#thotformikasawrites

[th0tformikasa]

drowning

summary- You had never expected to find yourself at the bottom of the lake waiting to be saved.

pairings- harry potter x female!reader

warnings- water ig lmao

wc: 1495 , masterlist | taglist

~~~

You’d had your fair share of crazy years at Hogwarts. Each one seemed more absurd than the last—and this year was no exception.

It was your fourth year, and the Triwizard Tournament had returned, bringing with it excitement, fear, and a surprising amount of frustration. What should have been an extraordinary event instead sparked the slow unraveling of your friend group.

It all started when Harry’s name flew out of the Goblet of Fire.

No one had expected it. No one thought it was even possible. But there it was, glowing blue in the firelight—followed by chaos.

Ron hadn’t taken it well.

You still remembered the look on his face—stunned, hurt, and simmering with something bitter. That bitterness hardened into jealousy, and soon he was avoiding Harry altogether. Cold shoulders. Mutters. Passive-aggressive comments when he thought no one could hear.

It wasn’t a full-on fight, but it made everything awkward.

Ron clung to Hermione like a lifeline, dragging her into rants about how “Harry always has to be the center of everything.” She didn’t fully indulge him, but she didn’t shut him down either.

Which left you and Harry.

You hadn’t meant to grow closer. It just… happened.

With Ron sulking and Hermione preoccupied, you and Harry naturally drifted together. You sat beside him in the common room after long days, doing homework while he muttered about dragons under his breath. You walked the lake path, trading increasingly absurd theories about the next task. When he joked, “What if it’s a giant squid duel?” and you both burst out laughing, something warm settled in your chest.

He made you feel seen. And you hadn’t realized how much you needed that.

At first, it was easy to pretend it meant nothing. But the feelings crept in—quiet at first, like fog curling around your thoughts. Then heavier. Sharper. You started noticing things: his lopsided grin, the quiet strength when he said your name, how he always offered you the last Chocolate Frog without hesitation.

You were falling for him. Hard.

And it was stupid. So, so stupid.

He was your best friend. One of the most important people in your life. Catching feelings for Harry Potter was asking for heartbreak. He already had enough on his shoulders—dragons, magical trials, half the wizarding world watching him like he was both miracle and curse.

So you swallowed it. Played it cool.

Then came the announcement about the Yule Ball.

Talk spread like wildfire. Who was going with whom. Who had been rejected. Everyone buzzed with a mix of excitement and panic.

You pretended not to care. Joked about going alone. Dodged the question when Hermione asked if anyone had asked you.

But deep down, your stomach knotted every time you wondered if Harry would ask.

He didn’t.

And you hated yourself for being disappointed.

You told yourself it didn’t matter—it was just a silly school dance. But the hope you’d let yourself feel, even just for a moment, left a bruise.

By then, Harry and Ron had patched things up. They were laughing again, talking like nothing had happened. Back to normal.

And something in you didn’t like that.

You’d grown to love being the one Harry turned to. The one who stayed up with him when the castle was quiet and the firelight softened the hard lines of exhaustion on his face. It had felt like something sacred. Something just yours.

But now, it was slipping away.

You watched him from across the common room as he laughed at one of Ron’s exaggerated stories. His laugh was still warm and familiar—but it wasn’t for you anymore.

You should have known better. Of course he’d go back to Ron. Of course you’d fade into the background.

Your heart was already bruised from not being asked to the ball. This felt like the slow splintering of everything else.

One night, you curled up in the corner armchair by the fire, arms wrapped around your knees, staring into the flames. You wished you could shake it off. Wished you hadn’t let yourself fall for him. Not like this.

But you had.

The Yule Ball came and went. You danced with someone else—someone kind, who made you laugh once or twice. But the night blurred, because you kept catching glimpses of Harry across the Great Hall.

He wasn’t with you. And it hurt.

Still, you carried on. You let yourself become background again. Familiar. Manageable. The quiet ache you felt folded itself neatly into your chest, like parchment pressed into a book.

Then came the announcement for the Second Task.

You were sitting beside Hermione when the clue was revealed—something about retrieving what had been taken. Harry's brow furrowed, already trying to solve it.

You didn’t think anything of it.

Not until Parvati shook your shoulder one morning. “McGonagall said you’re needed. Now.”

You blinked at her, confused. You weren’t a Champion. You weren’t part of anything official.

But McGonagall’s expression told you this wasn’t a mistake.

Then you saw the others—Fleur’s little sister, Cedric’s girlfriend, Viktor’s... Hermione—and everything clicked.

Your stomach dropped.

You were the one Harry would miss most.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Not from fear—from something that felt like disbelief.

But the feeling was quickly swallowed by panic.

The lake loomed in front of you, vast and black. You hated water. You couldn’t swim—not well enough. You never told anyone, because it felt childish. But the idea of being dragged under, lungs burning, trapped in the dark—

You wanted to run.

But you didn’t.

You stood still as Madam Pomfrey cast the charm. Your heart thundered. Then, everything went black.

~~

The water was cold—colder than Harry had expected. It pressed in from all sides, muting sound, slowing thought. His heartbeat echoed in his ears.

Time was slipping.

He kicked harder, eyes darting through the murk. Rock. Shadow. Movement.

Then—figures.

Five of them, suspended like sleepwalkers in glass. Cho. Hermione. Gabrielle. A girl he didn’t know. And her.

His chest clenched.

He swam to you first, heart pounding. Your hair drifted like ink, your limbs weightless. You looked… peaceful. Too peaceful.

Too still.

He shook your shoulders gently, irrationally hoping you’d stir. Of course you didn’t. The spell held tight.

He remembered something you once said. “I hate water. Feels like drowning, even when I’m just standing in it.”

His jaw tightened.

Carefully, he cut your bindings. Then he glanced around. Cedric was already swimming away with Cho. Krum with Hermione. Fleur was nowhere to be seen.

Gabrielle floated nearby.

Harry hesitated—then swam to her too. He couldn’t leave her.

He wrapped an arm around each of you and began the long ascent.

~~

The surface shattered.

Harry broke through with a gasp, dragging both girls up with him. Cold air stung his lungs, but he didn’t stop kicking until hands pulled Gabrielle away.

“Gabrielle!” Fleur cried, waist-deep in the lake, pulling her sister close.

But Harry’s focus was on you.

You hadn’t moved.

Panic surged—had he been too late?

Then you coughed.

Your chest jolted. Eyes fluttered open. The world blurred—light, noise, water. Then you saw him.

And you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you above the surface.

Harry held you tight, one arm around your back, the other steadying your head.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You’re alright.”

You nodded, but tears slipped free anyway—shock, not sadness. You hadn’t realized how scared you’d been. Not until now.

But he’d chosen you.

He’d come for you.

Eventually, others arrived to help, but neither of you moved. You stayed wrapped in each other, cold and breathless but alive.

Later, when Harry helped you to the platform, your hands were still curled in the fabric of his shirt.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing wet hair from your face. “It’s over now.”

You looked at him—and didn’t need to say anything.

Everything was already there, in the way he looked back.

~~

You found him again, hours later.

He sat alone by the lake, towel around his shoulders, staring at the rippling surface. You sat down beside him without a word.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah. Mostly.”

You sat in silence for a while.

“I wanted to thank you,” you said. “For coming back for me.”

He shook his head slightly. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“You were only supposed to save one person.”

“I know.”

That was all.

You looked out at the water. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever felt. Being stuck down there. I thought I wouldn’t wake up.”

“I was scared too,” he said. “Thought I was too late.”

You turned to him—and found him already watching you.

You leaned in before you could think better of it. Just a quick, tentative kiss. Nothing grand. Just breath and nerves and something unfinished.

You pulled back.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

But his hand found yours.

“Don’t be.”

And you sat there, side by side, as the lake settled into stillness once more.

~~~

an: i actually dont like this, i was gonna go awhole other direction and maybe ill end up rewriting this idk

[th0tformikasa]

number 7

summary- you were never a quidditch fan until you started dating the team captain

pairings - james potter x gn!reader

no warnings

wc: 485 , masterlist | taglist

~~~

You were a lot of things, but a Quidditch fan? That was not one of them.

You were never drawn to watching matches or joining in on scrimmages. It wasn’t the flying — you were actually good on a broom. You just weren’t into sports. The noise, the chaos, the sweaty competitiveness of it all. It never really clicked with you.

Whenever you went to games at Hogwarts, it was mostly out of obligation. You’d sit there, maybe clap a little when something exciting happened, but your mind would wander. You didn’t care much about who won. Sure, you’d root for your house, but only because everyone else was. The energy around you never seemed to sink in.

So when you started dating James Potter — the James Potter, captain of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team — you knew what you were signing up for. Games, practices, strategy talk over breakfast. You weren’t exactly thrilled about it. Being part of his world meant stepping into a space you never really belonged in.

But you went to his first match of the season anyway. You bundled up in Gryffindor colors, sat with his friends in the stands, and prepared to zone out for a couple of hours.

Except you didn’t.

Somewhere between the first whistle and the moment James stole the Quaffle from a Slytherin Chaser mid-air, something in you shifted.

You had never been that enthusiastic in your life. You turned into someone else entirely — screaming, cheering, bouncing up and down like a kid at Christmas. You booed the other team, you yelled at the ref, and you even shouted out James’s name like he could hear you from the sky.

It felt like magic. Not the kind you learned in Charms or read about in books. A different kind. Something warm and wild and alive.

Watching James fly was like watching lightning. He moved with this unshakable confidence, weaving through players like it was effortless. His hair was windswept, his eyes sharp with focus, and he wore this grin that said he was exactly where he was meant to be. It was impossible to look away.

You started to understand why people cared so much. Why they lost their voices over it. Why they made signs and skipped meals and painted their faces. For the first time, you weren’t just watching a game — you were part of it.

And when Gryffindor won, and James spotted you in the crowd, his smile somehow grew even bigger. He didn’t care about the applause or the high-fives or even the win. He flew right over to you, still breathless from the match, and mouthed, “Did you see that?”

You nodded, your cheeks sore from smiling. You didn’t just see it — you felt every second of it.

And from that day on, you never missed a game. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to.

Not for the sport.

For him.

~~~

an: just writing this bc i wanted to be a sports gf in high school and i never was 💔

[th0tformikasa]

Rooftop Confessions

summary- a late night talk with your best friend turns into a confession

pairings- peter parker x gn!reader

warnings: none really, fluff, peter being a dork, cursing in the last line, implied that the reader is tony starks daughter.

wc: 1172 , masterlist | taglist

~~~

It was a bitter January night in New York, the kind that crept under your skin no matter how tightly you wrapped your arms around yourself. You hadn’t planned on going out—if you had, you definitely would’ve worn more layers. Instead, you were curled up by your bedroom window when the familiar tap, tap of someone landing on the fire escape made you glance up.

Peter.

He always said he liked swinging by your window because it was “more fun,” but you knew better. It wasn’t that he didn’t like your dad—it was that being around Tony Stark turned Peter into a babbling, nervous mess. You’d caught him tripping over his words one too many times to believe otherwise.

Ever since the two of you started spending more time together, this had become his routine: skip the front door, skip the awkward run-ins with your dad, and just show up at your window like some kind of spandex-clad secret.

And tonight was no different.

When you slid the window open, the cold air rushed in, biting at your skin, but Peter’s sheepish grin almost made up for it. He perched on the ledge, shivering slightly, mask tugged up just enough to reveal pink cheeks and the kind of smile that made it impossible to send him away.

“You know,” you said, raising a brow, “normal people text before dropping by.”

He gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

You shook your head, fighting back a smile as you tugged on a light coat over the worn-out long sleeve you only wore to sleep now. Peter extended his hand toward you, still clad in the fabric of his suit. Without hesitation, you slipped your bare hand into his. Despite the freezing air swirling around you both, his palm was warm, grounding, and you couldn’t help but hold on a little tighter than necessary.

A few minutes later, you were perched beside him on the edge of a tall building, the whole city sprawled out below. Yellow windows glowed against the dark skyline, and the noise of New York felt far away up here, muffled into nothing. The height didn’t scare you anymore—not when Peter was sitting right next to you.

This was where the two of you always seemed to end up. Sometimes it was rooftops, sometimes fire escapes, always above the chaos of the streets. You’d just sit and talk until hours slipped by unnoticed.

But tonight felt different.

Peter tugged his mask the rest of the way off, raking a hand through his messy curls before resting it nervously on his knee. He was quieter than usual, less fidgety in a way that almost made you more suspicious. His normal rambling—half jokes, half apologies—had given way to long silences, his gaze flickering between the skyline and the ground far below.

Peter was always awkward—that was part of what you liked about him—but this wasn’t just awkward. This was… something else.

Something was definitely up tonight.

“Peter—” you started, but before you could even finish, he cut you off in a rushed blur.

“Yeah!” His voice cracked embarrassingly high, almost a squeak.

You frowned, reaching out to place your hand gently on his knee, trying to still the constant bouncing. “Peter, what is going on?”

“Not—nothing…” His words tumbled out unevenly, and his eyes darted anywhere but yours. The neon glow of the city lights reflected off his lashes, but he wouldn’t meet your gaze.

Before you could press further, he shot up from the ledge in a burst of nervous energy, pacing quickly to the other side of the rooftop. His mask dangled from his hand, fingers twisting in the fabric as if it might give him courage.

You blinked, confused. What was going on with him?

Careful of your footing, you stood as well, brushing off your coat before following him across the rooftop. The wind was sharper up here, tugging strands of your hair into your face, but you ignored it.

“Peter,” you tried again, softer this time, closing the distance between you.

He froze, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for impact. His grip on the mask tightened until his knuckles went pale, and for a second you wondered if he was about to leap off the edge and escape into the night.

Instead, he let out a shaky breath. “I—I can’t keep doing this.”

Your heart stumbled. “Doing what?”

“This,” he said, spinning to face you. His eyes were wide, desperate, like he was trying to explain a puzzle that only made sense in his head. “Hanging out with you, sneaking around, acting like I’m totally fine when I’m not—because I’m not. And if I don’t say it now, I’m gonna explode.”

The words tumbled out of him faster than you could process, but his voice cracked just enough to make your chest tighten.

“Peter…”

He ran both hands through his hair, pacing again before blurting, “I like you, okay? I—no, I don’t just like you. I really like you. And I’ve been trying to keep it together because your dad is basically my boss and he’d kill me—like actually kill me—but I can’t help it. Every time I see you, I… I forget how to be normal.”

For a moment, the only sound was the wind whistling between the buildings. His confession hung in the air, fragile and exposed.

You stood there, stunned, your breath caught in your throat. His face was flushed, eyes glassy with panic, but beneath the nerves there was something steady, something true.

Peter Parker liked you.

And not just a little.

Your lips parted, but no words came out right away. You stepped closer instead, so close that your coats brushed, and his breath hitched when you reached up and gently pried the mask out of his clenched hand.

“You’re right,” you whispered, voice low. “My dad would kill you.” A teasing smile curved your lips as you added, “But maybe it’s worth the risk.”

Peter blinked at you, stunned. “Wait—are you saying…?”

You didn’t give him the chance to finish. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth rush to his skin.

When you pulled back, his grin was so wide it was almost ridiculous. He looked dazed, like he couldn’t quite believe it had happened.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze at last. “I like you too.”

“This is—this is great.” Peter’s face broke into the kind of smile that made your stomach flip, and before you could overthink it, he wrapped his arms around you. You sank into his warmth, the city buzzing below as if it had no idea what was happening up here.

It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

“Peter, you have an incoming call from Tony Stark,” Karen’s voice chirped suddenly from the mask still clutched in your hand.

You froze.

Peter jerked back so fast he nearly tripped over the ledge. “Oh shi—!”

~~~

an: does the stark tower have a fire escape? not that im aware but idc! I know some people dont enjoy stark kid fics so i made it not sooo important.

[th0tformikasa]

In your arms

summary- the only way to fix a bad day is to be in his arms

pairing- remus lupin x gn!reader

warning- none! a little bit of a secret romance

wc: 979, masterlist | taglist

~~~

You’d had bad days before, but this one seemed determined to outdo them all.

The first disaster struck in Potions. You’d spent weeks carefully brewing your assignment—measuring, stirring, double-checking every instruction in your battered textbook. It was supposed to be flawless. Instead, you’d returned from fetching a fresh sprig of dittany to find your cauldron hissing ominously, the potion inside a revolting shade of green. Slughorn’s frown was practically carved into your memory as he scribbled a failing mark beside your name. You didn’t need to be a genius to guess what had happened. The Slytherins had been circling your table all lesson, smirking in that infuriating way that made you want to hex them into next week. You suspected sabotage.

If that wasn’t enough, the universe decided to add insult to injury. On your way back to the castle, head down, replaying the disaster over and over in your mind, a rogue Quaffle came flying out of nowhere and smacked you square in the face. You barely had time to register the sound of laughter echoing from the Quidditch pitch before your nose began to sting, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Perfect. Just perfect.

By the time you climbed through the portrait hole, your patience was hanging by a thread. The warmth of the Gryffindor common room should’ve been comforting—the crackle of the fire, the soft murmur of students unwinding after lessons—but tonight it only made you feel more brittle.

Your friends were there, of course. James and Sirius were doubled over, laughing so hard they could barely breathe, while Peter tried and failed to keep a straight face. Whatever joke they’d landed on had clearly been a good one.

And then there was Remus.

He wasn’t laughing—not fully. He had that half-smile he always wore when his friends were being ridiculous, but his eyes… his eyes landed on you the second you walked in. They always did. Before the two of you had started sneaking out to meet under the cloak of night. Before the stolen touches in the library and whispered promises between shelves. Even before there had been a you and him, his gaze had found you, as if you were the only one worth anchoring to in the crowded room.

Tonight was no different. The laughter, the noise, the chaos—all of it blurred as Remus’s attention fixed on you. His brow furrowed almost instantly, reading the slump of your shoulders, the dull ache hiding behind your eyes. You didn’t need to say a word for him to know something had gone wrong.

When you spotted him, your eyes immediately glazed over. You couldn’t help yourself; your feet carried you toward him, drawn by something steady and warm in his presence. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, calm and grounded even in the chaos around him. Maybe it was because, somehow, your body instinctively felt safe with him, as though you could finally let everything go.

Remus, who had been slouched casually on the arm of the couch, straightened the moment he noticed you. Concern etched his face, brows knitting together in that familiar, chest-aching way.

Your other friends called out greetings as you approached, voices warm and familiar, but the words barely registered. You only had eyes for him.

“Are you… okay?” he asked softly, his voice carrying that steady reassurance that always managed to slow your racing heart.

You couldn’t respond with words. Instead, you shook your head, letting the tears blur your vision, and without thinking, you climbed into his lap. The moment your body pressed against his, the tension you’d been holding in for hours—the frustration, the embarrassment, the sting of failure—started to melt away.

Remus’s arms wrapped around you almost instinctively, holding you close as though he could shield you from the world with nothing but his presence. He rested his chin atop your head, murmuring soft, grounding words you didn’t even fully hear, but somehow they were enough.

For a while, the chaos of the day—the ruined potion, the rogue Quaffle, the laughter that had once felt mocking—faded entirely. There was only this: the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear, the warmth of his body, and the quiet understanding that, for tonight, you didn’t have to be okay.

Remus held you for a moment longer, letting the world fade around the two of you. Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at your face. His hands lingered on your shoulders, thumbs brushing gently over your skin.

“You… you know I’ve got you, right?” he whispered, his voice low and warm.

Before you could respond, he leaned forward, and his lips met yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. It wasn’t rushed or demanding—it was careful, patient, and full of the quiet intensity that made your knees go weak. The rest of the room disappeared; the crackling fire, the chatter of friends, even the laughter—all of it faded into a blur of nothing but him and the way he made your heart feel steady again.

Then came the inevitable.

“Whoa.” James’s voice rang out first, loud and exaggerated, followed by Sirius’s snicker.

“Finally,” James added, shaking his head.

Peter, still in the background, mumbled something inaudible but utterly scandalized.

Remus flushed crimson, releasing you slightly but keeping his hands gently on your arms, glaring at his friends with a mock sternness that barely disguised his embarrassment.

“You lot are impossible,” he muttered, voice tight but amused, before turning back to you with a soft smile. “Focus, will you?”

You couldn’t help but giggle, resting your forehead against his chest as he kissed the top of your head. The teasing voices around you didn’t matter. Not tonight. Tonight, it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, the chaos of the day finally dissolving into something soft and real.

~~~

an: i wish remus was real

[th0tformikasa]

men are evil

summary - when a birthday party started in heartbreak ended in everything you’d been searching for

pairing- remus lupin x gn!reader (slight potter!reader as well!)

warnings- mentions of sex but no smut at all! cursing and cheating (not from remus)

wc: 1763 , masterlist | taglist

~~~

It was your sixteenth birthday party. That being said, you’d think you’d be having an amazing time right now. But of course, you weren’t.

You’d been looking forward to the party all week. You spent forever doing your makeup—not your usual look. This time, there was a lot more glitter involved. You even did your hair differently. It had taken several smoothing potions, but it looked gorgeous.

And yet, here you were, sitting alone on the stairs that led up to the boys’ dormitory, quietly watching the commotion of the party from a distance.

Gryffindor parties were wild, but in a good way. Usually, you loved them. Your twin brother seemed to be having the time of his life, which was great, for him.

David Bowie blasted in the background, but you couldn’t focus on it. All you could think about was how everyone else looked like they were living their best lives while you, the birthday girl, sat on the verge of tears.

No one seemed to notice.

You could tell your brother how upset you were, and he’d do anything to fix it. But it was his birthday too, and you knew James deserved to have fun.

Your fingers found each other, fidgeting anxiously.

Would anyone notice if you went up to your dorm? Probably. Eventually. Someone might even be wondering where you were now, even though you weren’t exactly hidden.

Maybe you could just crawl into bed until someone came to drag you back out to dance. Or maybe that was exactly what you needed.

Just as you were about to stand and make your way across the common room to your bed, your very comfortable, warm, welcoming bed, a voice cut through your thoughts.

“There you are.”

The one person you didn’t necessarily want to see.

Remus.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, sitting down beside you, like he somehow knew you had something on your mind and was ready to hear it.

“Hey,” was all you could manage.

His hand reached up gently, pushing your bangs away from your eyes.

“What happened?” His voice was soft.

You shook your head. “Nothing. Just needed a second. It’s loud.” It was a weak excuse, especially when you looked like you’d just watched someone kick a puppy.

Remus furrowed his brows, unconvinced. He shook his head slowly. “Don’t lie. Why aren’t you out there? You love parties.”

“It’s stupid.” Your eyes dropped to the floor. You were embarrassed.

He shook his head again, reaching for your face. His hand gently grasped your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“No, it’s not.”

You sighed. It was all you could do. Finally, you brought yourself to point out the reason for your sadness.

Amos Diggory and Amber Sweetleaf. Making out in the corner of the Gryffindor common room.

Remus let out a sharp breath, almost a hiss, and immediately stood up. “That piece of shit, I’ll—”

You grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. “Don’t. It’s really not worth it.”

He sat back down, hesitantly, then turned toward you, brows still drawn tightly together.

“He’s a tosser. Why the hell aren’t you doing something about it?”

“I don’t even really like him.”

That caught him off guard.

“What?”

“It’s just, I can’t believe someone would have the audacity to cheat on me. At my birthday party!” Your voice cracked as the anger started to catch up with the sadness.

“He’s a total idiot. I can’t understand how someone could do that to you.”

“He’s only doing it because I don’t want to have sex with him.” Your voice was smaller now, as your head dropped, forehead pressing to your knees.

Remus’s hand moved to your hair, fingers gently combing through it in comfort.

“Such a prick. Can’t be with a girl without trying to get in her pants after a week,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m so embarrassed,” you groaned.

“Why are you embarrassed?”

“Because this always happens. Every guy just leaves me, or cheats, when I won’t… you know.” You sat up again, eyes finding Remus’s, though his hand stayed softly resting in your hair.

“It’s so, I—” You huffed. “I want to wait until I love someone. And I… does that make me a bad person?”

“No. Godric, no. Why would that make you a bad person? That’s normal.”

“I just feel like I’m not living up to what people expect of me. And then they leave, and it makes me feel like shit.”

Your eyes wandered anywhere but toward him. Of all people, Remus was the last person you wanted to be this vulnerable with.

“Look at me,” he said gently.

You obeyed.

“I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. No one should ever make you feel like you have to do something you’re not ready for. You should feel safe, comfortable, and sure. And if they don’t respect that, then screw them. They don’t deserve you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. You didn’t even know why. You weren’t the type to cry. But hearing someone finally say the words you’d been desperate to hear for so long made something inside you crack.

“I feel like shit because I date so many people trying to find someone I actually like, and I can’t.”

Because none of them are you.

His scarred hand came to your cheek, gently wiping the tear away.

If you were being honest with yourself, the only reason you kept dating so many people was to distract yourself from how much you liked Remus.

You really liked Remus. At first, you thought it was just a little crush. You’d had one on Sirius once, but that had faded quickly.

But your feelings for Remus? This wasn’t just a crush anymore. You were in love with him.

With every guy you dated, you were searching for something that reminded you of him, but you never found it. That’s why you couldn’t give any of them your whole heart.

Still, that didn’t mean they had the right to dump you just because you didn’t want to have sex. You wanted to wait. You wanted it to be with someone you trusted.

“Men are evil,” Remus muttered, letting out a weak chuckle. “But you’ll find one, one day, who’ll be the right one.” He finally let go of your face, his hand falling into his lap.

“You’re not evil, Remus.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Maybe it was the firewhiskey you’d indulged in earlier, or maybe it was just the truth.

“No?” he asked softly.

You shook your head.

Remus didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you.

His eyes were so steady, so soft. Like he saw every broken part of you and still chose to stay seated on that creaky stair beside you. You weren’t used to being looked at like that. Like you were known.

“Most people think I’m bad,” he whispered.

Your heart sank a little. “I don’t, because you’re not.” You shook your head firmly.

His lips curled slightly, a ghost of a smile, but there was something sad behind it.

“Do you believe you are?” you asked. Words seemed to fly off your tongue without permission.

“I… yeah. Sometimes.”

Your breath shook.

“No, you’re not. You’re everything good.”

He looked away, shaking his head as if he couldn’t let himself believe it.

“Do you take me for a liar, Mr. Lupin?” you said gently.

He glanced down at your hands, still joined, then back up to your face. “Why do you always know the exact thing I need to hear?”

You shrugged, cheeks burning. “Maybe I just… pay attention.”

A silence settled between you. Not the kind that felt awkward or empty. This one was full—warm and weighted like something important was about to happen.

“Can I ask you something?” you said softly.

He nodded. “Anything.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

He wasn’t prepared for that question, and it showed on his face. But he quickly masked it, trying to play it off.

He thought about it—not the answer, because he already knew it. Just whether or not he should tell you.

“Yeah,” he said finally.

Your lips parted slightly. You didn’t push, just gave him space to continue if he wanted to. The silence between you turned sharper now, more electric.

“Why haven’t you acted on it?”

“Because I’m scared.”

“I don’t think there’s time for being scared anymore.” You didn’t even know where the words were coming from. Maybe it was the firewhiskey, or maybe it was the way your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Maybe you were saying it for yourself just as much as for him.

“I think if you love someone,” you said, “you should try.”

“But what if they don’t feel the same way?” His voice was quieter now, and he was the one fidgeting with his hands.

You reached out, gently stopping his fingers from twisting together, lacing your own through his instead.

“I think when you really love someone,” you said, “anything is worth the risk.”

Earlier, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. But now, you couldn’t not look at him. His gaze held yours like it was the only thing anchoring him in place.

You could see the moment he broke.

Remus leaned in slowly, like he still wasn’t sure you were real, like he was waiting for the floor to drop out from under him. But you didn’t pull away. You tilted your chin up to meet him halfway, eyes fluttering shut just as his lips brushed yours.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect.

It was careful, and warm, and full of every word you hadn’t yet said.

He kissed you like he didn’t want to scare you. Like he had waited so long for this moment that he wasn’t sure it would last. His hand cupped your jaw again, steadying you, grounding himself.

When you kissed him back, your other hand slid up to his chest, right over his heart. You could feel how fast it was beating. It matched your own.

You pulled back just slightly, resting your forehead against his.

“So,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “Worth the risk?”

You nodded, lips still brushing his.

“Completely.”

Where would this lead? You weren’t sure. But somehow, in just a few minutes, this birthday had gone from the worst one you could remember to the one you knew you’d think about every single night.

Thank Merlin Amos Diggory cheated on you.

~~~

an: so i got bored of my other fic and i wanted to do a oneshot so here it is!! idk if its that good i wrote it at like 2 am bc i kept thinking of this scenario.

[th0tformikasa]

and what if i wrote a new long form rafe fic that gave southern gothic ethel cain?

[th0tformikasa]

You don’t know Bowie?

summary- when a rainy day at home turns into a music marathon

pairings- Bucky Barnes x gn!reader

warnings- none! just bucky pining tbh.

wc: 834 , masterlist | taglist

~~~

It was one of those stormy New York days that made the inside of the Watchtower feel impossibly cozy. The kind of day that begged for soft blankets, flickering candles, and the comfort of a worn-in couch. The kind that made you want to stay inside and never leave.

Things at the Watchtower had been going surprisingly well lately. You didn’t dare say that out loud—no need to tempt fate.

Most of the others were either out in the city or holed up in their rooms. You loved this strange little group you lived with, but days like this—quiet, still, yours—were your favorite.

Music played softly from the speakers, just loud enough to fill the silence without breaking it. You always needed something in the background when you read. Silence made it harder to focus, like your mind didn’t know what to do without a little chaos humming underneath it. Maybe it was just what you’d grown used to.

David Bowie’s voice drifted through the room, a comforting sound you knew by heart. One of your favorites. Maybe even the best of all time, in your opinion. You found yourself humming along, your eyes skimming the page.

Then—footsteps.

Your eyes lifted from the soft pages of your book, gaze landing on the tall figure standing a few feet away. Bucky Barnes. Rumpled sweatshirt, slightly damp hair from the rain, that usual look on his face like he was trying to puzzle something out—even if that something was just you curled up on the couch.

“How can you listen to music and read at the same time?” he asked, voice low and curious, not judging—just genuinely baffled.

You smiled, marking your page with a finger. “It’s the only way I can focus.”

It was true. Silence left too much room for your thoughts to wander. Music kept you grounded. Gave your brain something to hold onto while your eyes traced the words.

You patted the space beside you in quiet invitation. He hesitated, just for a beat, then crossed the room and sat down, careful but relaxed. Like he was still learning how to just… be.

“It’s not even classical,” he muttered after a moment, brow furrowing slightly as the music drifted between you. The voice of David Bowie crooned softly through the speakers—an older track, unmistakable and rich.

You grinned, swinging your legs casually over his lap without looking up from the page. “Nope,” you said, settling back into the cushions. “It’s better than classical. It’s Bowie.”

Bucky leaned his head back against the couch, listening for a moment.

“Never heard of him.”

Your eyes snapped up, widening in disbelief. Your mouth parted slightly, as if you weren’t sure whether to gasp or laugh.

“You’re kidding,” you breathed, stunned.

He gave a half-smile and shrugged. “I mean… I missed out on a lot.”

And he had. You knew that. Decades gone, stolen. But instead of feeling sad about it this time, you were filled with something else—excitement.

“I can’t believe this,” you said, breaking into a grin. “I get to be the one to introduce you to David Bowie.”

Bucky looked unsure, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in that skeptical way he had when he wasn’t sure if you were about to prank him or change his life.

You leaned in just slightly, eyes shining. “Buck, I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

He huffed a soft laugh through his nose, looking over at you with something between amusement and curiosity.

“I’m starting to think I don’t.”

“Good,” you said, already reaching for the remote with a mischievous glint in your eye. “That’s the best way to start.”

And just like that, your book was forgotten—left to rest on the coffee table, spine up and pages splayed—because something much more important had taken its place.

Whatever Bucky had planned for the rest of the day disappeared the second you pressed play.

The storm outside rolled on, but inside the walls of your room, it was Bowie and nothing else. You made him lie back on your bed and listen—really listen. You introduced each album like you were sharing a secret, eyes bright, hands animated, flipping through songs like they were chapters in a story.

And Bucky? He let it happen. Let you pull him into your world with the sound of electric guitars, space oddities, and starman dreams. He didn’t say much, but he watched you. Smiled at your commentary. Raised an eyebrow when you insisted on dancing in your socks to Let’s Dance and didn’t protest when you tugged him up to join you.

At some point, the rain stopped. At some point, your legs were draped over his again, both of you tucked under the same blanket. And by the time “Heroes” came on, soft and slow and full of ache, he wasn’t just listening to Bowie.

He was listening to you.

And if the way his fingers brushed against yours meant anything—he might’ve liked what he heard.

~~~

an: i kept having formatting issues when trying to transfer this to tumblr so hopefully it doesn’t look too funky. Also, first time writing for bucky so hopefully you guys like it.

[th0tformikasa]

Sorry about dinner..

summary- Bucky missed your dinner plans

pairings - Bucky Barnes x gn!reader

warnings- mentions of blood

wc: 889, masterlist | taglist

~~~

You had been slightly annoyed. Well—maybe more disappointed than anything. Tonight was supposed to be dinner out with Bucky. Something you’d both been looking forward to. But then he texted, asking if you could push things back… and switch it to dinner at home.

Fine. You told yourself something must’ve come up.

Bucky was always on time. Early, even. Never late. It was one of those things you’d come to count on—steady, reliable, him. So you tried not to let the change of plans bother you.

At first.

You’d gone ahead and cooked anyway, wanting the food to be hot and waiting when he walked through the door. But that had been two hours ago. Two hours of pacing, of peeking out the window at every sound, of telling yourself he’d be here any minute.

Eventually you’d given up, sliding the food into containers and stacking it neatly in the fridge. The apartment had grown too quiet, too heavy, so you curled up on the couch under a blanket, half-distracted by a teen romance show you were oddly obsessed with. The kind of thing Bucky would shake his head at and then end up secretly watching right along with you.

But as the minutes stretched into another hour, your disappointment shifted into something else. Worry.

Why wasn’t he home? What came up? Was he okay?

You chewed at your lip, phone clutched in your hand, before finally typing out another message.

“Is everything okay, Bucky? Call me.”

Delivered 10:33.

You stared at the screen, willing the dots to appear, willing it to buzz with his voice on the other end. This wasn’t normal for him. Not answering. Not checking in.

He may have been over a hundred years old, but Bucky Barnes knew how to use a phone. And if he wasn’t answering yours… something was wrong.

At some point, exhaustion won out. You dozed off still curled on the couch, blanket pulled tight around you. You hadn’t meant to—you’d promised yourself you’d stay up, just to make sure he came home.

The sound of keys jingling snapped you awake. The front door creaked open, soft and hesitant, like whoever was entering didn’t want to make a sound.

Your eyes blinked open, heavy with sleep. The heel of your hand rubbed against them, trying to chase away the haze.

“Bucky?” you called, voice small and groggy.

“Hey…” His reply was quiet, almost careful.

That tone alone had your heart skipping. You sat up straighter, blinking at him—and instantly, the fog of sleep disappeared.

He stood in the doorway, cut on his lip, blood still drying along his temple, bruises scattered across his jaw and knuckles. Not catastrophic—nothing you hadn’t seen before—but enough to make your chest tighten.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” you snapped, shooting to your feet and rushing toward him. The blanket fell uselessly to the floor.

“I’m sorry about dinner, love,” he murmured, voice rough and tired. His shoulders slumped, like even standing upright was more effort than he had left in him.

You closed your eyes for a second, pulling in a shaky breath to steady yourself. Dinner? Dinner?

When you opened them again, your worry broke through your frustration. “I’m not—God, Bucky, I’m not worried about dinner. What happened to you?”

He tried to give you a small smile, but it pulled at his split lip. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Your glare told him you weren’t buying it, not even a little. You pressed your hands to his chest, not pushing him away, but grounding yourself in the solid warmth of him.

“Next time,” you said, softer now, eyes searching his, “you call me. Or I swear, Buck, dinner will be the least of your problems.”

His laugh was low and rumbling, even as his hands found your waist. “Yes, ma’am.”

But when he leaned forward to kiss your temple, you felt the smallest tremor in him. And that was when you knew—he needed you more than dinner, more than scolding, more than anything else tonight.

“Do I have Steve to blame for you getting into this mess?” you asked, eyebrow arched.

Bucky gave a tired half-smile. “Yeah… he called. Needed help with some Avengers stuff.”

You shook your head with a sigh. “Alright, then. Next time I see him, I’ll have a word.”

That earned you the faintest chuckle. “Don’t threaten Steve on my behalf.”

“Who says it’s a threat?” you shot back, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a laugh.

His eyes softened then, lingering on you longer than they should have. “Tell me you didn’t stay up waiting.”

You tilted your head, smirking gently. “Well, I’m not a liar.”

Your hands came up to his jaw, light and careful, thumbs brushing over stubble as you studied his face like he might vanish if you blinked. “Let’s go fix you up.”

“I’ll be better by tomorrow,” he murmured, almost stubborn, though the warmth in his voice gave him away.

“I know,” you whispered back, lips curving into a small smile. “But I still like to care for you.”

His gaze searched yours, something unspoken flickering in his tired blue eyes. And when he leaned into your touch just slightly, like he couldn’t help it—like he’d finally let himself need you—you knew tomorrow could wait. Tonight was yours.

~~~

an: bucky come home to me bruised i’ll literally lick you clean!!!