project, but James frowns at your words and you know he's going to ask.
"You worked alone?"
"Yeah." You should probably say more, but James has a shorter fuse than Sirius does in general when it comes to you and you don't feel like unleashing all two hundred pounds of ice-hockey muscle onto the arrogant asshole who won't leave you alone.
James' thumb rubs steady circles into the fat of your thigh, his brows hooked upward in the middle a blatant sign of his confusion, "Your group have left you to do all the work?"
"No," You shake your head, "It was just easier to do my part on my own."
James doesn't say anything, but it's clear that he's waiting for you to go on. You sigh through your nose, head falling to rest on your boyfriend's shoulder, "One of the guys in my group has been hitting on me pretty regularly."
"What?" James asks around a swallow, voice hoarse. His muscles tense under you, his thumb pausing it's soothing measures on your thigh.
You shrug, "He keeps saying how he'd treat me right, how a 'pretty girl like me' deserves better. It's all bullshit, so I chose to work myself and just send the rest of the group my sections."
"Right."
It's odd, the way your body reacts to a single word as though it were a slap in the face. Your stomach sinks because you realise James isn't angry. He isn't itching to pound the guy's face into the ground and he isn't insisting you allow him to fix the problem, himself. You remove your head from James' shoulder, find him pale faced and distant. He looks lost, nauseous. "Jamie?"
James shrugs, eyes cold, "What?"
"'Right.'? That's all you have to say to that? What's wrong?" You ask, drawing further away the colder the look in James' eyes gets.
"What would you like me to say? That he might be right?" There's a clipped edge to your boyfriend's voice that you've never heard before, that jolts your body into fight or flight mode quicker than you'd care to admit.
You remove yourself from James' lap, confusion evident on your face as you settle to face him on the coffee table. His feet meet the ground with a thud as he moves to stand. Your hand flies out, a firm grip on his knee that begs him not to move. James gives you a sad look as he complies, fidgets with the draw strings on his jogging bottoms. "You think he has a point?" You ask.
James nods, lips pursed, eyes avoiding yours so evidently it angers you.
"Why?"
Your boyfriend shrugs again, tips his head back and lets out a groan, "You know at the end of this year I'm going to be drafted, right? I'm going to have to move across the country, probably, I won't have a choice in the matter and neither will you."
"We've had this argument before, James. I'm going wherever you go. I don't care where it is! It could be fucking Antartica and I'd still go." Your voice sounds less stern than you'd intended, but James softens slightly at your words.
"But you shouldn't have to just pick up your life and move because of me. You deserve someone who can give you stability and all of their time. I can't." James leans forwards until his elbows are resting on his knees, his face so close to yours you can feel his breaths.
It's an age-old argument, one you and James used to have often in the beginning. Before you knew that you wanted James in your life forever, back when he was trying to push you away with everything he had because he didn't want to risk falling in love with you and having to leave you, one day. The argument lessened the longer you were together, decisions made. You'd made up your mind the day James told you he loved you that you'd follow him anywhere, that you'd give up anything and everything to just be with him.
"I don't want anyone else. I don't care where we are in this world, James. I want you. That's all." You reach for him, thumbs swiping under his eyes in steady motions.
He takes a breath, closes his eyes under your touch. "I can't help but feel I'm asking you to sacrifice more than I'm worth."
And that just won't do. You clamber back onto his lap, legs on either side of his hips and chase his eyes. They're dark in the dim light of the living room, a deep brown filled with fear. "You're worth everything, Jamie. Everything." You tell him. And you mean it.
James swallows, nods. His arms wrap around you, pull you to him until he's falling back into the softness of the couch. "I love you." He tells you, vulnerable as you've ever heard him.
Flowers bloom all along the crevices of your rib cage, pull taught until you're so overflowing with love and happiness that all you can think to do is kiss him. He chases your lips when you pull back, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. "I love you too, Jamie."
"So you're not gonna leave me for that guy in your Psych class?" He asks, a twinkle in his eye that lets you know he's kidding.
You laugh, loud and obnoxious and your boyfriend swallows it with a world-ending kiss.
Just thinking about Sirius trusting reader enough to do his hair :,) or maybe she experiments with putting his hair in curlers/curling it. I could even imagine Sirius owning a Dyson airwrap to have the best blowouts 😭💀
Sirius would 100000% own the dyson air wrap!!! Thanks for requesting, babe!
cw: none
750 words, modern au
You're not sure where Sirius learned his money managing skills from (or if he even has any), but the pleased smile and child-like excitement over his brand new hair dryer is something you refuse to admonish. Though, you're sure even if you tried, you'd fail.
Your boyfriend bounces happily on the balls of his feet, hair sopping wet and plastered to his face. Water droplets seep into his grey shirt but Sirius doesn't seem to care. Not when he's too busy making bedroom eyes at the unopened box on the bathroom counter. He'd been so happy when John Lewis finally had the Dyson Air Wrap back in stock, had dragged you out of bed this morning to drop an easy five hundred quid on it. Your head had spun with the realisation of just how rich your boyfriend actually is.
He's not flashy with his money. Irresponsible, yes. But being there to witness a classic Sirius-Black-Irresponsible-Purchase had really solidified the knowledge that your boyfriend is filthy rich.
"Okay, I'll grab a stool and you set it up." He says, turning to make for the stool that sits under your dressing table.
"Wait, you want me to do it?" You yell after him.
Sirius makes noise everywhere he goes. He's loud and abrasive, jagged around the edges. He loves so loud that it only makes sense his entire personality is the same. There's thumps and grumbles as he bumps into things all the way along the hall, the tell tale sounds of the stool scraping along your freshly painted hallway. "Well who else would do it?" Sirius rounds the corner, flashes his teeth in a wide grin that he knows will make you fold.
"What makes you think I'm qualified?"
Sirius shrugs, "The fact that I'm one hundred percent not. You're good at everything, sweetness."
He knows flattery works like a charm, especially when he pairs it with his best flirty eyes. You sigh, reaching for the box and unravelling all of the corresponding pieces. It's high tech, incredibly high tech. Sirius fidgets on the stool as you watch a video on your phone, lips curled between your teeth in concentration.
It takes a while to get the hang of, and you're sure you'll get better in time. Sirius softens and relaxes as much as he ever allows himself to as your fingers work through his hair, as you brush and comb and dry it. He hums and sighs and even closes his eyes. It's peaceful and intimate and it allows you to come to a startling realisation that Sirius has never asked you to do his hair for him before.
He's not prissy about his hair. He'll let anyone touch it. He actually begs for people to play with his hair. But he's never outright asked you to fix it up for him, prefers to get it sitting perfect by himself because he believes it to be his best asset. You'd have to disagree with him on that. His eyes never fail to amaze you, nor his smile.
"All done." Your voice seems to pull him out of a daydream.
His eyes open and he smiles wide, turning in the stool in an instant until he can take your hands in his. "Bad news, sweetheart, you're going to have to do this every day." He informs you, standing until his hands can reach your hips.
He pulls you into him, a little roughly, but catches you with his own body, lips ducking down to press to your forehead. You resist the urge to tell him you'd be happy to do his hair every day, if only to feel the intimacy and pride of being the one person he trusts to style his hair.
"Such a travesty." You feign indifference, lips pressed to his collar bone where it peeks out of his shirt.
Sirius shivers at the contact. "Easy, sweetness. I know my hair is super hot and stuff, but we have dinner reservations with James and Remus. They'll get pissy if we cancel to have sex."
"Again." He adds after a second.
You scoff, pushing your boyfriend away whilst he barks with laughter. Heat creeps up your neck as you exit the bathroom, ignoring Sirius' shouts down the hallway that he could make an exception for a quickie.
"Thanks, baby!" He calls a moment later.
You can't fight the smile that toys at your lips as you pick out an outfit for dinner.
James and reader having a lazy weekend!! They usually have pretty active weekends due to errands and seeing friends, but this weekend has been made the LAZY WEEKEND! Lots of eepy cuddles in bed and on the couch, easy meals with yummy snacks, and movies on 24/7!! Cozy pajamas with only the softest blankets too teehee
I love this!! I need a lazy weekend with Jamie and I need it NOW! Thanks for requesting, sweetheart!!
cw: brief mention of sex, 800 words
You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this level of content. It’s a peace that blankets your entire apartment, your entire body, right down to your muscles and bones. For the first time, you’re not thinking about the million errands that need to be run, the assignments that are piling high for various different classes, or birthday dinners, nights out with friends, sports games that you have to cheer at. Everything is quiet. Even the television, of which has been turned down to a significantly low volume, is quiet.
On a normal day, you’d feel like a slob. Almost an entire weekend on the couch, eating takeout and snacks, letting the dishes pile up, the washing basket overflow, and your phone go ignored would usually have your nerves on end. But you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when James has you tucked into his chest, a leg nestled between yours, and his hands rubbing incessant circles on the skin of your hip. You’re both lying facing the television, watching what’s probably your fifth movie of the day.
Every morsel of your being feels calm. You're grateful for your life, especially so that you get to live it with James and your friends. But there's always something happening, always some event or dinner and you really do enjoy them, enjoy spending time with the people you love, but it's nice, for once, to just be lazy. It's nice to lay on the couch and watch movie after movie and eat shitty takeout with your boyfriend.
You're sure the noise of your chaotic lives will resume first thing on Monday morning. But it's Sunday afternoon and you're floating on the high of your boyfriend's lazy touches and a weekend spent doing nothing.
"I wish we did this more often." James mumbles into your shoulder, as though he's been reading the very thoughts running through your mind.
His voice is laced with lethargy, a lazy husk that would make you kiss him silly if you weren't so comfortable. You sigh wistfully in agreement. The calm and quiet of it all is great, but even more so, you love just being close to James. You love the quality time and the lazy cuddles, the slow sex and the feeling of him constantly surrounding you. "Me too. Our lives are too hectic." You agree.
James grumbles a laugh and the feeling of his chest rumbling against your back makes you smile. "You'd rather be a social recluse?" Your boyfriend teases.
His pointer finger and thumb pinch the skin of your hip playfully. You roll your eyes at his teasing. "No," You deny, rather petulantly, "It's just... we're always doing something. I'd like a couple days a month where we can just exist. You know?"
He hums thoughtfully, thumb smoothing over his pinch mark. "I'm sure if we try we can make that happen, baby."
Your muscles protest when you turn in his grasp, chest to chest, until you're looking up into his stupidly beautiful eyes. James' eyes were the first thing you noticed about him. How bright they were, how when he smiled, they lit up like fairy lights strung across the most perfect landscape. They never fail to steal the breath from you, a melted honey-hazel colour you wish you could bottle up and sell, if only to make yourself a millionaire so you and James would never have to work, again, so you could spend all day every day snuggled on the couch, watching shitty Channel Five movies.
His eyes steal the breath from your lungs, now. James looks at you with such gentleness, such love, that your chest constricts and you feel that overwhelming, all consuming sense of love that only he has ever made you feel. "Really?" You ask, ghost of a smile on your lips.
It makes James smile wide, your evident happiness to his suggestion. He's so giving, so caring. Sometimes, the amount of love you have for him feels like it might swallow you whole, crush you into a thousand tiny pieces.
"Really. We'll find time. 'Cause it matters." His words are final.
You hum happily, push your face as far into James' sleep shirt clad chest as it will go. His arms tighten around you, warmth and the familiar scent of him encompassing your very being. Right now, this moment here, you never want to leave it.
"I love you." You tell him, and the words don't feel enough. They don't feel like justification for the way you feel about James Potter. They never will.
James' lips are soft and warm as they find the skin of your forehead, a reassuring kiss left there that you think means James gets it, and he feels the same. "To the moon and the stars."
"And all the way back?"
James huffs a laugh, arms squeezing even tighter. "And all the way back."
