pretty boy, pretty girl - jamie tartt x reader
pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader
word count: 2.1k
a/n: okay yes. it has been six months. which is actually mad to me, but there we are - whoops! i've been off following my dream and wrote this while procrastinating an assignment, so this is by no means a return!! honestly i was just itching to write it, but i don't know how much time i have for more - enjoy nevertheless <3
warnings: just a little bit of suggestion towards the end, reader is referred to as 'pretty girl' as the title implies amongst other pet names, quite a lot of swearing (some things don't change)
---
“Hi love.”
Jamie barely murmurs it as he walks past you, can’t help himself but to drag a palm along your back, one shoulder blade to the other, as he goes.
He knows he’s bold sometimes, but he swears it’s instinct. He glances back to see whether your expression holds any discomfort, but all he finds is your grin, a tiny wave. He continues on his path towards the canteen, knowing that your corridor conversation with Rebecca is probably important.
Somewhere between here and there, he decides to get your lunch, your usual, and sits alone on a table until you appear.
You do, three and a half minutes later. As soon as he sees you, the irrepressible urge to make you grin again is back with a vengeance. He waves you over to his table with a gesture to the food he’s got for you and- there it is again.
If he was a slightly smarter man, maybe he’d consider why all it took was the sight of him to draw your lips upwards, set your eyes alight.
“Thought I’d save y’ from the queue,” he speaks, still soft, in a tone he feels he only uses with you. You match his unnecessary low volume.
“Thanks, angel,” you say easily, and you must not see his stomach doing flips, “Too good to me, you are.”
“Shut up,” he deflects, wonders if you can see him fluster at your nickname for him, “Are you still coming tonight?”
You groan. He frowns, and you quickly correct.
“Sorry. It’ll be fun.”
“Yeah, you sound proper convinced, an’ all.”
You chuckle, taking a bite out of your sandwich and taking a pause to chew. Jamie eats too, content to let you think before you speak. It was slowly teaching him to do the same.
“I’m just boring, Jamie. My favourite people are all under this roof, but usually they’re sober, you know?”
He often forgets you don’t really drink. Your friendship (however sour that word feels in relation to you) usually confined to these halls, to the pitch, to various football stadiums up and down the country. When they all get a chance to let loose, you’re very quick with the excuses, but he’s believed them blindly until this moment.
“Shit, y’ don’t drink, right? I can’t imagine that’s much fun in a club. I won’t tell anyone if you happen to come down with an illness or somethin’ this afternoon.”
You’re grinning at him again, all bright and sunny. It’s downright infectious, so Jamie nudges your foot with his on purpose and then apologises like it’s an accident.
“You’re alright,” you reassure, “I will join tonight. Even if it just proves to myself I’m not missing out on anything. Maybe Colin’s not as bad a drunk as I’ve been led to believe.”
Jamie winces.
“No, he is pretty bad,” he admits and then finally comes up with something to make you more comfortable, “Hey, what about this? I won’t drink either and we can spend the evening laughin’ at everyone else.”
You poke his hand and he tries not to drop his crisp packet.
“It’s everyone’s ‘relax and recharge’ night, Ted said. We both know you relax much easier with a few drinks in you. And I’d never judge anyone for that, I really hope it doesn’t come across like I’m judging any-“
“It doesn’t, sweetness,” he cuts in, “But actually, I’ll relax better if I’m one hundred percent positive that you’re relaxing too. What better way than judgin’ everyone else, together like?”
You purse your lips thoughtfully, mid-chew. He feels like he’s holding his breath, like he’s underwater and you’re in charge of the oxygen tank.
“Well, see how you feel when we’re there. It sounds lovely but only if you’re still up for it when we’re right next to a bar,” you say, still unconvinced. He wants to convince you fully, but he can’t decide if he should argue with you or kiss you silly before you speak again, “Hey, if not, I’ll buy you a drink?”
“Pretty sure that’s my line, love.”
“I said it, I meant it. Girls can buy drinks for pretty boys, you know.”
He thinks you might have removed his oxygen tank now. There’s some cruelty in that sentence but you don’t know you’re wielding it. He wills himself to flirt back even though it’ll only make him feel sick.
“Okay, pretty girl. One passionfruit J2O, please.”
Another grin. He’s so fucking fucked.
---
He’s been waiting for you for around forty minutes. He doesn’t know if that’s the normal amount of time you take to get ready, even if he wishes he knew, so he just waits, leaning against his car.
After fifty, he decides there’s no harm in just checking you’re alright and haven’t slipped on a sparkly floor that an evening cleaner has done a number on.
You mentioned going to the kit room to get changed, and he meets Will on his way there.
“Hey mate, you seen Y/N?”
Will looks paler than he’s ever been. Guilty. Jamie narrows his eyes and waits.
“Kit room.”
It’s all that Will says. When Jamie doesn’t walk off immediately, still waiting for an explanation for Will’s strange demeanour, Will turns around and legs it all the way down the corridor, turns left at the end and never returns.
Jamie shakes his head and continues in the direction of the kit room. The closer he gets, the more he hears. Muffled banging, shouting. He picks up the pace.
“Y/N? Love?”
“Jamie! Jamie, in here!”
Your voice floats out from the kit room and he hurries over. Still very confused, Jamie turns the door handle and finds the door won’t budge, however hard he shoves his shoulder against it.
“It’s locked, babe. Did you lock it?”
He hears your exasperated sigh and feels a little embarrassed.
“No I didn’t bleeding lock it! Well, I did, when I was getting changed, but then when I unlocked it my side it had been locked from the outside.”
Jamie struggled to put the dots together. Had Will locked you in? Judging by the running, he had… and he’d done it on purpose. A spark of anger shot down Jamie’s spine but he tried to convince himself there must be a reason.
Before he could, there was a hand on his on the door, pulling him away. It was being unlocked by another hand and then he was being shoved inside, hard enough to stumble against one of the benches. A piece of paper was thrown at his face and Jamie groaned as he heard the lock click back in place.
“What the fuck?” he muttered as he stood up fully, more dazed than angry now as he stared at the locked door.
“Jesus, Jamie, are you alright? Who the fuck was that?”
“I dunno,” he says, staring at the door as if it might have answers. Your hand on his face wakes him up, his eyes shifting to yours where you look him over with concern.
“You’re alright, though?”
You ask it like you need the answer, and Jamie needs you to stop trailing a finger along his hairline either way.
“Fine, love,” he assures you, patting the juncture between your shoulder and neck gently until your hands drop to your sides. Then he raises his voice, and he’s not really talking to you anymore, “Whoever’s locked us in here as some kind of joke won’t be fuckin’ alright though!”
No answer. He picks up the small piece of paper from the floor and reads it in his head.
Tell her, you prick.
He’s actually going to hit Roy with his car. Lightly, definitely not enough to damage him, but enough to really, really piss him off.
This was all some ridiculous attempt to make him tell you how he felt about you? Absolutely not. Never. He wouldn’t be coerced into something so delicate, so important.
“What’s it say?”
You’re peering over the top of the paper, but he folds it in two before you can read anything. His chuckle comes out strained.
“It says: Get fucking pranked. Must be Roy, he’s probably scared Will into helpin’ him, the fucker. I’m afraid it’s payback for putting all his socks on the ceiling last week, babe, an’ you’ve been caught in the middle.”
You pause, staring at your shoes. For some reason, you look far more forlorn than the situation calls for, but it’s gone before he can think about it further.
“On the ceiling?”
He nods and you giggle. It’s only as you step away from him in your laughter that he realises how close you had been. He should’ve savoured it.
It’s also only as you step away that Jamie finally gets a glimpse of your outfit and nearly reaches out to the nearby bench for strength. He’s never seen you in a v-neck anything before, let alone a dress, and he thinks it might do him in.
“You look good,” he says lamely, then tries again, “Great. Fan-fuckin’-tastic, I mean.”
“I like that last one,” you smile, ducking your head. He thinks, or rather hopes, you’re a little flustered, “Fan-fuckin’-tastic happens to be what I was going for.”
“Yeah,” he breathes, words gone as soon as he’d found them. And now he was staring. Shit.
“I like your suit,” you say, maybe breathless yourself. It must be his ears. You reach up as if you might fiddle with his lapel but just point towards it before your hand drops again. You practically fall down onto the bench you’re both stood beside and he follows, ever obedient, “Shame no one else will ever see it. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”
The suit isn’t for anyone except you. That’s what he’d say if he had any stupid bravery. He’s an awful coward, he thinks.
“Until Roy gets bored or Keeley finds out I reckon,” Jamie guesses, “Y’ wanna play I-spy?”
You sigh, but when he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, you’re grinning your silly, lovely grin again.
“I spy with my little eye…”
---
It is around 11pm, when Jamie has not long fallen asleep against the jacket he had scrunched behind his head, that he feels your hand on his ankle. He can tell, as he wakes without opening his eyes, that you’re not trying to rouse him. The touch is light, feathery. Maybe an accident.
No, not an accident. It wouldn’t have lasted this long, and your thumb is drawing absentminded circles into his ankle bone. You think he’s asleep and you’ve reached out to hold him anyway.
He opens his eyes but doesn’t move. His legs are stretched out on the bench in front of him and you sit upright next his sock-clad feet, one hand on his bare ankle. You’re staring at a piece of paper so intently he wonders what could possibly be so interesting.
“This doesn’t say get fucking pranked, Jamie,” you murmur, and his hand flies to his jacket pocket. It must have fallen out when he slumped into a slumber. He’s sat up in a blink, watching the hand that had been so soothing, fall back at your side suddenly.
“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”
“No, don’t,” you insist, still staring at the piece of paper. Instead of whirling on him for answers, you reach calmly into one of the boot cubbies beside your head and pull out a piece of paper from one of the boots. You chuck it at him without looking.
He unfolds it with careful, if shaky, hands.
Tell him, you silly shit.
It takes him an absurdly long time to understand what the hell this second piece of paper means. Later, when the two of you look back on this moment (and you do so often), you’ll wonder how he could have been so dense and he’ll spin you a line about how too good to be true it all felt. But in the moment, he has no lines and no words, until your hand lands heavy on his knee this time.
“Jamie,” you say softly, through a grin that is so different from your usual that he could pass out. It’s so beautiful and so strikingly lovesick that he thinks he might actually be sick, “What do you have to tell me?”
“What?”
He feels dumber than he’s ever felt. But your hand is still on his knee and now you’re shuffling closer to him on the bench.
“What do you have to tell me?” you repeat, then you poke his chest playfully as you add, “You prick.”
He still looks confused, so you clearly decide the best way to catch him up is to kiss him.
You pull away after a moment, a moment of pure heaven, because clearly you don't want to kiss him fully until he's all clued in.
"Come on, pretty boy," you say, teasing, "Figure it out. I was going to buy you a passionfruit J2O. It's the sign of all signs."
He should be laughing at your joke, but all he really wants to do is kiss you again. And again.
Maybe again.
"Oh pretty girl," he says, and he feels the rumble of his low tone in his chest. He places a hand on your face, fingers itching at your hairline, "I'll tell you anything ya wanna hear, I swear. Anythin'."
He hears your breath hitch, but he feels it too, where the meat of his palm is covering your neck.
"Anything?" you answer back, "I could have a lot of fun with this."
You scrunch up your brow like you're thinking and he's so stupidly in love with you that he just tells you. Too-soon be damned.
"Smooth talker," you laugh, giddy, and you kiss him again. And it's so good that he doesn't even remember you didn't say it back until hours later.
(at which point, you say it back so many times and in so many ways, Jamie is certain that he's the luckiest man in the world. he might not hit Roy with his car after all)
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO BBG JAMES POTTER
(sorry im a day late 🙏😢)
Here’s a lil fic
465 words
~
James walked into the common room, exhausted from a grueling quidditch practice in the rain and mud. It was oddly dark in the room, and when the portrait hole closed behind him he couldn't see a thing. He fumbled for his wand, swearing as he bumped into a table, but before he could find it, there was an explosion of light and noise.
"Surprise!!" Was the combined scream of probably hundreds of people jumping up, scaring the shit out of him in the most delightful way.
"Happy birthday Prongsy!!" Sirius crowed, throwing confetti over his best friend. James grinned, but his eye was quickly drawn to the boy standing behind Sirius. He could feel his smile widen.
"Reg, you're her— I mean... Regulus? Why are you here?" James questioned, trying not to wince as he realized his mistake.
"James, I know." Sirius stated blandly, and James frowned.
"You know why he's here? Did you invite him? I mean, I'm not opposed, of course, but-"
"James!" The two brothers cut him off at the same time.
"He knows." Regulus repeated, looking at James as if trying to relay a message.
"You mean...?" James asked, afraid to reveal it if Sirius didn't actually know what he thought.
"For fuck's sake." Regulus muttered, before striding forward and locking his lips onto James's. There was an audible gasp from many surrounding students as all attention in the room was suddenly drawn to them.
When they broke apart, James was smiling a wide, irrepressible smile, and Regulus's face was the happiest anyone had seen him. There was a moment of shocked silence, before the room roared into a cheer. People began throwing confetti, blowing their party horns, and celebrating the couple placed in front of them. Regulus was giggling as they were showered in confetti— it was all in his hair, his eyelashes, one piece on his lip. He made it look so damn pretty.
James reached a thumb out to swipe the piece away, then leaned in for another kiss. Regulus smiled into it, wrapping his arms around James's neck as he stood on his tippy-toes. People cheered again, but when, after a few moments, the kiss didn't stop, party hats were thrown, the two being told to find a room. Regulus pulled back, after one more stubborn second, grinning up at James.
"Why don't you go change and get all pretty for your party? You're honestly kind of disgusting right now." Regulus said, his nose wrinkling as he took in James' soaked, mud-splattered uniform.
"You still kissed me." James teased, leaning in with a smirk. Regulus scoffed, rolling his eyes, but they softened when they landed on James again. He grabbed the boy’s hand and pulled him close, eyes full of unsaid love.
"Happy birthday, Jamie."
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Blackberries│Jeddy│279 words│T
Kiss on the cheek│Scorbus│134 words│T
Sleeping in│Drarry│318 words│M (cw: cussing, mention of sex)
“Jamie! Did you get them? Did you get them? Please tell me you got them!” Teddy asks, chocolate brown eyes wide and bright and with an irrepressible smile that insistently tugs at the corners of his mouth.
He twirls out of the living room, spilling into the corridor of their shared flat, bouncing on his toes, playfully shaking his shoulders to an internal beat as his hair goes from turquoise to bubblegum pink and sunflower yellow, then back to turquoise. The cycle repeats several times as though stuck on a loop.
Even though James is fighting with three big bags of shopping and barely manages to get through the door without nearly dropping at least one, he can’t deny that Teddy’s excitement is infectious. So much so that his heart starts to race, feeling all fluttery inside his expanding chest. Granted, being head over heels in love may also be the reason for that particular reaction, which really isn’t a bad thing.
James bites down on a grin, shakes his head, and lets Teddy take one of the shopping bags while he kicks the front door shut.
“I did,” he calls after Teddy, who rushes into their kitchen, still bouncing with intense excitement.
The paper bag with a kilo of fresh organic blackberries—it took three trips to three separate farmer’s markets to find them—sits right on top of the bag Teddy’s currently depositing on the kitchen table. James already knows he’ll be the one doing all of the unpacking. There’s no way Teddy has enough self-restraint to resist the sweet taste of perfectly juicy and plump, soft blackberries. He’s obsessed, and James takes great pleasure in indulging his boyfriend.
They are sitting beside each other in a secluded corner of the library when it finally happens. Scorpius isn’t entirely sure what exactly leads to it.
Mainly because his mind is a little hazy afterwards, but also because they’ve been doing so much prep work for the upcoming final Transfiguration exam that seven years’ worth of spells floats around in his head, making a mess of everything.
What Scorpius does know is that it happens right after Al leans close to point out something in the third chapter of Thane’s Metamorphose Laws.
He’s so close then, and there’s only an inch between them, and Scorpius simply can’t resist the temptation any longer. He doesn’t think, doesn’t consider what it might do to their friendship; he just leans in and presses a lingering kiss to Al’s cheek.
When Harry stirs, slowly rolling onto his back, the sun’s already high in the sky, sending her warm rays through a small gap in the bedroom curtains. Harry blinks, letting sleepiness fade naturally, and reaching out, he pulls his glasses off his nightstand and presses them onto his face. His eyes take a moment to adjust, and once he can see clearly, he waves his hand, lazily casting a Tempus charm.
The clock hovering above the bed tells him it’s eleven-thirty-five in the morning. It takes Harry a deep breath to digest that information, and when he does, he jumps out of bed, dashing for the bathroom.
“Fuck!”
“Oh, look who finally graces us with his consciousness,” Draco’s mocking drawl stops Harry halfway and swirling around; Harry glowers darkly, narrowing his eyes to threaten bloody murder.
It doesn’t have any effect. Draco merely laughs at him, then crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the bedroom door frame.
“I called in sick on your behalf,” he says.
Harry frowns.
“I’m not sick.”
Draco nods.
“That you’re not. But you’re overworked and in desperate need of a break. And since you don’t look after yourself, I’m going to do it for you. Congratulations, you’re off for the next two weeks.”
Harry is an inch away from hyperventilating.
“Two weeks?” he screeches. “The Wilcox case!”
Draco looks bored.
“Irrelevant. For you, anyway. Weasley’s handling it. All you’ll be doing is sleeping in, eating good food and having a great deal of sex.”
Harry arches an eyebrow.
“A great deal of sex, eh?”
Draco smirks.
“Yes, and we’re starting now.”
Harry can’t help but huff a laugh.
“Oh?”
Draco pushes away from the door frame and walks toward him. He looks positively devilish and ready to pounce.
“Shower sex,” he says, and Harry finds that he has no objections to that even if Draco tricked him into this holiday.
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