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[i-have-a-longbottom]

could you please do a Harry Potter x talkative!reader who used to ramble a lot but people constantly told her to shut up because she was annoying? so she becomes really quiet (around like fifth or sixth year). but she slowly becomes more comfortable with Harry and talks a little more. so then the two of them are hanging out and reader starts rambling about something without thinking, but then she realizes she’s “being annoying” so she apologizes a lot but Harry tells her he likes listening to her talk.

anyways love your writing so muchhhh

The Boy Who Let You Ramble

Harry Potter x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: After being told to be quiet for years, you stop talking—until Harry listens and reminds you your voice was never a problem.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Author's note: This was a really sweet idea!! I'm also told I "talk to much"😓 remember your words ARE appreciated !!

By fifth year, most people thought you were quiet.

It wasn’t always like that. You used to talk about everything. classes, strange clouds over the lake, how the staircases seemed moodier on certain days, theories that made absolutely no sense but felt important to say out loud.

Your thoughts spilled over each other, fast and excited, like you were afraid they’d disappear if you didn’t let them out immediately.

At first, people laughed.

Then they sighed.

Then they told you to shut up.

You’re annoying.

Do you ever stop talking?

Merlin, give it a rest.

So you did.

By the time Umbridge arrived, you had learned how to swallow your words before they reached your lips. You raised your hand less. You sat quietly in empty classrooms or along the edges of the courtyard, pretending to read while conversations buzzed around you.

It was easier that way. being invisible hurt less than being told, again and again, that your voice was too much.

Harry noticed.

He noticed because you ended up walking back from the library together more often than not, your steps falling into an easy rhythm.

He noticed because when you did speak, your voice was careful, like you were testing thin ice. He noticed because when you stopped mid-sentence, you always looked at the ground, like you were bracing for impact.

He never told you to stop.

It was small things at first. A comment about homework as you both shelved books. A quiet joke whispered during DA meetings that made you laugh before you could stop yourself.

He listened, not the polite kind of listening, but the kind where his eyes stayed on you, like what you were saying actually mattered.

By sixth year, you talked a little more. Just with him.

One evening, the two of you were sitting on the stone steps near the Black Lake, the water dark and glassy beneath the fading sky.

The castle loomed behind you, warm light glowing from the windows as the air cooled around your shoulders. Harry sat beside you, knees drawn up, idly skimming a pebble across the surface of the lake.

You started talking without realizing it.

“…and then I was thinking, what if the reason the portraits can move between frames is because the magic anchors to the canvas itself, not the subject, which would explain why-”

You stopped.

The words caught up to you all at once. Your stomach dropped. Heat rushed to your face.

“I- sorry,” you blurted, panic setting in. “I’m rambling. I didn’t mean to, I just- sorry. I know it’s annoying. I’ll stop, I swear- ”

“Hey.” Harry turned fully toward you, frowning—not annoyed, just concerned. “Why are you apologizing?”

You shrugged, staring at your hands. “I talk too much. I forget sometimes.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “I like it when you talk.”

You looked up, sure you’d misheard him.

“What?”

“I mean it,” he said quickly, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. “I like listening to you. You get this look, like you’re lit up from the inside. And you notice things other people don’t.” He hesitated, then added, “You’re not annoying. You never were.”

Your chest ached, sharp and unfamiliar.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Harry smiled, small and sincere. “You don’t have to be quiet with me. Ever.”

Something in you loosened then, just a little. Enough to breathe.

“So,” he said gently, nudging a pebble toward you, “you were saying something about the portraits?”

You smiled back, tentative but real.

“Well,” you began, voice still soft but no longer afraid, “I think the magic might actually- "

And this time, you didn’t stop yourself.

[ellecdc]

love line

Steve Harrington x drunk!reader who asks her boyfriend to be her boyfriend [1.1k words]

CW: fem!reader, drinking and slight drunkeness, mentions underaged drinking [the teens] but with adult supervision, fluff

It’s that point of the night where the drunken shenanigans have tapered off into something more dulcet, almost intimate. 

Most of the kids’ Hellfire buddies have left, leaving only The Party in their wake. 

Steve doesn’t drink anymore, at least not enough to get drunk. He’ll have a beer when the moment calls for it, but too many blows to the head and his proclivity for migraines leaves him avoiding losing control of his faculties. Plus, he likes being able to look after the bunch of you when you all take a well deserved moment to let loose.

Maybe he’s a bad babysitter for letting the teenagers drink, but what Steve Harrington is not is a hypocrite, and God only knows that he’s not innocent of underage drinking. Besides, he prefers they drink here, in front of him, in a controlled environment where he can watch after them and make sure they don’t overindulge. 

As it is, they’re good kids. None of them are drunk enough to act a fool or embarrass themselves. Protecting their frontal lobes, as Dustin so eloquently put it (Steve wishes he’d been smart enough to do the same at their age), merely tipsy and effervescent in their own ways.

El has passed out with her head in Robin’s lap, the older girl gently stroking El’s hair not unlike one might pet a cat while she’s engaged in some lively debate with Dustin about…well, Steve’s not entirely sure; he hasn’t been paying much attention. Lucas snuck off with Max a little while ago after receiving a very stern glare from Steve that promised pain if the shit-head didn’t keep everything above board, leaving Will and Mike to sit together with their heads bowed as they discuss their current campaign.

And then there’s you.

Steve spent most of the early evening keeping the strictest of eyes on you and Robin; he may not have protected his frontal lobe while it was developing, but he knows better than to leave the two of you unsupervised for an extended period of time, even more so when there’s alcohol involved. 

But as the night drags on, you’ve gone soft and pliant in your seat beside him, leaning heavily into his side as you play with his hand that you’ve trapped within your grip. You’re so still, so calm, that the only reason he knows you’re still awake is by the way your fingers trace the creases of his one hand while he nurses a warm, nearly flat beer with his other. 

He’s about to ask you how you’re feeling, if you need anything, if you’re almost ready to leave, when you – his sweet, lovely girlfriend – ask him a question. 

“Steve?”

Your head never strays from his shoulder, as though lifting your head is an impossible feat, to peek up at him through your lashes only to find him already looking down at you. 

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering if you’d please be my boyfriend,” you continue, very polite in your request. 

A funny smile takes over Steve’s face as he tries not to laugh at you lest the night devolve into wounded tears. He’s been your boyfriend for almost two years now.

“You’d like me to be your boyfriend?” He clarifies, earning him a hum of agreement from you. 

He squints and purses his lips, pretending to consider it. “Well, I don’t know…what would I get out of it?”

And, God love you, you actually take a minute to consider that. What could Steve Harrington possibly get out of being the sweetest, prettiest, funniest, loveliest girl’s boyfriend? 

Beats me, he thinks sarcastically, happier than he’s ever been with you hanging off his arm.

You’ve turned your attention back to his hand, manipulating his fingers and wrist this way and that way though your grip never grows mean. In fact, you’re impossibly gentle with him, so tender that he feels it like a solid weight in his chest. Whatever response you manage to come up with, you mutter it at his hand.

“Hm? What’s that?” Steve encourages, nudging you with his elbow which sees you craning your neck to lay your head back against the couch; he thinks it might almost be time to get you home to bed.

“I d’know what you’d get,” you admit with a sigh, blinks heavy as though your lashes hold a new weight. “Just thought it’d be nice to do this more.”

“Do what?” Steve asks, thoroughly delighted. “Do this?”

You hum in agreement when he squeezes your hand. “It’s nice to cuddle, isn’t it?”

“The nicest,” he agrees. “Do I not cuddle you enough, sweetheart? Is that what all this is about?” 

Your answering hum is noncommittal at best, wary at worst. Steve hates the thought that he’s somehow left you wanting, though he already fields insults from Robin who calls him a velcro-boyfriend. He’s not sure how much cuddlier he can get, but he can try. 

“S’just that I think you’d be a very good boyfriend.”

Well, isn’t that just the best compliment a boyfriend could get. “Yeah? Thank you, baby. I’d love to be your boyfriend.”

Your grin is a sticky, gooey thing; drawn out and intentional as you peek up at him again. Between the speed (or lack thereof) of your blinks and your smile, Steve isn’t expecting the surge of movement that finds you clumsily clamoring into his lap.

He quickly abandons his room-temp beer, freeing his hand to provide you the leverage needed to maneuver yourself while the other settles over his lap, protecting his crotch from any errant elbows or knees. 

“Jesus, easy, easy; watch the goods,” he hisses as you settle heavily on top of him, eliciting a breathless oof from the both of you. “Better?”

“Th’best,” you hum in appreciation, nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder and reclaiming the same hand of his you’d been fiddling with before, tracing the creases in his palm.

Steve grins, looking up to find Robin smirking at him from across the room with a knowing look on her face. 

He shrugs his shoulders and gestures towards you, making a face as though saying can you believe this girl? 

Robin mouths something that looks an awful lot like velcro. Steve flips her off with the hand behind your back; you remain none the wiser to anything that isn’t Steve’s love line. 

© ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

[ellecdc]

a humble descent

Steve Harrington x fem!reader who he calls accidentally [1.9k words]

prompt: I called the wrong number and started talking about my life and you only interrupted me after a few minutes of me revealing some pretty personal stuff and now you're invested in my life troubles

CW: swearing, Steve feeling particularly sorry for himself, reader and Steve know nothing about D&D and neither does the writer, no mention of upside down stuff, fluff/crack

Steve lets the door slam shut behind him with a resounding thud; the cavernous, lifeless space echoing the evidence of his loneliness. 

He takes a moment — the briefest of things — to thank his pretentious, asshole of a father for his foresight on buying the most technologically advanced cordless phone [“we’re the first house on the block to own one, Steven”], because this is a pacing matter. 

He barely pauses to hiss in pain – clipping his hip on the corner of the island – as he blindly dials Robin’s number on his quest for the fridge, ripping it open to expose a whole lot of nothing.

“Add that to the list,” he mutters into the barren fridge as he tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder to reach for the carton of orange juice. 

The line is ringing as he operates off of muscle memory, reaching for the cupboard for a glass and hesitating when he realizes that he lives alone and he bought the damn orange juice himself; he can drink straight from the carton without anyone here to snap at him for it.

But the spout is nearly to his lips when he remembers seeing Lucas doing the very same thing from this exact carton not two evenings ago and decides to ultimately reach for that glass instead. 

Steve’s just taking his first sip when the line stops ringing, hardly an inquisitive “hello?” uttered before he launches into a soliloquy. 

“I’m gonna kill him, Rob. I mean it; Henderson’s ass is grass the next time I see him. You know what he said to me today? Let me tell you what he said to me. That twerp had the nerve to hitch a ride from me to RadioShack; said he needed some shit for whatever nonsense he’s up to in that mad scientist lair of his. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he spends probably twenty-seven minutes-” not quite, it was more like nine, which is still an absurd amount of time, thank you very much “-chatting up the employee at check out like Dustin himself was getting paid to do it before turning to me – to me, Rob! - and asking for the $17.50 that the bill came up to.”

Steve scoffs. “Said I owed him from the arcade last week. As if I owed him seventeen-fif- Robin, in what world would I ever spend seventeen-fifty at an arcade? Whatever, fine. I gave him the cash for his purchase mostly so I could get the hell out of geek-city only to learn that I had to drive the kid to Eddie’s. Turns out they were having another one of their stupid game nights- no, sorry, campaigns. And you know what?”

Steve shifts the phone from one shoulder to the other before hoisting himself up onto the kitchen counter, feet swinging back and forth and hitting the lower cabinets with hollow thump, thump, thump’s. 

“I owed him from the arcade last week? What about the fucking gas money from the past, like, four years of driving those kids around the entire town? If anything, I should start charging them, plus interest! As if I didn’t just get home to my empty house to open my empty fridge because those twerps ate all of my food, and I can’t even drink the orange juice straight from the goddamn carton like the heathen I am because one of those heathens did the same damn thing just the other day! Unbelievable. 

“So we get to Eddie’s, right? Which is bad enough because it’s, like, a giant nerdfest. But I figure I don’t have anything better to do, you know? So, I went to get out of the car and Dustin hurriedly thanked me for the ride. So now I’m sitting there in my car like a total loser basically banned from a geek-off that I didn’t want to be a part of anyway, thinking…what the hell?” 

Steve slides off the counter before taking practiced steps along the tiles of his kitchen; routes well carved into every odd tile from many-a-phone calls before.

“Apparently” Steve continues, flinging his hand away from his head as though pointing to some invisible answer to his dumbfoundedness “Eddie says I’m not allowed to join their campaigns anymore because I can’t get their, fuckin’, I don’t know, lingo right. But hey! I just used campaign right, didn’t I? And I mean, what the fuck is a druid? Do you know, Rob? Does anyone know what a druid is? But apparently I have no respect for the art of D&D and bring the vibes down. Whatever that means.”

Steve lets out a sigh as he leans against the same edge of the kitchen island that left the bruise quickly blooming along his hipbone. “And listen, I know what you’re going to say, alright? Maybe if I didn’t immediately call them a bunch of nerds when I stopped understanding what the hell was going on, I would be invited to game ni- campaigns. But everyone’s pretty quick to call me a dingus when I stop understanding too, okay? So, maybe, we shouldn’t be judging the student but rather the teachers, alright? Some Dungeon Master Eddie is; can’t even teach a reformed jock how to play Dungeons and Dragons.” 

He’s officially  muttering now, Steve can hear it with his own ears. He groans and continues pacing. 

“I don’t even want to play Dungeons and Dragons, Rob. Not really, I mean…I mean sometimes it's nice just to watch Max rip Mike a new one every once in a while, you know? And I mean, I like pizza…and candy…and there’s always pizza and candy there.” 

The line is dead silent on the other end, completely out of character for Robin though Steve assumes she’s simply letting him run his course on his current temper tantrum. God only knows how many of Robin’s own temper tantrums that Steve’s sat through; the woman sort of owes him at this point.

“Oh my God, Rob. It’s a Friday night and I’m whining that I’ve been – not only uninvited, which would be bad enough, honestly, but – banned from Dungeons & Dragons night- Jesus Christ, the fall from grace is brutal. No wonder you guys are always laughing at me.” He rubs a rough palm across his face. “King Steve did not fall off the throne, he was torn from it and the descent has been brutally humbling. Holy shit.” 

And then, Steve hears sniffling. No, snickering; he’s being laughed at. 

“Alright, alright. That’s real nice, Rob. Kick the man while he’s down; classy.” 

“No, I-” more giggling “-I’m sorry. I- oh my God, seriously? All of this over Dungeons & Dragons?”

That’s…that’s not Robin. That’s not Robin at all. 

“I’m- you’re not- who are you?” Steve manages, rubbing at his chest which – now that he’s taken a moment to breathe – feels raw. 

“Well, I don’t know! You called me,” you snicker on the other end of the line. Steve’s nodding at you as though you might be able to see him trying to play it cool now that he’s just made an entire fool of himself.

“Right, right, yeah. ‘Course, yeah. But- shit, yeah. I’m sorry I- I must’ve dialled the wrong number, uh, you know, in my…uh, fuck, in my…haste.”

“Haste!?” You all but squeal in excitement. “Oh this just gets better and better; what other words do you have in your vocabulary, king Steve.”

“Okay, alright. I’m hanging up now,” Steve threatens half-heartedly, resigning himself at your bubbly beggings of no, no, no. 

“I’m sorry, honest,” you placate. “That sounds rough.”

Steve sucks in a breath as he runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah? You sound real sympathetic. Which part read as particularly rough to you?” 

“Awe, come now, Steve. No man should come home to an empty fridge.”

“Right!?” Steve grabs hold of your tiny olive branch and gives it a shake, desperate for whatever crumbs of pity might fall upon him; he’s feeling particularly pitiful tonight. “I stocked that fridge like three days ago, babe-” the epithet falls from his lips involuntarily when he realizes he doesn’t know your name. Alas, he’s already embarrassed himself enough tonight, he’s not going to dwell on misnomers this far into his spiral “-there should at least be a block of cheese for me to, like, grate or something.”

“For dinner?”

“For something.” Steve agrees begrudgingly. This fall from grace…

“Well that’s just not right at all,” you tsk. “And after being banned from D&D at that.” 

Steve merely groans. 

“By the way, a druid is a nature-based spellcaster with shapeshifting abilities.”

Steve groans again. “Oh God, you’re one of them.”

Your laugh is bright and sharp. “Not quite. I visited family for Thanksgiving and my younger cousin has a new, very intense special interest. It’s all I heard about.”

“And you listened?” Steve asks in disbelief, sinking into his sofa as he wonders what kind of magic you wield in order to avoid going cross-eyed as nerds rant about their magic board game. 

“Well, it beat listening to my uncles talk politics.” 

The two of you share a commiserative hum of agreement. 

“I’ll tell you what, Steve,” you say, and Steve finds himself sitting up in anticipation of what you might tell him. He wonders if it’s terribly weird to like the way his name sounds from your lips; he doesn’t even know yours yet. “I’ve got a book called Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Players Handbook-”

“You’ve got a book?”

“Well, of course,” you say as though that makes perfect sense. “It was what my cousin gifted all of us for Christmas.” 

Steve hums as though that clears everything up. 

“You’re, uhm-” you hesitate, and Steve finds himself leaning further into the phone as though you’re sharing a secret with him “-you’re welcome to- well…I could lend you my book, if you’d like.” 

Steve can’t help it, he laughs. Not at you, but at the thought of the first book he picks up after (barely) graduating high school being one about Dungeons and Dragons. “Thanks, but…I’m not- well, I’ve never been very studious.” 

“Okay fine,” you proclaim, apparently having come to some conclusion, “we’ll study together, then.”

“Together?”

“Right.”

Steve laughs again. “You’d sit with a stranger and study Dungeons and Dragons with him just so he gets unbanned from future campaigns?”

“Well, sure. Plus, I mean…I kind of need to study for Easter, you know? Timothy’s going to expect me to have put in at least some time with his Christmas present.”

“Right, right. We wouldn’t want to offend Timothy,” Steve agrees.

“Exactly.”

“I mean, he put a lot of thought into that gift for you.” 

You laugh again, and Steve’s sitting on his couch smiling like an idiot. 

A few beats of silence pass between the two of you before you eventually break it. “Don’t worry, King Steve-” he groans at the use of his high school nickname. “-we’ll have you D&D royalty in no time.”

“Okay, well, I don’t need to be royalty, just, like, invited would be nice.”

“Consider it done,” you declare. “It’s officially my New Year’s resolution to get Steve invited to future campaigns.”

Steve eventually ends the call with a girl’s phone number, a girl who now has his phone number, plans to meet up tomorrow after his shift for his very first D&D study session, and a spring in his step as he moves to actually call Robin this time; he has some bragging to do.

© ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

[ellecdc]

i love ur writing sm!! <3 can i request a poly!marauders x reader who has the personality of kat stratford from 10 things i hate about you? reader speaks her (or their!) mind and known as a "bitch" but shes really a softie for the people she cares about. much love♡

Thank you so much, lovie!!! Hope this is what you were looking for 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

poly!marauders x feisty fem!reader

CW: burn/injury (nothing grave), use of Y/N, jokes at the expense of Hufflepuff House (no hate to the house, I too am a Hufflepuff)

By some brilliant stroke of luck, Professor Slughorn was away at some kind of Potioneer's convention in Sweden which left the Gryffindor and Slytherin's 6th and 7th year potion’s classes hosted by a substitute. That substitute happened to be none other than Professor Binns - the horrifyingly boring History of Magic professor. Normally, the presence of the ancient ghostly professor would be mind-numbing, but seeing as he’d just barely gotten today’s instructions up on the board before promptly falling asleep (and James threw a muffliato spell around him to keep it that way), the class was actually quite lively.

“How was I supposed to know we were only meant to add a pinch and not the whole jar?!” Barty Crouch Jr asked you incredulously.

“Uhm, perhaps by reading the sodding instructions!? Circe’s tits; is it Evan’s turn with your shared braincell today?” You spat as you vanished your soiled potion. The sound of an explosion, followed by Evan’s laughing, followed by Regulus hissing “Rosier!” proved you wrong.

“Ah, the braincell eluded both of you today; my mistake.” You muttered as you began your potion from scratch.

“Reggie! Y/N’s being mean to me!” He tattled from across the room.

“It’s not mean if it’s true, babe.” Regulus responded without lifting his head from his own worktable.

“How rude.” Barty whined. 

“You’re starting to sound like a Hufflepuff, Junior.” You taunted as you swatted at his hands that were vying for your potions ingredients.

“How dare you. I have never been so insulted.” He seethed from his place on his stool.

You smirked. “You don’t listen much, do you?”

“Now, maybe that was a little harsh, L/N, comparing him to a Hufflepuff.” Dorcas called over to you from her worktable.

“You’re just as soft as he is, Meadows.” 

“Nobody is safe…” Marlene murmured with a smirk.

Sirius and James’ potion station made a startling pop sound before James hissed in pain. “Fuck!” He gritted through his teeth.

You looked over to find James holding his arm against his chest protectively, Sirius grimacing at the sight, and Remus rolling his eyes because he told those sods to be careful. You immediately abandoned your worktable and a petulant Barty and made your way to the Gryffindor side of the room.

“What happened!?” You cooed as you gently encouraged James’ arm away from his body so you could inspect it.

“I added too much billywig sting. The potion overflowed and got Prongs.” Sirius offered guiltily. You cooed again and gently kissed the space beside the angry looking burn on James’ arm. 

“Barty! Grab me the medikit from the supply cupboard!” You called over your shoulder. 

Your request was met with a scoff. “I’m not one of your trained dogs, L/N. You’ll have to show me at least one tit before I’m at your beck and call.”

He barely had time to duck as you hurled a beaker at him.

“Okay, okay. Salazar’s saggy balls, you’re wicked.” He muttered as he made his way to fetch the medikit.

Remus was planning to let those bell-ends clean this up on their own, but he relented at how sweet you looked as you fussed over James; unable to hide his fond smile as he made his way over to his three lovers from his own workbench he shared with Peter.

“What did I say at the beginning of class?” Remus asked impishly. Sirius seemed to gulp a little before he murmured “to read twice, add once”.

“Mhm, and what did you do?” Remus continued.

Sirius, now growing tired of feeling shamefaced, muttered “obviously not that…” which earned him a pat on the arse from the werewolf.

Barty returned with the medikit and leaned his cheek forward as if waiting for you to press a kiss to it for his assistance. You whacked him in the head with said kit before opening it to find the burn paste and poison neutralizer.

All contempt melted away from your face as you turned your sights from your potions partner to one of your three boyfriends. “It might sting, but I’ll try to be gentle.” You murmured to James as you began to work on his wound.

As Remus peered at the burn, it really didn’t look all that bad – but the way you were treating James made it seem like you thought he was going to lose his arm. Suddenly, Remus saw a small wet mark land on James’ arm from where you were hovering over him.

“Dovey, you don’t have to cry! He’s okay.” He cooed at you as he began rubbing soothing circles onto your back, pressing a conciliatory kiss to your temple.

“M’not crying.” You muttered somewhat petulantly. “The smell of flesh burning off of Jamie’s arm is assaulting my sinuses.”

Sirius officially seemed more distraught that he upset you than he did about burning James.

“Oh, my poor, sweet girl.” Sirius murmured at you as he pulled you away from James’ arm.

“I’m not done, Sirius!” You argued, though you never tried to pull away from Sirius’ grasp.

“Remus will finish up angel, give Sirius hell for me.” James winked at you. You flushed at the attention and hid your face in Sirius’ chest.

“Poor lovey, so worried about her boys, hm?” Sirius cooed into the crown of your head where his lips were pressed. You hummed in the affirmative.

“What the actual fuck?” Barty interrupted the moment as you all turned to take in his astounded face. “You’re holding a Chinese Chomping Cabbage that close to your jugular, Black? Do you have a death wish?”

“No need to be jealous, Junior. Your boyfriend is right over there.” James goaded from his place as Remus finished wrapping up his wound.

Not needing to be told twice, Barty all but skipped across the room to Regulus before he threw himself onto the quiet boy’s lap. Regulus, hardly sparing his boyfriend a glance, stood and dumped the boy off his lap before returning to his stool and carrying on with his potion. 

You could no longer see Barty from your place in Sirius’ chest but based on the vibrations from his torso and the chuckles of your other boyfriends, you were sure he was flat on his ass.

“I hate it here.” He cried.

© ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

[ellecdc]

hello love! I just, like, devoured all your writings today and idk if your requests are open, but I really like seer!reader and I was wondering if I could request one with poly!marauders where reader is a slytherin and she has a vision of befriending them or being in a relationship with them?

I’d imagined she thinks it’s a silly vision at first but the more she sees the boys (as she’s friends with Regulus so is bound to run into them with him), the visions occur more and more until she finally has an official interaction with them and officially meets them.

Idk if that’s too complicated/confusing, if so, you don’t have to write it obviously 😅.

I love Seer reader!!! thanks for your request lovie <3

please note: my requests are currently closed as I finish exams and work through the requests that I currently have.

poly!marauders x Seer Slytherin fem!reader who Sees a relationship with them

“Tell me again why I have to sit at the Gryffindor table for lunch?” You protested as Regulus all but dragged you to the Great Hall and Barty skipped merrily-on ahead. 

“Because I have to sit at the Gryffindor table for lunch.” He answered gruffly, strengthening his hold on your arm as you faltered in your steps.

“I don’t know, babes; have you ever considered just killing him? You wouldn’t have to reconnect with your estranged brother if he was dead.” Barty offered nonchalantly. 

“For the last time, Barty, I am not killing my brother.”

“A decision we’re all suffering for, apparently.” You muttered petulantly as you entered the Great Hall; chatter and the sounds of cutlery and tableware permeating your senses.

“Don’t worry, Treasure. The faster we eat the faster we can get away.” Barty offered in consolation.

“I am not doing the heimlich on you again, Barty.” You groaned as you followed Regulus towards the wrong side of the Great Hall.

“Come on, they’re not that bad.” Regulus tried.

You and Barty both stopped to give him unimpressed glares.

“Lupin’s not that bad.” He corrected.

“Yeah, and then he ruins that by the company he keeps.” You grumble as you plopped yourself down unceremoniously at the Red and Gold table across from your three lunch dates for the day.

Listen, you were all for being a good friend, a supportive friend; you would die for Regulus Black.

You’re not sure that support extended to willingly eating lunch with Gryffindor’s. 

But Regulus was determined to mend his relationship with his brother before Sirius graduated, Barty went just about anywhere Regulus went, and apparently you were single-handedly responsible for Regulus’ general sanity when it came to his brother and Barty.

“Hello Reggie!” Sirius called quickly.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What am I supposed to call you?” His brother bit back slightly less brightly. 

“I call him sugar tits but I don’t think that’s universal.” Barty offered as he started loading up his plate.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Junior.” James offered cautiously.

“I bet it is, Potter.”

Sirius sighed as if he’d been dealing with the likes of toddlers all morning and not 37 seconds of Barty Crouch Junior. “The polite thing to say would be ‘it’s nice to see you too, James’.”

Barty froze with his fork half way to his mouth as he furrowed his brows at Sirius. “No it wouldn’t; it’s not polite to lie, Black.”

“I brought another friend you can try to converse with.” Regulus spat hastily.

“Pretend I’m not here; that’s what I’m doing.” You sighed as you resigned yourself to your fate.

“Well, this is off to a good start.” Remus said with a smirk as he flipped a page in his book. 

You did suppose Lupin was the least…abrasive of him and his boyfriends. You’d had a chance to get to know him last year during prefect rounds; and while you didn’t appreciate how much he let his fellow Marauders get away with, he was relatively nice. In fact, if he had been in any house other than Gryffindor, you may have given him a chance. 

His boyfriend’s, though?

You’d rather take your chances with the Giant Squid than spend your lunch hour with them.

Were they attractive? Sure. You may be contemptuous, but you weren’t blind. 

But they always seemed to be on; there was never a moment of silence with those two nearby, and you often found yourself bracing for impact whenever they were around.

“Looking as smashing as ever, L/N.” James said as he shot you a wink.

Case in point. 

“If I threw a stick, you’d leave right?” You sneered and turned towards your sandwich.

“Nice!” Barty cheered at the same time as Remus muttered “easy kitten; play nice.” 

You started to feel the familiar sensation of your consciousness being pulled elsewhere. It felt as though you were being submerged under cold water, and the neurons firing in your brain were being gently lifted and ushered towards a new reality. 

“What’s wrong dollface?” Sirius asked you earnestly.

You sucked in a shaky breath as you tried to hide the trembling in your hands. “I just don’t feel very good.” You whispered, not trusting your voice to get through a sentence without sobbing.

“Oh, my poor girl. Come here sweets.” He repositioned himself from laying on his stomach to sitting cross legged and opening his arms in invitation.

You quickly accepted his offer and curled up in his lap as he wrapped protective arms around you and began to rock you back and forth.

“You’re okay, dolly. You’re just fine.” He murmured with his lips pressed to your hair line. “D’ya wanna stay here with me and the boys tonight?”

You let out a pathetically embarrassing keening sound as you nodded quickly.

“Okay baby; consider it done.” 

You sucked in a horrified breath as your consciousness returned and you were once again assaulted by the noises of the Great Hall.

Regulus quickly caught the glass of pumpkin juice you’d just nearly toppled and was holding your wrist tightly in his hand.

You thanked the deities for his seeker reflexes and that he seemed to already know what had happened; this was a relatively routine practice between the two of you this far along in your friendship.

“You’re okay.” He offered without even sparing you a glance as he took a napkin with his free hand to clean up what little you’d spilled.

He kept your wrist in his grip; tracking your pulse as he waited for your heart rate to slow down. 

“Was it a good one!?” Barty asked excitedly, alerting you to the fact that it wasn’t just you and Regulus sitting here.

You looked up horrified to see Remus, James, and Sirius all looking at you with various levels of concerns. 

“Was what a good one?” Sirius asked bemusedly. 

Barty scoffed derisively. “She’s a Seer, Black. Fuck, you’re thick.”

“Barty.” Regulus scolded as he turned to offer you his full attention. 

“Are you really?” James asked at the same time as Regulus asked “what did you See?” 

“I have to go.” You muttered breathlessly as you grabbed your things and headed towards the exit.

“No fair! Why does she get to leave and I don’t!?” You heard Barty whine as you pushed through the doors to the courtyard. 

You were going insane, surely. This was just a bout of madness. You needed psychological help, like one of those muggle mind healers. You could not seriously be having Sights of you dating the Marauders.

“Hey L/N!” 

“Fucking hells!” You shrieked as you spun to see Remus and James approaching you, the latter having been the one to call your name.

James still had his ever present smile on his face whilst Remus approached you with slightly more caution.

“Not happy to see us?” Remus asked with a soft smirk across his face.

“I…well,”

Apparently your bumbling was particularly telling to your current mental state, if their furrowed brows and nervous glances to each other were anything to go by.

“No funny quip for us today? You’re not going to tell me that I look like something you could draw with your left hand?” James taunted.

“Go fuck yourself, Potter.” You said with half the amount of derision you’d intended.

“Why? You wanna watch him?” Remus asked.

Okay, everything you ever said about Remus being not as bad as his boyfriends?

Lies.

“For Salazar’s sake, L/N; you sure know how to pick ‘em, huh?” Avery sneered from behind you.

“Speak when you’re spoken to, fuck face.” You barked back.

Avery only scoffed in response. 

“Hanging out with Baby Black and his crazy pet that follows him around wasn’t enough; you had to sully yourself with the likes of Gryffindor’s?” Mulciber continued for him. 

“You know, I’d be mad too if I looked like someone who has fallen for every MLM scam known to mankind.” James spat; his face taking on a severity you’d never seen from the notoriously sunny-dispositioned boy.

You wondered what else you hadn’t seen from him.

You made a rather hasty and embarrassing retreat after that gave you some…inappropriate thoughts.

You’d been plagued with more Sights since then, having been avoiding them after more images of them fussing and fawning over you (and - perhaps more horrifyingly - you over them), and then out-and-out hiding from them after a particularly… steamy Sight you had.

“You cannot hide in the Slytherin common room forever, Treasure.” Barty sighed as he plopped down beside you on the couch and rested his head on your shoulder.

“Why not?”

“Because Regulus gave them the password to the common room.”

“He what!?” You shrieked as the door opened and in spilled three Gryffindors and one Slytherin. 

“There you are, angel!” James cheered as he quickly made his way towards you.

Already with the pet names!?

“Did you really think you could hide from us, dollface?” Sirius winked as he and James took the settee across from you (causing a few younger year Slytherin’s to quickly vacate the area).

“Regulus, how could you?” You seethed at your now ex-friend. 

“I’m tired of Barty bailing on me to hide out here with you. Also, I’m not a house elf and will no longer be bringing you your meals.”

You pouted at him before a surprised yelp left your lips as you were lifted up from your seat.

Remus took your place on the sofa and placed you in the space between his thighs.

“Lupin! What are you doing!?”

“Making your dreams come true, gorgeous.” Sirius answered for you.

“They’re not dreams, you absolute mumpsimus. They’re visions of the future.” Barty sneered.

“Even better then.” James continued as he now pulled a scowling Sirius into his side. “We’re starting our future together.”

“You told them!?” You asked Regulus disbelievingly.

“Well you weren’t going to.” 

“That was the point!”

“Easy there, dove.” Remus whispered into your ear, causing a shiver to rack through you as your body traitorously melted further into Remus’ embrace. 

The only way out of this was clearly going to be the death of you (via Remus’ smoothness, James’ loveliness, and Sirius’ boldness), their murders (at your hands), or stupidly drunk in love.

You weren’t sure which option was worse.

© ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

[mariasont]

Be So Stupid - S.R

a/n: this has been sitting in my WIPs for so long and i finally finished it! now going to reward myself with online shopping xoxo

kind of inspired by when jj and reid split up in season 2 i think? when morgan was kinda being rude to her but i picture like season 12-13 spence

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: you make a mistake while on a case nearly getting spencer killed, morgan has some choice words and spencer is ready to beat his ass over it

warnings: morgan being a little shit simply for the plot, mention of spencer almost dying, spencer being a protective king pussy boss

wc: 1.4k

How could you be so stupid?

Those were the words that had been on replay, a constant loop, for the past two days. It's because, somewhere inside, you knew Morgan was justified in what he said. How could you have been so stupid to split up with Spencer at the unsubs house?

He was taken by the unsub, a trigger pull away from death. But the team got there, and he was okay. He was alive and breathing and healthy, and you tried to focus on these facts when your chest tightened with that familiar agonizing twinge.

It was a relief not to face anyone afterward. As soon as you got home from the case, you holed yourself up in your apartment, obsessively dissecting the events until the recollections twisted your insides with a nauseating sense of dread. You had run through every potential scenario in your head, agonizing over the grim outcomes if you hadn't arrived when you did.

You would've never forgiven yourself.

So here you were, hiding out in Penelope's lair, doing your paperwork. You convinced yourself it wasn't hiding; rationalizing it as a need for more peace and quiet than the bullpen could offer. You knew it was bullshit, and so did Garcia.

"Just so you know, I'm fully prepared to kick his ass on your behalf," she announced, swiveling to face her monitors, the ribbons in her hair trailing her movement like colorful comets. "It was totally uncalled for. Everyone agrees."

"Everyone?"

"Well, okay, not Spencer, but that's only because he doesn't know," Garcia continued, her pen tapping a silent code against her cheek, followed by the clack of keys. "If he did, he'd definitely kick his ass."

"I don't know about that," you said, repeatedly stretching and releasing the hair tie around your wrist, each snap a self-inflicted reprimand.

"He called you stupid." She was shaking her head so vigorously her blonde locks tumbled into her eyes as she paused her typing to look at you. "And you, my gorgeous friend, are anything but."

"Generally speaking, sure, but this time, Pen, I really screwed up."

"Who called you stupid?"

Spencer's voice was incredibly hard to ignore, distinct—you would recognize it anywhere.

Garcia and you stopped dead, your eyes growing impossibly large as she gave you a look as if to say, Morgan is screwed.

"No one."

"Morgan."

You and Garcia blurt your words out at the same time, your voices clashing in the air. You whipped your head to Garcia, the betrayal written on your face as she only shrugged her shoulders.

"Why would he say that to you?"

Spencer's steps towards you were measured, but each one amplified your unease, you hands wringing together as you looked away. He could read you like a book, and most times that was a good thing, but today it was definitely not.

"It's really not a big deal, Spencer," you insisted, pursing you lips as you dragged your gaze up and over him. "But how about you? How are you holding up?"

You were on your feet in an instant, a little too quickly, wobbling on your heel just a tab before Spencer grabbed your elbow. You ignore his touch, or at least you try, and press the back of your hand to his forehead.

He wasn't warm, but you sure were.

"You know, I don't think you should be back at work so soon."

You weren't lying when you said that. It seemed to soon. Was he looking a little pale? You couldn't tell. He should be home.

His hand was suddenly around your wrist, soft but firm, easing you away from his forehead, his eyes narrowing at you.

"Hey, I'm alright." He was trying to be assuring, offering a faint smile that only served to make your stomach do backflips. "Really, I am."

His fingers frapped around your wrist, not quite letting go, as he directed his attention to Garcia. "Why did he say that to her?"

"I'm right here," you grumbled under your breath, but Spencer was paying you no mind.

"I'm aware," Spencer answered without looking at you as his hands found their way to your shoulders, thumbs tracing absent patterns on your skin. "But you are not providing any answers."

Garcia cut in, folding her arms over her chest as her eyes pinned you with an unspoken accusation. "He said it because you two split up on the case."

Her words seemed to thicken the air itself, snatching away the previous ease as Spencer's expression darkened. It was a new and unsettling sight--the tightness in his jaw, the faint crease in his brows, and the steely sharpness in his eyes.

Without uttering a single syllable, he spun on his heel and strode out the door. You didn't hesitate to chase after him, an inkling of his destination propelling you forward. The look on his face had planted a seed of fear about what he was going to do.

Sure enough, there he was, just as you anticipated, in the middle of the bull pit. His gaze locked on Morgan with a laser-like precision, like a hawk eyeing its prey.

"How could you say that to her?" His voice was jagged, hands thumping against Morgan's shoulders in a way that you frantically looked around for Hotch. "What? Were you trying to make her feel bad? What's the matter with you?"

"Easy, Spencer, what are you getting at?" Morgan's hands went up defensively. But when Spencer's eyes flickered to you, the puzzle pieces clicked into place. "Oh..."

Morgan's eyes found yours. "Come here, sugar."

Morgan was your friend, a good one at that, and you really didn't blame him for what he said. He had good intentions. But here in the bullpen being open and exposed you found yourself stalling, glancing towards Spencer.

Only after he gave you a nod did you take that tentative step forward, clammy palms running down your pants as you stood in front of Morgan.

"Look, I was out of line. Calling you stupid was stupid of me," he started, hand grabbing on your upper arm as he spoke. "We've all been in tough spots and I was an asshole for adding to the pressure instead of helping you through it."

And you knew he meant it, even if it took Spencer nearly coming to blows to bring it about. 

"It's okay, I know you didn't mean it, Morgan. And it was my fault really, for not staying with Spencer."

"First off, we made that call together, so if anyone's at fault, it's both of us," Spencer reminded, his hand settling on your lower back as he moved closer to you. His gaze then drilled into Morgan. "And second, Morgan, she's too nice. I say you owe her a month's work of paperwork at least."

You opened your mouth to object, but Morgan cut you off, his hand on your shoulder stopping me mid-breath. "After what I said? I'll do you one better--I'll handle your paperwork for two months."

He was gone before you could even thank him, making his way towards the break room, leaving you and Spencer.

"Hey, look at me." You did, raising your eyes to meet his. "What happened on that last case—it's not on you. We made a call, and we did it with the best intentions. It's not your fault."

He regarded you so... softly. It stirred a flutter of goosebumps across your skin, your hands rubbing up and down your arms as if to smooth away the sensation.

"Seeing you in that situation, so close to..." You paused, drawing in a ragged breath as the sickening memories came flooding back. "I can't help but feel responsible. It's a tough guilt to shake."

He rearranged a lock of hair behind your ear. 

"It's a cognitive distortion to assume sole responsibility, but that's just your brain tricking you." Taking your hand he pressed it over his heart. "A human heart beats over two billion times in a lifetime. And every beat right now is telling you, I'm all good."

You could feel his heartbeat—thump, thump—against your palm. You caught yourself wanting to know what it would be like to fall asleep to the sound.

You were so close to each other now, the distance, or lack thereof, slightly overwhelming. "You're all good?"

He gave your hand a squeeze. "I'm all good."

You remained motionless, hand pressed to his chest, wondering if your heart could ever beat in sync with his.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath

[suugarbabe]

drunken daydreams | s.b. x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of drinking, pining, fluff

a/n: little fun fact i found out, beer pong was invented in the 1950's?? also this is for week three of jinxed july <3

Hopeless.

That is what it felt like to crush on Sirius Black. Hopeless because Sirius was, well…everything.

He was charming beyond belief, even professors falling for his half turned smile and cheeky winks. He was absolutely gorgeous, unfairly so really, onyx hair that fell in messy tendrils no matter how many times he ran his ring glad fingers through it.

His eyes were always playfully full of mischief, but if you truly paid attention to him (and you did) you could tell that they shifted just the slightest bit in shade depending on his mood.

His mouth seemed to permanently be painted with a smirk unless someone was telling him ‘no’, then his powder pink lips would puff in a pout and who in their right mind could deny that look? (certainly not you). 

When Lily asked you to spend a week at James’s family cabin with her over summer holiday you had originally said no.

James’s cabin meant Sirius’s cabin since the latter now lived with the former; that and they were attached at the hip with no hope of prying them apart. Lily had pouted, begging you to say yes, but going only seemed like torture.

Torture because it’d be a week essentially alone with Sirius as Lily and James would likely frequently find couple things to do, Marlene and Dorcus would be hiking everyday and Remus would seclude himself with ‘peace and quite for once’.

Alone time with Sirius made you nervous because you were nearly, practically, almost one hundred percent sure that your feelings toward Sirius were not reciprocated. 

But that did not stop Lily from employing the raven haired boy to get you to change your mind. Which is how you found yourself conveniently alone with Sirius in the train compartment on the ride back from Hogwarts.

“Pretty please, you can’t not go, everyone’s going,” in classic fashion with his little pout and his eyes widened. You tried to avert your gaze from his, knowing if you looked too long you’d give in.

But this tactic failed miserably as Sirius simply moved back into your view, “I’m literally begging here, love,” and oh how he looked so pretty begging.

“Please say yes, I cannot hear James or Lils complain the whole week. I need you there.”

He needed you there.

That’s what he had said. And that one phrase spun a slew of delusional scenarios in your mind that led you to agree to join the rest of the group for the week. 

It wasn’t as bad as you originally anticipated in the beginning. The lot of you gathered at the Potter’s manor, utilizing the floo system for the trip to the cabin, that experience going surprisingly swimmingly for it being your first time.

The first night at the cabin you guys decided on a bonfire.

“It’s like christening the place,” James had said, with much encouragement from Sirius and much to the eye roll of Remus.

“We’ll go get drinks started!” Lily grabbed your arm, pulling you up from your chair and back towards the door of the cabin, “any requests or are we good with surprises?” 

James, Dorcus and Remus laid out drink orders while Marlene said you could surprise her. You turned to Sirius as he spoke next, “You know my drink, don’t you love?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hoping the heat you felt wasn’t making itself prominent as a blush on your cheeks, “Firewhiskey with cola, right?” Sirius winked, nodding in confirmation and the swarm of butterflies in your stomach started humming. 

Back in the kitchen Lily was practically vibrating with excitement. You let out a long sigh, “Something got you worked up Lils? Wanna share with the class?”

Lily wore a small grin as she filled all the glasses with ice, “I’m just thinking about what I saw and if you saw it too.”

You halted in filling Sirius's glass, resting both hands on the counter in front of you, “What do you think you saw? Because James’s googly eyes over you is basically a daily occurrence, I didn’t think it’d have you this excited still.”

She rolled her eyes at your statement, “I’m very clearly talking about Sirius and you.” 

You made a scrunched face at this, “There’s nothing between me and Sirius. Well, like we’re friends, obviously, but you know there’s nothing more.” Lily shrugged, a slight curl to her lips as she continued making drinks.

“Lils, please. He doesn’t like me like that. It would never happen and honestly…” you grabbed a few glasses in your hands, “I’m coming to terms with that.”

You were not coming to terms with it.

But it would be far easier than having all your friends thinking you’re hopelessly pining after him. What doesn’t help is Lily’s next response, “I dunno, babes. I could see the two of you together.” She slid the back door open with her elbow before walking back onto the deck, calling out that drinks were ready.

That one comment had you reeling, overanalyzing every interaction and conversation you had ever had with Sirius. You barely even registered that he spoke to you when you handed him his drink before taking your seat in the lawn chair next to his.

You glanced his way when you felt his stare after a moment, “Sorry, Siri, did you say something?”

Sirius smiled sweetly at you, a hint of something you couldn’t read in his eyes, “Just a thanks for the drink, love.” The commonplace pet name had your cheeks aflame but you prayed to Merlin the light of the bonfire hid the evidence. 

As the night went on and the drinks flowed, everyone was eventually corralled inside for what James called a “mandatory game of beer pong”. Lily agreed to play (and be his partner) with the promise that everyone would play ‘the muggle way’, no use of magic for assistance.

Everyone agreed and placed their wands on the counter and paired up, you finding yourself partnered with Sirius. Remus stated he would be the officiant to “help keep Sirius and James in line and following the rules” much to their promises to play cleanly.

“Ready, partner?” Sirius called you up to the table, dropping the ping pong ball in one of the cups closest to him. You nodded, a tight lip smile on your lips to try and help hide the nerves that were brewing inside. 

You looked across the table at Lily and James, the red head trying to conceal her smirk as she looked from you to Sirius and back. You rolled your eyes with a slight smile before Sirius started smack talking James.

“Oh you’re in for it now, Potter. You and your little Lilly flower are cute and all, but you’re no match for me and y/n/n here, isn’t that right, love?” Sirius held his hand out palm up, clearly waiting for you to slap it. You gave him a high five and a small nervous laugh, “Y-yeah, right.” 

To your surprise Sirius was actually correct; James and Lily were horrible at beer pong, but you and Sirius looked like seasoned champions. The game against them went rather quickly, James sulking against Lilly on the couch as Marlene and Dorcus re-racked the red cups.

This game proved to be a little more difficult, the girls being able to really go toe to toe with you and Sirius, you were down to two cups left to sink, while Marlene and Dorcus only had three cups.

Marlene stood tall at the end of the table, ping pong ball in hand. She closed one eye, Dorcus semi-slurring encouragements to her before Marlene gave the ball a light toss. 

You watched as the ball arched in the air coming down towards one of the last three cups. The ball began the swirl around the rim of the cup and your next actions were more on instinct than real knowledge or skill of the game.

You bent down near the cup, giving a quick blow of air near the ball before watching the physics of the combination making the ball jump from the cup and land back onto the table.

Sirius let out a gleeful noise of shock, whereas Marlene and Dorcas began protesting, “Hey! We said no magic! Remus, that’s a foul we get that cup right?!”

Sirius, however, was quick to go to your defense, “Nuh-uh, there was no magic involved, that’s just how good y/n/n’s blowing abilities are!” 

Your eyes widened in shock at his words, Dorcas rattling off a teasing remark before Sirius could correct himself, “Oh? And how would you know about her blowing abilities, Black?”

The drinks were getting to you slightly, a small giggle bubbling from your throat as Sirius tried his best to defend himself, “I, well…erm, that’s not what I meant…I-I mean..”

He turned to face you, his eyes half lidded as they made contact with yours, “Don’t you look at me like that, love.” A lazy smile adorned your face, “I’m not looking at you any kind of way, Siri.” 

Sirius shook his head in disagreement, “You’re giving me those eyes.” You batted your eyelashes a few times, “I’m not giving you any special eyes. Besides, if you’re wanting to know about my abilities, you can just tell me.”

Sirius’s eyes widened before he let out a huff of air through his nose, “No, I don’t, I want to- I mean, you did the, the thing- and then Dorcus said what she said and so I just - I, erm, n-no I’m good.”

While you laughed a little at his stumbling, you couldn’t deny the pit growing in your stomach the longer he tried to find nice ways to essentially reject your playful advance. 

Luckily you didn’t have to hide your dejection for long as you and Sirius lost to the girls. Now your solemn look could be explained by the loss of the game instead of the loss of any chance you had with Sirius.

You gave him a half-hearted smile before going to find a seat on one of the couches as James and Lily went to play against the winners. You only half paid attention to the game, every interaction with Sirius from the night playing back over and over in your mind. Why did he have to be so bloody hard to read? 

To even get you on this trip in the first place he said he needed you there. But you don’t speak two words to each other in any capacity until everyone arrived at James’s manor.

Even there it was only long glances, which could have been strictly initiated by you. Although you could have sworn he was already looking your way one or two times when you made eye contact.

Here at the cabin you knew his drink, because of course you did. Was he teasing you earlier when he asked?

But he also winked at you. And he’s been calling you love, and made that comment about your ‘blowing skills’. But he does make dirty jokes a lot.

You really would be a perfect couple though, all of your friends told you so whenever you talked about him, sometimes even when you didn’t talk about him.

People wouldn’t say that to you just to be mean to you, I mean, these were your best friends. But he also essentially rejected your flirtatious advances. Why was this so hard to- 

A ring clad hand was waving in front of your face causing you to blink several times before refocusing on the object of your delusional thoughts.

Sirius had his ever present charming grin, a special glint in his hooded eyes, “Caught you daydreaming about me again, didn’t I, love?”

Maybe it was the liquid courage, but the words came tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them, “Don’t be mean, Sirius.” 

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, “What do you-” Rather ungracefully, you cut him off, “Just because you know I have a crush on you doesn’t mean you can tease me like everyone else does. It’s honestly humiliating enough.”

Sirius’s once smirking features changed to that of confusion, “It’s humiliating to have a crush on me?”

You groaned in frustration, covering your face with your hands before looking down at your feet, “Yes, Sirius, it’s humiliating to have a raging crush on someone that clearly has no interest or feelings toward me beyond platonic friendship.” 

The cool metal of his rings felt like ice against your flamed skin as he forced you to look at him, “Who said my feelings were strictly platonic?”

You opened your mouth to respond before quickly closing it again. You sat up straighter then, Sirius’s hand dropping from your chin, “Well, you did, you said that. Back during the game, when Dorcus was teasing us and I asked if that’s what you wanted. You basically stumbled over a way to tell me you were uninterested in my advances.” 

His melodic laugh filled your ears. You were ready to smack him for being so rude before he started giving you a viable response.

“Sweetheart…I wasn’t trying to reject you,” you looked up to meet his eyes once more as he continued, “I responded that way because you had me flustered, you…kind of always make me feel that way.”

He scratched the back of his head nervously, “I didn’t really know how to respond properly when Dorcus made that remark. And, erm, I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable by admitting I probably, erm, wouldn’t mind finding out how good your,” he gulped slightly, “abilities are.” 

Your gaze fell to his lips before meeting his eyes once more; Sirius bit his lip, trying to hold back what you were sure was a shit-eating smirk.

His hand cupped your cheek gently, “Can I?” You gave a small nod as you leaned in, Sirius closing the remaining distance before capturing your lips with his.

This was not a fiery, passionate, kiss. But soft, gentle and sweet. His lips slotted against yours as though they were always meant to be there. 

His fingers entangled slightly in your hair, pulling you closer to him. You braced yourself with a hand on his thigh. A small whimper drifted from Sirius’s throat at the extra physical contact, wanting to fuel you further.

What felt like two small, solid objects pelted both you and Sirius, causing you both to pull away from each other in confusion.

“Don’t partners usually only make out when they win a game, not when they lose?” Marlene teased lightly. You looked over at Lilly who gave you a wink. One thing was for sure, you were not going to doubt her again.

[moonstruckme]

Hiii my pookie wookie lovey dovie

can you please do a fic about....

- Remus and reader have been dating for maybe seven or so months,😚

- and reader hasn't really wanted to have sex and remus totally respected that🤜🏻🤛🏻

- I until she's like "I wanna have sex"❤️‍🔥

- they do it, it's the best thing in the world, soft but hard blah blah blah🥹

- but then when they finish she goes to put on her clothes 👕

- and remus is like "hold up what's happening why is she getting up??"😶

- hes like where you going 👀

- she's like "what do you mean?"😃

- she then explains that with her ex there wasn't really such thing as "aftercare"😭

- and it wasn't really like she was in a bad relationship it was just..... Mid?😩

- the ex, he was fine but he never asked her what she wanted when it came to sex and didn't really ask her and she never actually has had an orgasm activated by the dicks👹 (until him obvi)

-blah blah blah mega fluff💕

Thanks my snookums sweetie-pie baby <3

cw: mature themes, mdni please

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 661 words

Remus’ breaths are synced with yours, slowing as you both come back down and he rolls off you onto the bed. Your pleasure is spilled like warm honey across the sheets. The sounds you made echo in his head, at first restrained but increasingly candid, Remus’ own body responding in kind. 

He hadn’t minded your temperance, but the months of being pent-up in his want for intimacy with you made Remus near mad and now he’s grateful that you’re here next to him, thoroughly spent and, by all evidence, thoroughly pleased as well. 

He reaches over to run his hand over your thigh and finds nothing but air. 

The bed creaks a second later. Remus turns onto his side as you stand and pull your shirt back over your head. You pull your hair out of the neckline, every movement you make lovely and perfect. 

“Hey,” he says. You turn, looking at him over your shoulder questioningly. He imagines he looks much the same. “Where are you running off to?” 

Your head tilts to the side, your smile small and fond. “I thought you wanted to go to the store.” 

“Yeah, but I’m not in any sort of hurry.” Remus feels, he has to admit, a tad jilted. Nothing in your demeanor would suggest you’re upset with him, but you’ve just initiated sex for the first time and then left his bed like it’s on fire. “I’d rather relax for a while first, wouldn’t you?” 

Your brows scrunch rather adorably, as though this would never have occurred to you. “Sure, that sounds nice. You mean, like, put on a film?” 

A soft, bemused laugh trips off his tongue. “I mean,” he says teasingly, “do you wanna come here, lovely?”

You go back into his arms like you’re happy to do it. Remus pulls your leg across him, stroking you from knee to hip the way he wanted to, and you get comfy with your face close to his on the pillow. When you blink, your lashes tickle his chin. 

“Is this alright?” he asks. 

You make a happy sound of affirmation, brushing a kiss over the column of his throat. He lets his hand migrate over your hip to the small of your back. 

“Do you always run off after sex?” 

You’re quiet for a second, and Remus worries he’s been too abrupt. He slips his other palm beneath your cheek, a silent apology. You say hesitantly, “I don’t think so. It’s just how we always did it, in my last relationship.” 

“You both got dressed right after?” 

“Yeah.” There’s a note of insecurity in your voice. Remus kisses the space between your brows in hopes of soothing it. “What else do you do?” 

He hums thoughtfully. “Well, I’m partial to a long cuddle.” Your laugh is a soft puff of air against his chest. He grins for hearing it. “I don’t know, we can do whatever works for us. Have a shower, eat something, talk. I like this.” He tilts his head, going for the ticklish spot on the side of your neck, and covers your hand with his when you giggle and try to push him away. “What sounds nice to you?” 

You sigh, but it’s a happy sound. “All of that sounds nice to me. You usually do that after sex?” 

He shrugs. “Preferably, yeah.” 

You’re quiet for a beat. “So this whole time I’ve been doing it wrong, huh?”

“There is no wrong, sweetheart.” Remus smears a kiss over your shoulder. “It matters what makes you feel good, though. Is this nice?” 

“This is nice,” you agree. Your voice is soft and breathy, a whisper of the sounds you’d made earlier. He knows without looking that your eyes have closed. “I think I’m on board with your cuddle plan.” 

He chuckles. “Glad to hear it.” 

“Will there still be time for a shower after? I feel a bit sticky.” 

“I told you, lovely girl. There’s no hurry.” 

[luveline]

hii jade are u going to write something about hotchner!reader and spencer any soon?

—You panic when Spencer’s late for a date. He makes it up to you as best as he can. fem, 2.6k

cw implied past child abuse

You weren’t young when you were adopted, so you were instilled very quickly with the need to be grateful. How lucky you were to be given a second chance at a family. How you owed it to your new family to be the perfect daughter and sister to a father who didn’t like you and two brothers your senior. 

Family for you is complicated. It always has been. You didn’t get the unconditional love you’d hoped for in all of them, but you have one older brother who loves you as though you and him are two branches of the same tree, and maybe that’s enough for anyone. 

“Yes!” Aaron cheers, jumping up from the bench. 

You spin around with a grin that’s half shy, half ecstatic. “I did it!” 

Jack runs up to your legs. “You got a strike!” 

You pretend to give him a karate chop. “Boosh! Double strike.” You grin as Aaron sizes up the pins down the long ally. “Think your dad can get one before we run out of turns?” 

“No!” Jack laughs. 

You laugh at his easy answer. His father, determined now in the face of your disbelief, picks up a number twelve ball and stands at the arrows to take his last turn. You brace your hands on Jack’s shoulders and wait for the line to be put down again. 

You’re pretty sure he’s throwing his turns to let Jack win. You’d not done the same until you realised the yawning gap in the scores, and maybe you’d feel embarrassed for not noticing if Aaron ever made you feel bad for anything, but he doesn’t. 

Your phone rings as he pulls back his arm. You ignore it. “Good luck, dad!” Jack says under your hands. 

It’s that good luck that gives Aaron his strike. You cheer with Jack as the ball glides straight into the first pin and veers on a spin toward the third, creating a wave of noise and action as the pins go flying back toward the baseboard. 

Aaron turns around with a huge smile. “Jack!” 

“You did it!” Jack cheers back. “Not first, but you did!” 

You grab your phone from your pocket. “Couldn’t let me have it, could you?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?” Aaron picks Jack up from the floor to hold against his chest, pointing at the screen with love. “Look at that, buddy, you won! Can you see that? You got the most points!” Aaron kisses his cheek, high on happiness. “Wow!” 

You have two missed calls from Spencer. To Aaron’s begrudgement, you and Spencer are actually going steady. The first attraction didn’t fizzle, the dates turned to dating turned to exclusivity; Spencer Reid is your boyfriend, and he’s supposed to be taking you out to dinner in ten minutes. 

“Everything okay?” Aaron asks, creeping closer to you, Jack still in his arms. 

“It’s fine, he’s just running late.” You notice his small frown. “His mom’s doctor wanted to talk to him, that’s all.” 

“How late is he thinking?” 

The plan was you’d go bowling with your family and then meet Spencer outside to eat at the Chinese restaurant just across the parking lot, but it’s not seeming so sure now. 

“He said half an hour. I’m pretty hungry,” you say, “he’s gotta speak to a psychiatrist about something. I can’t eat though, right? That’s rude.” 

“That’s not rude, honey. You can’t help being hungry as much as he can’t help being late.” As you’d noticed his, he notices your small frown. “You can’t go hungry,” he says with a shrug, “so you’re gonna have to come and eat something, but Spencer can join us when he’s done.” 

“Right, because you’ll love that.” 

“I’ve been on more dates with him than you have.” 

You take Jack as he opens his arms toward you. “I forget. I always think of you as his boss, and not his teammate.” 

Aaron grabs Jack’s backpack off of the bench, and your empty cups off of the table to throw away. “I am his boss. Okay, Jack, what do you want for dinner? What sounds good?” 

You, Aaron and Jack leave the bowling alley and end up in the Italian restaurant opposite of your originally proposed restaurant. You carry Jack on your hip and text Spencer with your open hand, content to let Aaron guide you through what little foot traffic there is to your table. Aaron sits on one side of the booth with Jack, and you slide into the other side. 

Spencer’s texts are getting more and more convoluted. He says he’s sorry, and then he says he has to call someone else, and then he needs to talk to his mom. You nibble your fingernail. 

“You okay?” 

You nod slowly. “Yeah, uh… Yes, everything’s fine.” 

“Is Spencer okay?” 

“I think he might cancel.” 

Aaron flattens his menu. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I think his mom is having a bad day…” 

“What else are you worried about?” 

Jack saves you for a moment, “Dad, can I have juice?” 

“Yes, sweetheart, I’ll get you juice. Apple juice?” 

Jack presses his cheek to Aaron’s arm, earning himself a hug. 

“Are you tired?” Aaron whispers. 

“No.” 

“Okay. Hey, there’s a table over there with some colouring pages and crayons, do you see that? Do you want to do some colouring?” 

“Can I go get some?” Jack asks. 

“Yes. Don’t bump into anybody, okay?” 

The table isn’t far enough to worry, but Aaron splits his attention between Jack and you fairly evenly, just a tad more worry following his son. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Aaron asks. 

“You don’t think Spencer would lie, do you?” you ask. 

“Lie about his mother? I doubt it very much.” 

You trust Aaron, and you trust Spencer too, but Aaron has earned that trust over years and years where Spencer has been gifted it. He hasn’t done anything to break it, but he hasn’t proved he should have it yet either. And really, truly, it isn’t actually about what you believe of Spencer. 

You feel a bit nauseous, but your brother is the best person in the world, so you tell him why without preamble, “I’m worried that he’s going to get sick of me.” 

“Why would he do that?” Aaron asks. 

You scratch at the menu beneath your hand rather than meet his eyes. Because you’re awful. That’s what your father instilled in you, and it’s what you’ve come to learn. Eventually, the people who love you get tired of you. Everyone except Aaron, and isn't that proof of something? He’s the only man good enough to pretend you’re someone worth caring about. 

If he could hear your thoughts he’d probably cry. It’s why you’ve struggle to tell him. 

You rub your thumb into the side of your index finger, feeling the texture of your skin. “I think people just do.” 

Jack returns quickly, with paper and a huge fist full of crayons, though there are four colours altogether. “Well,” Aaron says, helping Jack back into his seat, crayons rolling released from a small fist every which way, “I don't. And Jack doesn’t, Haley doesn’t. I see no reason why Spencer would feel that way.” 

“What don’t I do?” Jack asks, frowning at his dad. 

“You don’t think Aunt Y/N’s bad at bowling, do you?” 

“You’re great at bowling!” Jack's eyes go wide. “I’m gonna make us a photo, to remember. We got strikes!” 

You let your face fall into your hand as Aaron strokes hair up the side of Jack’s head. It’s a soothing thing to see, you know the soft touch of his hand well, having been petted and patted through a hundred different bad moments. 

Spencer probably isn’t lying about why he’s late, but he could be. You wouldn’t blame him. 

“She’s very good at bowling,” Aaron says, hugging Jack to his side. “And so many other things, that’s why we love her. Should we make a list?” 

He used to love doing that, too. 

Your father wasn’t a nice or kind man. Aaron doesn’t know how it escalated, only knows what happened to him, and how he’d come to see you and you’d burst into tears the second he asked how you were. 

If Aaron knew how bad it was at the time he would’ve forced you to leave, but you never told the whole truth. He assumed it to be a mixture of everything —school was awful, dad was worse, and you were more isolated than most. 

Make me a list, he’d say. 

The first time you didn’t get it. You were a teenager sitting on his couch, his wife in the kitchen, a weight on your chest. What for? 

A list of the stuff that’s bothering you. 

Do you need a list? you’d asked. He had a knack for knowing more than you could say. 

I think we should make one. 

You realise now it was a strategy to calm you down. If you could quantify the things that were depressing you, you could begin to understand it, and hopefully dismantle some of the bigger problems. It didn’t always work, but it didn’t matter. It made you feel better just to have you and Aaron on the same couch with a notebook and a number two pencil. Don’t see my brother enough, he’d written with a sad face. 

Brother, you’d thought with a secret joy. He’s your brother. 

Jack and Aaron make a list they won’t show you. You order drinks and then dinner, waiting for a phone call or a text back you don’t receive. It’s disheartening, and when your pasta arrives, you can barely eat. 

“Honey,” Aaron says, “why don’t you go call him? You can see if he’s alright.” 

You poke at a shell with a tightly gripped fork. “What if he doesn’t want me to call him? It sounds serious.” 

“Maybe that’s why you should call him. I think he’d appreciate it.” He looks like he wants to reach for you, but ultimately, he doesn’t. “Take a minute for yourself, if nothing else. Everything’s okay, I promise.” 

“Sorry.” 

“For what?” Jack asks. 

You smile regretfully. “I’m just feeling confused today, babe. What about you? Are you confused about where your mouth is?” you tease lightly. 

Aaron gasps a laugh and reaches over to wipe Jack down with a napkin as you slip from the booth. You take your phone, worrying that Aaron’s eyes are on your back as you pass by the host booth and back out onto the street. The breeze kisses your clammy skin. 

Why do you assume that no one really likes you? It’s difficult to comprehend. Your thumb hovers over Spencer’s contact photo, debating, and debating. Should you call him? He might be preoccupied, upset even, and what if you make it worse? But if you don’t call him, you can’t reassure yourself that you’re not in trouble. 

He answers on the third trill. 

“Hello?” you ask. 

“Hey!” There’s a sound like something heavy has been put down. “Hey, I’m so sorry!” 

“Don’t be sorry!” you say immediately. “It’s okay. Are you okay?” 

Spencer’s voice is a little high and fast, but beside that, he has a nice tenor. When he’s calm and feeling up to it, alone at night with nothing else to do, he’ll read to you from one of his infinite books, his syllables catching and tripping over air as you rub your nose into his arm. 

“I’m fine! There was a mixup with some medication at the sanitarium and they realised my mom’s dose of one of her antipsychotics has been charted higher than she was really taking, so she’s been having a hard time, it’s a total mess but I think we have it figured out now. How was bowling?” 

“Spencer, are you sure it’s okay?” 

“It’s fine.” He laughs softly, not a hint of condescension or derision for you, but an emotion you can’t name. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to take so long.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“I mean, it’s fine if it’s not okay. I know you can’t help yourself sometimes, but you don’t have to tell me it’s fine if it’s not fine.” 

“Uh–” You cough around it. “No, it really is. You can’t help it. Family is important, right?” 

“It’s so important. Listen, where are you right now?” 

“I’m just standing outside of the Pasta Factory by the bowling alley. I tried to have dinner ‘cos I’m starving, but… I think I lost my appetite.” 

“What? Are you okay?” 

“I’m having one of those days, I guess?”

“What kind of day?” 

His voice is bouncing strangely, as though he’s talking near you. You pause, turning on your heel to look down the few stairs into the parking lot asphalt. 

Spencer’s walking up them, a bouquet of roses in his hands. 

“Hi,” you say, the phone still pressed to your ear. 

Spencer puts his away. “Hi. 

His hug is full, all-encompassing and warm as he wraps his arms around you, the bouquet a cacophony of crinkling against your shoulder. He smells like aftershave, his Tom Ford one with the woody tinge that has you pressing your nose into the top of his shoulder to just breathe. Your phone digs into his spine. He doesn’t say anything about it. 

“Hey,” he says softly, giving you a similar swaying, back and forth. “I’m sorry I’m late, I had to call them, but it wasn’t fair on you.” 

“Spencer,” you say, holding him tightly. “You’re my boyfriend.” 

“Don’t sound so unsure.” 

“No, but. We can be flexible, right?” 

“Of course we can, but I’m still sorry.” He peels back to smile at you, his eyes gently squinted. “So what’s wrong? What’s making it one of those days?” 

You can’t explain it to him. He likely doesn’t need you to. 

You’re expecting him to pull away —you’re in a public place and affection isn’t his usual expertise— but he doubles down. New boyfriend or not, this hug feels like it’s from somebody who’s loved you for years and years. 

“What’s making it a bad day?” he asks quietly. 

“I don’t know…” You rub your nose self indulgently against his shoulder. 

“Are you sure you have no appetite? Maybe that’s what it is? Stuff tends to feel bigger or more upsetting when we’re hungry because low blood sugar prompts your body to release more hormones that affect your cortisol level, and cortisol plays a big part in how your mind interprets your emotions.” Spencer pulls away, his hand sliding up your shoulder to hold you in place. He grins. “So I think you should still let me take you to dinner. Especially if you didn’t eat much.” 

Why would Spencer lie to you? you think, relieved. He wouldn’t. And the idea that he’s going to get sick of you, that’s rooted in bad lessons from a poor situation. It’s not a reflection on you. 

“We will,” you decide, “I just have to get my stuff. I left my bag, and Jack’s writing me a list.” 

“What list?” 

“A list of stuff I’m good at.” 

He doesn’t waver. “Really? Can I add stuff too?” You turn your nose up in an unsubtle prompting, satisfied when Spencer gives you a quick, smiling kiss. “Sorry,” he says, though his apology is distracted by a fond undertone, “I missed you.” 

You receive a few more gentle kisses for all your worries, and you begin to feel better. Spencer presses the roses into your hand and encourages you into the restaurant with his hand spread behind your back. 

[moonstruckme]

hello mae! I have a request, if you please could you write plus size!reader coming home to find one of the marauders (your choice) in her clothing. I think it’d be super duper cute. If you have written anything similar to this you can obviously disregard.

Thanks for requesting lovely!

modern au

Sirius Black x plus size!reader ♡ 743 words

You come home, chilled and damp, to a boyfriend who is looking especially soft. 

“Hey.” Sirius props himself up where he’s sprawled across the couch. His skin glows blue in the light from the TV, and there’s a crease on his cheek like he might’ve been sleeping before you came in. His hair is down and fluffier than normal, a shorter piece falling near his face and curving along the inside of his jaw. He’s the picture of loveliness, but worse, he’s wearing your hoodie. Your favorite one, with the soft fuzzy inside and the sleeves long enough to pull over your fingers. “You were supposed to text me when you got off.” 

“My phone died,” you say. 

Sirius tsks, getting up and arching his back until it cracks satisfyingly. “Poor girl. So you had to walk all this way in the rain, hm?” He meets you by the door for a kiss, thumbing at your cheek tenderly. “You’re freezing.”

“Yeah,” you agree. You sound about as smitten as you feel, and your boyfriend grins smugly. “Is that my hoodie?” 

Anyone else might look down to see what they’re wearing, but Sirius only keeps looking at you. He hasn’t forgotten. “It is,” he says. “You couldn’t honestly expect me to bear the burden of your absence for the entire day, sweetness. A man has to cope.” 

You feel your lips curve unwillingly. “Right. My mistake.” 

“Don’t make it again.” He smacks your bum and goes into the kitchen. You’re a bit too lovesick at the moment to retaliate. “Want me to make you hot cocoa?” 

What you really want is to drag him back to the sofa so you can have a nice warm cuddle with your extremely cuddly-looking boyfriend, but it’s your job to be the sensible one in this relationship. And the sensible one doesn’t get the couch wet. 

“Please,” you agree. “I’m going to go upstairs and change.” 

It proves hard work peeling your work clothes off your damp skin. You hear Sirius’ steps on the stairs when you’re only just tugging your pants off your ankles. 

“Oh, hello.” He grins at the sight of you, sitting on the bed in your underwear. “I don’t see why you ever put on more clothes than this, darling. I quite like clothes, but I’d be happy with this all of the time.” 

You give him a wry look, having recovered somewhat from your shock of adoration downstairs. “I think my boss might take issue with that proposal.” 

“Not after she gives me some time to tell my side of the story.” Sirius walks past you to set your hot cocoa on the nightstand. His eyes stay on you the entire time. When he looks at you like this, it’s like you can feel the physical weight of him pressing you into the mattress even from across the room. Your body feels pleasantly warm and heavy. “If you do need to put something on, though,” he says, starting to pull your hoodie over his head, “use this.” 

“I have other sweatshirts,” you say when it lands in your lap. “Why do you want me to wear this one?” 

“So I can steal it back,” Sirius says happily, “and it’ll be nice and warm.” 

You huff a laugh. “Doesn’t seem fair. I didn’t get that benefit, you’re like a vampire.” 

It’s not the first time you’ve told this joke, so your boyfriend’s reaction is predictable (it’s why you keep telling it). In two quick strides, he has your wrists pinned beneath his hands and his mouth on your neck. 

He takes your skin between your teeth, biting down gently. “Gotcha.” 

You make a faux distressed sound, but you’re unable to suppress the giggle that bubbles up in your chest. Sirius kisses the spot lightly. 

“Don’t worry,” he reassures you, rubbing his hands over your thighs. “The transformation’s totally painless, and you’ll make a super hot vamp. Now put on the sweatshirt.” This last part is said completely soberly.

“Alright, fine,” you relent. “But don’t expect to get it back warm now that you’ve vamped me. And I don’t even think I can wear this one as often anymore now that I know how good you look in it.” 

“Not nearly as good as you do, gorgeous.” He kisses you sweetly, your smiles a mirror image. “But we may have to work out a custody agreement, yeah. This one always smells the most like you.”

[moonstruckme]

mae my lovely, can i possibly request emt!marauders and reader who hasn’t replied to any texts in a few days/a week? pre-established relationship but not quite living together, and reader struggles with her mental health and has holed herself up in her apartment which worries the boys greatly? please don’t write if you feel uncomfortable (and if you’ve already written it but i’ve devoured emt!marauders today and i don’t think you have) obviously!! love you

Thank you for requesting my love! And thanks to @ellecdc for helping me figure out the emt stuff <3

cw: mental health struggles, self isolation

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Sirius’ knuckles rap loudly on your door. 

“Fuck, ease up.” James winces. “She’s gonna think we’re the cops.” 

“Good. Maybe she’ll answer for them.” 

“You need to calm down.” Remus’ voice is patience with a firm edge. “We don’t know what’s going on. If we go in angry with her, it’s not going to help anything.” 

“I think I have the right to be somewhat miffed,” Sirius argues. “You ghost someone after a first date, not once you’re in a relationship. It’s fucked.” 

“She’s not ghosting us,” James says certainly. Sirius’ mouth pinches in response.

James knows that, truly, his boyfriend is as worried as any of them. You’re well past the point in your relationship where you feel the need to establish the next time you’re going to meet before parting, but after your date last week it took the boys a few days to put it together that none of them had heard from you. 

At first, James presumed you’d simply gotten busy. Remus was convinced he’d done something to upset you. Sirius, secretly the most prone to worry, would rather believe he’s been slighted than consider the possibility that something might be keeping you from responding to their calls. Now that it’s been nearly a week, James is convinced something’s happened. You’ve had to take an emergency trip out of town or something’s spooked you and made you avoid them or—worst case scenario—you’re ill and have been holed up here with no one to check in on you for almost a week. 

Once he brought up that idea, it wasn’t difficult to convince his boyfriends to do a wellness check during their shift. 

“Just don’t be harsh with her,” Remus says gently. 

Sirius huffs. He knocks again, albeit somewhat softer. 

“NHS,” he calls. 

James holds his breath when he hears some shuffling from inside. Gradually, it gets closer and louder, until the door is creaking open and you’re peering through the crack. 

Your voice is scratchy, like you haven’t used it in a while. “What’re you doing here?”

James expects Sirius to snipe at you, is already prepared to smooth it over himself with kinder words and a gentler tone, but something seems to shift in the other boy at the sight of you. He pushes through the crack in your door, hugging you fiercely. 

“We…” Remus seems as thrown by this deviation as James is. “We thought we ought to check up on you.” 

Your hand migrates up, touching Sirius’ back tentatively. “Why?”

“It’s a wellness check.” Sirius’ voice is bitter, but the effect is somewhat muddled by how he’s speaking into your neck. “We had reason to believe you could be harmed or deceased.” 

“Oh,” you murmur. 

James takes a moment to look you over. You’re in pajamas, visibly rumpled, and yet you look as tired as if you’ve not slept in some time. There’s something off about your expression, something missing that he can’t put his finger on. It’s unsettling in a way that makes him want to wrap you up in a tight cuddle and not let go. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, perhaps more brash than he means to be. Normally he’d expect more tact from himself, but he’s shocked Sirius hasn’t asked yet, and someone has to.

“Can we come in?” Remus asks at the same time. 

You look between them like you’re not sure what to do with them. Like you’re questioning whether you’re still in some sort of dream. 

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. James gets the sense you mean it to answer both of them. You step back from the door to make room for them, and Sirius moves with you. “Um, forewarning, it’s really bad in here.” 

Really bad by your standards isn’t the same as James’. If he hadn’t seen the way you normally keep things, he’d never notice anything was amiss. Your place smells a bit stale, like when you leave for a weekend and then come home. There’s a laundry basket on the floor with a few balled socks like you’d started to fold them and given up, and if he peers into your bedroom he can see a small trash pile on your floor and the covers of your bed all twisted up. It’s no worse than his side of the dorm he’d shared with Remus and Sirius in school. 

“What happened?” Sirius asks you. His voice sounds clearer now, and James focuses back in to find that he’s let you go enough to press his forehead to yours. His brow and lips are pinched. “Why have you been avoiding us?” 

James is nearly overcome by the desire to kiss him and rub his back, but he decides to let you have the honor, if you want it. 

You look unsure whether you do. 

“I’m sorry.” The words seem scraped out from some aching part of you. “I wasn’t trying to.” 

“Then why didn’t you answer our calls?” Sirius’ tone matches yours for desperation. Remus’ expression twinges compassionately. 

“I couldn’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“Sirius,” Remus chides softly. 

Your shoulders are slumped, but when Sirius moves away you seem to droop further. He’s only giving you space, his expression far from unkind. 

“Why couldn’t you pick up, dove?” Remus asks gently. 

“I…” Your eyes meander the floor. “I didn’t know what to talk about. And then my phone died, and it was just easier. I’m really sorry.” 

“Is talking to us really that bad?” Sirius is clearly making an attempt at joking, but the heartache underlying his words is unmissable. 

“No,” you sigh. “I’m just not really fit for the world right now. I didn’t want you to worry.” 

James’ ribs hurt at your admission, but he feels himself nodding. Even if he doesn’t know exactly what it is you’re dealing with, he’s familiar with people who think they’re somehow so damaged they don’t deserve to engage with anyone or anything. Sirius was like that once. Remus even more often. He sees the recognition on both of their faces now, pity and love and regret all tangled up into one messy thing. 

“Well, it was a noble effort,” says James, giving you a small smile, “but you can’t stop us worrying. Can I hug you?”

You nod, making an effort towards returning his smile. It’s a half-hearted, flickering thing, but he appreciates it nonetheless. 

He kisses your forehead as he folds you into his arms, starting gentle and tightening when you hug him back. Your grip feels a bit weak, if ardent. James pushes his palm up your spine. 

“Have you eaten today, sweetheart?” 

Your hum in the negative vibrates against his skin. 

“I’ll make us something.” Remus starts toward the kitchen, passing a hand over James’ curls as he goes by. “A sandwich alright, dovey?” 

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it.” His voice raises as he enters the kitchen, and James knows he wants you to hear. To understand that this is something he would happily do for you. 

“Let’s sit down,” James suggests. “Pads, would you mind opening the curtains some?” 

Sirius complies with vigor, whipping open your drapes while James gets you situated on the couch. In the light, the shadows under your eyes are more evident, as is the redness in them. 

James squishes you up against his side. Rubs up and down your arm. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. 

You make a tiny, stymied sound, and turn your head down. 

“Hey.” Sirius sits on your other side. He kisses your shoulder, worry hewn into the lines of his face. “What’s wrong?” 

Your shoulders give a little shake. It’s small, defeated. You curl further in on yourself. 

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

“You don’t have to explain,” James tells you, continuing to drag his hand up your arm. “It’s okay. You’re alright.” 

“I wanted—” You take in a wet inhale. He feels close to tears himself. “I wanted to be better when I saw you. I’m sorry.” 

“We don’t need you to be any sort of way, sweetheart.” Sirius’ voice is soft but fervent. “We just want to be with you.”

“As much as you’ll let us,” James agrees. His own voice is thick, and Sirius slides his arm around you to rub between his shoulders. 

You don’t say much after that. James holds you tight until your trembling stops, and even then he only loosens his grip to let you eat the grilled cheese Remus has made for you. From the wrappers he saw in your room, it’s likely the closest thing to a prepared meal you’ve had in some time. 

When you’re done eating, Sirius insists on kissing the saltiness from your cheeks even though your tears have dried. Remus coaxes you into a bath while James and Sirius tidy your room and change your sheets, and then Remus enlists Sirius to shampoo your hair while he tucks your sheets in more effectively. They put your phone on the charger. James makes dinner and puts it in the fridge for you to have later. None of it fixes anything, but he hopes it makes you feel less alone. 

When they have to go out for another call, Remus gives you a long hug, James makes you agree to go on a walk with him the next day, and Sirius threatens to pester you with calls until you block his number if you ignore them ever again. 

Your eye roll at his antics makes James’ heart sing.

[ellecdc]

Weddinged

James Potter x fem!reader who have been weddinged [3.7k words]

A/N: as promised, here is the fic i wrote that was supposed to be a series but i don't think i'll ever return to it so i'm giving you the first chapter as a one-shot because i think it's pretty funny anyways. probably more background information than necessary for a one shot (reader works at a small, independently owned [by her] antique shop and James & Sirius are professional hockey players)

Summary: You’ve officially been weddinged. You thought it had been a myth… that weddings translated to love in the air leaving people nostalgic, lustful, and filled with yearning. It was supposed to be a myth. And then when you realized it was very much not a myth, you at least assumed you – of all people – would be immune to it; you’ve been single and celibate “for so fucking long, your hymen’s probably grown back” if Dorcas’ girlfriend (now wife) was to be believed. You consider yourself immune to male charms, to romance, to society’s insistence on coupling and biological clocks and standardized life paths. Which is why you had attended the rehearsal dinner with an undeserved amount of confidence and – dare you say it – arrogance. Meet, James Potter: perpetual smiler, lover of love, and professional pain in your ass.

CW: disparaging comments about rom-coms, black cat/golden retriever, reader describes herself as a misandrist, swearing, references to smut and brief nudity but not explicit, crack/comedy

“M’kay, so quick question,” Dorcas offers as she considers the seating plan with furrowed brows, “do you hate Potter?” 

With this, Marlene lets out a derisive snort into her glass of wine from her place on the floor, tossing one of the alternate seating maps into the deny pile. “If I hated Potter, why would I have him in my wedding party?”

“If you don’t hate Potter, why do you keep pairing him with her?” Dorcas counters.

“Hey,” you chide without any heat, never looking up from the centre pieces you were hot gluing together. 

Marlene laughs. “Please, Potter’s the only one who will be able to handle her broodiness.” 

“Hey,” you try with a little more heat; no one buys it. 

“You really don’t want to have her walk down the aisle with Lily? Or Mary?” Dorcas tries again, shooting you a sympathetic smile. 

“S’bad luck to separate the couples,” Marlene explains with a flippant shrug of her shoulder. “Besides, if she walks with Mary, that leaves Regulus-” 

“And Regulus said, quote, ‘I will not under any circumstances walk down the aisle with my idiot brother or his dickhead friend’ end quote,” Pandora adds helpfully; it’s your turn to snort a laugh. 

“So that means I have to walk down the aisle with Regulus’ idiot brother’s dickhead friend?” 

“James isn’t that bad,” Lily tries placatingly, only for Mary to contradict her by stating “he can be a lot.” 

“I don’t know…” Dorcas continues as she looks at the seating plans warily. “This feels like introducing a shrew to a lion.” 

“Who’s the lion?” Pandora asks, only for everyone else (besides you) to say your name. 

“What if I promise to be on my absolute very best behaviour?” You try; earning you a plethora of raised eyebrows. 

“You threw a mini quiche at some dude at bottomless brunch last weekend for staring at you too long,” Lily deadpans.

You shrug your shoulders. “Nothing is interesting enough to stare at for that long.” 

“You did look particularly lovely last week, though,” Pandora adds, and you feel your cheeks traitorously warm under her praise. 

You had a good day at work that Saturday, finally making more than the daily cost of running the shop, and it was with a lovely couple who were so fun to chat with before they paid you a huge sum of money, promising to return once they were officially moved into their new (to them) home. You bet you were glowing at brunch the next day. 

“Doesn’t mean he had to stare at me. If I wanted to be ogled I’d have charged him for it.”

“Oh yeah,” Dorcas drawls sardonically, “Potter’s perfect.” 

“Why? Does he have a staring problem?” You ask, hissing as you burn yourself with the hot glue gun.

“He’s got a Potter problem,” Marlene laughs with no shortage of fondness. Honestly, it’s Marlene’s affection for the guy that has your hackles lowering; if your fellow, most devoted misandrist friend can tolerate him, he can’t be that bad. 

Right?

You’d been so wrong. 

“God I love weddings,” he sighs dreamily as he takes his place beside you in the precession line, waiting for your guys’ turn to practice your walk. 

The botanical gardens are beautiful and hot as fucking hell, and James’ sunny disposition radiating beside you doesn’t help matters. 

“You’re weird,” you offer plainly, moving up in the line as Lily and Pandora make their way down the arbor shaded aisle. 

If James is offended by your response, he doesn’t show it, simply stepping up in time with you as he beams at anything and everything around him. You have half a mind of squinting at the brightness of his smile. 

“I’m glad they went with the gardens,” James offers, stretching out his arms and shaking his hands out as though simply standing still was too difficult a task for him. “S’beautiful this time of year.” 

“I wish they’d gone with an indoor venue.”

With this, Mary – standing dutifully beside Regulus – turns to shoot you a wink. You roll your eyes at her.

James hums thoughtfully. “It does get pretty hot out in the sun.” 

Sirius and Remus make it to the end of the aisle, prompting Mary and Regulus to take their turn. You decide then that getting indoors and in the AC comes second in your list of priorities only behind making it to the end of the aisle where you get to split from your chatty counterpart. 

You forgot about the seating arrangement.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You sigh under your breath as you find your name at a round table near the brides.

Your sigh was, apparently, louder than you meant it to be. 

“Awe, come now, gorgeous.” Sirius grins devilishly. “We don’t bite.”

“No, but she might,” Remus adds as he shoots you a friendly wink. 

“Why am I sitting here?” You ask no one in particular, ignoring the way James is now standing to pull your chair out for you. 

Sirius answers first. “Regulus said – and I quote – I will not sit at a table with my idiot brother or his dickhead friend.” 

“And Lily and Panda wanted to sit together,” Remus continues with a sympathetic smile. 

You let out a sigh of defeat but fall into your seat anyway; at least you have Remus here. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to talk to you guys about,” you sniff as you take to folding and unfolding your napkin and James returns to his seat. 

“You can talk about me!” Sirius quips with a wink. “I’m fantastic.”

“Hard pass,” you deadpan without hesitation. 

“We could talk about hockey,” Remus – ever the mediator – tries, nodding to James across the table who perks up in interest. “These two are in the starting line together this year.”

James is back to beaming and your eyes narrow on their own accord. “No thanks.”

James deflates a bit, but Sirius squawks in offence. “You don’t want to talk about hockey?!” 

You shrug your shoulders as you continue fiddling with your napkin. “Sports are dumb.”

James moves his head back and forth in a so-so manner. 

Sirius balks at his best friend turned teammate. “You’re not seriously entertaining this line of slander, are you, Prongs?” 

James, for his part, shrugs. “Hockey’s not everyone’s thing.” 

Sirius scoffs and mutters something under his breath that you all know he doesn’t mean, but Remus glares at him playfully for it anyways. 

“Behave.”

“I am!” He protests. “She’s the one making this difficult.” 

“I’m not making this difficult,” you counter, pausing in your folding to glare at Sirius across the table.

“Well you’re not making this easy; how’re we supposed to talk to you if you don’t like anything?”

“I like some things.” You offer.

“Name one,” Sirius challenges as he leans back in his chair. 

“I like Dorcas and Marlene enough to be here.”

No one can argue with that, so the boys concede as dinner is served. 

“D’you drink beer?” James asks after the first few bites of his plate.

“I prefer wine.”

James opens his mouth to say something when Sirius continues. 

“White chocolate?”

“White chocolate isn’t chocolate,” you and Remus chorus rather aggressively, sharing a shy look before returning to your meals. 

“Can you believe these two?” Sirius asks James conspiratorially. James shrugs. 

“More for us, Pads.” 

The evening carries on much the same way; empty pint glasses and an empty bottle of wine on the table while each boy takes turns trying to find an olive branch with you and you manage to contradict them at every turn. 

It finally happens when it’s James’ turn. 

“Oh! I know!” He says excitedly, turning his entire body towards you so that your knees clash. “Rom coms!”

“What about them?” You ask as you sip from your third glass of wine. 

“They’re the best genre of movie! Everyone loves rom coms!” 

“Rom coms are not the best movie!” You nearly shriek, momentarily embarrassed as you sneak a peek at the surrounding friends and family. “ They’re not even in the top three,”  you add more quietly. 

This, it seems, might be a deal breaker for James. 

“You’re kidding me,” he deadpans; not a question. 

“I don’t kid, Potter,” you sneer.

“How can you not like rom coms?!” He asks exasperated, throwing his arms out to the sides and nearly clearing a tray from a server's hand as they pass. 

“Uhm, because they’re tired, old cliches that give people unrealistic and unreasonable expectations for what their lives should look like?” 

James scoffs – actually scoffs – at you. “They give people hope; something to attain to!”

“That’s fundamentally irresponsible to lead people to believe that this is something they can expect for themselves,” you bite back. 

“Oh, I get it,” James decides. “So you hate joy and whimsy.”

“I don’t hate j- I prefer reality and tangibility. You don’t get that from rom coms.” 

James doesn’t seem to care for your take, though, as he looks to Sirius and juts a flippant thumb in your direction. “Can you believe how contrary this woman is?” 

“Oh my God you really are Regulus’ idiot brother’s dickhead best friend,” you spit, only for the brides to both twist in their chairs.

“L/N! You promised you’d be on your best behaviour!” Marlene scolds.

Beside you, James snorts. “This is your best behaviour?”

“Potter started it!” You tattle, causing James to look at you in betrayal. 

“You should’ve just said you liked rom coms,” Remus tells you with a smirk. You glower at him.

“I’m not in the habit of telling lies in order to preserve male ego, Lupin.”

Remus groans and looks to the ceiling. “Thanks a lot, James; now you’ve got her last naming me, too.” 

“Fine, no more talk of rom coms,” James concedes, though he eyes you warily. “Still think you’re weird as hell for that, though.”

“Finally,” you say with a smile, holding your wine glass up to him, “something we have in common.” 

You’re using the menu to fan yourself off as you look around the beautifully lit garden; strings of lights hanging between old trees basking the space in a warm glow. Most of the men have taken off their suit jackets, ties, and rolled their sleeves up to their elbows to combat the heat, and you find yourself feeling lucky that your dress isn’t quite as stifling.

You still feel stifled, though. 

A shining Sirius manages to convince an equally dewy looking Remus to leave the pseudo-sanctuary of his seat in favour of dancing with him, leaving you and James alone at your table.

“Get up, party pooper!” Dorcas hollers as she spins Marlene away from her. “We’re dancing!” 

You don’t bother noting that James isn’t dancing either, knowing full well that he probably would be if you weren’t here, or perhaps if you weren’t such a wet blanket. 

As it stands, you are a wet blanket; or, rather, a very damp, stickie, grumpy blanket who can barely stand sweltering in her chair let alone physically exerting herself in any manner. 

“Tell mother nature to turn the temperature down a few degrees and then we’ll talk,” you drawl, continuing to fan yourself. 

You make the mistake of looking over at James only to find him smirking at you.

“What?” You mutter, though the heat has your heat falling painfully short. 

“Come on,” he states simply, standing from his chair and holding a hand out for you.

“What?” You ask again, dumbfounded. 

“Come on,” he repeats, smile growing wider as he nods towards the doors to the conservatory. “Unless you’d rather stay out in the heat?”

You narrow your eyes and look between James, his outstretched hand, and the promise of air conditioning and decide to bite the bullet. 

You relent, allowing him to help you up from your seat only to drop his hand immediately once you are on your feet.

If it bothers James, he doesn’t show it, simply beaming at everything and everyone as he follows you towards the welcoming, porch lit doors. 

The relief is instantaneous, and you have to bite back an obscene groan of pleasure as the cool air threatens to elicit goosebumps along your skin. 

“You’re welcome,” James murmurs as his lips brush the shell of your ear, causing you to nearly shriek and jump away from him.

“Fuck off,” you spit, though it manages to come out like a question. 

“No can do, angel; you owe me a dance.” 

Your brain stutters and stalls, unsure about which part of that sentence to find offence in; him arguing with you, him calling you angel, him suggesting you owe him, or him demanding you to dance. 

“I beg your pardon?” Is the best your short circuiting brain could come up with. 

“I saved you from the heat and the judgemental glares of the brides; now you have to dance with me.”

“I don’t have to do any such thing,” you huff. He shrugs an unconvinced shoulder. 

“Perhaps not, but it would be the polite thing to do.”

“What about me strikes you as particularly polite, Potter?”

He beams at you. “Dance with me.”

“I don’t dance,” you state with a cross of your arms. He rolls his eyes at you. 

“Okay, High School Musical; whatever you say.”

“I will have you know” you begin haughtily “that song was sung by the character Chad Danforth only to be contested by the character of Ryan Evans, not performed by the entire cast of High School Musical.” 

James’ smile grows somehow grander even as his brows cock at you in disbelief. “Oh, so you’ve watched High School Musical but won’t watch rom coms?” 

You sniff as you look at a piece of art on the wall instead of him. “High School Musical is a classic.”

You can’t see his face, but from the disbelieving breath that leaves him, you get the sense that his smile has fallen a bit. “High School Musical is not a classic.” 

“Musicals are definitely in the top three best genres of movie.”

“They are absolutely not in the top three.” 

“My, my,” you start gleefully, shooting him a smarmy smile, “is James Potter going contrary on me, now?” 

His smile widens as he steps up towards you, one hand extended in invitation. “Dance with me, you tease.” 

You make a show of rolling your eyes, shoulders sagging as you relent and accept his hand. He seems to understand how big of a deal this is, meaning he’s smart enough to not comment on it and quick enough to pull you flush against him lest you change your mind. 

You keep your gaze pinned to James’ shoulder, one hand in his and the other gripping his bicep. The two of you sway to the gentle music that you can barely hear from the speakers outside and you pretend like you aren’t somewhat impressed by the feel of his impressive physique beneath your hand, against your chest. 

“See?” James murmurs quietly; you get the sense he’s cautious of the bubble the two of you have found yourselves in. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

“It’s terrible,” you reply without hesitation. James huffs out an amused laugh. 

“No…no, I don’t think so. I don’t think you’re as bad as you pretend to be,” he declares as he guides you through a – quite impressive – dance, seemingly without needing to pay it any mind. 

“I’m worse.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, voice lilting up in excitement that has you smiling despite yourself; you turn your face to the side in an attempt to hide it from him.

“Mhm,” you agree, “terrible.”

“Terrible?”

“Awful.” 

His hand which was snug against your lower back slides imperceptibly lower as he pulls you in closer to him. “Show me.”

You scoff good naturedly. “You wouldn’t know what to do with me, Potter.”

“Yeah?” He asks, beaming down at you. “Too hot to handle?”

You hum noncommittally and continue trying to hide your smile. “Something like that.”

He hums in turn, dipping his head lower so his lips brush your ear. “I might surprise you.”

“You think so, huh?” You manage, swallowing thickly as your hand migrates from his upper arm to the crook of his neck, his body tensing in response. 

“I know so,” he lets out lowly. 

You hear Mary’s peal of laughter outside and find yourself smiling at the sound itself; surrounded by your favourite people and your favourite people’s favourite people. Celebrating love and life and finding one another. You have this – admittedly quite hot – man beneath your hands practically begging for a chance to take you for a ride, and you aren’t completely opposed to the idea.

Maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s the few glasses of wine, maybe it’s his talk about stupid fucking rom coms, maybe it really is the love in the air.

But whatever it is, neither you nor James seem to be prepared for what you said next. 

“Alright, Potter,” you sigh, pulling back far enough to look up at him in challenge; he meets you head on. “You better not disappoint.”

His smile grows until it takes up most of his face; smile lines digging into his chiseled jaw as though they were meant to be there, the apples of his cheeks dimpling and the corners of his eyes crinkling from the power of it. 

“Oh,” he all but purrs, “you have nothing to worry about.” 

The morning light filters through the lodge's gauzy curtains, painting light and shadows across every inch of what is very much not your room. 

You hold a tangled sheet against your chest as your heart pleads its case to exit your chest cavity beneath your fingertips and you stare helplessly at the speckled ceiling above you. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whisper to yourself.

You didn’t whisper quietly enough. A booming laugh sounds from the bathroom’s open door. 

“You know, that’s one of the most common things you’ve said to me.” 

You let a few beats of silence pass, still staring up at the ceiling even as James exits the bathroom in your periphery; one fluffy towel tied around his waist as he uses another to towel dry his hair. “What are other common things I’ve said to you?”

James makes a sound of consideration as he sits heavily at the end of his bed. “Probably idiot, a few dickhead’s, and – as of last night – harder.” 

“Fuck off!” 

“Hey!” He laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “You asked!”

“I rescind my question,” you tell him. 

“That’s alright, ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me’ is growing on me.”

“And yet you’re still not kidding.” 

“What is it you said last night?” James asks, forcing you to look away from what looks to be fresh paint over a water stain on the ceiling to meet his cocky smirk and raised brow. “I don’t kid. Although, that’s not entirely true…I prank a lot, and I definitely joke around, but rarely do I kid.” 

“Fuck,” you nearly shriek, pulling a pillow from beside you over your face, “I’m a walking cliche!”

“Just like all those rom coms you’re so fond of.”

“Fuck off.”

He doesn’t.

“I think it’s giving…black cat, golden retriever vibes.”

“You’re fucking insane,” you groan into the pillow. 

“Everyone loves a meet-cute, and a wedding trope? Come on,” he continues. 

“Potter, I swear to God.”

“It’s giving… strangers-to-lovers.”

“Potter!” You squeal, throwing the pillow across the room which narrowly misses a table lamp as you sit up hastily; the sheet falling from your chest and pooling in your lap forcing James to work really hard at keeping his attention on your face. 

“Hey…” he starts, half-placating half-cautious “you know I’m just playing around, right?”

“Oh God,” you whine as you stand from the bed and begin collecting your discarded clothing from the night before. 

“It’s really not that deep,” James continues desperately. 

You’re almost whimpering as you pull on your underwear. “I’ve been weddinged!” 

“You haven’t bee-” James cuts himself off as he tilts his head at you. “You’ve been what?” 

You pull last night’s dress back over yourself as you begin pacing back and forth along the foot of the bed, one hand on your hip and the other at your lips as you aggressively gnaw on your cuticles. 

“I got all- all drunk on the ‘love in the air’ and, and other nonsense, and then I woke up in a stranger's bed!” 

James’ head swivels to-and-fro as he watches you pace back-and-forth, clearly weighing out his next words carefully. You’re too busy crashing out to take much notice of it. 

“Well…I’m not a stranger, really; I’m James,” he begins simply yet cautiously. “Plus, if it makes you feel any better, what we did here last night could hardly be considered love-making.”

Your pacing stops, body frozen as you consider his words before you slowly look up at him, gaze flitting from his face to the scene of the crime (the bed…and the shower, and the jacuzzi tub, and up against the window, and bent over the desk). 

“No?”

James’ face brightens when he realizes he’s on the right track. “Fuck no! That was downright raunchy, animalistic fucking is what it was.”

You stare at him unseeingly for a few moments before slowly nodding your head. “Yeah…yeah, okay. That does make me feel a bit better, actually.”

“Yeah?” James asks, his eyebrows raising in hopeful excitement. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, taught muscles falling as relief washes over you, “yeah, thank you.”

He beams at you.

“You’re ruining it.”

His smile lessens but never recedes. “Sorry.” 

After that – and completely out of character for you – you really have no complaints for the rest of the celebration. 

The weather is beautiful yet temperate, the biggest hiccup during the ceremony was Marlene’s niece wailing the entire time as she dutifully laid out her petals, and the reception was hosted inside the conservatory as the garden was too small for the number of guests. 

And you had no reason to think about James Potter ever again.

© ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

[annab-nana]

May I please request b8 with Eddie Munson for February Sleepover? (*´˘`*)♡

Sure can, sweetheart <3

warnings: not proofread, mentions of getting high

❀ masterlist ❀

"Well, if it isn't Edward Munson," you chuckle, wiping down the front counter as you count the minutes until freedom. Sarcasm drips from every word you speak. "While I would love to chat and help you find the perfect movie to get so high you forget your own name, we're closed, meathead. So, beat it."

Eddie's laughter fills the empty Family Video as he strolls farther inside and leans against the counter like he owns the place. "I'm not here for a movie, sweetheart. Though I gotta say..." his eyes flicker down to your uniform, grin widening, "that vest? Absolutely adorable on you."

Your glare nearly pierced his skin. You hate the vest. He knows that.

"Easy, princess," he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I come in peace."

"If you're not here for a movie," you state, stepping around the counter to straighten the returns you and Robin will deal with in the morning, "what do you want?"

"You know Sinclair, right?"

You scoff. "Yeah, I know Lucas. And if this is you trying to rope me into D&D again, don't bother. You can't guilt me into that."

"No, no. It's not that," he says, voice dropping into something uncharacteristically hesitant. That alone makes you pause. You turn back to him as he rubs the back of his neck. "I told him I'd go on this stupid double date with him. He's trying to... I don't know. Fix things with Max."

"And that's my business because...?" you drawl, brow arching.

"...I don't have a date."

Silence stretches between you. Eddie leans forward just slightly, eyebrows lifting with intense implication.

You laugh, a short, incredulous laugh. "You're joking."

He, however, does not laugh with you.

The sound dies in your throat as you really look at him. The way his grin falters, and his eyes search your face, suddenly devoid of any humor or malice. He looks.... honest.

"Oh," you breathe. "Oh shit. You're serious."

Eddie's bravado slips just enough for you to notice. "I mean... if not, it's fine. I'll figure something out."

You don't know why that's what does it. The quiet. The lack of push.

"Don't," you say suddenly.

He looks up.

"I didn't say no," you clarify. "I just need you to understand something."

"What's that?"

"This is a terrible idea."

A smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah."

You meet his gaze, pulse skipping. "Okay, then."

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[colouredbyd]

The Boy Is Mine

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

summary: you’re quiet by nature, content in the background, until someone pushes too far. When a girl flirts with Remus, something shifts. With one kiss and a quiet claim, you remind everyone exactly who he ( and Sirius) belong to.

warnings: possessiveness, jealousy, strong language, suggestive content, heated kiss, and public displays of affection.

wc: 3.4k

a/n: i need both Remus and Sirius at the same damn time.

masterlist

You’ve never been the loudest in the room.

You don’t need to be. Not when Sirius is tossing his head back laughing beside you, all glittering chaos and charm, or when Remus leans in close, voice low and deliberate, like every word he says is meant only for you.

They fill the space so effortlessly—Sirius with his magnetic presence, Remus with his quiet gravity—and you find yourself fitting between them like a breath between heartbeats. Steady, constant and soft.

You like watching more than speaking. Not out of shyness exactly, but because you enjoy observing—feeling everything. It’s the way Remus’s thumb circles over your knee under the table without him even realizing. The way Sirius always saves you the last bite, even when he swears he won’t. You don’t need to be loud to be loved here.

They know you. They’ve always known you.

Sirius, who pulls you into the middle of the common room and spins you in dizzy circles until you’re breathless with laughter. Remus, who presses his nose into your hair when the world feels too sharp and mumbles poetry against your skin. 

Between the two of them, you’ve never had to shout to be heard. They listen in the silence. They love you in the quiet.

But sometimes, even the quiet hums with something fierce.

And today, it’s starting to burn.

The loud music thumps through the walls, pulsing in your veins, but all you can hear is Remus’s voice rising above the chatter of the party. He’s talking to a girl, one whose name doesn’t matter.

because you’re already irritated.

Sirius is speaking beside you—his voice low and animated, probably bantering with James about something as thrillingly idiotic as who cheated in the last round of Exploding Snap—but the words barely register. They fade into the background like the bass of the music humming through the party, the way laughter spills and drips from every corner of the Gryffindor common room like syrup.

You’re curled up beside him on the leather couch, soft and familiar, half draped across his lap like you belong there, because you do. His palm is warm against your skin, fingers lazy as they trace circles over your thigh, an unconscious kind of touch that says mine without needing the word.

But your attention isn’t on Sirius.

It’s fixed—razor sharp and unblinking—on the girl across the room.

She’s all lip gloss and bright laughter, the kind of girl who doesn’t walk into a room so much as glitter through it. Her blouse is buttoned just low enough to draw the eye, her skirt just short enough to be a statement. She leans in closer to Remus like she’s in a slow-motion daydream, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she giggles at something he said.

Except Remus isn’t laughing.

He’s smiling, but you know that smile. It’s the strained one. The tight-lipped, please-don’t-make-this-weird smile he gives when someone crosses the line and he’s too damn kind to push them away.

And she—well. She’s not backing off.

Your fingers tighten around the stem of your glass. Not enough to shatter it, but enough to feel it, to ground yourself before the rising tide inside you gets too high. The jealousy doesn’t burn. No, it doesn’t scream or sputter like some childish tantrum. It’s quiet. Sharp. Ice in your veins, snow behind your ribs. It’s precise.

You watch her touch his arm, watch her eyes flutter and her voice pitch just so. You watch Remus stand there with all that quiet discomfort in his shoulders and all that unnecessary politeness keeping him rooted in place.

And something inside you shifts.

You’re not the loud one at these parties. You’re not the girl who shouts or struts or demands. You’re the one who stays curled up in the lap of a boy with stardust in his smile, sipping your drink while the chaos unfurls around you. You’re the calm in their storm, the softness they return to.

But not tonight.

Because tonight, someone is trying to touch what’s yours.

And whether Remus knows it yet or not, whether that girl ever figures out just how royally she’s miscalculated, one thing is already certain.

You are about to stop being the quiet one.

“Moony’s got his fan club going tonight, huh?” Sirius says, his tone casual, his fingers playing with a loose thread on the hem of your sleeve. “I swear, every time he talks to a girl, she looks like she’s ready to devour him.”

You hum, an absent sound, not really acknowledging him. Your gaze stays fixed on Remus and that damn girl, the way she’s tossing her hair back and laughing too loudly.

“You okay, dove?” His voice drops a little, his fingers tracing the line of your spine with a slow, deliberate motion.

You want to lie. You want to say it’s fine, that you’re just tired or distracted, but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you give a small shake of your head, the fluttering in your chest too strong to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, a little too quickly. “Just… thinking.”

Sirius’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He knows you well enough to sense when you need space, but tonight, there’s something different. The energy in the room feels electric, like it’s just waiting for a spark.

Remus laughs again from across the room, and this time, the girl reaches up to touch his arm, her fingers trailing lightly along his sleeve. The sight, the sound, the way her body leans just a little too close to his, sends a pang of something sharp through you. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch her lean in, her lips too close to his ear as she whispers something.

Your fingers grip the edge of the couch, your nails digging into the fabric. You feel like you’re going to snap at any moment, and you’re so sick of it.

Sirius seems to notice the shift in the air. His hand halts on your back, and he turns his head toward Remus and the girl, then back to you. His expression softens, understanding settling in. He leans forward, his voice low as he speaks, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

“Love, I think we’ve reached a new level here,” he says, voice laced with something almost teasing. “You’ve been staring at him for ages now.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep the fluttering in your chest under control. “I’m not staring,” you say, but even you can hear the edge in your voice.

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? ‘Cause I think you’ve definitely been staring. You want me to go over there and break it up?”

“No,” you snap, a little too quickly, and then you freeze, realizing just how harsh you sound. You soften your tone, but the words still feel like they’re cutting you open. “I… I don’t know.”

Sirius doesn’t push you, but he watches you carefully, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile.

You shift uncomfortably, your gaze returning to Remus and the girl. It’s like a magnet pulling you in, the way she laughs again, her hand resting on his shoulder now, fingers tracing the outline of his collarbone.

The thought makes you want to scream.

You watch the girl lean in closer, her breath light against his ear as she says something you can’t hear, but you can see it in the way her lashes flutter and her lips curl. It’s an obvious flirtation, the kind of thing that would make anyone else swoon, but you just feel your stomach twist in knots. Remus gives a tight, polite smile, the one he always does when he’s too kind to be rude, but you know that smile too well. It’s a mask, a shield, and you can see right through it. He’s uncomfortable, but he doesn’t stop her.

The touch lingers. And Remus—sweet, gentle, infuriating Remus—doesn’t stop her.

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t step back. He doesn’t even glance in your direction.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Maybe he’s just being polite. Maybe he’s too soft-spoken for his own good. Maybe he thinks you don’t mind, that you’re tucked up on the couch beside Sirius, warm and safe and unbothered. Maybe he’s forgotten that while you may be quiet, you’re not blind.

But oh, you care.

You care enough that your drink is forgotten in your hand, the condensation sliding over your fingers like cold sweat. You care enough that your jaw clenches tight, the muscle ticking with a quiet fury that pulses behind your ribs. There’s a pressure building in your chest, a weight that has nothing to do with insecurity and everything to do with possession.

You’ve always known what’s yours.

And Remus?

He is yours.

The room around you begins to blur, voices fading into background noise, like someone’s turned the volume down on the rest of the party. The flickering firelight, the chatter of students, the low buzz of magical music—all of it dulls. All you can see is the way she’s looking at him, lips parted in a practiced little smile, eyes batting as if she’s never had to work hard for attention in her life.

You hear her laugh—sharp and high and entirely insincere—and it cuts through you like a blade. Remus chuckles along with her, and it’s that sound, that soft little sound of his, that makes something in your spine snap straight. His eyes catch the light just right, that familiar glint of mischief and charm you’ve seen a thousand times when he’s teasing you softly beneath the covers, and it stings more than you’d like to admit.

And suddenly, you are no longer the quiet girl curled in the corner.

You are no longer the soft one who waits patiently for your boys to come home to you.

You are standing up, not with a shout or a dramatic flourish, but with a kind of cold certainty, like the sea deciding to rise. Sirius shifts beside you instinctively, his hand brushing your back as he senses the change in the air, his voice dipping with curiosity.

“Love?” he says quietly, brows raising. “Everything alright?”

You don’t answer. Not yet.

Because your eyes are still locked on the girl in the too-tight blouse and the too-pretty smile and the entirely wrong assumption that she has any right to touch your Remus like she belongs there.

She doesn’t.

And she’s about to learn exactly why.

It never felt like you needed to compete for Remus’s attention. He had always been yours in that quiet, unspoken way—his careful gestures, the soft smiles he gave you when no one was looking, the way he always made sure you were okay, even when you didn’t ask. You had a bond, something deeper than words. But now, watching him allow her to invade that space, something inside you snaps.

She’s leaning into him like he’s already hers, one manicured hand lingering on his forearm, like she doesn’t see the slight pullback in his posture. Like she doesn’t notice the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Sirius’s hand slips off your thigh, stunned. “Where’re you going?”

“To get what’s mine.” you say, and your voice is soft, sultry, but it slices through the noise like a blade.

James chokes on his drink. Lily turns, eyebrows lifting as she watches you stalk forward, hips swaying, jumper slouching off one bare shoulder. You hear someone mutter, “Bloody hell.” and you don’t even need to look to know Marlene is probably grinning like a wolf.

The girl is still touching Remus. Still laughing.

You don’t give her the chance to speak. You don’t give him a moment to explain, or to blink, or to pretend he doesn’t feel the air shift as you close the distance between you like a storm cloaked in silk.

Your fingers slip beneath the hem of his jumper, curl tightly into the soft wool, and tug. Hard. Hard enough that he stumbles forward, just one step, just enough to crash into your gravity.

His eyes find yours, startled and wide, and for a heartbeat he forgets where he is. The party, the music, the girl whose perfume is still clinging to the air around him—all of it vanishes the moment your lips catch his.

It is not a kiss built from politeness or affection. It is not the kind of thing meant for privacy or delicacy.

This kiss is war.

It’s bruising and slow and devastating, like a spell whispered in the middle of a battlefield. Your hand tangles in his curls and tugs, just enough to make him gasp into your mouth. Your other hand slides down to his belt, fingers brushing over the buckle, teasing with the lightest hint of promise. You tilt your head to deepen it, your lips parting just slightly, just enough to taste him.

He groans, low and helpless, the sound caught between your mouths, and you smile against him, smug and sinful.

When you finally pull away, his lips are pink and glistening and parted like he’s about to say something but hasn’t figured out what language he speaks anymore. His hands are still hovering at your hips, and his chest is rising with uneven breath, eyes clouded with something that’s definitely not confusion.

You turn to the girl, and she looks like she’s just witnessed something religious and blasphemous at the same time. Her mouth is hanging open. Her expression is frozen in that awkward no-man’s-land between horror and disbelief.

“Oh,” you say sweetly, voice thick with honey and venom, “were you still talking? Only he seems a bit busy now.”

She blinks. Opens her mouth. Closes it. You don’t give her time to think. You trail your fingers down the front of Remus’s chest, slowly, like you’re remembering the way his body feels under your hands and enjoying every second of it. You play with the collar of his shirt, letting your nails drag across the fabric, soft and sure.

Your eyes never leave hers.

“I mean,” you go on, voice quieter now, conversational in a way that is somehow even more intimidating, “I don’t blame you. Honestly. Look at him. He’s got that whole clever boy thing going on, right? The kind of boy who knows all the answers in class and still somehow makes you want to climb into his lap and ruin his concentration. And don’t even get me started on that body—tall and lean and unfair, and the scars…” you let your fingers trail over his chest again, nails teasing the fabric, “Body built like a sin under those clothes, too bad only me and Sirius get to see it though.” 

A grin spreads across your face, wide and wicked like a cheshire cat.

Remus lets out a sound that’s definitely not family friendly and buries his face in your neck for a second, either to breathe you in or to hide the fact that he might actually combust.

James lets out a strangled sound from across the room. “What the actual hell is going on?”

Lily is watching with wide, fascinated eyes, looking between you and the girl like she’s witnessing a lioness dismantle a bunny in slow motion. Marlene, from her spot near the fireplace, raises her drink in silent toast and mutters, “Finally.”

You lean in close to Remus, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear. “But here’s the thing,” you whisper, just loud enough for the girl to still hear. 

“He’s mine.”

Then you pull back and look her dead in the eye, your gaze soft but lethal.

“And I don’t share.”

The girl blinks once. Twice. Then turns with all the grace of someone trying not to run.

Remus just stares at you for a long moment, breathless, hands still planted on your waist like he’s afraid to let go in case the earth tilts and he floats away.

“What the hell just happened?” he asks, voice low, rough, and wrecked.

Sirius appears beside you like smoke, sliding his arm around your waist as he grins like you’ve hung the bloody stars for him.

The girl’s mouth parts, clearly searching for a clever retort, something sharp or self-righteous or maybe even pathetic to claw her dignity back from the floor where you left it. But the words never come. Her lips tremble like she’s buffering. You don’t give her the chance to reboot.

Instead, with calm that borders on cruelty, you turn back to Remus and brush your lips against the corner of his mouth. Not a full kiss this time, but something quieter, more dangerous. A period at the end of a sentence she was never invited to read. 

You feel the way he freezes for just a moment, breath hitching as your fingers slide up to rest at the base of his throat, just enough pressure to remind him—and everyone watching—exactly who he belongs to.

The common room is stunned into silence. Even the portrait hole seems to creak softer, like the whole castle is holding its breath.

And then James, bless his nosy little soul, practically falls off the arm of the couch. He stares at you with something like religious awe, eyes as wide as Galleons, hand clutching his drink like a lifeline.

“That,” he says reverently, voice cracking with disbelief, “was the hottest thing I have ever witnessed. And I saw Sirius in a crop top once.”

Sirius doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s unaffected. He slumps back against the couch, one hand dragging through his hair like he’s trying to keep his brain from melting. His grin is crooked and wild, like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

“Merlin’s tits,” he says, almost reverent. “I think I’m in love. Again.”

Lily, sitting upright with her legs crossed like she’s hosting a panel discussion, blinks slowly. Her jaw is slightly ajar, her drink forgotten on the floor.

“Did she just… flirt and threaten simultaneously?” she asks, clearly reevaluating everything she thought she knew about you.

Marlene doesn’t even bother to hide her grin. She claps once, loud and delighted, and leans forward with sparkling eyes.

“Oh, I love her,” she announces with glee. “Someone give that girl a crown and a throne and maybe a leather corset. She just out-Slytherined the entire House.”

You don’t look away from Remus. He’s still breathless, a little dazed, his lips parted like he’s forgotten how to speak. His hands are at your waist now, gripping softly like he needs to touch you just to make sure you’re real.

You lean in, voice velvet-sweet, and say, “Now Remmy, were you going to let her keep touching you or should I start hexing?”

Sirius, meanwhile, is leaning back like a man thoroughly entertained, one arm draped across Remus’ shoulder with a love-sick gaze in his eyes.

Remus just blinks for a moment, his mouth parted, completely undone. Then a sound escapes him, surprised and delighted, something between a laugh and a groan, like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him in the best way.

“I think I’m in love with you all over again,” he says, a little dazed.

And then Sirius leans over, as if conjured by the heat of the moment, slipping in behind you like gravity itself gave him no choice. His hands slide over your hips, warm and certain, like they’ve always belonged there. He leans in until his mouth brushes your neck, breath hot and voice lower than sin.

“That,” he murmurs, lips grazing your skin, “was art. You’ve officially ruined me. I’ll never recover.”

You shrug, casual as anything, but your pulse is thundering and your eyes are glowing and the adrenaline is still singing in your bones like an aria. “Good,” you say simply, and it lands like a spell.

The common room hasn’t even recovered. Conversations haven’t resumed. Heads are still tilted in your direction like they’re not quite sure what just happened, if they witnessed a declaration or a detonation. And maybe it was both. You were the quiet girl. The sweet one. The one with gentle touches and soft smiles who moved like a secret in a room full of noise.

But tonight? Tonight, they watched you stand like you were carved from something divine, watched you kiss Remus like he was yours and always had been, watched you claim your place not as an afterthought, but as a force of nature wrapped in wool and confidence.

And Remus? He’s still holding your waist like he might never let go. Sirius looks like he’d fight anyone who even breathes in your direction the wrong way.

Together, they look ready to tear the world apart if it means keeping you. And somehow, the quiet girl has become the storm they’d die for

[my-castles-crumbling]

list - july 12 - jegulus - wolfstar - black brothers - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 223

“Barty, Evan, Dorcas, Pandora, some random seventh year at a party, Remus–” Regulus listed, looking completely unabashed as eyes grew wider and wider. 

But it was Sirius who interrupted him, looking like he wanted to gag. “Wait. Remus?” he demanded, turning around quickly to narrow his eyes at his nervous-looking boyfriend.

“On a dare, Sirius,” Regulus reminded him, rolling his eyes. “You were there. It was barely a peck.”

“Fine,” Sirius grumbled, pouting and crossing his arms. “But I hope it was horrible.”

“Sufficiently awful,” Regulus replied, rolling his eyes and Remus shouted ‘oi!’ “Can I go on now?”

“Fine.”

“Alright, where was I? Oh, yes. Pettigrew–”

“Peter, too?” Sirius yelped again, throwing his hands in the air as Peter blushed.

“Another dare,” the younger boy growled. 

“Next you’ll say you’ve kissed James, too!” Sirius whined, wincing.

Regulus and James exchanged anxious glances, but the Slytherin shrugged. “We have.”

Sirius blinked. “But as a dare, right?”

Nobody answered. James, who was slowly turning the color of his Gryffindor jumper, picked at a piece of something stuck in the rug.

Sirius’s voice grew louder, more desperate. “It was a dare. Right?”

Silence.

“Love, why don’t we go for a walk?” Remus asked, grabbing Sirius’s hand and pulling the nearly-tearful boy to his feet. 

“But I need to know–”

“I think you already do, baby.”

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

This is the end guys :')

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain, one vague suggestive joke

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Remus woke before dark this morning. Your hair tickled his cheek, and he realized that you’d drawn closer to him in the night, your body half on top of his and his arm curled around your shoulders as though to keep you there. Remus’ other arm was asleep, trapped beneath Sirius’ ribs. Somehow, on a twin bed, the three of you had managed to get close enough that there was room to spare. 

He didn’t move, but something about Remus’ waking must have caught your attention. He saw your eyes open through the darkness. You’d likely already been rousing, as he had, your body gearing up for a practice that wouldn’t be taking place today. You turned your face up to see him, and the two of you shared a fond, sleepy smile. Then you kissed his chin and went back to sleep. 

It had been a late night. Not the bad kind, but it left you all tired nonetheless. After a long day of talking to press, shaking hands, and celebrating your silver medal (not gold, but Remus reasoned that it wasn’t such a bad thing to lose to the undisputed best skating duo in a generation, and after some pouting even Sirius had agreed. When you stood next to Virtue and Moir on the podium, you’d looked so starstruck Remus was worried you’d faint) you’d been eager to be alone with each other. You’d talked until nearly morning, tenderhearted conversations that perhaps might have taken less time if you’d all been less easily distracted by each other or if Sirius hadn’t made that joke about his parents that made you fall off the bed laughing. Remus can’t bring himself to regret the detours. 

Neither of you seem to either, though Sirius laughs when you yawn in line to drop off your baggage at the airport.

“What is that, five yawns since we’ve left?” he teases, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and smushing a kiss to your cheek. “Poor girl.” 

“Shut up,” you mumble, leaning into his side. “I’m not used to being up all night like you are.” 

“Well, you’d better get used to it, baby.” 

Your brow wrinkles. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Remus laughs, giving Sirius a little shove. Sirius responds by bumping his hip into his own suitcase, forcing Remus to readjust his grip. You shoot Sirius a condemning look. 

In the spirit of good coaching, Remus had volunteered to carry your bags. He’d been more concerned with getting you and Sirius into bed over the last few days than ensuring you were properly stretched out, so when you’d both complained of soreness this morning he felt the need to make it up. You had completely refused and said you’d carry your own, but Sirius had relinquished his hulking suitcase readily; he did, however, insist upon massaging and kissing Remus’ hip for twenty minutes before they left for the airport to prepare it for the journey. 

“Don’t worry,” Remus tells you. “You’ll have plenty of time to sleep in after today.” 

You blink. “No practice?” 

“I think you deserve a couple of days off.” 

“A couple?” Sirius raises an eyebrow. “We just won silver at the Olympics. I’d say we’re due a week at least.” 

Remus eyes him, biting back a smile. “Maybe four days,” he says. 

“God, four days.” You blow out a breath. “What are we gonna do with all that time?” 

Sirius makes a pffting sound. “Like you won’t be at the rink anyway.” 

“Like you won’t be there, too.” 

“Take some actual rest,” Remus chides, ignoring the ridiculous warmth in his chest; it’s obscene how listening to your teasing has become such a comforting familiarity. “You’ve been working hard, you need it.” 

“Alright, Coach,” Sirius says with mock solemnity. “If that’s what you think is best.” 

Remus looks at you. 

You roll your eyes, relenting. “Okay.” 

“Good.” He smiles, winding an arm around your waist and tugging you from Sirius’ hold to press a kiss to your head. 

“Hey!” Sirius protests. 

You laugh. The warmth in Remus’ chest flares again. It’s odd to think about the person he was when he left home to coach you two, and how much has changed since then. Remus had been grieving, a years-long grief, focused only on what he lost and uninterested in trying for anything new. He’d been lonely without knowing it, isolated and purposeless, but you and Sirius had defied his expectations in every way imaginable. He thought he’d simply coach you, take you to the Olympics, and go home. Now, Remus’ sense of home is different than what it was before. 

He wants to stay with you. He’ll coach you and Sirius for as long as you’ll have him, and if someday he’s not what you need anymore he’ll find someone else to coach. He thinks he’ll need to get an apartment instead of an Airbnb, someplace to unpack his things and make his own, preferably with three chairs at the kitchen table and a bed big enough for all of you. He wants to continue feeding off the energy of you and Sirius in your element, readying you for competitions, making you the best you can be. Maybe eventually Remus will get back out on the ice, too. Not like he used to, never to compete, but maybe just for fun. It doesn’t sound so daunting when he imagines skating with you and Sirius alongside him, there to catch him if he falls. 

You’re looking up at him with a small, curious smile. Remus realizes he must be looking mortifyingly in love. “What?” you ask. 

“Nothing.” He kisses you, partly because he wants to and partly to watch your smile bloom in full. It does, and Remus relishes the feeling. Like standing in a pool of sunlight. 

“Oi.” Sirius glares, relaxing only when Remus kisses him, too. He grins and takes another for himself, delivering a playful nibble to Remus’ lip. “That’s more like it.” 

“We’re going to give the woman at the counter a heart attack,” Remus notes. “She looks terribly confused.” 

“Probably just starstruck,” Sirius says without looking. 

“Oh, shit!” You smack your forehead. Remus and Sirius both frown, Sirius taking your hand in his to prevent further damage. “I was going to steal one of the Olympic mugs from the dining hall, and I forgot. I need to find a souvenir.” 

“Ooh, should we get shirts?” Sirius’ expression turns eager. “Something like I went to the Olympics and all I got was this stupid t-shirt.” 

Remus thinks of the silver medal in Sirius’ backpack and actually guffaws. Both you and Sirius beam at him. “I think you got a bit more than that.” 

You laugh and loop your free arm through Sirius’, drawing both boys close. “That’s true.”