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siriuslysmoking · 3 months

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omg the theo idea!!!! do it!

Sent Not Received

Summary: In which Theodore Nott did not receive the letters you sent.

Warnings: major miscommunication, Exes to lovers? Yelling, kissing

All year you had been trying to contact all of your friends from Hogwarts and you heard back from them- well most of them.

Pansy would write you almost every day, Blaise would update you on everything happening back at Hogwarts, Enzo would ask how you were doing, Draco would write maybe once every other week. Even Mattheo would write you back.

It shouldn't have surprised you when you didn't hear back from him. You had left after a big fight- left meaning you were forced to go.

Your parents were strict, they didn't think Hogwarts right place for you anymore, not after the war, after the leadership changed. They made you move in with you aunt who lived in France, so you could get a proper education.

Theo thought you had left him, he distanced himself from the group, with them all talking about you he couldn't stand it; not after everything. It took you so long just to get you were in your relationship and you threw that away, for what France?

He hadn't heard from you all year, he didn't reach out, he didn't need to, he knew what you wanted, and that was not him. He's accepted it, after ten months he's accepted it.

Pansy doesn't mention Theo in her letters, she knows it's a sore subject. But neither do you.

When your parents contact you for the first time in months you're nervous, wondering what they want. But when they let you know that you're permitted to return back to the United Kingdom, you're ecstatic.

Before you even reply to your family, you sign a letter to McGonagall, asking permission to arrive through a portkey to Hogwarts, to surprise your friends.

She sends a package with a silver goblet after three days. She signs it with one word: Portkey

You don't even think twice, before grabbing your trunk and the portkey. You get dizzy when you arrive in the Headmistresses office. "Hello, Ms. L/n."

"Hello, Professor." You smile and she quickly returns it. She gives you the password to the common room and sends you on your way.

You make haste running down to the dungeons, you leave your bags in Mcgonagall's office so you don't have to lug them wherever you go.

The common room is empty when you arrive, dinner is almost finished so you sit in the window sill in the corner, out of site. You enjoy the emptiness of the room, missing the atmosphere of Hogwarts over the months you've been gone.

The bustiling of students piling in the room knocks you out of your head. "I'm just saying, if she didn't want to be pushed, she should've gotten out of my way."

"You're an idiot." Replies Blaise at Pansy's everlong spew.

You watch as the group stuff themselves onto the couch, continuing a conversation. "I can't believe I'm friends with you."

You silently laugh at Draco, "Something never do change do they?"

The group goes silent as you make your way out of the window sill. "No!" Pansy gasps, standing up and nearly tripping over Mattheo's feet that are resting on top of the coffee table.

Pansy engulfs you in a hug, basically jumping on top of you. "You're here!"

You reply to Enzo with a hug.

"I missed you so much!" While you were giving hugs you noticed the lack of an aura in the room, one you had grown accustomed to over the past couple of years.

You make eye contact with Blaise and he nods to the stairwell to the boys dormitory.

They're in the same dorm they were last year, when you knock Theo is slow to answer the door. "What do you want."

"I wanted to say hi."

"Well now you did." He goes to close the door but you stop him.

"This is not how it was supposed to go." You step into the room and he lets you with a sigh.

"What?" He asks you, not understanding while he was standing in front of you after all this time.

"It was supposed to be me and you."

"Well, that's not how it turned out to be, that's life for you."

"Why didn't you try?" You sigh, "You just gave up."

"I didn't do anything." Theo snaps, "You left!"

"I didn't want to-"

"You left me for what- france?" He laughs sarcastically, huffing and turning from you to run his hands through his hair.

"I explained what happened." You say softly, trying to lower the tone of the conversation.

"Oh, really? Cause I didn't hear shit."

"I wrote you, you never replied to my letters- everyone else did, but you-" You feel tears trying to claw their ways out of your eyes, but you refuse to cry, you've cried too much after his absence.

"-What letters?" He quickly turned to you.

"w-what?" You stutter out, not understanding

"What letters?"

"The-The letters I sent you all year that you ignored!"

"I didn't get any letters." He shook his head, with an expression that told you he wasn't lying.

"I sent dozens of them."

"I didn't receive them." His eyes are wide, "I didn't get the letters."

"I sent them as soon as I got there, I explained that I didn't want to go, that- that I missed you and even if you didn't want to see or hear from me that I loved you."

"Loved?" He pauses, meeting your eyes.

"Love, I will always love you, shit like that doesn't go away." You laugh softly.

"I love you too." He seems to melt, meeting his lips with yours in a passionate kiss.

A kiss that you had missed over the past few months, his body heat warming you, his cologne surronding you.

God, how you've missed him.

Reblogs and Likes are appreciated <3

Taglist: @crimsntwlip @leonesimp

#theodore nott x y/n #theo nott imagine #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theo nott x y/n #theo nott #harrry potter #slytherin boys #theodore nott smut

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blopnsfw · 6 months

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I wanted to make a comics page of Drarry, for fun :D I love the idea of Draco enjoying some Harry's failures

#comics #harrry potter #drarry #fanart #my art

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hms-harmony-discord · 1 month

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“He closed his eyes at her touch” by Lynne on lofter.

Lynne is a participating artist in the Harmony Art Raffle for charity 🍉 For a chance to win art of your choice from her, check out this post.

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jackie5656 · 1 year

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Too Soon With; James Potter (ATJ)

A/N: Hello, again? I’m really surprised with myself. Two stories in two days, haven’t had that motivation since quarantine. I’ve been sick lately and couldn’t get this idea out of my mind. Was gonna make it short but one thing led to another and here we are. This is technically a sequel to my first James writing which you can read here, but it’s not entirely necessary. Anyways, please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoy, truly makes a huge difference. <3

Summary: The one where James is definitely not sick, and you make an acute slip up of words.

TW: None, this time around. :)

“I’m here, what happened?” You practically burst into the marauders dormitory, knapsack half-zipped with textbooks and quills threatening to spill over. Remus sits atop the counter in shock, toast hanging from his mouth as he shrugs.

“The note, from, from the owl,” you attempt to catch your breath as you explain, “said there was an emergency.” Remus rolls his eyes, shooting a pointed look to Sirius who waltzes into the room, taking a moment to read your disheveled appearance. Guilt, and a hint of fear, overcomes his pleased expression at seeing you.

“Oh, sorry. That was me, we have a...Situation.” Sirius flinches as you approach him, having taken the newspaper from Remus’ hand to roll it up and whack the raven-haired boy on the head.

“I-thought-one-of-you-were-hurt!” You accentuate every piece of the sentence with another whack of the newsletter. Handing it back to a very amused Remus.

“Awe, love. You hear that Moons? She loves us, cares about us!”

“And she’s about to castrate you, what on Earth is so emergent that I’ve run all the way from the library?” You push the misplaced strands of hair from your face with an exasperated sigh.

“James is sick, some sort of respiratory thing I think, or maybe strep. Not entirely sure.” Remus explains. pulling your sack from your shoulder and organizing it’s contents. Holding up a crumpled pouch of cookies from the bottom with a disciplinary glare. You ignore his doting, despite the blush of your cheeks.

“Alright, so he should go to the infirmary.” You note simply, albeit concerned for your boyfriend.

“See, that’s the issue, love.” Sirius replies, exchanging a knowing look with Remus who shakes his head. You look between them, utterly confused until said boyfriend shuffles into the dorm, looking positively miserable.

There’s a frightening, completely out of character hunch to James’ shoulders. He enters the dormitory with a hoarse cough and small sniffle. A tuft of spare tissues peeking from his robes’ pocket. He looks up and beams at the sight of you, watery eyes, red nose and all. Absolutely pleased with your presence. “Hey, dove. What are you doing here? I thought you were doing homework with Lill’s?” He sets his things down with another cough, head quirking in confusion when you clutch your necklace, brows taught with concern.

“Oh, James.” You mutter, walking toward him to hold his head in your hands, a short intake of breath when the skin of his cheeks is scolding to the touch.

“What’s gotten into you?” He laughs, though a little hesitant as he takes your wrists in his hold, a flash of hurt slashing his kind smile when you dodge his kiss in greeting.

“You can’t. You’re ill, James.” The taller boy laughs, shaking his head with a relieved sigh.

“Dove, of course I’m not ill. Just a bit of allergies, that’s all.” You turn to look at Remus and Sirius, who echo a chorus of melodramatic groans. A clear sign they’re familiar with the boy’s stubborn denial. “I swear it! Look, look at this!” His hands slither to your underarms, lifting you into the air a couple times and gently setting you down. “Lads, this body is an absolute temple, quidditch season is about to commence and I’m in the best shape possible.” This time, you all groan, having to force your eyes to not completely swivel to the back of your skull at his blinding ego.

“James, you spent the entirety of last night coughing. You barely slept.” Remus chimes in, running a clean dish towel under cool water and passing it to you. James grabs your wrist once more, cringing away from your attempt to place it on his forehead.

“Alright, if you’re such a beacon of health, you wouldn’t mind taking a quick trip to the infirmary? This way we can all be sure?” Sirius holds back a grin at his own words. James falters, squirming past you and into the kitchen, grabbing an apple from the bowl from the counter on his way and taking a large bite. Superstitions heavy on his mind as he vehemently shakes his head.

“Absolutely not, no infirmary.”

You cross your arms, wry smile overcoming your features. “I didn’t know you were afraid of doctors, Potter.”

“Am not!” James refuses again, pouting through a mouthful of apple.

“And so it begins.” Sirius hops over the back of the couch so that he can lay down, arm draping over his eyes in exhaustion.

*******

“Just let me hold you, I’m dying.” James whines, grabbing at air. He’s an absolute mess, feverish and sweaty with juxtaposing chills. You’ve given him some of Remus’ healing potions, but they only relieve the symptoms temporarily. And, like most medicines, can only be taken in dosages.

“I’m sorry, love. You know I can’t.” It takes everything in you to ignore his requests, heart aching at his suffering. He groans, rolling over and coughing in the mess that is his sheets.

Sirius forces a gag, looking for support from Remus who only ignores his immaturity. “I almost miss when they hated each other, Rem. I mean seriously. He’s so lovesick it’s actually unbearable.”

“Eat-” James falls into a coughing fit, taking a deep breath before croaking out “slugs.”

“What was that, mate? Couldn’t hear you over the hacking up a lung.”

“Sirius, not helping.” You scold, waving the teasing boy away. “We have to compromise, James. If you won’t go to the infirmary then you’re on bed rest.” You chide, offering a soft smile when he begins to soften his hazel eyes in hopes you might give in.

“I’ll be behind in all my classes!” He tries, attempting to rise from his sheets.

“Exactly why we’ll all be taking notes for you. Make-up homework and all.” Remus adds, waving his quill in hand for emphasis. James settles as you run your hand over his shoulders, frame tense from all the coughing and shivering.

“And don’t worry, Prongs,” Sirius starts, mischief prevalent in his tone. “Y/n and I will get the group project in transfigurations started. I think we’ll make a pretty good pair in your absence.” He throws an arm over your shoulder, boisterous laugh echoing throughout the bedroom once James lunges, his smug friend shooting him a suggestive wink. You’re in front of him immediately, hands at his chest to cease his attack, rolling your eyes when Sirius jumps behind Remus to hide.

“He’s only teasing, James. Relax.”

“Not fair! This isn’t fair.” He’s a six foot something child, weak charges finally settling when you press a kiss to each one of his cheeks and then his forehead. He goes for your lips, biting his own when you shake your head. throwing himself onto the mattress in a melodramatic, slightly dazed, tantrum.

“Just leave me, the lot of you.”

“We’ll be back soon Prongs, promise.” Theres only a defeated grunt muffled by a pillow in response, the three of you slinking out of the dormitory as quietly as possible. You’re the last one headed out the door, prepared to lock it behind you when something catches your eye. Potter leans against the doorway with a deep frown, pitifully clutching a throw blanket around him as he watches you leave. You’re pretty sure your heart breaks in two, because in a second you’re dropping your bags and fitting yourself into his heavy arms.

“I’m sorry you can’t come, love. We really won’t be long.”

“You’ll update me on everything that happens?”

“Definitely.”

“Even if it’s something small, like Pads spilling his ink or Mcgonagall calling on him when he clearly isn’t paying attention?”

“I promise, Potter. Now please, get some rest. There’s a kettle on the stove if you want any tea later on. And I’ll bring up some broth for you when I come back.” You run a thumb over one of his unkempt brows, tussled from sleep. He takes your hand in his, kissing it’s palm. A deep sigh escaping his lips when you hear the boys calling for you in the distance. You turn to leave, throat tightening at how miserable he looks before halting. His hand tugging on your robes to pull you into his chest. He presses a soft kiss to your neck, long enough to have you melting in his hold. Of course, he’s absolutely aware of what he’s doing. Convincing, but not enough to make you miss any classes.

“Thank you, so much. For taking care of me. I know I’ve given you a hard time.” He pulls away, running a thumb over your lips as he cradles your jaw, full of sincerity.

“James, you don’t ever have to feel like you need to earn my love.” His brows raise, teasing evident in his expression as you flush. You’ve used the word much too early. And it’s your cue to press a quick peck to his jaw and hurry out the door without another word.

*********

“So, you really said it?” Sirius nudges your foot as he whispers, finding way too much amusement in your horror.

“This is why I shouldn’t confide in you, Pads.” You mutter through clenched teeth, the pair of you smiling at a scornful Mcgonagall, quick to look busy for the configurations professor.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I sort of, rushed out the door before he could reply.” You slink into your seat, wanting to hide underneath your robes as Sirius beams.

“Brilliant.”

“Brilliant? Siri, I’m an idiot!” You’re bewildered at his ecstatic nature, forcing a hushed tone despite your passion.

“In case you haven’t notice, my love, Prongs is head over heels. Your accidental confession will have him up and at it in no time. With quidditch practices approaching, Gryffindor needs him at his best.” Your jaw drops, astonished with the boy you dare to call your good friend.

“You can’t seriously be thinking about quidditch right now.”

“I would hope not,” your sharp-faced professor interrupts, tapping the beginnings of a group project in front of you with her wand, “seeing as there’s an assignment that needs to be worked on.”

“Sorry, Professor.” You and Sirius chide weakly, putting your heads down as she continues down the rows of desks.

**********

“Honey, we’re home!” Sirius shouts as you enter the dormitory, Remus setting the broth saved from lunch hour on the counter. James exits the bedroom, hair tussled with sleep, but an undeniable grin on his face. He yawns, stretching so tall the hem of his shirt exposes the skin of his stomach. You take a moment to admire the revealed muscle, head ripping away when you see you’ve been caught.

“Looks like you got some much needed rest.” Remus points out, gathering your shared notes from the day’s classes in one binder.

“I did,” James starts, hazel eyes trailing over to you with a wry smirk “had a good dream, I guess.” Seems only you pick up on his suggestive tone, as the two other boys snap their heads at you when you choke on your own saliva.

“Hope you’re not catching what he has, love.” Remus feels your forehead, lips taught in confusion when you feel completely fine.

“Poor thing does look a little flushed, doesn’t she?” James adds, maneuvering his head to try and meet your eyes. Sheepish expression driving him mad with adoration.

“Fine, thanks.” Is all you say, surveying the room for nothing in particular before letting out a contented sigh. “Alright, well if you’re feeling better I should probably head over to the library. I gave Lily a raincheck last time, considering I had to leave so unexpectedly.” You throw a look to Sirius, voice drawn in accusation. He ignores this, looking between you and very self-satisfied James inquisitively, sure he’s missed something in this conversation.

“Leaving so soon, love? Thought you’d stay with me for a bit longer.” Potter sniffles, but you’re sure it’s not as sincere as the symptoms from before. Cheeky bastard.

“I’ve overstayed my welcome long enough. Lilly will be waiting, anyway.”

“You’re never a bother, you know that,” Remus glares, almost offended at the notion. “Besides, we have potions homework you said you needed help with.”

“Right, so you should definitely meet us there! See you all later.” And with that, you’re out the door as quick as you came.

*********

“Merlin, and what did he say back?”

“Nothing, Lills’. I rushed out straight away.” The red-head hums, tapping the feather of her quill to her chin in contemplation.

“It’s fine, y/n. Potter is totally smitten over you.” Marlene reassures, finishing a potions problem with a satisfied breath.

“That’s what Sirius said.”

“So, what’s the issue then?”

“It’s still too soon, Lilly. He’s going to think I’m crazy. I’ll scare him off. Besides, I’m not even sure I’m ready to be at that stage with him. This just confuses things.” You frown, brows drawn with stress as the girls nod knowingly. Despite the reassurance of your friends, it’s no doubt this situation complicates things.

Yet another owl swoops above you, dropping a letter into your lap and landing in the empty chair beside you. Cooing as you run the hook of your finger over the feathers of it’s chest.

“Oh great, not again.” Lilly jokes, having to muffle her own laugh when a Ravenclaw across the room glares at the lot of your hushed whispers.

You’re halfway through opening it’s contents before stopping, quirking your head at a beaming Marlene.

“What has you so smiley?”

“That isn’t Sirius’ owl.” She grins further, looking down and continuing her work instead of elaborating. You chew your bottom lip in thought, finishing with the envelope and gasping as it flutters into the air. In a whimsical, absolutely mortifying display. A mixture of red and pink paper hearts erupt into the air. Fluttering around you and then dissipating. You cover your face with the sleeves of your robes, absolutely flushed. Despite your mortification at the public display of affection, something Potter is well aware you’re not too keen of, your heart flutters.

Around you, practically every one of your peers swoons. Well aware the charmed love letter is coming from the infamous Gryffindor chaser. All except, of course, the dignified Ravenclaw, who gathers his books in an aggravated stupor and heads to a different section of the library.

“How lovely!” Lily clasps her hands together in pure joy as Marlene beside her, blowing on the remnants of ashes from the over the top display.

“I’m going to kill him.” Is all you manage, finally looking down at the familiar calligraphy to read it’s contents.

“If you’re completely flushed, curling in on yourself after opening this, I believe I’ve done my job. Thank you again, for taking care of me. I could live a million lifetimes and not deserve your heart. Love always, James.”

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delicrieux · 5 months

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𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 | endless drabble series (autumn edition)

pairing—james potter x reader genre—very light enemies to lovers in the span of 5 mins xx summary—someone comes to annoy you as you read your book on the pier word count—2.7k

author's note: i've been on james potter spiral. won't elaborate

masterlist. ☕. reqs are open!

there’s absolutely nothing romantic about the way james looks at you – gaping maw and all, glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose because he smacked his hand to the thin, wiry edge to lift them up and did it quickly and clumsily and for no reason – and if you assume otherwise, you’re an idiot. but you don’t assume otherwise, nor are you all the curious about the tangle of mush that could, perhaps, in a mind more evolved, be considered a thought. james can, you suppose, have decency, and he can, given the benefit of the doubt, appear thoughtful and tactful and, based on the information that came to dorcas in a dream, be serious about his affections. which he has none for you, just to be clear. in case the scene might paint otherwise.

what a curious sight it is on the rickety pier of the boathouse. the weather’s grown cold, near frosty, and the sky had long turned into something grey and woolen. the wind scratches at your ears, and at your lips, and james’ nose has gone red and so have his cheeks, and he looks ridiculous in his coat and burgundy sweater peeking underneath that you almost take pity on him. almost. though, if any of your friends inquired what was so ridiculous about him in that moment, you wouldn’t be able to form an answer that would appease them. james potter is simply too much – is that not fact? why should there be a trial to scrutinize your claim when the words are truth? yes, he’s ridiculous, and he’s stupid, and his hair is all a mess, and—

“i didn’t expect to find anyone here, to be honest,” he says after the long pause of nothing but glances and an understanding you haven’t figured out yet. when you’ll go to bed tonight and toss and turn, perhaps you’ll pick up the magnifying glass and recognize it as interest and be tremendously distressed and nauseous of that knowledge. now, you only worry for a heartbeat that’s just a tad too quick, “’s a bit odd, innit?”

“what?” your voice could’ve been like a whip in the air if only it wasn’t so hushed. pillowed by the cold that had frozen the strings of your syllables.

“you are.” he explains, a hint of teeth showing from his smile.

if you swung with all of your weight, perhaps he’d fall into the freezing waters beneath your feet and be so shocked that he would never resurface. no one would suspect you as culprit, since no one would see you escaping the boathouse, and you could, with great smugness, mourn with the rest when his disappearance is declared as demise. how positively villainous. he’s sitting close enough, you could try, but you know that, while a valiant attempt, he would grab you quicker than you could blink and drag you down to the depths laughing, like some deranged grindylow. a mirror-image in appearance, too.

“sod off,” you mumble, and seldom have you spoken words more genuine. you flip a page of an inconspicuous book borrowed from the forbidden section, intended to be returned, of course, once you had absorbed all it has to offer. not much, so far.

“there’s a library you can read in,” james says, scooting closer, because your personal space must be shared and perhaps he’s curious of the text that has commanded so much of your attention. he nudges your shoulder, and nudges it again when you don’t look up, “not sure you knew that.”

“was terrified you might find me too quick,” and there is some truth to that, but more so you were dissuaded by the idea of the librarian catching you. the book supposedly reveals archaic jinxes that went out of fashion – either too impractical or too dangerous – and the long-withstanding mythos about the book implies it discloses only when the shift in temperature is great. so you sit here, and freeze, and if you were honest enough you would tell him, and you would add that you like it here, even when cold, because it’s tranquil and the castle looks trapped in a snowglobe under the dome of the sky.

he snorts, “found you anyway.”

“have you nothing better to do?”

“not really. you upset?”

“hard not to be, around you.”

“flattered. and thankful. for, you know, the stature that comes with such an accomplishment—”

there you go, taking the bait and reeling in close. if your teeth chatter a bit as you speak, well, you were already blaming the chill, no? so let him think what he wants – a smirk tugging at his lips and eyes all lit up and giddy – and his face could warm you a bit. but then, it was your temper all aflame that might solve the problem entirely. and all you can think is, ridiculous.

perhaps his conversation isn't stimulating. perhaps the cold numbs your thoughts. or perhaps he is a pretty sight against this miserable, clouded backdrop, and so are you. a hand comes to the cover of the book, still flipped, and the skin brushing against the page is frigid to touch.

"you're freezing," he says, eyes trained on the book, and perhaps he really is talking to the cover. you wouldn't put it past him, "fancy warming up a bit? back inside, near the fire place in the common room. with company, for once. bet that'd be better."

"with your company, i take it?" you chime smartly.

"didn't i just say that?"

"hmm," is a reply given with a hum, and he only speaks again when his stare hasn't caused your skin to peel away.

"c'mon, then. there's nothing for you here but a bloody draft. come up now and we can steal butterbeers from the kitchen, if you'd like." there are an unnatural many suggestions, like he's grappling for a hook even when his expression shows nothing. he's usually less scattered than this, and he never considers your feelings in his very many attempts: 'come to the three broomsticks with me,' and you ask, 'why?' and he replies 'cuz i wanna drink.'

"no." you say.

"stubborn."

"willfully," and the emphasis is drawn out so maybe it sticks. you've dealt with him enough that his ramblings can hardly deter you, though, no matter how charming the prospect might sound, because you hate him. you've practiced saying these exact words in the mirror only to make them sound more potent. train your expression not to wobble, because no matter how unassuming james can appear at times, he strikes the moment he notices a slight hesitation.

he doesn't, because if he had, your hand wouldn't be clasping his so tight.

"fine," he nods his head, a huff of white cloud billowing from his mouth as he says so. his hand is equally as cold, like ice against your palm, but then his fingers wiggle a bit and lace through the empty spaces to properly intertwine.

"james?"

"they say sharing body heat is the quickest, y'know."

"unnecessary," you hiss.

"warm," is his only answer, and he inches closer so it's no wonder his face flushes like that. he's got his other arm around your shoulders, knee knocked with yours, "how long, you recon," he mutters, "before frostbite starts?"

"soon," you drawl, and if there's a small shiver running up your spine, then that's all the cold. nothing to do with the person beside you and how unabashed he is at his own closeness, and how warm he could be in this circumstance – when he was offered no objections, "if lucky."

a subtle lean in your direction, a nose buried in a scarf that smells faintly of cinnamon, is, at this rate, your ultimate surrender. how painful it is to do so, when pride swells like a bruise deep in your chest and the pain lingers. perhaps you can hide behind the flimsy veil of not caring and listen to the pace of his breath under your ear where his chin rests on your shoulder. if you were to look, you'd see a vague pout on his lips – chapped, but red, maybe even lovely.

"what are you reading, anyway?" he mumbles.

"history," is the quick and clipped answer. he doesn't deserve the details.

"not quite my subject. boring as all, i take it. does it at least mention me? history? dunno how anything goes without the noble house of potter contributions."

"noble? hardly," you state, "absolutely vain, though, obviously."

"begrudge me my blessings, but you love them," he chuckles and if you were feeling nice, you would say that it was warm enough that it chipped a tiny sliver of ice away. just a little. you settle for pinching his wrist, and are entertained to hear him wail a little.

he is the worst thing that's ever happened. the most tragic accident, and you just happen to have the most unfortunate timing. did he take a specialty class to master the art of pestering people? his eyes are big and hazel, and maybe it's because they are trained on that they seem a bit darker. absolutely repugnant. you'd rather die, and that is the truth. a death by looking. a tragic fate, a complete misfortune, an absolute bloody mess.

"you're blushing," he says, and if he had to bring it up, at least his voice is soft. no amusement, and he sounds just as fond as he is mystified, "thinking dirty thoughts? and on school grounds, no doubt. i am positively scandalized."

"piss off," the hiss is made venomous on purpose, and maybe you mean it. maybe.

"hope you aren't thinking too many about anyone else," this is the closest he has been to sounding thoughtful in any conversation, "that'd make me all sorts of bitter. wouldn't like that."

"of course you wouldn't, not when the possibility exists to bully me with the information," a huff, a quick exhale that clouds the air like his smile had before, and maybe he'd be charming, if only his intent wasn't as devious as it is.

"or i really just wouldn't like it," and how he dares to sound wounded with such a tender sentiment, and perhaps your insistence upon finding his ways less than humble could have come with a greater reluctance. as if you were dragged out of this, kicking and screaming. how utterly sickening his lips might taste, and your want has to be damned, so you don't look. and instead, his head comes to nuzzle on a shoulder with a knit scarf tickling his cheek, "wouldn't like it."

how utterly horrid.

there is no solution, really, and if you had looked, his eyes would've been heavy and his mind more so. it doesn't bother him, even if you are so silent – silent as stone – and his voice comes a bit thick, but he's smiling and he's always smiling like the imbecile he is. that you know he is. no one could fake the joy so pure that is beaming across his face. and what's worse, what is infinitely worse, is that he sees what must look like something far gentler in your expression.

"you're sweet," and if he is smug, you'd hardly noticed. a press of his lips at your temple, a warm chuckle against your neck, "and bloody adorable, too," because if there's anything that you couldn't handle right now, it's a heartfelt conversation. a damsel-worthy declaration, because, knowing him, he'd embarrass the both of you enough to melt a few inches of frost, and that just won't do.

"don't push it."

"or what? afraid you might lose the resolve to your no-nonsense-pretend-to-loathe-everyone act? and it was so brilliant, too."

"please stop talking," the whine could've been unbecoming if you weren't so desperate for him to silence himself, but, lucky you, "seriously."

"so hard not to when you are. how are you real?"

"questionable," you mumble, and this must be torture, except the prick hasn't pushed you, or grabbed you, or anything beyond holding your hand and wedging a cold nose into your scarf, "at the moment, i'm not entirely sure."

"miserable, aren't we? c'mon," and the only solution is to knock his head with yours, hard enough to make a noise that's audible over your hammering heart, and this time you give him the courtesy of seeing a brief flash of pain. and if you give him the curtsy of pressing your lips into his, well, he takes advantage of it and gets your hands. warm hands around cold, pale fingers, and a hum sounds into your throat and might vibrate all the way to the ends of your hair.

he's the bloody worst, isn't he? and somehow you're fated to know how terribly true the statement is.

"no, really, your hands are cold," he says softly, and the weather hasn't affected him. his words are sluggish and slow, like the pace of his palms on yours, rubbing and trying to warm them, and he might have a point, but he won't have the satisfaction of knowing that. the confirmation only came with another kiss, and how is that a deterrent? it really shouldn't be, "adorable, but i see frost on your fingers."

you roll your eyes, but for what it's worth, his kisses have an aftertaste of warmth, "my savior," your murmurs, and the irony is evident in how unamused the words are, "thanks."

"always at your beck and call."

"have i called?"

"many times," he presses a kiss to a wrist and another to your palm, and if his breathing warms the space between your hands then the problem's almost solved.

"in your dreams, perhaps."

"quite vividly," james has always had a glint to his eyes – an ambition, maybe, that shines brilliantly every time he's truly serious, but it's an intensity you had only seen a handful of times in him. so many wasted words, and how ridiculous he could be, how aggravating, and stupid, and wonderful, and in that instant, you think you could see stars, "but they don't last much."

"nice to know you've figured your issue."

"oh, hush." and the lips are on yours, and he smiles while doing so and you might melt away if only because the frost were forced into it. he doesn't open his mouth or let his hands do more than touch your cheek, your neck, with such gentility and no wonder your face grows warmer. it must glow in the evening air and you could be seen miles away, looking like an absolute prat, being adored so thoroughly. a long inhale before pulling away, but he rests his forehead against yours, "see? better, isn't it?"

"dreadful."

"sure, love." and it must be the first time the petname sounds endearing rather than mocking, or perhaps the frost in your limbs has really started to settle and the chill has worked into your bones, or perhaps his skin looks so bright under this awful dome and no one ever talks about the way his hair frames his face. maybe his voice has warmed you more than his hands. or perhaps he is softer and gentle with his affections and he isn't as mean as he claims to be or you insist. maybe, just maybe, you are secretly, obviously, terribly fond the brat and the starry eyed fool sitting next to you. more, or just as much, as he's fond with you.

"can we go back to the castle now?"

"no."

"cold out here," he reminds.

"so i've heard."

"i could help you with that, though."

"thought you already are."

"amazing," a new kiss, quick and chaste on a corner of your lips, "this has got to be a new record of no arguing. good. i can't believe, for once, that all it took was a kiss and some, like, a minute or three of talking, and i would've done it earlier, too. probably."

"don't think too much of it."

"i will. warm-up?"

"what?"

"kiss me," is that impatience in his voice or the beginning of a tantrum? either way, when a something isn't instantly granted, it prompts a series of groans and complaints that surely rival the level of insufferability james has attained through the years. his head rolls onto your shoulder and you feel his voice against your neck. a hum, "you really, absolutely, one hundred percent have to."

"i never signed up for such a deal."

"you did. c'mere."

thank u for reading <3

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johnmalovartist · 8 months

Text

So… HEAR ME OUT. Draco was cleaning a magic-blanket from a curse that caused whoever touched it to fall into a deep sleep. Then, Harry (an auror), arrives home from his work and (in an attempt to hug his husband) touches the blanket and falls exhausted into his lover's lap; who, now, has to try to wake him up. :b

Reference image:

#fanart #art #digital fanart #digital art #artist #commissions open #harry potter fanart #harrry potter #draco malfoy #draco x harry #harco #drarry fanart #drarry #wip

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bunbunbl0gs · 1 year

Text

Dating George Weasley

masterlist

harry potter masterlist

join my tag list here :)

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in-my-feels-probably · 6 months

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Hey it’s me with the sick dog, but I was hoping to request like a super fluffy fic like established relationship, super domestic and just fluffy. Maybe watching a new horror movie or something. I don’t mind who but i’m partial to Remus, Sirius and Theo Nott

Timeless

Request: I was hoping to request like a super fluffy fic like established relationship, super domestic and just fluffy. Maybe watching a new horror movie or something. I don’t mind who but i’m partial to Remus, Sirius and Theo Nott

Hi! I hope this makes your day a little better, I tried making this pretty fluffy. I’m happy to write you something else if this isn’t what you were looking for, but hopefully you like this! I hope you have a good day, and thank you for the request :)

(Warnings: none? let me know if i missed anything)

—

Sirius had always loved the simple things.

He had grown up around magic all his life. As he got older, he realized just how much he relied on it. But he also knew just how much it had hurt him over the years, often being way more trouble than it was worth. When he met you, you were like a breath of fresh air. He loved how differently you had grown up compared to him. When you graduated from Hogwarts, you moved into a flat together on the outskirts of London.

It was a community far enough from the city that you could safely still use your magic without being seen, but you also didn’t have to rely on it. Anything you needed wasn’t hard to get—all you had to do was take a short walk into town. It took Sirius some getting used to, but he eventually fell in love with your little home away from the life he had always known.

He relished in the domesticity and simplicity of the life you had together, and it eventually felt natural to him.

One of his favorite muggle inventions you showed him was the TV. He sat on the couch for nearly a week after you moved in, cycling through all the movies and shows you had mentioned to him over the years. He also loved the movie theater, and it became a staple on your date nights in town. When you were too lazy to go out and do something, but you still wanted to spend time together, you’d have a movie night. Sirius would go around the corner to the little diner run by a sweet old couple and pick up food for you to eat while you watched your movie.

It was your night to pick the movie this time, and Sirius came in the door just as you had put it on.

“Etta and George say hello,” Sirius said, tossing his keys on the counter before placing the food on the coffee table, taking a seat next to you. “And Etta wanted me to tell you that she thought you looked really pretty last week when we came by the diner.”

You could feel your heart warm as you leaned into his side. “That’s so sweet.”

“So, what are we watching?” He asked as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, settling into the couch.

“It’s called Halloween. Remus knew I've been wanting to watch it, so he came by earlier and let me borrow his copy—remind me to bring it back to him sometime by the way. Anyway, it’s supposed to be pretty scary. Is that alright with you?”

“Think I can’t handle it, darling?” Sirius asked, a grin on his face. “You don’t think I’m brave?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I think you’re very brave. I also think you’re very prone to screaming like a child when something surprises you. Remember when James was over last week and you didn’t know he was here? You nearly jumped out of your skin when he came out of the bathroom.”

“I just wasn’t prepared for another man to be in my flat, let alone waltzing out of my bathroom like he owns it. You can understand my surprise, darling. It wouldn’t have happened under any other circumstances.”

“I see,” you mused, pressing play as you turned your attention to the TV. “So, you aren’t gonna be hiding your face in my arm by the end of the film?”

Sirius smirked, shaking his head at your teasing. “I think I’ll make it without resorting to that. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“My pleasure.”

—

Sirius barely made it twenty minutes in before he was already shifting uncomfortably next to you, a grimace on his face. You hid your smirk behind your sleeve, keeping your eyes on the screen.

“I’m gonna kick Moony’s ass,” he muttered under his breath, so quiet you could barely hear him. “Masochistic bastard.”

“Want me to turn it off?” You asked, reaching for his hand.

Sirius gladly accepted, squeezing your hand tight. He just shook his head, continuing to watch the movie. At every intense scene or flashes of gore, you could feel him squeezing your hand tighter. By the time you made it halfway in, you couldn’t feel your fingers. When the movie was finally over, he let out a sigh of relief. He relaxed into the couch, his grip on your hand easing.

“Never again,” he said as he turned to face you. “We’re watching Grease next time. I don’t have to worry about my heart bursting out of my chest watching Grease.”

You chuckled, running your hand up and down his forearm. “You made it, though. And you didn’t cry, not even once.”

“Very funny,” he pouted, but he made no move to pull his arm away from your touch.

“I’m just teasing,” you smiled, leaning into his side. “I’m proud of you. You watched the whole thing, even though you weren’t enjoying it. It was very brave. Thank you for indulging me.”

“Thank you for letting me nearly break your hand. Are you alright, by the way? I didn’t mean to squeeze that hard.”

You chuckled, nodding. “It’s fine, love. It doesn’t even hurt.”

—

You talked as you finished your food, a random shitty soap opera playing on the TV in the background. It was one you both pretended not to be interested in, even though you both secretly had become quite invested in the plot more than a few episodes ago.

“How long do you think Etta and George have been together?” Sirius asked, finishing what was left of his fries.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, leaning over to steal a fry. “The diner has been there since I was a kid. There used to be a little record store on the corner, and I’d always pass the diner on my way. They’ve been together for quite a long time, I think.”

“Do you ever wonder what we’re gonna be like when we’re their age?”

You smiled, nodding. “Sometimes. Hopefully we’re still in love, and not sick of each other. That would be a shame—you’re too pretty for frown lines.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, and Sirius let out a chuckle. He playfully nudged his elbow into your side, feigning offense. Suddenly, he yawned, reaching a hand up to rub at tired eyes.

“Sleepy, love?” You asked, motioning for him to lay down.

Sirius pivoted to swing his legs over the arm of the couch, resting his head in your lap. You ran your fingers through his hair, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“I wouldn’t mind ending up like Etta and George. Running their business, still together and in love. That’s years and years of happiness. We could have that. Our little flat and our diner on the corner. It's simple. Peaceful. I could get used to it—couldn’t you?

Sirius smiled, nodding. “Yeah…yeah, I could.”

It was quiet for a moment as you continued running your fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his forehead. Sirius kept his eyes closed, a content smile on his face. A warmth spread through your chest as he nuzzled his head into your lap, his cheek pressed against your thigh.

“I bet Etta doesn’t make George watch scary movies,” Sirius said unexpectedly, pulling you from your thoughts.

You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to fight a grin. “I bet Etta has never heard George scream like a little girl.”

“Fair play, darling. Fair play.”

—

A/N - Hi! Thank you again for the request, I hope you liked this :)

#sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black #harry potter x you #harry potter x reader #harrry potter #marauders x you #marauders x reader #the marauders #marauders imagine #marauders #taylor swift #speak now #timeless

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