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fourmoony · 1 month

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I HAVE THE BEST REQUEST AND IT'S PERFECT FOR JAMES! like imagine reader sitting at home and suddenly she gets a text from james to come outside and he's standing there🥲🥲🥲🥲 so she asks what he's doing there and he's like "i just wanted to kiss you" SORRY IF IT'S TOO SPECIFIC

thanks for requesting, sweetie!

f!reader 1.1k words cw: drunk jamie

You're half asleep when your phone pings, illuminating the darkness of your bedroom in a distracting glow and you're half asleep, content to ignore the single ping, a problem for tomorrow. But another one follows a moment later, the third only seconds after the second. With a huff, your hand reaches out to grab blindly for the device.

James' contact photo smiles at you from the corner of the notification box, his glasses askew and hair a mess. Your favourite photo of him, despite how vehemently he detests it. The messages are a jumble of words you struggle to make out, vowels in the wrong places and an amusing amount of emojis, even for James. A laugh huffs it way out of you as the three text bubbles appear once again, and a fourth message comes through. A photo of your house.

You'd be concerned, should anyone else have sent you the eerie looking photo of your house in utter darkness, but James is a love sick fool. You'd have to be blind not to know that about your boyfriend, even if things between you are still pretty new. He's not got a bad bone in his body. But it doesn't stop the way you sit up in a panic, scanning the floor of your bedroom for less embarrassing clothing. You come up empty, and your phone is incessantly buzzing in your hands now that James knows you've read his messages.

You use the glow of your phone to find your way downstairs, your house keys, make your way to the door and unlock it. James is sprawled out on the grass of your front garden, phone comically close to his face as he squints at the words he's typing. Drunk. Absolutely obliterated, clearly. You'll give Sirius shit for it, tomorrow, you think, as you let an exasperated laugh tumble from your lips.

James whips his head around at the noise, scrambles like a puppy to stand and bound his way over to you. He tramples some of the flowers planted around the borders of the grass and you fight a wince. He's on you in seconds, warmth radiating from him despite having been out in the cold for god knows how long. His arms are strong and steady, even though he reeks of beer, as he pulls you into them, lips firmly planted on the top of your head.

You try to peek over his shoulder for any sign of who dropped him off, but the street is empty, desolate, and you decide he must've walked from the pub.

Sleep still clings to the edges of your eyes as James pushes you back - uncoordinated and a little roughly, but you don't mind - and holds your face in his warm hands. "Hi, lovely girl." His voice is sweet and brimming with excitement at the sight of you and your heart swells.

"What on earth are you doing here, James?" You ask, though your words are kind and laced with amusement.

Your boyfriend only grins like the cat who got the cream, like he can't wait to tell you all about his adventure, until his eyes snag on your pyjamas. Technically, his pyjamas. His old juniors rugby top from secondary school and his boxer shorts, left abandoned by him last week when he'd slept in for breakfast with his mum and left in a hurry, a kiss placed to your cheek and the promise of being home for dinner. It had felt so domestic you'd had to talk yourself down from overflowing excitement for hours.

"Woah." James breathes, eyes wide.

You'd known he wouldn't mind you wearing his clothes, even if a little embarrassment at the idea had clung to your skin as you slipped them on before bed. But you hadn't expected him to feel like that about it.

"Easy tiger, you're three sheets to the wind." You chide softly, using the distraction to usher him into the hallway.

You close and lock the door behind him, place the keys in the bowl beside the door. James finds you in the darkness, hands soft against the fabric of his clothes on your body. You don't have to see him to know he's smiling that coy smile he gets whenever he seems to remember he has you.

"Am not." He mumbles, as if your statement has just now caught up with him.

You laugh, take his hand to lead him towards your bedroom. He follows quietly and without protest, but frowns when you flip on the overhead light and place him on the edge of your bed.

"What happened to Sirius' epic boys night on the town?" You ask, hands on his face as you crowd the in between of his legs.

His hands come to rest against the backs of your thighs, grip firm but soothing. He smiles, head lolling to the side, "Well," He sighs, as if buckling in for some wild tale of beasts slaughtered and mountains climbed, all just to get to you, "Sirius and Remus got drunk, like really, really drunk, and touchy and they were kissing and it made me realise how much I wanted to kiss you. So I left, and I came here for a quick kiss."

"A quick kiss?" You ask, eyebrow raised.

James just smiles, nodding dutifully, like it makes the most sense in the world. "Yeah, I gotta go back. They don't know I left."

You let out a long, suffering sigh, reaching for your phone beside James. "You can't just leave and not tell anyone where you're going."

"If they even realise I'm gone, they'll know where I am. With you." James shrugs.

"How do you reckon?"

"Where else would I be?" He asks, so serious and determined, so sure of himself that it makes your breath catch in your throat.

You can't help but smile, sweet and saccharine, glowing all over as you lean down to press your lips to James'.

"You're sweet."

James wrinkles his noise, grip tightening on your thighs as he pulls you down to him, falling backwards with a gentle thud. You catch yourself before your head collides with his nose and James grins, childish and playful, "You're sweet, too."

"Thanks, Jamie."

He presses his lips to yours, again, simple and warm. He knows he's in no condition for anything else, simply tucks you into his side and tries to get you to fall asleep with him, right there in the middle of the bed, on top of the blankets.

He's dead to the world in seconds, so you don't have much room for argument.

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ellecdc · 1 month

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hi, I’m not sure if this counts as an ask, if it does js delete it and I’ll assume so

neway who r ur fav writers for the marauders or hp in general — ur writing style is so pretty and I’d love to see who u personally enjoy or look up to

asks are okay! I'm just not taking new requests right now. thanks so much for your kind words 😭 I swear you guys speak way too highly of me 🫶

Oh gosh, this feels like an impossible question!!! Please note I've only been active on Tumblr since the beginning of January 😅 I opened this account years ago and did nothing with it until this year, so I'm not well versed!

(I'm not going to tag them in this because that would feel like showing my stupid little stick figure drawings to the likes of Frida Kahlo, how embarrassing)

Without a doubt the real MVP to me is mae at moonstruckme, every single one of her works slaps and the quality of her pieces is unmatched. I don't even watch criminal minds and I find myself reading her Spencer fics because they're so great! I also am not up to date on Stranger Things but I read those too because she truly never misses.

sunny at sunnami has written three of the best (roughly canon compliant) poly!marauders + lily x reader fics and I LOATHE canon (it's too sad and I'm a soft little baby) but I eat those fics up like nothing.

I friggen love jade's works on luveline I just find the quality of her writing really good. I also get really excited when writtenbymoonflower and fourmoony post, and of course ddejavvu when I want something with a little 🌶 spice 🌶, and I've enjoyed kquil's pieces as well!

#ask elle #elle's heroes #I wanna be them when I grow up

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thatdammchickennugget · 10 days

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🍐 and ☂️ please? For the emoji ask game 💛

Thanks for the ask love 💕

🍐 if you could make one character real, who would it be ➵ REMUS LUPIN. I NEED HIM.

☂️ your favorite fanfic from another writer ➵ it's impossible to pick just one so I'm gonna cheat and put a couple. protego series by @suugarbabe (mattheo), the crush theory by @theostrophywife (enzo), literally all azriel fics by @daycourtofficial (she is the reason I'm even reading the series), a night at the museum by @pizzaapeteer (blaise), self preservation series by @luveline (remus) and the pt!james fics by @fourmoony

#ask game #about me #mari's mail

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fourmoony · 2 months

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This may be weirdly specific so feel free to ignore if so but

Jamie with a reader who’s never felt like she was someone’s first choice and is having a hard time grasping that she *is* his

thanks for requesting angel! 1.5k f!reader modern!au

he's my sweet boy i need him in a way i cannot describe

masterlist

James' shrill ring tone fills the room, but neither of you make an effort to move for it where it's buzzing against the coffee table. You probably should be the one to do it, considering you're sprawled across the top of James, making it rather difficult for him to move. But, he doesn't ask you to, so you don't. Even when it rings a second time. You think James might actually be asleep, unaware to the incessant ringing. He's slept through worse, in all fairness.

But he groans petulantly when the ringing stops, turns to ping after ping, the texts flashing across his locked screen and illuminating the dark calm of his living room. His hand leaves it's place on your hip, reaching half heartedly for the device and when he fails, you sigh and reach for it yourself. It'd been a peaceful two hours of relaxing, just existing together in the same space, not really talking, not really doing anything except revelling in the feeling of each other's presence on James' couch after a busy week of barely seeing each other. Between your work, James' rugby practices, and trying to maintain social lives, it'd been hard to have quality time.

You're okay with that. More than okay with that. James has his life and you have yours. This thing you have, it's new and it's fragile, and you won't dent it or risk losing it by being clingy, by telling James that you miss him, that you want to spend more time with him, friends and coworkers, practices and life be damned. You refuse. So you slide the top half of your body off the couch, one hand holding yourself up on the floor, and the other outstretched for James' phone.

His left hand cups the back of your thigh, fingers slipping between the left and right. It's an innocent touch, but heat floods your body all the same as your fingers wrap around his rubber phone case and you heave your body back on top of his. He grumbles when the phone starts to ring again, rubs an apologetic hand up and down the back of your thigh which has you forcing your face into the crease of his neck and shoulder to hide the bright red of your cheeks.

He rests his head atop yours as he answers the phone.

Sirius' voice booms through the speaker, though it's too muffled to make out what he's saying. James answers whatever it is with a tired sounding "Not tonight, mate."

There's more muffled talking, a couple of voices added into the mix and you assume that Sirius is in the local pub. Your heart sinks a little when you realise he's likely inviting James out, and you don't have the heart to tell him you'd rather stay inside the cozy confines of his flat, half asleep in the dim evening light. You don't want to seem controlling or toxic, so you lie still, control your breathing, don't react to whatever is coming down the line from Sirius' end.

James chuckles lightly, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back, hand warm against your skin where it's worked it's way under your - his - rugby jumper. "Yeah, yeah, she's here." James' hand squeezes the pudge of your hip at the mention of you.

You tilt your head up in interest and James smiles down at you, warmly, presses his lips to the crown of your head as Sirius screeches down the phone.

"No. No, Sirius, she doesn't want to spend her only day off in the pub listening to you lot." James speaks with humour in his voice, but you can see the hint of frustration that's in his eyes.

You frown, wonder if he's frustrated because he feels he has to pick between you and his friends. You love his friends, you get on well with them, but he's right, you can't think of anything worse on your only day off than going to the pub. "You should go." You whisper, urging James by attempting to climb off of him.

His arm wraps tight around your waist, brows furrowed as he looks down at you and shakes his head, "No." He mouths.

Then, "No. Sirius. No. Mate, you're smashed, have Moony take you home."

James laughs at whatever Sirius says in retort, and then the two are saying their goodbyes. James tosses his phone onto the coffee table after he switches it to silent mode.

"You should go. This is your only day off, as well. Go see your friends. We can do a quick dinner or something tomorrow." You try to urge him again.

James' immediate response is to hold you tighter to him, as though you may actually be trying to escape him. "I'd rather spend my time here. With you." He shrugs, like it's nothing.

Your heart does a little stutter at his words, but your brain catches up and you sigh, "Jamie, it's okay. If you want to go, you should."

His brows hook upward at the middle when he furrows them, his eyes searching yours, "Why is it so hard for you to believe I'd rather be here with you?"

You try not to flinch at his words, try not to think about all the boys before who've put a myriad of things above you. It's fine, really. You've grown accustomed to settling for the dregs, the stolen moments. James is worth the heavy feeling it leaves in your chest to be second best. Simply because when you're with him, the world melts away.

Feigning indifference, you shrug against him, "Because all we're doing is laying here in the dark, half asleep. Wouldn't you rather be out with your friends having a laugh?"

"Would you?" James counters, and it seems like he genuinely wants to know your answer, like he thinks, foolishly, so foolishly, you'd rather be anywhere else. That you wish you were doing more.

Doing nothing with James forever sounds like the best thing you've ever heard. "No. Not at all. I love this. But I know you. You're a social butterfly." You speak softly, cautious of the conversation turning into a row.

You have too many experiences with conversations like the one you're having now being turned into a row.

James nods, "I love this, too. And you're right, I like to be social, but sometimes that drains me. I've spent all week being social, spent all week missing you, and I'm drained. All I wanted to do all week was see you, spend time with you. I couldn't think of anything worse than going to the pub, right now."

His hands are as assuring as his words, trailing a path of warmth and comfort across the planes of your back, your thighs, your hips. It's surreal, the assertiveness he speaks with, the way he makes sure you know he means every word. Your stomach flutters with the idea of him missing you as much as you missed him. It's weird, to feel validated, to feel content and sure.

"I just don't want your friends to think you're picking me over them, or something." You mumble, head dropping back into the space between his shoulder and neck.

James hums, "I am though. Not in a bad way. I just," He pauses, like he's searching for the words, "I'm sure about this, you know? Sure about you, about us. You mean a lot to me, and I'm all in. You come above everything else because, for me, that's the only way it'll work."

You feel rather silly for the tears that spring their way to your eyes, and begin to leak without your consent against James' neck. He must feel them, because he tuts, using his hands to pry your face away from the skin, thumbs swiping softly at the fallen tears. He looks at you so gently you might start sobbing. Relief washes over you in waves, and you realise you hadn't even been aware how worried you were that you felt more for James than he did for you.

"Why are you crying, sweet girl?" He whispers, pressing a kiss to each of your tear stained cheeks.

You loose a breath, "I've never been someones first choice before."

That visibly upsets James, who takes it upon himself to right this wrong, stave off your tears by pressing kisses all over your face between murmured promises.

"I'd pick you in this life," a kiss to your nose, "the next," a kiss to your forehead, "the one after that," a kiss to your chin, "and in every universe."

He finishes with a kiss to your lips, soft and deep, his hands steady on the line of your jaw. You whine a little, pushing further into him until he's chuckling into your mouth.

"I'd pick you, too," You say into his mouth.

James smiles, bright as anything you've ever seen, "Thank God for that, lovie."

And yeah. Thank god for that.

#marauders #marauders fic #james potter #james potter imagine #james potter fic #james potter one shot #james potter x f!reader #james potter fluff #hes a sweet boy your honour #sirius black #remus lupin #fluff #marauders fluff #sirius black imagine #remus lupin imagine #fourmoonys asks

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fourmoony · 7 days

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heyyy read you're looking for requests so here's one! james coming from hockey practice (i love hockey player james) and you tell him that a guy from uni has been hitting on you and stuf. he doesn't get mad just queasy, but then he needs reassurance too!

thanks for requesting, angel!

cw: insecurities, language, unwanted advances

1.4k, modern au, ice hockey James

The tell-tale sound of James' bag being abandoned haphazardly by the door alerts you to his presence. The door clicks shut soon after, followed by a heavy sigh. He's likely exhausted - always is after practice, especially if he and Sirius get caught mouthing off and are punished with bag skating.

James rounds the corner into the living room at the same time you pause your show and sit up to greet him. He doesn't acknowledge your abandoned plate from dinner or the pile of unfolded washing on the arm chair to his left. Instead, he gives you a tired smile and collapses into a heap beside you on the sofa. "Hi, bug." He mumbles, chin tucked into the neckline of his hoodie. Exhaustion seeps from his voice.

"Hi, handsome." You soothe, hand reaching out to toy with the curls at the nape of your boyfriend's neck. They're still damp from his post-practice shower, the smell of his body wash sweet and heady in your nose. "How was practice?"

He lets out a long suffering sigh, leans into your touch, "Stressful. The team isn't where we need to be for the playoffs. Coach made sure to let us know how angry he is about it."

You hum softly, scoot closer to James on the sofa until you're practically in his lap. James likes touch, he likes the connection, the intimacy, the weight of your body on top of his. You're happy to indulge him, the flowers that your boyfriend brings about your rib cage blossoming as his arm wraps around your middle, hoists you fully onto his lap. "What does he expect, you know? Half of his team graduated out, last year. He only has a couple of you guys left and the rest are freshmen." You try to justify James, but it seems the reminder only further sours his mood.

"Yeah, try telling him that. He thinks everyone is just born to be in the NHL, that these guys should already be up to standard, that they don't need the same exact training and coaching that we got." James' voice is thick with coiling tension, even if his muscles seem to be relaxing under you.

You smooth the baby hairs under your fingers, tilting your head until his eyes meet yours, "You're their captain, baby," You smile, "I bet they'd listen to it a lot better coming from you. They like you, look up to you. You be their coach if coach isn't going to step up."

Your boyfriend smiles, the sun peeking through storm clouds. A glimpse of your Jamie. He leans forwards, lips soft and gentle as he presses them to yours. He hums into the kiss, hands squeezing your hips. "Thanks."

"Anytime, handsome."

"How was your day?" James asks, feet stretching out to sit atop the coffee table.

You'd scold him if you weren't so busy quelling the beating of your heart. Any kiss from James sends you reeling, has done since the first time in freshman year. You don't think you'll ever get over the fact that he's your boyfriend. That he loves you as you love him, that you'll grow old and grey together. It never quite feels real.

"Good. Productive. We have a project due for McGonagall's class on Wednesday so I just worked on that most of the day." You don't feel the need to mention that you pointedly worked alone on your half of the project, but James frowns at your words and you know he's going to ask.

"You worked alone?"

"Yeah." You should probably say more, but James has a shorter fuse than Sirius does in general when it comes to you and you don't feel like unleashing all two hundred pounds of ice-hockey muscle onto the arrogant asshole who won't leave you alone.

James' thumb rubs steady circles into the fat of your thigh, his brows hooked upward in the middle a blatant sign of his confusion, "Your group have left you to do all the work?"

"No," You shake your head, "It was just easier to do my part on my own."

James doesn't say anything, but it's clear that he's waiting for you to go on. You sigh through your nose, head falling to rest on your boyfriend's shoulder, "One of the guys in my group has been hitting on me pretty regularly."

"What?" James asks around a swallow, voice hoarse. His muscles tense under you, his thumb pausing it's soothing measures on your thigh.

You shrug, "He keeps saying how he'd treat me right, how a 'pretty girl like me' deserves better. It's all bullshit, so I chose to work myself and just send the rest of the group my sections."

"Right."

It's odd, the way your body reacts to a single word as though it were a slap in the face. Your stomach sinks because you realise James isn't angry. He isn't itching to pound the guy's face into the ground and he isn't insisting you allow him to fix the problem, himself. You remove your head from James' shoulder, find him pale faced and distant. He looks lost, nauseous. "Jamie?"

James shrugs, eyes cold, "What?"

"'Right.'? That's all you have to say to that? What's wrong?" You ask, drawing further away the colder the look in James' eyes gets.

"What would you like me to say? That he might be right?" There's a clipped edge to your boyfriend's voice that you've never heard before, that jolts your body into fight or flight mode quicker than you'd care to admit.

You remove yourself from James' lap, confusion evident on your face as you settle to face him on the coffee table. His feet meet the ground with a thud as he moves to stand. Your hand flies out, a firm grip on his knee that begs him not to move. James gives you a sad look as he complies, fidgets with the draw strings on his jogging bottoms. "You think he has a point?" You ask.

James nods, lips pursed, eyes avoiding yours so evidently it angers you.

"Why?"

Your boyfriend shrugs again, tips his head back and lets out a groan, "You know at the end of this year I'm going to be drafted, right? I'm going to have to move across the country, probably, I won't have a choice in the matter and neither will you."

"We've had this argument before, James. I'm going wherever you go. I don't care where it is! It could be fucking Antartica and I'd still go." Your voice sounds less stern than you'd intended, but James softens slightly at your words.

"But you shouldn't have to just pick up your life and move because of me. You deserve someone who can give you stability and all of their time. I can't." James leans forwards until his elbows are resting on his knees, his face so close to yours you can feel his breaths.

It's an age-old argument, one you and James used to have often in the beginning. Before you knew that you wanted James in your life forever, back when he was trying to push you away with everything he had because he didn't want to risk falling in love with you and having to leave you, one day. The argument lessened the longer you were together, decisions made. You'd made up your mind the day James told you he loved you that you'd follow him anywhere, that you'd give up anything and everything to just be with him.

"I don't want anyone else. I don't care where we are in this world, James. I want you. That's all." You reach for him, thumbs swiping under his eyes in steady motions.

He takes a breath, closes his eyes under your touch. "I can't help but feel I'm asking you to sacrifice more than I'm worth."

And that just won't do. You clamber back onto his lap, legs on either side of his hips and chase his eyes. They're dark in the dim light of the living room, a deep brown filled with fear. "You're worth everything, Jamie. Everything." You tell him. And you mean it.

James swallows, nods. His arms wrap around you, pull you to him until he's falling back into the softness of the couch. "I love you." He tells you, vulnerable as you've ever heard him.

Flowers bloom all along the crevices of your rib cage, pull taught until you're so overflowing with love and happiness that all you can think to do is kiss him. He chases your lips when you pull back, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. "I love you too, Jamie."

"So you're not gonna leave me for that guy in your Psych class?" He asks, a twinkle in his eye that lets you know he's kidding.

You laugh, loud and obnoxious and your boyfriend swallows it with a world-ending kiss.

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fourmoony · 1 month

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hey, you could do something with reader telling james (or poly!marauders) that you're pregnant. reader was tense and hesitant about what his reaction would be, as she thought he wouldn't like the idea

thanks for requesting!

f!reader 1k cw: pregnancy

James has his head almost inside the pot of soup on the stove, poking and prodding at it with a wooden spoon as though it may bite him, when you cross through the arched entryway of the kitchen. He turns his head over his shoulder when he hears your socked feet padding across the tiled flooring, glasses fogged up and his smile bright.

"I don't think I did it right." He tells you, forbearing a greeting all together.

His brows hook in the middle when he turns back to the pot, lips pouted just a little. You peek over his shoulder to find a simmering pot of vegetable water and find yourself biting back a smile. Sweet James, your loving and doting boyfriend, always up for a challenge. You don't have the heart to tell him there's entirely too much water and not nearly enough stock in the pot, so you rub his shoulder encouragingly, place a kiss to it, after. "Looks lovely, handsome."

It pulls a warm smile out of your boyfriend, who seems more encouraged by your words than you think he should be. He's so trusting, so loving, leads with his heart and his soul, and nothing else. He puts too much faith in you.

"Remus' never looks like this, but I s'pose thats because he does it in the slow cooker." James placates himself with a shrug, eyes back on the steaming pot.

You hum a mild agreement, pulling yourself up onto the worktop so you're facing James. He likes the company whenever he's cooking. You like the domesticity, the routine, spending time with him whilst completing a task, talking about your day, your friends. It's nice, to be so comfortable with the person you love.

"Did you write down the instructions as he was giving you them? Or are you going from memory?" You ask James apprehensively.

He doesn't reply at first, too occupied with throwing a load of raw potatoes into the pot. They drop to the bottom of the pot with a sickening thud, water splashing over the sides. James winces as a droplet catches the side of his arm and turns to you with a weary look, "From memory. He was going too fast and the landline was crackly."

There's no saving the soup now, so you allow James to continue his ministrations. You'll pretend it's even better than Remus'. Anything for James. Anything to see him smile.

"He said he hopes you're feeling better soon, by the way. Sirius, too." James adds, face dangerously close to the open flame of the gas cooker as he adjusts the heat.

You blanch. You'd mentioned feeling poorly to James yesterday morning, a little tired, a little sick, stiff, the normal beginnings of a cold. The soup makes sense, now. "You asked Remus for his soup recipe because I mentioned feeling a little poorly once?"

James nods, shrugs like it's no big deal.

You've never felt this kind of love before, the kind of care and consideration James has.

"Jamie, I'm not poorly." Your voice is a little unsteady.

You'd wanted to wait, tell him when you'd figured out how you felt about it yourself. Wanted to be sure whether this was something you wanted, something James would want. You know he's a good man, a good person with a massive heart, but you've not been together for as long as you'd have liked, you're not married, there's a list of things that could make James run for the hills and you wouldn't blame him.

But you know him. You know James Potter. He's never ran from anything.

"Well it's too late for that, I've already made the ruddy soup, now." James teases, poking the pudge of your thigh with the tip of the wooden spoon.

"James," You try to garner his full attention, away from the burning vegetable water, "I wasn't poorly."

He frowns, probably trying to pin together the phrase with the way you're acting and comes up with nothing, so he says nothing.

"I'm pregnant."

James doesn't say anything for a minute. You can't read him. Eyes wide, jaw slack, eyebrows lost in the messy tuft of his fringe. Just when you think the silence might choke you, the fire alarm sounds, loud and abrasive. It kick starts your boyfriend's brain and he grabs the nearest tea towel, motioning for you to stay put, and wafts the smoke away from the detector.

After, in the silence that follows, he leans over the kitchen sink and opens the window, turns off the stove.

"When did you find out?" He asks, voice unwaveringly calm.

Your heart slams against your rib cage, scared and begging you to run, "This morning."

James nods, "How do you feel?"

"Nauseous. Confused. Scared."

James softens, crosses the distance between you. His hands are soft on your face when he slots between your legs, eyes swimming with emotion. He smells faintly like OXO stock cubes and his normal cologne as he rests his forehead against yours and heaves a deep breath. "You wanna do this?"

"Only if you do." You answer truthfully.

"I love you, you know that?" His voice comes out hoarse, and you realise he's holding back tears.

Tears spring to your eyes, too, when you nod, "I know."

"There's no one else I'd rather do it with."

Relief washes over you like a bucket of cold water, bringing the air back to your lungs, life back to your heart. You're laughing into the kiss that James presses to your lips, giddy and excited. He presses two gentle pecks there, after, and one to your forehead.

"Holy shit I'm gonna be a Dad." He sounds awed, in disbelief.

You laugh, "Yeah. You are."

"And you're gonna be a Mum."

"That's generally how it works, babe." You say placatingly, thumbs swiping over his rounded cheeks, holding his face in place. His smile is like the sun, bright and blinding. You feel warm all over just looking at it.

"I need to phone Sirius." James announces, turning on his heel to make for the landline.

You shouldn't be surprised, not when Sirius is an extension of your boyfriend's being. So, you simply wait until you can hear James ramming his fingers against the telephone, and dump a couple more stock cubes into the soup.

He can thank you later.

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fourmoony · 5 months

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Heya I have a request <3 I've been thinking about Remus having a crush on muggle reader because he sees her walking her dog all the time when he's reading in the park or something and sirius stepping up as wingman and running up to her in animagus form forcing pretending to be Remus' dog and forcing him to talk to her

love your blog btw!!! <3

ah, thank you so much lovely! thank you, as well, for requesting - i love this idea! hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

1.3k remus x fem!reader fluff language

masterlist

There's a man running towards you full pelt.

He's waving his arms, an exasperated look on his face as he huffs and puffs, cheeks crimson from exertion and the cool November breeze. You would be concerned about the fact he seems to be running straight in your direction, clearly past caring about how crazy he looks as he ignores the turned heads of other dog walkers, but it takes you maybe two seconds to deduce the dog - Padfoot, if his collar is to be believed - leaning against your hip is his.

Your own dog, Nova, has already made herself comfortable with Padfoot, sitting happily underneath his chest while you scratch the behind of his ears. He's the biggest dog you've ever seen, you think, up to your hip, standing.

Padfoot doesn't seem to be bothered in the least that his owner is clearly so upset by his apparent disappearance, the large black dog only tilting his head to look up at you, pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. You can tell he's full of personality and mischief, even if he's only been at your feet for a minute or so.

The man comes to a gradual stop, resting his hands on his knees and bowing his head to catch his breath when he's in front of you. You smile kindly, still scratching the dog's ears. Padfoot isn't complaining. The man looks up, a weak sort of smile about his face and you notice that it pulls a scar above his top lip taught. He has a number of them on his face that you can see. One running across the bridge of his nose, under his right eye, and another along his left jaw. They make him no less beautiful, by any means. He's handsome. Pretty. Gorgeous.

It's actually kind of intimidating.

His hair falls in soft curls across his forehead, where you can see the tail end of another scar cutting through his eyebrow, and it's a dirty, sort of sandy blonde that brings out the hazel in his eyes. He's tall and lanky, and the oversized woollen jumper he's wearing hangs from his frame in a way that suggests it wasn't bought for him. He's staring at his dog with such distain you wonder if this is a regular occurrence.

"You," He looks at the dog, eyes narrowed, and then seems to remember himself, "I'm so sorry. He's usually better behaved."

The way he talks, looking at Padfoot, and the way Padfoot reacts, lifting his head in a manner that bleeds defiance, anyone might think the two are actually capable of holding a proper conversation. You smile, amused at the situation, "He's okay. Seems like him and Nova have become fast friends."

Your own dog, a brown, little spaniel puppy, is sitting between Padfoot's front legs happily. As if he can understand, Padfoot drops his head on top of Nova's and almost crushes her with the sheer weight. The man laughs, seemingly resigned to his fate with his mischievous dog.

"Right. Well, again, sorry." He looks entirely bashful, cheeks a beautiful shade of pink.

"No problem, honestly." You wave him off.

The man turns to go back whatever way he came, calling out for Padfoot who remains defiantly still. He calls after him again, growing slightly frustrated, before resigning to his fate when Padfoot circles you once, twice, and then entices Nova into walking slightly ahead along with him. You smile at how tiny she looks compared to the massive black dog, weaving playfully in and out of his feet as they go. He doesn't seem to mind.

"I suppose he's not ready to part with her, yet." He chuckles, holding his hand out towards the two dogs in a gesture - shall we?

You chuckle lightly, "Apparently not."

You tell him your name, and he tells you that his is Remus. It's a nice name, uncommon, you suppose. But so is his accent. Welsh, maybe? It's definitely got a twinge of something. It's endearing. You walk together through the park, along the trail, letting Nova and Padfoot lead the way. Padfoot keeps Nova out of trouble, leading her away from the other leash-less dogs that the four of you pass. There's multiple strange looks from the people you pass, clearly fascinated with Nova and Padfoot and their ridiculous size difference.

"How old is he?" You ask, nodding your head towards Padfoot, who's nosing Nova back onto the dirt path instead of allowing her to run head first into the surrounding forrest.

He's incredibly smart.

"Uhm," Remus falters, lets out a breath you assume is a laugh intended for himself, some sort of inside joke, likely, "He's twenty one."

"Oh, so he's three?" You ask, brows furrowed in confusion.

Remus hums, amused, "Something like that."

"How old is Nova?"

"Eleven months. She's still a little shit sometimes, won't take to her recall training for love nor money." You tell him.

Remus nods along, listening amicably, a smile on his face, "Bit like that bugger then?"

You share a laugh, kind eyes and appled cheeks, shoulders brushing as you walk together. Remus is nice. He's tall and handsome and he's genuinely interested in holding a conversation, despite the fact that it's your dogs who have forced you along together.

"So, what do you do for a living?" Remus asks as you round a corner, passing a couple of determined hikers heading towards the hillier trails.

You both offer them passing smiles, and one comments on how cute your dogs are. You and Remus thank them both, looking fondly at Padfoot and Nova who are happily trotting along in front, sniffing and exploring.

"I work in a little art museum out by the marina. It's quiet and cozy. What about you?"

"I own a book shop with my mate Sirius," Remus tells you, "Quiet and cozy."

You giggle at the repetition of your answer, the car park that signals the end of the trail coming in to view. The sight drops like a lead balloon in your stomach. It's strange, the feeling you get of not having wanted the trail to end, to spend more time talking to Remus. He seems to feel the same way, because he takes a deep breath, teeth sliding over his bottom lip when he notices the carpark, too.

"Did you," He falters, unsure, so you offer him an assuring smile, hope that the look in your eyes tells him you're going to say yes.

He grins back, nodding as if you've passed a silent message between you, "Did you maybe want to get coffee, sometime? Or dinner? Maybe another walk?"

"Yes, Remus. I'd like that." You nod.

Remus looks chuffed, eyes bright and twinkly, cheeks rounded with the force of his smile. He still manages to look entirely too handsome even when he's bashful as he pulls out his phone and hands it to you, a contact form already waiting. You put your number in, your name, too, and hand it back to him.

"I'll text you?" He asks.

You nod, "Text me."

Remus whistles for Padfoot, who actually complies this time, as you bend down to reattach Nova's leash. You say your goodbyes, promise to talk soon, and then go your separate ways to your car.

You're smiling to yourself the entire time you clip Nova into place, talking animatedly to her about how well behaved she was with Padfoot and you almost miss it when you shut the door, look up and notice the car Remus got into just moments ago is driving past. Your brain tells you to put your hand up and wave, but he hasn't seen you, he's too busy talking - or yelling, it looks like - at the fully grown man in his passenger seat.

He's gone a second later, pulling out of the car park as you stand there, dazed, mouth opening and closing like some sort of fish.

"What the-"

#marauders #remus lupin #remus lupin fic #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin oneshot #marauders fic #marauders fluff #james potter #sirius black #love #lily evans #fluff #fourmoonys asks

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fourmoony · 5 months

Note

Hey! Requesting a Remus fluff where he spots reader in the library and is completely infatuated by her. James and Sirius persuades him to go up to her and eventually builds up the courage :3

hi lovely, thank you so much for requesting! hope you enjoy :) this one realllly got away from me, but I love it sm!!! he's baby your honour...

2.3k remus x fem!reader fluff language

masterlist

Sirius has his feet kicked up on the desk, his chair balancing on its hind legs and if Remus wasn't so distracted he'd probably tell him off, make up some lie about a kid he knew when he went to primary that fell and smashed his head open, caused a scene, traumatised a teacher and a classroom full of seven year olds, the paramedics ended up coming in to do a talk on classroom safety... something like that. Sirius probably wouldn't listen anyway, but at least he'd know he tried.

But he's distracted.

For once, it's not because of James' heavy handed typing as he abuses his poor laptop's keyboard, writing and erasing, writing and erasing. And it's also not because of the obnoxious groan Sirius lets out every few minutes just to make sure Remus and James know he's still there, waiting for them to be done so they can wrap up another week of uni with a few pints at the local pub.

No, today he's fully distracted by something else.

You.

It's not fair, actually. He thinks your beauty is actually hurting him, doing something funny to his heart. Can a person's beauty physically cause heart failure? Chest pains? Maybe an anxiety attack over the existential crisis he's facing knowing he'll never be able to have you? Remus doesn't know, but he thinks James would - he's the one doing his PhD, after all. Not that Remus would ever admit to finding you so breathtakingly beautiful it's causing physical pain. No, Sirius and James would never let him live that down.

So instead, he pretends to read his textbook on astro-physics, everything he's supposed to be revising going straight over his head, while stealing glances at you two tables over. You're in your own world, furiously typing into your laptop, stopping every now and then to take a sip of the comically large coffee beside you. It's midterm season, your large coffee is warranted in Remus' humble opinion. Not that you're even aware he's in solidarity of it. James would probably have some boring medical fact about coffee stunting growth and hormones or some load of bollocks similar, but he doesn't care.

Every now and then, you'll pout at your laptop screen, tilting your head to the side like whatever is on your screen has personally offended you. It makes Remus' heart slam against his rib cage in a totally annoying, embarrassing way he wishes he could make soft. He's not a creep. Really, he's not. He knows you. Somewhat. You've met a couple times when you've been chatting to Marlene - who shares a Comms class with you - either in the library or at the pub on the occasional Friday you make an appearance with your friends. It's not like he's having these weird feelings about a stranger. Well. A complete stranger. But there's just something so startling about how kissable your lips are, so soft looking and pink, and adorable in the way your head tilts like that of a confused puppy.

Your attention leaves the screen in front of you in an instant as if you can feel Remus' pining from ten feet away, eyes scanning your surroundings, and when your eyes meet his, Remus chokes on thin air. Thin fucking air. He's so shocked you've caught him, so shocked you're actually a real person he can make eye contact with and not a figment of his imagination, that he chokes, eyes widening, and looks back down to the text book in front of him. He resigns to the awful feeling of humiliation creeping up his neck, accepts the fate of his crimson red cheeks.

"Subtle." Sirius comments, a sickening smirk that Remus just knows means he's been caught graces the former Black Heir's lips and he'd rather like to kick the two back legs out from under best friend's chair now, thanks.

Even though he knows he's been caught, Remus schools his features, because he's actually very capable of that when it comes to his friends, and returns to his book, flipping the page with what he hopes is nonchalance and shrugs, "Dunno what you're on about."

Sirius scoffs obnoxiously, just like Remus knew he would, and returns his chair back to four legs with haste, arms planted on the table in front of him and a look on his face that reads 'I hate to break it to you, but you're the most obvious bloke on the planet'. "Mate, just go over and put us all out of our misery. It's painful."

"It is, mate." James mumbles agreeably, still very much engrossed in the battering of his keyboard. It's a wonder he hasn't broken the thing, Remus thinks.

Remus rolls his eyes. If only it were that simple. How could anything be that simple when you're so infuriatingly beautiful Remus doesn't think he could get two words in to a conversation with you without making a royal twat of himself.

"You make it sound so simple, Pads, truly." Remus drawls sarcastically, eyes still downcast on the book in front of him.

He hasn't read and actually processed a single sentence since he caught sight of you on arrival. He's well and truly fucked.

Sirius scrubs his hands up and down his face like Remus' hesitance is physically paining him, "C'mon, Moony. They didn't call you the Casanova of Gryffindor House for nothing, mate."

It's Remus' turn to scoff, now. He was hardly a Casanova. Just a nice bloke who girls happened to be attracted to. But that was a private boarding school where girls had no access to the outside world apart from the odd weekend at the school's nearest village. You live in a world with people disposable at your fingertips. Coffee shop baristas, classmates, the people on the commute to your classes, there's an endless opportunity for you to meet someone of interest. And how is Remus supposed to compete with that?

"Not happening. I'll suffer in silence, thanks." Remus tells Sirius, a tight lipped smile about his face that he hopes Sirius will read as the end of the conversation.

Clearly, Sirius is no better at social cues now than when Remus first met him, because his friend rolls his eyes and returns to leaning back on his chair, legs once again kicked up onto the desk, muddy boots falling on a piece of paper Remus knows he'll probably have to rewrite, now. "All I'm saying is what do you have to lose? You ask her out she says no, you go back to staring at her like a right creep from two desks over, or," He makes a flourishing movement with his hands, ever the one for dramatics, "She says yes, you bang, fall in love, get married, have kids, etcetera, etcetera."

Sirius' smile is triumphant, like he truly believes he's some sort of genius and Remus can't help the way his lips tick up in amusement. Maybe he has a point, but anxiety still claws at Remus' chest.

"He's got a point, mate," James has pushed his laptop away from himself, his circular glasses balancing haphazardly on his forehead as he rubs tiredly at his face, "Even if he didn't, I'm still begging you to go over there just to get him," he jabs a finger at Sirius, who preens proudly, "to shut up so I can get this paper finished."

Remus sighs, mulls it over in his head, an endless list of outcomes, variables, it's what his scientist mind is programmed to think like. But he gives Sirius a look, finds his best friend staring at him earnestly, and he realises that Sirius doesn't actually see it as a big joke. He truly thinks Remus should do it.

"Fine." Remus bites, taking a breath and pushing himself out of his seat.

Sirius pumps his fists in the air so violently his chair wobbles, but Remus doesn't look back. If he does, he might turn around and give up, go back to staring from afar. God, maybe he is a creep.

You're so engrossed in whatever you're working on, you don't realise Remus hovering at the seat across from you. When you do, you jump a little, and Remus opens his mouth to apologise, but you're already speaking, a wide smile gracing your lips, features completely taken over by the kindness in your eyes - you recognise him, "Remus, right? You're friends with Marls."

Remus nods, swallows the thickness in his throat. He doesn't trust himself to talk, just yet, so he's grateful when you nod your head to the seat across from you, welcoming him to sit. You half close the lid of your laptop, offering him your full attention and wait patiently for him to talk.

"How are your midterms going, by the way?" You ask when Remus finds himself unable to start a conversation.

You don't seem put off by his apparent silence, more than happy to carry the conversation if he needs. He's grateful, because your direct question has given him a reason to speak, a boundary of the things he can say. He's not worried about shouting just how beautiful he finds you for the entire campus library to hear when he has a strict criteria of answers he can give. Well. He's less worried. It's still not impossible.

"Uh, alright, thanks. You're taking Art History, right? Hows that going?" He hopes he's not misheard Marlene's brief introduction, and he knows he hasn't when you preen at his remembrance.

You nod enthusiastically, hair bouncing over your shoulders with the movement, "Yeah! It's currently kicking my arse, but I'll pull through. I imagine it's not as hard as," you pause, brows furrowing for half a second before Remus sees a lightbulb go off behind your eyes, your smile returning, along with the smooth plane of your forehead, crease gone, "Astro-physics, right?"

Remus tries not to think about the way his entire stomach knots up and threatens to give out over the fact you know what his degree is. There's every chance Marlene has told you, like she told him your degree, but he can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, you'd asked about him. Instead, he smiles dutifully, even though he can feel his somewhat calm and collected exterior melting away, "Yeah, astro-physics. But I imagine they're equally challenging in different ways."

You seem to like that answer, following along and nodding amicably to show you're listening, "I suppose you're right. Although, I think you could explain it to me like a five year old, and I'd still be lost."

Remus laughs. Not at you, but at the perplexed expression on your face as you imagine such a scenario. You shake your head out, giving him your full attention again. You're so lovely. So sweet and nice and Remus feels like he might actually have a shot, if your kindness and patience so far is anything to go on.

"If it makes you feel any better, I couldn't tell you squat about the Mona Lisa." Remus shrugs.

It's your turn to laugh, your head tilting back ever so slightly as it rocks through you. The sound is like music to Remus' ears. He decides then and there he'll do anything, forever, to get you to make that sound again. He commits it to memory, allows it to warm his chest, potential heart attack be damned.

"You're cute, Remus Lupin." You're amused as you say it, eyes shining with a kind of fondness Remus allows to steal his breath.

He thinks maybe you don't mean to say it, at first, but when your gaze holds his, confident and teasing Remus knows. He just. He knows. You're into him, too. Maybe not as deep as he's into you, but the interest is there and that's all Remus cares about.

"A few of us are going to the pub in a few for some drinks, Marlene will be there. Did you maybe want to join us?" Remus asks, an uncomfortable heat in his cheeks even though he knows you're likely to say yes.

He chuckles when you pretend to think it over, pout twisting into an amused grin when you go to speak, "Sure, Remus. I'd love to."

Remus feels like he's won some sort of gold medal, maybe the lottery. He's not sure. But what he does know is that his blood is thrumming through his veins in a way it never has before with pure elation. You're grinning ear to ear, already beginning to pack up your things. He waits patiently while you do, following your lead in standing up. You round the table, closer to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Remus?" You ask, stepping into his space and he can smell your perfume, your shampoo, so sweet he thinks he's going to pass out.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"I only have one condition."

He arches an eyebrow, urges you to go on.

"Next time, it's just us two. A proper date." You smile sweetly, completely unaware of the affect your sultry voice has on Remus' already weak knees.

His breath catches in his throat as you look up at him, your tiny hand encircling his wrist oh so carefully.

"Yeah?" His voice is gravelly, lips threatening to turn up in a wicked grin, "I'm sure we can make that happen."

Just like that, you step out of Remus' space, hand dropping his wrist and your teasing smile falling back into your soft, kind grin, "Great. I'm all yours for the rest of the night, Remus."

Remus almost groans as he leads you back over to Sirius and James, who are grinning like cheshire cats as they pack up their belongings to follow suit with you and Remus. He's met his match, he thinks. You're well and truly going to be the end of him.

Not that he cares in the slightest.

#marauders #remus lupin #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin oneshot #marauders fic #marauders one shot #marauders fluff #sirius black #james potter #lily evans #love #fluff #regulus black #peter pettigrew #fourmoonys asks

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fourmoony · 4 months

Note

Hi oh my gosh I love literally everything you write. And you're doing poly!marauders. So excited.

Would you be willing to do something like reader doesn't have a great self-esteem so she never thought she'd find someone who'd love her just the way she is but then she found them. and is just super in love and incredibly happy?

could be nsfw too if you want.

thankyou!

you are so kind, thank you so much, angel! thanks for requesting, hope you like it :) p.s. this is my first time writing poly!marauders so be gentle pls <3

poly!marauders x f!reader | 1.2k words | masterlist

cw - implied self esteem issues

You feel content in your little bubble.

The kitchen is warm and filled with love and laughter and bodies and the conversation flows freely. It's comfortable and cosy and Remus is making soup so really, your day couldn't get any better.

James is cutting vegetables under Remus' watchful gaze and Sirius is practically hanging over Remus' shoulder, as excited as you about the pot of soup on the stove. You're content to just watch them, let them just be from your place on the counter beside the stove. Remus had chastised you'd burn the side of your leg, James had made an ill timed joke about getting to kiss it better, and said burn was yet to occur. So you sit. You watch. You smile to yourself because you're happy.

It's a daily struggle to remind yourself that you're worthy of being included in this little bubble, that the boys want you here as much as you want to be here. Some days it feels impossible, some days you feel like an intruder, like a burden they're too nice to get rid of. Then Sirius does something so stupidly Sirius and Remus will lean over, kiss the shell of your ear and thank you for being the only sane person in the house. And James asks if he can sit with you while you shower. It's not about sex. Not always, at least. James just likes to listen to your day and tell you about his without the constant buzz of conversation around him, sitting on the toilet with fogged up glasses and a smile on his face. He joins you on the bad days, helps you forget. It's peaceful, and it's your ritual.

They do everything they can to remind you, every day, that they want you there, that they love you as you love them. It's a nice feeling, to be wanted, to be loved, to be understood and appreciated. It's an even lovelier feeling to be a part of someone's routine. The showers with James, pestering Remus while he cooks dinner, reading to Sirius until he falls asleep, sprawled out across the three of you on the couch, his breaths heavy and your hand in his hair. It's a nice life you have. That counts for a lot, even on the days you don't feel worthy.

Today isn't necessarily one of those days, but it's there on your face. That 'outsider looking in' type of mood you get when you think about it for too long. You've discovered you're allowed to feel both content and undeserving at the same time - or, at the very least, that it's possible. You often wonder why Remus, Sirius, and James chose you. It's not a secret, you've asked many times and received many answers, varying in seriousness to Sirius' absurd "we tossed a coin.", to which Remus chastised him relentlessly.

You'd laughed, and that was all Sirius had needed.

Now, you're watching the three of them with the same awe you always do, and Sirius seems to catch it in the split second his eyes leave the pot of soup on the stove. He's on you in a second, not a far walk considering you're sitting so close to the gas stove that you're surprised Remus' theory of your burnt thigh hasn't come true. Sirius' eyebrows furrow in that concerned sort of way they often do when he's trying to read one of the three of you, his hands gentle as they come into contact with the pudge of your hips.

"Spill," He tilts his head, lips downturned at the corners and it makes your heart ache.

They've always urged you to be open, to share your concerns and tell them what, exactly is going on in that 'big beautiful brain of yours', as James calls it. But the look of knowing, of concern, on Sirius' face hurts. You hate that after all this time you still feel this way sometimes. Even on the good days, you catch yourself asking what you did to deserve your boys.

"Hm?" You hum, hands lifting to hold the sides of your boyfriend's face in hopes of distracting him altogether.

His hair is tied back, but you curl an index finger around a strand of stark black hair thats fallen into his face and Sirius smiles, soft and lovely, "You've got that," He waves his hand in front of your face with wiggled fingers and you laugh, "look."

"What look?" You ask, leaning forwards to press a kiss to his lips.

Now Remus, if you had tried a move like that, would tsk, tell you to spill before he rewards you, and it's why you know it'll work when you try it with Sirius. He always gives you whatever you like. His lips return the favour, hands pulling you forward a little on the counter. It's a nice kiss, a sweet kiss, until James scoffs and declares Sirius is easily manipulated.

"Am not." He grumbles, shooting your two boyfriends a dirty look.

Remus rolls his eyes into the soup, sets the lid on it to simmer at the same time James drops the knife and starts putting the vegetables into a bowl.

"C'mon, Dove, what's up?" Remus asks, hip balanced against the stove, turned to face you.

He's in his comfies, the first of the four of you to arrive home from work, earlier, and he looks so soft and warm. You know he won't give in to whatever interrogation Sirius has unknowingly started so you heave a sigh and slump back against the wall cabinets.

"Sirius is being dramatic. The 'look' I had was contentedness with a little bit of 'what on earth did I do to deserve these men?'."

Remus' lips turn up at the corners and he crowds your space, pushing an annoyed Sirius to the side for the moment, "You didn't have to do a thing. We love you as is."

You hum, delighted with the appraisal, a bashful smile coming across your lips. Remus kisses it, quick and sweet, and returns to his soup. Sirius sticks his tongue out at the side of Remus' head and you laugh. James passes the vegetables off to Remus because Sirius is not to be trusted with the good kitchen knives after the Christmas Eve in A&E incident last year, and comes up behind Sirius, arms wrapped around his waist, head firmly on his chin.

You know James' back is probably breaking at the angle, but Sirius would simply be offended for the rest of the night if James used his head instead of his shoulder. He's in denial about his height, you suppose.

"It's more like what on earth we did to deserve you. I've no idea how you put up with those two." James gives you a knowing smile as he speaks.

You both wait for Sirius' outrage and Remus' offended scoff. Both come. They team up on the other side of the kitchen, Sirius hovering over Remus and likely causing more of an annoyance. James uses it as an opportunity to get you closer to him, whisk you off to the couch in the living room now his sous chef duties are complete.

You set up the usual dinner time sitcom and pause it, relaxing into your boyfriend and talking about anything and everything until Remus calls that the soup is ready.

In the kitchen as James and Sirius fight over who should get the first bowl, Sirius because he waited so patiently, or James because he actually helped, Remus slides you your own bowl with a lovely big smile reserved just for you, and you couldn't imagine yourself anywhere else in the world.

#marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders #poly!marauders fluff #james potter #james potter fic #sirius black #sirius black fic #remus lupin #remus lupin fic #marauders era #marauders fluff #marauders fic #fluff #love #fourmoonys asks

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fourmoony · 7 days

Note

Just thinking about Sirius trusting reader enough to do his hair :,) or maybe she experiments with putting his hair in curlers/curling it. I could even imagine Sirius owning a Dyson airwrap to have the best blowouts 😭💀

Sirius would 100000% own the dyson air wrap!!! Thanks for requesting, babe!

cw: none

750 words, modern au

You're not sure where Sirius learned his money managing skills from (or if he even has any), but the pleased smile and child-like excitement over his brand new hair dryer is something you refuse to admonish. Though, you're sure even if you tried, you'd fail.

Your boyfriend bounces happily on the balls of his feet, hair sopping wet and plastered to his face. Water droplets seep into his grey shirt but Sirius doesn't seem to care. Not when he's too busy making bedroom eyes at the unopened box on the bathroom counter. He'd been so happy when John Lewis finally had the Dyson Air Wrap back in stock, had dragged you out of bed this morning to drop an easy five hundred quid on it. Your head had spun with the realisation of just how rich your boyfriend actually is.

He's not flashy with his money. Irresponsible, yes. But being there to witness a classic Sirius-Black-Irresponsible-Purchase had really solidified the knowledge that your boyfriend is filthy rich.

"Okay, I'll grab a stool and you set it up." He says, turning to make for the stool that sits under your dressing table.

"Wait, you want me to do it?" You yell after him.

Sirius makes noise everywhere he goes. He's loud and abrasive, jagged around the edges. He loves so loud that it only makes sense his entire personality is the same. There's thumps and grumbles as he bumps into things all the way along the hall, the tell tale sounds of the stool scraping along your freshly painted hallway. "Well who else would do it?" Sirius rounds the corner, flashes his teeth in a wide grin that he knows will make you fold.

"What makes you think I'm qualified?"

Sirius shrugs, "The fact that I'm one hundred percent not. You're good at everything, sweetness."

He knows flattery works like a charm, especially when he pairs it with his best flirty eyes. You sigh, reaching for the box and unravelling all of the corresponding pieces. It's high tech, incredibly high tech. Sirius fidgets on the stool as you watch a video on your phone, lips curled between your teeth in concentration.

It takes a while to get the hang of, and you're sure you'll get better in time. Sirius softens and relaxes as much as he ever allows himself to as your fingers work through his hair, as you brush and comb and dry it. He hums and sighs and even closes his eyes. It's peaceful and intimate and it allows you to come to a startling realisation that Sirius has never asked you to do his hair for him before.

He's not prissy about his hair. He'll let anyone touch it. He actually begs for people to play with his hair. But he's never outright asked you to fix it up for him, prefers to get it sitting perfect by himself because he believes it to be his best asset. You'd have to disagree with him on that. His eyes never fail to amaze you, nor his smile.

"All done." Your voice seems to pull him out of a daydream.

His eyes open and he smiles wide, turning in the stool in an instant until he can take your hands in his. "Bad news, sweetheart, you're going to have to do this every day." He informs you, standing until his hands can reach your hips.

He pulls you into him, a little roughly, but catches you with his own body, lips ducking down to press to your forehead. You resist the urge to tell him you'd be happy to do his hair every day, if only to feel the intimacy and pride of being the one person he trusts to style his hair.

"Such a travesty." You feign indifference, lips pressed to his collar bone where it peeks out of his shirt.

Sirius shivers at the contact. "Easy, sweetness. I know my hair is super hot and stuff, but we have dinner reservations with James and Remus. They'll get pissy if we cancel to have sex."

"Again." He adds after a second.

You scoff, pushing your boyfriend away whilst he barks with laughter. Heat creeps up your neck as you exit the bathroom, ignoring Sirius' shouts down the hallway that he could make an exception for a quickie.

"Thanks, baby!" He calls a moment later.

You can't fight the smile that toys at your lips as you pick out an outfit for dinner.

#marauders #sirius black #fourmoonys asks #sirius black fic #sirius black imagine #sirius black oneshot #sirius black x reader #sirius black x f!reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black comfort #marauders fic #marauders imagine #james potter #remus lupin #fourmoony

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fourmoony · 5 months

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hii so i was thinking could you write smth with james getting flowers for the first time from reader? it would be soo cute

hi lovely! thanks for requesting.

james x reader fluff | 711

James' shoes are haphazardly abandoned beneath the coatrack when you push your way through the door.

You're holding two bags in each hand, the crinkling of them loud in your ears as you struggle to move through the door way. The coat rack wobbles when one of the bags catches a coat that's been thrown over the top and you let out an exasperated swear under your breath. James rounds the corner with curious eyes, already changed out of his work clothes despite having only been home for what you know to be twenty minutes. He looks cozy in his Christmas pyjamas, socks pulled up with the bottoms tucked into them.

He smiles bright when your eyes meet his and steps forwards to take two of the bags from your hands. You hand them over gratefully, smiling to yourself when his lips press to your head in greeting.

"Hi, lovey," He murmurs, pulling away to make for the kitchen.

You follow, hot on his heels, chasing the scent of his boyish body wash and the warmth of his heart. "Hi. How was your day?"

James sets his bags on the kitchen island and you follow suit, "It was good. Got lunch with Sirius. He sends his love."

"No Remus?" You ask as you fall into a practiced routine of putting away the shopping, together.

It's domesticity at it's finest and you love every minute of it. James has a way of making the smallest things mean the world. With him, things like changing bed sheets or folding laundry isn't so boring. Simply because he's there, soft voiced and willing to help.

He squeezes your hip as he passes, headed to put the milk in the fridge, "Nah, he's got a deadline to meet next week, probably won't crawl out of his hole until after."

You make a mental note to check in on him through the week, even just to tidy up around him while he works, make him a meal that has more nutritional value than a Tesco microwave meal or a kebab. "I hope he's feeling more inspired than last week. Marlene said he was staring at the wall for over an hour when she went round to drop off the shortbread Mary made."

James hums in agreement, rustling around in the second bag. Cellophane crackles and your boyfriend makes a questioning noise - "Lovey, why didn't you tell me your flowers were dying, I only bought them last week."

You turn from where you're trying to stuff a bag of oven chips into the overly stuffed freezer drawer, eyebrows drawn together because your flowers aren't dying so why is James saying that they are? His eyebrows are furrowed, too, and he's standing with a bunch of bright yellow sun flowers in his hand. You smile, "They're for you, silly. Not me."

As if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

It only makes James more confused. "Why?"

Well, for starters, they're big and beautiful, and remind you of a summer's day - same as James. Secondly, he'd said only last week that his mum had grown them in her garden when he was a young boy and he missed the sight dearly. You tell him this and watch as his big hazel eyes turn soft, the hand that isn't cradling the bunch of flowers reaching out for you.

You crowd his space, happy to be so close to him, all cozy and warm and smelling so handsome. The tops of his cheeks are pink and he's smiling so wide it makes your heart melt. He looks almost bashful.

"I've never had someone buy me flowers before." He says it so quietly you're not sure if you were even supposed to hear.

"Well," You press your lips to the underside of his jaw, "Now you have."

He smiles even wider, presses his lips to yours and you feel the familiar warmth spread through your body at his touch. His fingers brush along your waist line, eyes on his bright bunch of sun flowers.

"Thanks, baby."

His smile is sweet and sticky like honey, a familiar feeling in your chest, and all you want to do is kiss him again. So you do. He welcomes it.

"You're welcome, Jamie."

#marauders #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #love #fluff #james potter imagine #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter request #fourmoonys asks

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fourmoony · 3 months

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hi, I just wanted to let you know that reading your writing brings me so much comfort and joy. Today, I found out that the person I’ve liked for the longest time has a girlfriend, and it’s been hard to say the least. It also didn’t help that I read an unrequited love blurb featuring remus as soon as I got home 😭 I was just wondering if you’d be willing to write something where the reader assumes that remus doesn’t like her because he seems aloof, but is actually just nervous because he likes her so much. I am so appreciative of you and your beautiful work, as always 🤍

this made me tear up. your words are so kind, and are the push i needed this week to keep writing <3 never in a million years did i think anyone would think this about my writing. thank you.

i'm sorry to hear about your crush; unrequited love is a tricky and heavy feeling. i have no doubt you'll find your person, though. as someone who's had my fair share of heartache, i promise, it won't hurt forever. my friends think i'm crazy because my advice is always to just let it hurt. but one day you'll wake up and you'll have run out of hurt. and you won't even remember what you saw in them, anymore. sending love.

P.S. i suck at writing shy remus so this is more like silent, unreadable remus. idk i'm tired. hope this is okay!

---

remus lupin x f!reader - masterlist 1.2k words

cw - implied self esteem issues, smoking, drinking

Remus' thumping steps carry up the staircase only seconds after you call on him. You're facing the mirror when he arrives in the doorway, hair clasped to the side in one hand, and the other reaching aimlessly for the zip half way down the back of your dress. His eyes find yours over your shoulder in the reflection, a fond smile passing over his features when he steps through the threshold into your room.

"You look lovely." He comments, voice warm and smooth in the way that it always is.

Warm Remus, smooth Remus, so fond and kind, feels like home and everything familiar. His fingers are warm as he tugs gently at the zip, one hand placed on your shoulder for leverage. His touch is gentle, like he's afraid he might break you, and it lingers for only a moment when he's done. You swallow around the lump of want in your throat, the want for it to have lasted longer, the want for him to touch you and have it mean something. It doesn't do any good to want. Because you can't have, and you've had to deal with becoming okay with that fact.

"Thanks, Rem."

He nods, lips curled in on themselves like he wants to say something, a look in his eyes you've never been able to read. He says nothing, and he retreats with the promise to wait on you with the others in the living room. Remus does that a lot - refrains from the things he wants to say, stops himself short. You wish he wouldn't.

You're always wishing, wishing, wishing.

He keeps true to his word. Remus is waiting in the living room with Sirius, James, and a rather flustered looking Frank when you descend the staircase. It's only now you realise how lovely Remus looks in his suit. Partly because of how Sirius is wearing his - like he had a fight with it and lost. Remus stands when you appear, as if on instinct, and takes a step forwards. You smile, eyes catching on Frank who's looking at the clock like it's stealing time from before his very eyes. You suppose, in a way, it is.

"You okay?" You feel the need to ask, hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Frank looks alarmed by your question, a grimace on his face, "She's going to be there, isn't she? She's not going to, like, do a runner? Have you spoke to her today?"

James huffs a laugh, pats Frank on the shoulder rather heavily. The whiskey in his crystal tumbler splashes over the side and onto the rug. "Last I heard, Mary and Marlene had her pinned down in the make up chair, she tried, but they wouldn't let her."

Sirius barks a laugh. Frank scowls. He knows you're kidding. Alice Fortescue has been absolutely smitten for Frank Longbottom since she was thirteen. There's absolutely nothing that could stop her from walking down that aisle, today. Frank knows that as well as you do.

"Not helping." James decides, passes Frank a cigarette.

He mumbles something about not wanting to smoke inside and makes for the door. Remus gives James and Remus a pointed look, "Better make sure he doesn't do a runner, yeah?"

They're quick out the door like they actually believe Frank would ever do something like that. The only place he'd ever run to is Alice. And she'd have his balls for seeing her in her wedding dress before the ceremony. Remus gives you a familiar smile, a knowing smile, a smile he saves for you and you only. It feels like he's in on something you aren't when he smiles like that. Heat crawls up your neck, flowers wrap their way around you rib cage.

"You scrub up well, you know." Is all you manage to say, rather breathless.

Remus rolls his eyes, "I try."

A minute of amused silence, Remus passes you the glass of wine in his hand. The glass is warm from being in his clutch, but you drink from it anyway.

"I thought after the catering disaster this wedding wasn't going to happen." Remus admits, looking out of the living room window at where Frank paces the length of the front path, working his way through his second cigarette. Alice will have your head for allowing such a thing.

You hum a disagreement, eyes roaming Remus' face, it's so soft, so beautifully shaped. You've no idea why he hates his scars so much. They only outline his best qualities. The one over the bridge of his perfectly sloped nose, the one under his beautiful amber eyes, the one along his sharp cheekbones, and your favourite one: the one across his cupids bow, defining his soft, pink lips. It's a shame, really, that Remus Lupin thinks so little of himself. You'd give him the world should he only ask.

"I think nothing can stop a love like that," You murmur, soft and quiet, voice thick with something, "Not even a shoddy caterer."

Remus' eyes leave the front garden, meet with yours in a way that always makes heat explode in your chest. He's too much to look at, sometimes. It physically hurts.

"You always have such a positive outlook on life."

You laugh, shoulders shrugging, "Suppose it's habit."

"From?"

"Keeping you miserable lot from giving up all together?" You offer, smiling over the rim of your wine glass.

Remus laughs, genuine and unashamed. "Tell you what, at our wedding, I promise to be the one keeping everything together, how about that?"

He seems to flinch after that, like he's physically pained by the words coming out of his mouth. You flinch, too. The flowers around your rib cage wilt and pull tighter all in one go, a frown pulling at your lips.

"I wasn't aware we were getting married."

Remus smiles like he's in pain, "Yeah, well, step one would actually be asking you on a date, but I'm a right twat who's mucked all that up."

There's something self deprecating about him. You don't like it. Remus Lupin deserves the world. You'll give him the world. You didn't think he wanted that from you, though. But you smile, gentle and sweet in a way you hope he'll like. It feels like something shifts. Maybe the stars begin to write a story about you both. Maybe the sun stops it's rotation just for a second to watch you both.

The wedding car pulls up outside and Remus, seemingly eager to back away from the situation he's created, slams his own drink down on the table and makes for the door.

"Remus," You call after him, he turns, "I'd marry you."

You offer him a lopsided smile. His eyes search your face for any sign of a joke. He finds none. You hope he understands what you mean.

"How about a date first?" He asks.

You release a breath, a laugh, a smile. It feels like you're floating.

"Sure, yeah. That first."

The front door swings open and Sirius barges his way past Remus, panicked and disheveled, "I've lost the fucking rings!"

Remus sighs, hand in his pocket, hands Sirius the red velvet box, "Here."

You're laughing all the way down the path, shoulder brushing Remus', the start of something new.

#fourmoonys asks #marauders #marauders fic #marauders oneshot #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fluff #james potter #james potter imagine #sirius black #sirius black imagine #frank longbottom #alice longbottom #mary macdonald #marlene mckinnon

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fourmoony · 1 month

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hello, you could do something with Sirius by going to meet the reader's parents (Sirius was insecure about this), but he is welcomed and the reader's whole family seems to love him

thanks for requesting, sweetheart!! 847 words f!reader

this is short and thrown together worse than Sirius' cookies. sorry.

Sirius is crowded around your niece, boxing her in against the counter as she stands on her cooking stool. He'd been the only one left with enough energy to make cookies with her after dinner. It's sweet, the gentle tone he uses with her, the patience he has that allows her to do everything by herself. He doesn't balk when she spills all of the measured flour straight onto the counter, just hands her the bag with extra caution and tells her he'll tidy it up later, that mistakes happen.

They're in their own little world, unaware, or simply uncaring, of the eyes on them. You know a little about Sirius' past; his horrible family, his traumatic upbringing, how he never truly felt loved by anyone except his younger brother until he ran away and the Potters took him in. It would've been enough for you to assume the idea of doing such an activity, that requires such patience and acceptance of mess, would send Sirius spiralling. Except, he's embraced it openly, he was more than willing, and he seems to be truly enjoying himself.

In all the time you've known Sirius, you've known him to love loud and abrasive. He's jagged around the edges, a bright, shattered light of chaos and pure energy. He's over the top, loves too hard, is quick to anger. But with your niece, it's the first time you've ever seen Sirius quiet, soft. He's all gentle movements and murmured encouragements, and you like this version of him, but you find yourself waiting for your Sirius to return. The Sirius who can command a room with a single smile, whose laugh sounds more like a barking doberman, whose presence takes up every last drop of attention.

He'd been so nervous about meeting your family. Understandable, given his own upbringing. But, he never had any reason to worry. Not with the way your sister and mother watch him, black top and jeans covered in flower, dried egg white smeared across his cheek, and still, a wide smile across his lips every time your niece turns around, as if checking he's still there. Still encouraging her. He always is.

"You think you'll have one soon?" Your sister asks. There's a sly smirk on her face, as though the sight before you was purposefully designed to make you broody.

You answer with a shrug. You're not broody, but theres a glow to your heart with the idea of this being healing for Sirius. "Not sure. We've never spoken about it."

Your family don't know about Sirius' past, at his request. He'd wanted to earn their respect, not receive it through pity. You can't wait to tell him they respect him beyond what he could've ever imagined. He'll be so happy. He'd spent the whole way over fretting about whether he'd picked the right outfit, the right aftershave, what he should and shouldn't say. You didn't have the heart to tell him that your family, whether or not they'd met him before, already loved him, simply because of how happy he made you.

"You'd make cute babies." Your sister tilts her head to the side, very obviously ogling your boyfriend and you scoff.

"Subtle."

She shrugs, unfazed.

"I'm just saying. No man I've ever met has the patience for toddlers the way he does." She picks up her wine glass, takes a pointed sip, eyebrows raised.

"We'll see." You reply.

"He makes you happy. It's hard to watch your daughters grow up, navigate life and love," Your mother chips in, hands splayed out across the dining table, "It's hard to watch them fall, pick themselves back up, and fall again. Hard to watch them trust the wrong people. But I have no doubt that man would ever hurt you. He, perhaps, loves you more than anyone in this world."

It's a nice thought. The idea of Sirius loving you most. Your eyes find his, conversation coming to a halt as he lifts your niece out of her cooking stool and she toddles over to your sister.

The cookies are in the oven, and Sirius has gotten straight to the task of cleaning up. You join him, piling bowls and utensils into the dish washer whilst he wipes the copious amounts of spilled flour off of the counter.

"You think tonight went okay?" He asks, nervous eyes flicking to where your mother and Sister are fussing over your niece.

You lean across, lips pressed to the cracked egg white smudged across his cheek, "More than. They love you."

Your boyfriend breathes out in relief, "Thank god, because I have no idea how to make cookies and I need them to already like me when they taste them, in case they fail."

A startled laugh tumbles out of your lips and Sirius follows. Your Sirius, loudest laugh in the room, the man with the biggest heart you've ever known - even if it's bruised and battered.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, babe."

Sirius tsks, "You say that now, let's just wait and see if I give anyone salmonella."

#sirius black #marauders #marauders fic #marauders era #sirius black fic #sirius black imagine #sirius black fluff #sirius black request #sirius black oneshot #fluff #sirius black x reader #sirius black x f!reader #fourmoonys asks

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fourmoony · 2 months

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Hiii I hope your doing well !!! I was wondering If you could do james and reader (established relationship) where they are out together somewhere with new people and (like me) reader has a lovely thing called anxiety, I feel like he'd notice right away despite being the opposite. (I'm a sucker for james entirely i need some sweet encouragement from him) I don't know what it is but I tend to feel totally invisible and lonely in Public places, despite being with friends or ppl that i do know. For some reason ppl tend to acknowledge everyone else n leave me out, which I've struggled with for a very long time unfortunately !!

So if you can somehow incorporate that, for me and anyone else who's ever felt that way, that would be great :)) I'll leave it up to youu ♡♡ p.s. I'm obsessed with ur writing

thanks for requesting, angel! <3 1.6k f!reader modern!au

as someone with an overwhelming friend group, learning the difference between not being included and having friends who will just talk into the abyss and if you can keep up, cool, was key lmao

James' hand hasn't left your thigh since you sat down at the table, a sweet encouragement that you relish in. It's a grounding touch, encouraging squeezes here and there when you manage to involve yourself in the conversation. Even when your food had been served, James' touch didn't falter as he stabbed rather uncoordinatedly at his pasta with his left hand.

His thumb moves in small circles against the inside, a distracting touch only in that his hand is dangerously close to disappearing under your skirt. You worry someone will see, get the wrong idea, and that will just send you spiralling for weeks, the awkwardness heavy in your chest. You're an over-thinker, you analyse everything, every movement, every tick of someones jaw, the light of their eyes, the tone of their voice. It's a blessing and a curse, really, your ability to instantly sense change within someone.

You can't help but notice the way that the conversation has carried on without you. Sirius and Remus are bickering, a fire in their eyes that you know very well means they're enjoying it despite their exasperated stances. Further down the table, Lily, Mary, Dorcas, and Marlene are gossiping about someone they went to school with, yelling excited agreements about the person in question, the injustices they must have committed against the girls. Even Peter is louder than normal, caught in a heated debate with James about the upcoming Six-Nations game.

There's not a conversation happening that you feel equipped to join, nor one you've been outright included in. James has assured you multiple times, too many times, in your opinion, that his friends are just loud. You know this - knew this when you agreed to dinner. You love them all. They've always been kind, never cruel. But in the lulling moments, where you realise just how much of an outsider you are in comparison to a group of people who've known each other for over ten years. They grew up together, learned valuable lessons together, have memories that were key, intrinsic moments in their lives. They have a history that you're not a part of.

Sometimes, that feels impossible to compete with. Even when James reminds you that his friends aren't not talking to you, they're just... talking. They're the kind of people to talk to fill a silence, and if you're listening, great. James often calls it 'talking into the abyss'. None of his friends ever actually require a response when talking, they're the kind of people to just keep going until interrupted. Sometimes, even when interrupted.

The table is a loud cacophony of everyone interrupting each other and it has your palms slick and pulse beating in your neck.

The waiter has long since abandoned trying to get you all to close out, even as the dessert plates have been cleared and all that's left are the half-empty, warmed glasses of various alcohols that remain on the table. James must feel you shift in your seat, because he squeezes your thigh in acknowledgement, his eyes flicking away from Peter for half a second. When they land on you, his head turns, conversation long forgotten. Peter doesn't seem fussed, just turns to try and split up whatever row Sirius and Remus are pretending to have.

"All good?" James asks, eyes soft.

His brows are hooked in the middle where they're furrowed, body shifting to face you easier. You nod, lips rubbing against each other. You're scared to talk, scared to be betrayed by your own voice. You've held your own most of the night, you don't want James to forcibly enter you into a conversation. It's not fair on him to have to deal with you, like this.

You should know better, though. James only frowns. It doesn't suit him. Your boyfriend is bright like the summer sun, always smiling, always cheerful. He's the colour between yellow and bright, pure light. Frowning doesn't suit him. It hurts your heart.

His head dips, close to your ear, voice soft as he asks, "You wanna head home?"

"No," You shake your head, frown matching his, "No, Jamie. I'm okay."

His lips press to your cheek, soft and warm, and then he smiles. The heavy feeling in your chest eases a little, just looking at him. James often thinks he has to be proactive to help you in difficult social situations. You've never had the guts to tell him all he has to do is smile real nice at you and just a smidge of that grey cloud budges.

James groans, loud and obnoxious and makes a show of stretching. You avoid looking pointedly at the way his top pulls up his waist at the movement, heat swirling in your cheeks from the mere idea of his skin being on show. Conversations halt for the impending goodbye, and you swear you see relief on Remus' face at not having to be the first to bear the bad news marking the end of the night. He gives you a warm smile that you return, another smidge of that anxiety lifting.

"You off?" Sirius asks over his pint glass.

James nods, "Shattered, yeah."

There's a mixture of goodbye's to both you and James as you sling your coats on. James makes half-hearted plans to see everyone at some point over the next week, gives both of your cuts for dinner to Sirius in cash, squeezes your hand in delight when Lily declares that she'll text you tomorrow to see about coffee. There's a look in her eyes that says she hopes this time you'll accept. She's asked multiple times, sometimes through James, sometimes texting you, herself. She never seems put out when you politely give her some excuse or other, never asks questions as to why the idea jars you so much. You're glad, because you wouldn't have an answer as to why.

The air is cool against your flushed skin when James holds the door and ushers you outside. The sky has turned a dark, midnight blue and you silently wonder how long you actually spent inside the little restaurant. The door swings closed and James is at your side, hand immediately in yours and spreading a calm warmth all over you.

"They really love you, you know?" James speaks thoughtfully.

You should've known your boyfriend would want you to talk about it. You've never had anyone who cares enough, before. But you're trying. Same as he is.

"I love them too. You just," You sigh, shoes scuffing along the pavement as you walk towards James' flat, "You know how I get after too much social interaction."

Your boyfriend hums in acknowledgement, thumb rubbing a soothing pattern across the back of your hand. "I know, lovie. I just wanted to remind you."

"I'm sorry we had to leave."

James halts walking, tugging you back until you're facing him. A passer by mutters something under their breath at the two of you standing in the middle of the street. James doesn't pay them any mind, but your pulse thunders for a fraction of a second at the risk of conflict. James squeezes your hand, "You don't have to apologise. I'm happy you came, and I was ready to leave, anyway."

"You didn't say anything until you noticed I wasn't talking to anyone, though." You counter.

James is silent for a moment, trying to garner the words. Then, "I love when you involve yourself in conversations with my friends. It makes me happy to see you all together. But I'll never force you to do more than you're willing to. We were in there for three hours, love. Any normal person would be exhausted of them, by then."

You huff a laugh, turning to pick up a walking pace again. James follows, allowing the silence to overcome you both as you think of a response. He's so patient, always so patient and sacrificial. You wonder if he'll ever tire of that. The thought scares you.

"Is it too much, for you?" You ask, then clarify, "To feel like you're always keeping an eye on me, saving me from social situations just because I can't function normally."

James' immediate answer is No.

Simple. Plain. It's all the answer you need, but he goes on, anyway.

"Everyone has their thing. Remus is a lot like you. Sirius brings him out of his shell, sure. It's why they're always bickering. But for years, Remus used to just... brood. Wouldn't talk, just observe. Maybe for different reasons, but it was the same thing. He's still here."

You smile. Remus has always been rather lovely to you, almost like he knew, somehow, that his friends can be overwhelming. That social settings can be overwhelming. "So it doesn't annoy you?"

You feel like a child asking for reassurance, but you know James will always give you it, no questions asked. And he means it, too.

"Never. You take part in as much as you want, I'll never be upset with you for saying you've had enough." He tells you, his flat appearing in the near distance.

"I think I'll go for coffee with Lils this week." You announce, feeling pleasantly calm with the admittance.

It doesn't send a spike of anxiety through you like it did when she first asked. Not when you know James won't be cross if you have to leave early, or call him from the bathroom for a get-out. If you become exhausted, if you don't want to be social anymore, it'll be okay. You're sure Lily will understand. You hope she will.

As much as an effort as James' friends have made with you, you feel it necessary to make some in return.

"She'll be over the moon, love." James says, pulling you closer to his side and pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

You smile at the affection, feeling the clouds lift as though James' personality singlehandedly batted them all away. The sun after a storm. You're grateful for it. For him.

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fourmoony · 5 months

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I had an idea that is a little specific and it's okay if you don't want to write it. English is not my first language and I come from a big family that likes to talk loudly/likes to party, but I am introverted. I imagined what it would be like for the reader to date James and they are going to spend time with her family, and he sees the reader in her comfort zone (speaking in her first language and with her family) and just discussing silly things (like rules of some game) and it's all very loud and funny. He sees how you make people laugh and even though he doesn't understand anything he has a smile on his face and admires you for getting to know this new side of you even though you’ve been dating for a while

I love your writing and your work is amazing ❤️

thank you for requesting lovely! and thank you so much for your kind words <3

james x f!reader | 720 | masterlist

You're in your element, James thinks.

He's seen you at your happiest, sure. He's seen you necking pints with Sirius and discussing books with Remus, he's seen the aftermath of girl's night with Lily, Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas. He's seen you laugh until your ribs hurt, commandeer your friends into playing your silly drinking games, dancing on tables, singing your heart out. You're a bubbly person, so obviously he's seen a handful of your happiest moments. But James doesn't think he's ever seen you in your element, at your most comfortable, your safest.

There's no hesitation in the way you speak to the group of your family members who are placed haphazardly around your mother's small kitchen. Even though he doesn't understand a lot of what you're saying, James can tell there's humour and wit, love and chagrin, and a little bit of sass to whatever it is you're saying. The conversation is moving too fast for him to pick up anything, because he's been learning small phrases here and there - it's important to him, and it makes you go all soft and gooey when he surprises you with a new phrase or loving comment. You're standing in the middle of the room, pointing at an older cousin of yours, an accusing look in your eye, but you're trying not to laugh.

It doesn't help that there seems to be eight other conversations happening at once, and James wonders how on earth your family ever get anything accomplished. You've been trying to organise a game of drunk UNO for the last fifteen minutes, but from what James has picked up on, no one can agree on house rules or game rules.

Your mother seems to be talking at you, fast and filled with love and humour and you're listening, but you're still talking at your older cousin, pointing at various people as you go, none of whom are listening, but are involved in their own, loud conversations.

If you weren't in the centre of all this, James would feel overwhelmed. Your family is loud and big and they don't seem to know what inside voices are. But it makes the final puzzle piece of you make sense. James understands, now, why you're always so willing to spend time with his overly large friend group, why you never hesitated or got nervous when you met him. You were born into this, and you handle it well.

He thinks you're beautiful every day, but right now you're ethereal. You're happy and comfortable and loud and obnoxious and James is pretty sure he's in love with you. The way you hold yourself, the way your words come from your mouth, fast and practiced and so fucking hot, it's all too much for James. He feels entranced by you, like you're some sort of sorcerer.

You return a few moments later, to his side, a happy smile on your face as everyone also collectively joins the table. James smiles bright when you press your lips to his cheek, rubbing your lipstick with your thumb. For a family who pick up on everything, James is surprised no one comments on your affection.

"Sorry," You murmur as you deal James his hand of UNO cards, "They can be a lot sometimes."

Your aunt - James thinks it's your aunt, anyway - yells at your youngest cousin, pointing here and there but he really cannot make out what he might be getting into trouble for. Eight conversations are happening around James as you deal the rest of the cards, there's people everywhere, but James wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

"Not at all," He assures you, a gentle hand on your thigh, "Seeing you in your comfort zone, so happy - I think? You were yelling a lot - makes me happy."

You huff a laugh, "He wouldn't admit that he cheats at UNO."

You give a disdainful look to your older cousin, who gives you a finger in return. You share a laugh with him after.

"You cheat at UNO." James reminds you, and while he wasn't aware the entire table was capable of having their own conversations and listening to his at the same time, he shouldn't be surprised.

Everyone erupts into chaos, and James knows he's in for it when he gets home.

#marauders #james potter #james potter fic #james potter imagine #james potter oneshot #james potter x reader #marauders era #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #fourmoonys asks

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fourmoony · 5 months

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hey! saw you asking for reqs

how about james "oh, the consequences of bad decisions" potter x ravenclaw "i hate how much you acting like an idiot makes me want to make out with you" reader

reader always getting him out of trouble with their critical thinking skills

thanks for requesting lovely!

james x f!reader | 1k | cw: language | Masterlist

You honestly think James Potter, as handsome as he may be, is the thickest, stupidest, idiotic boy you've ever met.

Even as he's being led on what's supposed to be a walk of shame out of the great hall by the scruff of the neck by McGonagall, he's still got that stupidly adorable lopsided grin stretched wide across his face and a triumphant look in his eyes. It's not the first time James (and his merry band of Marauders) have caused chaos in the great hall during meal time and it definitely won't be the last, but there's something in the way that only he has been caught - Remus, Sirius, and Peter are nowhere to be found, strangely enough - that pulls a frown out of you.

The Slytherin's are head to toe in pink, fluffy robes, matching rather well with the bunny rabbit ears that seem to be glued to their heads, running around as though the predicament is causing them physical pain and terror, but you can't find it in yourself to be amused when James has been caught red handed and is being dragged off by McGonnagal right in front of you. Though, he doesn't seem to care if the pleased look on his face is anything to go by.

It takes you all of two seconds to come up with a plan, standing and running after your professor and James. You don't excuse yourself from the table, but you doubt the girls will mind. They're already rounding the corner out of the great hall by the time you catch up, feet thumping on the concrete floor in your hurry. You can hear McGonagall speaking in sharp tones about how James has taken it too far this time, he's always taking it too far, and she's not even sure how to begin punishing him for this.

James Potter is an idiot. Everyone knows this. He's smart - which is the kicker. He passes all his classes with ease, always hands his homework in on time, helps first years with their essays, and can point you to almost any book in the library. He's well educated. But he's an idiot. He doesn't use common sense, doesn't know when enough is enough, and he pulls off reckless and dangerous pranks without a second thought. You shouldn't be so attracted to it. You shouldn't feel your heart beating out of your chest every time you see his signature 'I'm about to do something really dumb, right now' smile and you shouldn't come running to his rescue every time he gets caught.

But the thing about James Potter is - as much as he's an idiot, as stupid and reckless and arrogant and annoying as he is, he's also charming. And handsome. And lovely. And beautiful. And pretty. He has a heart the size of the black lake, even though he has an ego to match. And you can't help it. He's just so.

"Professor!" You call after them, close enough to not really have to shout, but you need to at least play the part convincingly.

There's a classroom on the 7th floor corridor. It's been infested with Cornish Pixies for years, sealed off by McGonagall herself. Everyone knows that's why the classroom is abandoned, and for years, everyone has stayed as far away from it as possible. McGonagall turns around in a flash, murmuring an apology to James who trips over his footing to avoid twisting the arm that's still firmly in her grip.

"I just overheard some of the Slytherin's saying they were going to release the Cornish Pixies from the seventh floor in retaliation!" You fake heave a breath, to make it sound like the utmost of importance.

It helps, you think, that a group of yelling Slytherins pass behind you, heading straight for the stair case in their fluffy pink robes. A smirk passes across James' face, a knowing one, and it makes your knees wobble and your cheeks redden. He's an evil boy, because he notices, and you see the interest sparkle in his eyes.

McGonagall goes pale, and lets go of James at once, eyes wide, "Thank you for telling me," She turns to James, who has the audacity to look guilty, now, "I'll find you later, Mr. Potter."

James nods and waits until the professor has swept off up the stairs in a hurry before he's dragging you behind one of the tapestries. You go willingly, enjoying the warmth of his fingers on your wrist, the smell of his cologne, woodsy and sweet at the same time. He turns and faces you when the tapestry swishes closed behind you both, crowding your space in an instant.

"Are the Slytherins really going to release the Pixies?"

You feel your face redden, "No."

His jaw ticks as he smiles, "You just saved me from a right rollocking, you know that?"

You absolutely detest this part. The part where he makes sure you know just how weak you are for him, how willing you are to abide his boyish pranks as long as he gets you in this situation; flushed and kissable. You hate how much you want him to kiss you, how needy it makes you feel.

"Shut up and kiss me, James. Before McGonagall comes back and gives us both detention."

His lips are on yours in an instant, hot and heavy and rushed and the breath gets caught in your throat. His right hand sits firm on your jaw, thumb pressing into your pulse point, and his right grips at the side of your hip, holding you close to him. James is a good kisser. It's a sick and twisted fact, and you think that a part of you knows whenever you come to rescue him from whatever consequences amount from his own stupid actions, the fact that it always ends like this is what keeps you coming back.

He's got you pushed up against the wall, his weight pressing down on you, right leg between yours and you're finding it hard to remember yourself.

Until Sirius appears, letting out an undignified yelp as he yanks the tapestry closed. Apparently, it garners Remus' attention, who's eyes are curious when he finds you and James sheepishly standing side by side, lips swollen and cheeks red.

"Subtle." He says, swinging the tapestry closed behind him as he goes to console Sirius.

#marauders #james potter #james potter fic #james potter imagine #james potter x reader #marauders era #sirirus black #remus lupin #fourmoonys asks

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