Heartplace. // Elijah Hewson X Reader (Fluff).

that f1 lando has an absolutely enormous head

a word of advice: open your windows. wash your sheets. exfoliate your legs. read a paperback. make your bed. moisturize every inch of your body. go to sleep with soft skin and sheets that smell like the wind and a mind full of words worth dreaming about

don't blame me | j.potter [part three]

note : having the worst week of my life but at least I can write ficitonal scenarios about dead gay wizards from the 70s, sigh

warnings :more james potter annoying you, like the usual , holidays with the Potters - yay? , a short moment of angst, jealousy jealousy

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖯𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 - 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗍. 𝖲𝗈 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒. 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 : 3.6k

Patrols with James Potter had been . . . exhausting.

Weeks of late-night rounds patrolling empty corridors, always with him trailing two steps behind or two inches too close. Always with his voice slinking into the silence like it belonged there, like you were supposed to be comfortable with him. And somehow, he made it his mission to use every moment to chip away at your patience with all the grace of a blunt axe.

Lovely.

He was determined, though. You had to give him that. Determined to get under your skin, to make you smile, to tease you until your eye twitched. His favourite hobby lately was whispering “Wife” every time you reached for your wand. You hadn’t hexed him yet - but not for lack of desire.

Still, despite his relentless antics, there had been moments - rare, fleeting ones - where you forgot to hate him. Where he’d say something unexpectedly kind, or remember something about you he had no business remembering, and it felt like you might be on the edge of. . . something.

You always walked away before you could fall.

And then, mercifully, the holidays arrived. Which meant no more late-night patrols, no more being cornered by James Potter in dimly-lit corridors, and no more having to pretend you weren’t flustered when he said something that made your chest ache.

You’d barely shared any classes with the Gryffindors this term anyway, and now, with the castle slowly emptying for the break, it was easier than ever to avoid him. You packed with care, meticulously folding your robes, grateful for the distance the train ride would provide.

Until, of course, it didn’t.

You’d just spotted your roommates and were about to slip into their compartment when a hand grabbed your wrist.

You barely had time to yelp before James bloody Potter was dragging you away, all boyish charm and zero respect for personal space. Right through the train halls.

“Come along, darling,” he said with a smirk, ignoring how you perked at the designated nickname. “Reserved you a seat in the madhouse.”

“I’m reporting you to the authorities,” you hissed, wriggling uselessly as he tugged you toward the Marauders’ carriage. “Kidnapping is a crime.”

“Betrothed privilege,” he said smugly, as if that were an actual law.

The carriage door slid open, and Sirius Black greeted you with a roguish grin and a dramatic flourish of his hand. “Our lady of misfortune has arrived.”

You gave him a look which he was unfazed by, charming as always. “Get a haircut, Black.”

Remus smiled warmly and offered a casual nod. “Good to see you, ____.”

“Hi, Remus,” you said, already angling toward the empty seat beside him. Safe. Calm. Not James Potter.

If the boys noticed how you called him by first name, they failed to comment.

Peter gave a little wave. “Hey.”

You slid in next to Remus with a grateful sigh, already launching into a discussion about Ancient Runes - anything to keep your thoughts occupied, anything to avoid looking across at James.

Remus was, as ever, a good conversationalist - sharp, observant, gentle. He asked questions about your last essay and even jotted down a mental note when you mentioned a reference book he hadn’t read yet.

And James . . . frowned.

Sirius leaned in close to him, voice low. “You’re glaring, mate.”

“I am not.”

“You are. That’s the face you made when Evans talked to that Ravenclaw bloke - Klove, was it?”

James swatted him. “I’m not jealous.”

“You’re so jealous it’s making me jealous,” Sirius muttered, biting back a laugh as to not let you in on their whispered exchange.

James only responded when you glanced up, mid-sentence with Remus, and he spoke over you without remorse. “So. About the engagement dinner.”

You stiffened at the sudden mention, all words about Ancient Runes falling off your tongue. “What about it?”

“The others’ll be there,” he said casually, gesturing at the boys, Sirius nodding at you. “Whole family’s been invited.”

You groaned, already picturing the social chaos that would ensue and just how you'd be front page on the Daily Prophet.

“My mum doesn’t want to go,” Sirius said cheerfully. “She hates the Potters, obviously. Calls them blood-traitor filth. But it’s two pureblood houses uniting, so she’ll show up to save face. Probably poison the wine, but she’ll be there - the rest of the noble house of Black too.”

You groaned louder, face in your hands. “There really isn’t a way to get out of this?”

Sirius tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You could marry me instead.”

You snorted at his suggestion, like hell you'd marry into his crazy purist family. “If I had to choose between the four of you, I’d pick Remus.”

That earned a low whistle from Sirius and a quiet, pleased hum from Remus. He knew your words held no ground, so he neglected reacting much.

James didn’t say anything. But his jaw clenched, and he looked out the window like it had personally offended him.

The silence lingered until a loud bang shook the carriage.

“Was that . . .?” you asked.

“Dung bombs,” Peter said, grinning - you drank in the boy's mischievous glint that the four of them seemed to have. “Slytherin carriage.”

You stared. “Seriously? You couldn't have let it rest, spirit of Christmas and all that?”

“I told him to set a delay timer,” Remus said with a sigh, there it is. He really isn't the squeaky clean Gryffindor Prefect everyone thought he was, questioning his validity as a Marauder. “Did you?”

“Ten minutes,” Sirius said proudly. “Perfect.”

The door burst open with an angry thunk. Evans.

Her angry green eyes swept the room, nostrils flaring. “Who’s responsible?”

No one spoke. It was a beautifully choreographed silence.

Then her eyes locked on you. He had expected the boys, the moment she caught sight of James through the compartment door - but you were an odd addition.

She briefly remembered the offer James made her over the summer, which she agreed to.

“What’re you doing here?”

You blinked, deciding not to answer that. “We’ve been mostly well-behaved. While I’ve been here.”

You left out the bit where you hadn’t been in the carriage for the first few minutes of the journey, giving them enough window to set up their prank.

Evans narrowed her eyes, but sighed. “I’ll let it slide. Because it’s you. And I don’t think you’d lie to me, ____.”

She turned on her heel and left, hair swinging like a blade behind her. Those gorgeous red locks that one would recognize from a mile away.

Peter leaned in, eyebrows raised. “Think she’s jealous?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Not of me.”

James didn’t laugh. He was staring out the window again, entirely unreadable.

At the station, the boys peeled off one by one.

Sirius gave you a wink and a mock bow before strolling toward his reluctant mother.

Peter mumbled something about his mum hating delays and hurried off. Remus gave you a small, reassuring smile, bidding you a polite goodbye before walking off.

James stayed.

You spotted your parents before they saw you - dressed in their best travel robes, standing beside the Potters as if this were already a done deal. Mrs. Potter was beaming, saying something animated to your mother, who looked politely engaged.

Your father was shaking hands with Mr. Potter like they were discussing ministry business instead of their children’s future.

You gulped.

James came to stand beside you. “Ready?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for this.”

“Too bad. Train’s already stopped,” he said with a grin.

Then, just loud enough to reach only your ears: “Did I mention we’re staying at my place for the whole break?”

You whipped your head around. “What?”

He beamed. “Didn’t you hear? My mum’s idea. Think she wants us to bond.”

Your expression must have betrayed every drop of horror in your soul, because James just kept smiling. You couldn't muster a reply, not even to retort at the shock.

“I’ll save you the room next to mine.”

You groaned.

He offered his arm with mock chivalry, you knew your parents were watching but decided against playing along. “Shall we?”

You didn’t take it, but you didn’t run either. You were already walking toward the wolves. What was one more step?

Next up: The Potters’ home. Preparations. Chaos. And an engagement party you weren’t sure you’d survive without throttling your fiancé.

But for now, you squared your shoulders and forced a smile.

Let the holiday nightmare begin.

Potter Manor was exactly as you remembered it, nevermind it hasn't been long since your last visit. That was the worst part.

The same winding staircase you used to race James up two steps at a time. The same enchanted portraits that used to cheer you on. The oak banister still bore the scratch marks from when you and James attempted to slide down it on a tea tray - and spectacularly failed. And the smell - cinnamon, broom polish, and whatever potion Euphemia Potter always had brewing - hit you like a ghost to the ribs.

It wasn’t unfamiliar. It was haunting.

Because you used to belong here. Before Hogwarts, before the forgetting, before everything fell apart. You used to run barefoot through these halls, laughing with the boy who now called you wife just to see you flinch.

And now you were back.

Not as a friend. Not even as a guest. But as the future daughter-in-law.

Euphemia Potter regarded you with a warm smile the moment you step through the threshold of Potter Manor, as though it’s been years instead of just four months since the last time you were here.

Her arms wrap around you in a motherly hug, and she smells of ginger tea and old parchment, just like always. She beams at you like nothing has changed, like you’re still ten and sleeping over in James Potter’s room with a blanket fort between the beds so you wouldn’t accidentally kick each other in the night.

But everything has changed. More like, nothing has remained the same - not even you did, you grew out of your dirty robes thanks to playing in the mud with James and he's outgrown the little boy that clung to you.

Because now you’re here not as James’s childhood friend, but as his betrothed, and every memory you once thought was yours alone is being dragged out into the light and repackaged for an entirely different future.

The Manor hasn’t changed much - same grand portraits, same ticking grandfather clock in the hall, same scent of cedar and magic in the air. But it feels like something inside you curdled on the walk up the gravel path. Maybe it’s because only you, and your parents, and the Potters remember what this place meant to you once.

James certainly doesn’t. Not in the way you do. Not in the way that matters.

“James, sweetheart, would you be a dear and show her to her room? It’s the same one from the summer,” Euphemia says with an airy smile as she leads your parents and her husband into the drawing room, already slipping into talk of tea and travel and wedding colors.

“Gladly,” James says, far too quickly, turning toward you with that irritating sparkle in his eye. You curse your rotten luck.

You groan under your breath as he falls into step beside you. “Don’t start.”

“What? I haven’t said anything yet,” he replies innocently. “But since you’re clearly in such a cheery mood, I’ll just skip straight to the part where I invite you to sneak into my room later if you get too lonely.”

You don’t even flinch as you mutter, “Try it and I’ll kick you so hard your grandkids will feel it.”

James clutches his heart in mock pain. “Merlin, and here I thought you would be caring to our grandkids!”

You roll your eyes as he pushes open the door to your room - same as last time, same rich emerald curtains and vintage vanity, same bed that used to feel like a dream when you were younger, when this place was magic instead of a distant memory.

“Feel at home, darling,” James sing-songs as he retreats, and you don’t bother with a retort. You’re already shutting the door on him, not minding if it slammed right on his face.

Dinner is practically déjà vu.

The Potters and your family sit at the long mahogany table, wine glasses glinting in the candlelight, laughter echoing too easily around you. Euphemia compliments your dress. Your mother beams with pride every time James says something even mildly charming.

Fleamont asks your father about business, and all of it feels like a play you’re being forced to star in, only you didn't rehearse your lines just yet.

What makes it worse is James, who can’t seem to sit still. Halfway through dinner, you feel it - the subtle nudge of his foot under the table. You glare at him. He grins and taps your ankle again, continuing to dine like he wasn't bothering you through mouthfuls of steak.

You dig your heel into the top of his shoe, he stiffled the groan that threatened to escape him.

“Darling,” your mother says suddenly, drawing your attention -Merlin, that nickname is ruined for you thanks to James. “We were thinking, maybe as part of the engagement party, the two of you could do a little performance. A dance!”

You nearly choke on your pumpkin soup, a fucking dance with James Potter? you'd rather not, he'll surely pull some shit to make you trip.

“It’s not a coming-of-age ceremony,” you blurt, denying the suggestion before it could blossom.

They laugh it off, but James’s brow furrows. “Wait a second - when is your birthday?”

“In two weeks,” you mutter pretending how it didn't sting that he doesn't remember.

Back when you were kids, he'd owl you non-stop the full week leading up to it as he also begged your parents to let you celebrate at the manor.

Euphemia claps her hands, your Mother already caught the idea and was nodding enthusiastically. “Perfect timing, then! The engagement party will be both a celebration of your union and your birthday.”

You smile tightly, your thoughts bitter. Great. Now no one will actually celebrate your birthday. They’ll be too busy celebrating the inevitable.

James goes oddly quiet after that. Which should have been a relief. But instead, it unsettles you. Because if James Potter wasn’t talking, then he was definitely thinking.

And James Potter thinking is a very dangerous thing.

Sleep is an elusive thing that night. You toss and turn, too warm under the thick blankets, your mind racing with everything unsaid. You finally shove off the covers and open your door, planning to sneak into the library or just pace the halls until your thoughts tire out.

Except as soon as you step out, you nearly crash into someone in the dark halls of the Potter Manor.

James.

He blinks at you, hair even messier than usual, shirt wrinkled and collar loose. “You too?”

You consider turning around and shutting yourself back in your room, as if seeing the gears turn in your head - he grabbed your arm.

“Nope. You’re coming with me,” he says before you can escape, already tugging your arm with a firm, familiar grip - man, those Quidditch practices really sculpted him well.

“I was planning to walk alone, thanks,” you say dryly, pulling your arm from him but to no avail as he wouldn't budge.

“Too bad. I’m feeling generous.”

He drags you down the hall, past darkened paintings and sleeping portraits, all the way to the kitchens, where a single house elf pops in to greet him.

“Young master, James - sir - may I - ”

“It’s alright, Winky, I’ve got this one,” James says, waving her off. “Go on, enjoy your break, it's late.”

The elf vanishes with a pop. You bid the familiar elf goodbye which she smiled at.

“Please tell me you’re not about to burn the Manor down trying to make toast,” you mutter, remembering how he'd almost done just that.

“Have a little faith,” he says, already pulling out ingredients and fiddling with the stove. To your surprise, he’s. . . not terrible. He makes sandwiches. Cuts up fruit. Even remembers you like your tea a little sweet - though you doubt he'd actually remembered, it was probably just muscle memory.

You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him work.

“We used to do this,” you say quietly, breaking the silence.

He glances at you. “What?”

“Sneak around. Late nights. Kitchens. You always got crumbs in your hair.”

James chuckles, then falters. “Yeah. . . I think I remember that. Vaguely.”

You look away, heart twisting. “Doesn’t matter, it's been years.”

“Hey.”

You don’t answer.

“Hey,” he says again, softer now. “I’m sorry.”

You swallow thickly, still turned toward the wall - scared to show him the expression on your face. You could only guess you looked pathetic.

“It’s not your fault,” you say, despite yourself. You hoped the shake in your resolve did now show in your voice. “We were kids. I guess it just mattered more to me.”

There’s a pause. Then he says, “If we do end up shackled to each other - ”

“Romantic,” you deadpan and he pointedly ignored that.

“ - I’d treat you well,” he finishes. “You’d be the happiest wife in all of Britain. Or at least the most well-fed, I am very rich, you see.”

You turn just in time to see his stupid wink, your tears blinked away and they failed to cascade down much to your delight.

“You’re such an arse.” you tell him but this time, there was no bite to it, a smile even tugging at your lips.

“And yet, here you are, sharing a midnight snack with me. So what does that say about you?”

You snatch a slice of apple from his plate and lob it at his head. He catches it in his mouth with infuriating ease, bloody Quidditch.

You don’t even give him the satisfaction of a goodbye. You slip away before he can see the flush rising up your neck, before he can notice how your heart is pounding in a way it hasn’t since you were ten years old and thought that maybe - just maybe - he’d always remember you.

Maybe not in his head, but his heart.

You were somehow comforted by the talk tonight, he’s starting to try.

Preparations for the engagement party take over the manor in the days that follow. The adults are swept up in an endless flurry of guest lists and menus and floral arrangements, and you and James are pulled apart before you can even properly register it.

You're ushered off to endless dress fittings and hair trials while James is fitted for his formal robes in another wing of the house. It’s necessary, of course. With the wedding scheduled shortly after graduation, this is the only time left to get things sorted.

They were making the best out of your holiday break.

You’re glad for the space. The distance gives your heart time to settle, to remember that this engagement isn’t real - not in the way you once hoped. Meanwhile, James seems disappointed by the lack of time together. He even pouts when he thinks you’re not looking.

You ignore it.

On the day before the engagement party, you spend most of it in rehearsals. A stern but kind dance instructor leads you through the steps again and again, correcting posture, instructing turns.

Your mother watches proudly from the corner, beaming at how lovely you’ll look twirling across the reception floor.

Except you’re not dancing with James. The parents insisted it would be more romantic if you waited until the wedding day to share your first proper dance together.

So instead, you dance with the instructor while your mind drifts to the boy you’ll be expected to smile at all night. The boy whose name you'll take.

Midnight is close by the time you finally collapse into bed, limbs sore and eyelids heavy. You drift off after practise, only to be jolted awake by an abrupt knock on the door.

You stumble up and open it - and there he is.

James stands in the hallway, grinning like a child with a secret. He’s holding a small cake, clumsily decorated but clearly well-meant. The icing is in your favorite colors - ____, and your heart trips at the sloppily-written greeting.

“What - ?”

“I baked it with the elves,” James says proudly. “They were very excited to help, they like you a lot.”

He steps inside without waiting for permission and places the cake on your desk. Then he lights a single candle in the center, making your heart do cartwheels.

Before you can say anything, he begins to sing.

His version of happy birthday is terrible - off-key, full of dramatic vibrato, and entirely too cheeky - but you laugh anyway, despite yourself.

“Happy birthday, ____,” he says softly when he finishes, voice warm and real in a way that makes your chest ache.

You stare at the candle for a moment, you're now of-age. An adult in the eyes of the law.

“Well?” James nudges you. “Make a wish.”

You shake your head but close your eyes anyway, blowing out the flame. When you open them, he’s looking at you in that way again - quiet, unguarded.

“What’d you wish for?” he asks.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

He grins. “It better be something dramatic. Like me getting hexed in the Great Hall.”

You smile, soft and fleeting. For a moment, it feels like you’ve got him back. The boy who used to race you down the hallways of this manor. The one who knew every secret passageway. The one who always remembered your birthday.

And then he leans in.

He’s so close you can see the gold flecks in his eyes. His breath ghosts across your cheek. You almost lean forward -

Almost.

But then you remember. Lily.

You pull away sharply, eyes fixed on the cake.

James blinks, hurt flashing briefly across his face before he masks it with a lopsided grin. “Well. Better try this or the elves might get offended.”

You force a laugh. “The cake better be edible. I’m only trying it because I’m starving.”

“Please. It’s only edible because the elves did ninety percent of the work,” he admits.

You chuckle at that and take a bite. “Sixty percent.”

“Forty,” he argues, taking a bite himself

“Ten.”

You both laugh.

But your heart still aches.

to be continued. . .

part four | masterlist

♡ Is It Casual Now? | CL16

Series Masterlist

Summary: Y/n meets Charles at a party, and what starts as a casual fling quickly becomes something more. As their connection deepens and feelings grow, Y/n begins to question— is it really casual? [Inspired by Casual by Chappell Roan]

PART 1: Are You Always This Forward?

PART 2: Good Luck Charm

PART 3: My Favourite Person

PART 4: Puppy Love

PART 5: Where Do I Stand?

im posting this video on behalf of @fidaa-family2

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please share and donate to this campaign, and if you cant donate yourself, share it with someone who can

there is more information on her blog but fida is the sister of @wafaaresh6 and @mohiy-gaza who are both verified

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Donate to Help Fidaa and her children, organized by Abby S

I am Fidaa from Gaza. I am 29 years old. I stand before you as a person trying to preserve his fami… Abby S needs your support for Help Fida

$8,695 raised of $30,000

there's laundry to do and a genocide to stop by vinay krishnan

how do you deal with the insane amount of imposter syndrome that comes with making art?

if i can't be the me that i think i should be, i just become something else

lay all your love on me - op81

📍santorini, greece

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (6.0K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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index guide:

01: The Thermodynamics of My Hot Mess 02: Love, Sweat, and Secondhand Embarrassment 03. Making a Splash In the Pool of Love

summary:

On a summer getaway to Santorini, Greece, Y/N finds herself staying in a charming Airbnb with her family, soaking in the breathtaking views and vibrant atmosphere of the island. However, what was supposed to be a peaceful vacation takes an unexpected turn when she discovers that they’ll be sharing the house with none other than Formula One driver Oscar Piastri, who’s also vacationing with his family.

At first, the arrangement feels awkward, the two worlds of celebrity racing and her relatively normal life as a collegiate student colliding in the most unforeseen way. But as the days go by, the initial surprise gives way to something deeper. As they explore the sun-drenched beaches, dine in quaint tavernas, and experience the lively nightlife of Santorini, Y/N and Oscar find themselves drawn to each other in ways they hadn’t anticipated.

As the sun sets over the Aegean Sea, and the lively energy of the island comes alive at night, Y/N and Oscar find themselves spending more time together, entertwined in a steamy and fast-paced romance. The backdrop of Santorini's iconic white-washed buildings, azure waters, and the laid-back Greek lifestyle set the stage for a summer romance that's as unexpected as it is intense.

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taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09