#muggle au

[muggleauformarauders]

At night before going to sleep, Sirius gets closer and closer to Remus, whispering 'Mine, mine, mine' until he is practically on top of him with all of Remus's limps wrapped around him.

That's the best position he can sleep in. No bad dreams or trouble to fall asleep.

Remus just lets him because he also sleeps better with Sirius all over him, cuddling like a dog on top of him.

[imhestiainspirit]

The marauders getting in the car after a night out, everyone thinks Sirius, who is driving, would drive like a maniac. They are shocked when he obeys every single rule, stays within the speed limit, doesn't run stop signs and so on.

and then one day the skittles and marauders go out and this time regulus is the driver. He's fucking insane. He didn't even have anything to drink yet he's going 70 on a 50, running some stop signs, flipping assholes off, shouting at pedestrians to move their asses while using the crosswalk, running at least 3 red lights and somehow doesn't get pulled over.

[dazzlemebaby]

*Jegulus teaching Harry to drive*

Harry: What happens if I press the brake and gas at the same time?

James: The car takes a screen shot.

Regulus: Get the fuck out.

[genericarchiver]

Sirius owns a pair of pants like these and he wears them at the club just to feel the eyes of the tall, hot bartender on him

[mischievousmoony]

double zero frat boy!james potter x fem!reader

summary: a guy makes unwanted advances on you at a frat party, and the president comes to your aid ⊹ 3.0k warnings: alcohol, unwanted advances + touching and sexist comments from another character, james gets aggressive confronting said character, american!james hehehe (not that it's explicitly stated)

· ─ ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─ ·

By your third visit to the crowded, beer-scented kitchen, your features have set into a deep scowl. You groan, slumping against the wall—only to immediately push yourself off, unwilling to let the exposed skin of your back come into contact with any part of the frat house you're in. Was the wall sticky, or have you started sweating from the heat of all the drunk bodies around you? Either option makes you cringe.

Tonight was supposed to be fun. Frat parties weren’t exactly your ideal night out, but your best friend had dragged you to this one with the promise of a fun time. But your night has quickly turned into a wild goose chase after she disappeared with some guy.

"Are you okay?" a voice calls from your left, barely audible over the music that's starting to make your head pound. You realize that you had started pinching the bridge of your nose. When you lower your hand and turn your head, you find a pair of kind eyes staring down at you.

He introduces himself as Todd after you explain that you've been looking for your friend for half an hour to no avail. With a sympathetic smile, he offers to help, which you gratefully accept. Anything to find your friend and put this dreadful night to an end.

"Are you, like, one of the brothers?" you ask, noticing the letters on Todd's cap as you follow him through the house, but it's a little too dark to make them out. Not to mention, you don't really remember which fraternity your friend even brought you to tonight.

"Nah," Todd shouts over his shoulder. "Not here." He doesn't provide any more information than that as he changes the subject, suggesting the two of you search the backyard.

"I thought the yard was off limits,” you shout as you speed walk to catch up with him. He’s walking so fast that you barely have time to consider why he would think your friend would be outside.

Stepping into the cold, he explains, "Apparently their neighbors complained about the noise last weekend, so they're trying to keep the party inside. But a couple of quiet people shouldn't be an issue. It's nice to be away from all the noise, eh?"

You shudder when the night air hits you, hugging your arms around yourself tightly and attempting to smooth away the goosebumps already prickling on your skin.

"Maybe if it wasn't freezing."

You look around at the back yard, finding it completely empty except for a thin layer of fallen leaves and scattered beer bottles hidden in the uncut grass. Todd is leading you straight across the lawn, farther away from the house and any source of light. You’re starting to get a weird feeling about this—and Todd—so you slow to a stop while he continues to head deeper into the darkness.

"Hey, I don't think my friend is gonna be out here. I'm gonna keep looking inside–"

"What's the rush?" Todd's demeanor changes when he notices you’re falling behind. He quickly closes the distance between the two of you again in two strides.

You release a dry laugh, realizing that you've been too trusting, and your tone turns serious. "I should really find my friend."

"You said she was with a guy, right? C'mon just let her have her fun." Todd drops his voice an octave, trying to sound seductive, but it comes across embarrassingly forced. "Maybe we can have some fun too."

When he reaches to touch the side of your face, your mood starts to change from a little let down and slightly annoyed to seriously pissed off.

"Don't," you say coldly, jerking your head away from his touch.

"Aw, c'mon," he continues to try to coax you, still somehow thinking he has a chance at convincing you. When his fingers graze your sides, you shout at him to keep his hands off, but instead, he slides them to your waist, holding you firmly.

"Let go!" you demand, planting you hands firmly on his shoulders and pushing. He chuckles at your feeble attempts, making you angrier, so you switch tactics. You wrap your hands around his wrists and pry his hands off, applying a pressure to the inside of his wrists that makes him release you with a hiss.

There's an angry voice in the distance shouting "Hey!" presumably at the two of you. You hear the steady sound of footsteps growing louder—one of the brothers probably coming to yell at you for sneaking into their backyard. You're a little too busy to care as you stomp away from Todd.

Todd doesn’t seem to notice the newcomer either. Too absorbed in the sting of your rejection, he starts getting angry too.

"Don't be such a prude," he snaps. He catches your wrist and pulls you back to him with a swift tug, spinning you around to face him. You draw your free arm back, using the extra momentum from the spin to your advantage as you punch him squarely in the jaw.

The punch throws him off balance, sending him stumbling back. His foot catches on an empty beer bottle, twisting his ankle as he loses his footing and crashes onto the grass with a heavy thud.

You stand above him, a little stunned at your actions. Todd is whining pathetically about the pain from the punch to his face, and the pain from the fall to his ass.

Someone jogs up beside you, and you can feel their gaze darting back and forth between you and Todd.

"Nice punch," he says, a little out of breath.

"Thanks," you reply flatly, only now starting to process that you—with the help of a beer bottle—sent this man tumbling to the ground.

"Alright," the mystery man says like he's about to get to work. He steps into your line of sight, looming over Todd for a moment.

He has a mop of dark curls spilling out from under a red baseball cap sitting backwards on his head. The cap matches his letterman-style jacket, which clings to his broad frame, drawing attention to his muscular body. Under different circumstances, this is a view you’d appreciate.

He bends down and grabs Todd by the collar of his shirt, roughly pulling him to his feet. Even with both of them standing, he still towers over him.

"Hey, man. What's up?" he asks Todd, his casual words contrasting with his abrasive tone.

"That slut just punched me!" Todd shrieks.

You roll your eyes. How pathetic.

He tightens his grip on Todd's shirt collar, using it to shake him roughly. "Watch your fucking mouth or I'll be the next," he threatens, and Todd goes quiet.

Your eyes widen at his sudden sharpness. Almost involuntary, you shift your position, angling yourself to get a clear look at the boy’s face. Black rimmed glasses sit lazily on the bridge of his nose, under his furrowed brow as he glares daggers at Todd. His eyes are big and brown, almost seeming out of place against the hard scowl carved into his features.

"Here's what's gonna happen," he continues. "First, you’re blacklisted. You’re never stepping foot in my house again. And what's this?"

He plucks Todd's hat off his head, inspecting the letters with a scoff before tossing it to the ground. "Of course. I'm sure nationals will be happy to hear about how you've conducted yourself tonight."

Todd's eye twitches at the threat. "Let's not pretend I was doing anything she didn’t want. Look at the way she’s dressed—flaunting herself, just begging for attention."

"What did you just say?" he seethes.

"James, c'mon," Todd says, revealing the name of the taller boy. He speaks with a nonchalance that makes James' nostrils flare, angered by his dismissiveness of the situation.

You begin to wonder how they know each other when James sets him straight.

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to? My friends call me James, you don't get to call me shit. The fuck do you think this is, man? I catch you in my backyard putting your hands on a girl who clearly doesn't want anything to do with you and you think you can talk to me like we're friends? I don't even know who the hell you are."

Your eyes must be bulging out of your head by now. It feels like you’ve been dropped into a scene from a movie—an exposé on the dark side of greek life, or maybe the mafia. Not knowing much about either, it’s hard to say, but the backward hats and pounding music from the house quickly remind you of where you are.

James lowers his voice, his tone dipping into something almost menacing. "But I’ll find out from your brothers, and when I do, you’re finished here. Done. Now come on."

Todd flinches as one of James' hands clasps over the back of his neck with a sharp smack. There were some other guys you hadn't noticed before back near the house, to whom James hands Todd over.

Once James notices that you're still standing in the middle of the yard, he jogs back over. On his way, he takes off his hat, running his fingers through his hair to loosen his curls.

"Hey," he says in a soft voice, vastly different from the one he used on Todd. "Are you okay?"

The change in his demeanor catches you off guard. You exhale while you collect your thoughts, a steamy white cloud filling the space as your warm breath meets cool air.

"That was intense," you say. You don’t mean to dodge his question, but he did just switch from mafia boss levels of threatening to sunshine and rainbows.

James breathes out a laugh. "Sorry about that. Gotta be a hardass with some of these dicks, especially ones like that. Part of the job."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, wondering what job he's talking about.

James reads your expression, and stands up a little straighter as he introduces himself. "President James, at your service." With an exaggerated wink, he tugs at the edge of his jacket, pulling it taut to show off the letters sewn over his chest.

You nod in understanding. "Well, thank you for stepping in, Mr. President," you say, a slight tease coloring your tone.

A smile like sunshine overtakes his lips. "No need to thank me, really. Anyway, you handled it pretty well before I got here. That was some punch—is your hand alright?"

You had forgotten about that. Splaying your fingers out in front of you, you inspect your knuckles. "Mhm. Fine. I don't think I can feel my limbs anyway." You wrap your arms back around yourself, the cold become almost unbearable in your tank top.

"Shit, yeah, it's cold out here, isn't it?" James holds his hat between his teeth, freeing his hands as he strips off his jacket. Your eyes linger on his toned arms for a moment too long, and suddenly his hat has made its way back onto his head and he's holding his jacket out for you.

"May I?" he asks.

As much as you want to say no, you truly are freezing, so you let yourself be draped in his warmth and the scent of his cologne. The fabric has an unexpected weight to it, almost offering a comfort similar to an embrace.

James rubs his hands up and down over newly blanketed arms to encourage some warmth into them. James studies your face with softened eyes, his tone taking on a more serious note.

"Hey, listen... I'm really sorry that happened to you. Everything he said, and did–"

"It's alright," you interrupt.

"It's not. That shouldn't be happening. Not at my house—not anywhere. I'm really sorry you had to deal with that creep. And if you wanted to take it to the school, I'd be more than willing to–"

"No, no. That's more trouble than he's worth."

James nods, respecting your decision. "For what it's worth, I'm gonna make sure he won't be allowed in any of the parties around here anymore. I doubt I can get him completely blackballed, but I'll do what I can."

You offer James a small smile in response. You're glad to hear that, really, but now that Todd's gone and that's all over, your main concern is finding your friend and getting the hell out of here.

"Why don't you let me give you a ride home?" he offers, almost like he can read your mind. His kind, brown eyes almost make you want to say yes. But after the night you've had, you owe it to yourself to be a little less trusting.

"I don't know." You bite the inside of your cheek while you decide if you should disclose your current dilemma. James does seem eager to help. Deciding to tell him, you say, "I was looking for my friend."

James is quick to offer his assistance. "Who's your friend? Maybe I can help."

You tell him your friends name and recount what she was doing when you saw her last. "She ran off with this guy. Long black hair, leather jacket, I think I heard his name but it was something... unique."

James sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Sounds like Sirius."

"Sirius, yes! That was his name." You're momentarily excited, thinking that James could actually help, but the look on his face squashes the feeling promptly.

"Yeah, uh," James scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, "Sirius left with a girl like an hour ago. About yay high," he holds his hand out to your friend's height. "Tan. Brown hair."

You sigh. Some best friend you have. Here you are, searching for her endlessly, and she's ditched you at the party she brought you to.

"She was your ride, I’m guessing?" The corner of James' lip quirks up in a sorry half-smile as you nod. "It really is no trouble for me to drive you home."

You tap your foot on the ground anxiously. You're really wanting to just accept his offer. He seems nice enough, but there's still a little voice in the back of your mind telling you to be careful.

"I just... I don't really know you."

"Understandable," James starts. "But... you kinda do. I'm pretty sure we have chem together."

"I don't think so." You think you’d remember a muscly, likely rambunctious, frat boy in your boring chem class.

"Okay, I was playing it cool,” James’ teeth graze his lower lip in a bashful manner. “I know we have Chem together—with Professor Brown? Tuesdays and Thursdays. You sit in the front row. Y/N, right?" James looks a little sheepish as he recalls your name.

You nod slowly, really looking at James for the first time, trying to place him. Then it hits you—you do remember him. He sits a few seats down from you in chem, always rigorously taking notes and asking questions you wouldn’t have thought of (but are glad to have the answers to). Seeing him like this, though, is such a contrast to the smart guy from class that you didn’t even recognize him at first.

You feel a heat creep up the back of your neck. You’ve only ever spared him a few glances, but you’ve always thought the smart guy from chem was pretty cute.

"Oh. Oh, right. I–I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. You're James Potter." You try the name on your lips, realizing the name didn't click because you had only ever heard your professor call him by his last name.

"That's me," he grins. "And don't worry about it."

You give him a nod, a bit awkwardly. He seems like a good guy, but you’re still not sure if you want to get in his car. "Well, James, I should probably just call an Uber or something anyway. I don't know if you've been drinking or anything so..."

"Oh!" James holds up a finger, stuffing his other hand into his pocket and pulling out a black rectangle. You mistake it for one of those big, clunky box vapes and almost want to roll your eyes. But then, James surprises you by blowing into it instead of breathing in.

The device beeps, and he shows you the little digital screen, previously hidden behind his hand, that reads "0.00" over a glowing green background.

"Haven't had a drop," he confirms. "I haven't smoked or anything else, either. Not my thing."

"Why do you own a breathalyzer?" you ask, a little dumbfounded.

"So I can breathalyze people," he shrugs, fiddling with the device—tossing it a few inches up in the air and catching it.

You raise your eyebrows at him, not satisfied with his non-answer.

“Sorry,” James chuckles at himself. "Uh, I have a lot of people leaving my parties trying to tell me they're sober enough to drive. I got loads of these ‘cause they can't argue with the numbers... as much as they might try to."

"Where did you even get that?" you ask. You can't imagine there's a very big market for personal breathalyzers.

"You can get almost anything with Prime delivery!" he says it like he's proud as he tucks it back into his pocket. "Hey, you want one? I've got a drawer full back in the house." He points with his thumb over his shoulder.

You laugh, shaking your head at his offer. James laughs along with you, his lips curling into a boyish grin.

Well, if you’re going to put your trust in anyone else tonight it, it might as well be the smart boy from chem who takes safety seriously enough to own multiple breathalyzers.

You start walking towards the house. When you don’t hear a set of footsteps following behind, you call over your shoulder, "Come on."

James catches up quickly, happy to be invited to join you. "Where are we going?"

"To your car so you can give me a ride home."

From the corner of your eye, you watch his face break out into a wide grin. And from there on out, there's an extra pep in his step as he leads you to his car.

When you're safe and sound, back in the comfort of your own room, you flop onto your bed with a dreamy look on your face. You hug the jacket closer to your body, thankful for the excuse to talk to him in chem on Tuesday. Little did you know, he let you keep the jacket so that you'd have one.

· ─ ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─ ·

[astrarium-angel]

marauders muggle secondary school teacher au because unfortunately they would all be terrible at this in very specific ways

james potter teaches spanish and half the school is emotionally invested in his ongoing failure to win over miss evans from english. his year ten class has an actual betting pool on whether he’ll finally ask her out before christmas, easter, or never. he tries to casually mention poetry around her and gets bullied by fourteen-year-olds for it immediately.

lily evans teaches english and her students suffer most during poetry because she cares so much. she’ll be standing at the front like “what does the enjambment suggest?” while thirty teenagers silently experience despair. she is strict, terrifyingly organised, and absolutely catches every single student using chatgpt for their essay before they even finish lying.

peter pettigrew teaches dt and somehow has at least one near-death experience per week. saws, drills, glue guns, falling shelves, loose screws, mysterious sparks. he laughs all of it off like “haha, close one” while the students are staring at him like sir, you nearly lost a finger.

remus lupin teaches history and assigns way too much homework. he’s chill in the way tired teachers are chill, but his version of a “small task” is three pages of source analysis and a timeline. students either love him because he explains things properly or hate him because he remembers every deadline they hoped he’d forget.

sirius black teaches drama despite being unable to act. he is dramatic, yes. good at acting, no. he spends most lessons criticising students like he’s judging the national theatre, then performs an example so terrible the whole class goes silent out of second-hand embarrassment. still, the students love him because his lessons are chaos and he absolutely lets them overdo stage fights.

marlene mckinnon teaches music and everyone in the rooms nearby hates her. the walls shake. the drums are never quiet. someone is always badly learning guitar. she says things like “feel the rhythm” to year eights who have never felt anything except fear. half her students want to start bands. the other half just want earplugs.

mary macdonald teaches textiles and makes little things for her favourite students. she pretends she doesn’t have favourites, but everyone knows. if she likes you, you might randomly get a little embroidered patch or a repaired blazer sleeve. if she doesn’t like you, your bobbin is suddenly your own problem.

alice fortescue teaches food tech and is always covered in ingredients. flour on her cheek, chocolate on her sleeve, icing sugar in her hair, somehow still smiling. she has a powerful alliance with the lunch ladies, which means she knows everything happening in the school before SLT does. nothing escapes the food tech kitchen.

frank longbottom teaches maths and the students fall asleep every lesson, not because he’s bad, but because he is so gentle and calm that his classroom feels like a nap sanctuary. he explains algebra like he’s soothing a frightened animal. half his year elevens are failing quietly but feel very emotionally supported about it.

fabian prewett teaches physics and once broke a window during a lesson. he insists it was a valuable practical demonstration about force. nobody believes him. his lessons are genuinely interesting, but there is always a fifty-fifty chance something will fly across the room and become a safeguarding issue.

gideon prewett teaches biology and once slipped on a dissection frog during a lesson. he still claims the frog moved. students bring it up constantly. he’s good at biology in a weirdly enthusiastic way, but he absolutely has jars in his classroom that nobody should be looking at for too long.

regulus black teaches pe and terrifies the students who also adore him. he runs every sports club because nobody else can be trusted to do it properly. football, netball, athletics, swimming, cross country, badminton, whatever. he has a whistle and a death stare and can make an entire year nine class line up silently in under ten seconds. students act like he’s terrifying, then fight to be picked for his teams.

dorcas meadowes teaches geography and is completely no-nonsense. she does not tolerate messing around with atlases. she does not care that you “forgot” your homework. she will make you label rivers until you regret being born. her classroom is calm because everyone is slightly afraid to breathe incorrectly.

barty crouch jr teaches art and has multiple pieces of art of mr (regulus) black in his classroom, which makes his students lose their minds. sketches, paintings, weird dramatic charcoal studies, one suspiciously romantic watercolour. every class has tried to ask about it. every class has regretted asking. he is a terrifying art teacher because he will roast your shading and then tell you to express your trauma through acrylic.

evan rosier teaches french and refuses to speak or let students speak anything but french during lessons. students walk in and immediately lose access to english. someone asks to borrow a pen in english and he just stares until they try again. everyone hates it for the first month and then somehow ends up actually learning french out of pure survival instinct.

pandora rosier teaches chemistry and there have been many incidents. not accidents. incidents. she says this distinction matters. the students love her because every lesson feels like it might become illegal. there have been strange smells, coloured flames, one evacuation, and at least one beaker that nobody can prove became sentient.

anyway who do we think teaches the other subjects?

who’s got media studies? who’s suffering through computer science? who’s teaching health and social care like they’re one bad day from quitting? who gets business studies? religious studies? psychology? sociology? dance? citizenship? politics? classics? photography?

because this school is already a disaster and i need to know who else is on the staff list.

[bimoonphases]

@wolfstarmicrofic Pride prompt 6 - Orientation [word count 238]

"Come on Prongs, he's gorgeous!"

"He's also working, and honestly I'd rather do anything else other than steer students towards the right room for orientation," James sighed.

"You know what? You've become boring since you started dating Lily. He's hot and I'm going to shoot my shot."

"Suit yourself, Pads."

When his name was called, Sirius strutted up to the desk, grinning at the older student with the frankly alarming-looking vintage jumper.

"Sirius, that's me," he said. "And what's your name, hot stuff?"

He thought he saw a faint blush on the other's cheeks but then he just looked down at his stack of papers.

"It's Remus. Orientation?" he asked, his voice exhausted like someone who had done the same exact thing for hours by then.

"Oh, very gay," Sirius shot back, leaning on the desk. "How about you, can I buy you a coffee some time?"

Remus looked up again and there was definitely a blush on his cheeks now. Sirius smirked.

"I meant which work orientation you're scheduled with," Remus said faintly.

"Ah, that. The mechanical engineering workshop, I'm really good with my hands."

Sirius was a little disappointed when Remus handed him his orientation sheet without looking up again. But as he walked away and looked at it he saw something scrawled right on top, by a series of numbers.

I'm a theatre student, so I'm very good with my tongue

Call me - Remus

[leo-onewholovesthesun]

The Black Family Madness is just schizophrenia. Different forms in different folks. It shows up later in life and doesn't express itself the same way in all of them who do have it. But it's just schizophrenia.

When Sirius figures this out with his therapist in his early twenties, he freaks out. He doesn't want to end up like the rest of his family. His therapist has to hold his hand and get him to calm down before telling him there are things you can do to feel it less, to live normally. Medications to stave off the symptoms.

After that, the medicine cabinet in Sirius and Remus' flat nearly doubles in medication bottles. Alongside all of Moony's painkillers are now all of Sirius' "happy pills" as he likes to call them. In the mornings, they take their meds together. It's their little morning ritual.

When Sirius tells Regulus his discovery, Regulus gives him the most put-out look because he's known this since he was sixteen and has his own fun blend of medications he takes in the morning. They compare meds, and Sirius makes all the jokes he ever could about his brother needing one extra bottle than Sirius does.