~ Cora ~

Born to be a nereid, forced to be human

[acrumpleofpages]

Sirius Black who buys you all kinds of jewelry, some of it matches his

Remus Lupin who will buy you copies of all your favorite books (special editions too)

James Potter who will drive you anywhere you want whenever you want

Peter Pettigrew who will cook with you whenever

[kawaiiibunniiii]

rip hazel you would have fallen for ai generated videos all of the time

rip leo you would have loved 67 jokes

rip piper you would have adored a03 and tumblr

rip drew you would have loved watching love island

rip nico you would have been a mitski fan

rip travis you would have loved making jokes about being attracted to femboys

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Your Real Voice

Pairing: Poly!Wolfstar x Reader Summary: You haven't held the baby in days. The walls whisper, the light moves wrong, and your own thoughts turn against you—but Sirius and Remus refuse to leave you alone in it. Tags: postpartum psychosis, intrusive thoughts, auditory and visual hallucinations, depersonalisation, hurt/comfort, remus and sirius being the safest people alive, gentle parenting themes, slow grounding, eventual hope, no use of y/n, staying through the dark, quiet domestic moment, remus' soft voice, sirius' shaking hands, healing is not linear, comfort without fixing Word Count: 3.5k words

You haven't held the baby in three days. Seventy-two hours of distance, of space widening between your arms and that impossibly small body, as if the universe is conspiring to keep your hands empty. Your fingertips ache with the absence, as though your bones remember something your mind can no longer hold. The thought alone makes your stomach fold in on itself, like paper curling into flame, blackening at the edges, ready to disappear.

Every time you try—every time you so much as think about reaching out—the air around you becomes a weapon. It slices and whines and presses in from all sides. A thousand invisible needles skittering across your skin. The hum of the house, of the street outside, of the world—it swells until it becomes something monstrous. Too loud. Too bright. Too full. A saturation point. You think if you touch them, if your hands brush their delicate skin, it will all collapse. The ceiling. The floor. The fragile scaffolding holding your body upright. Your mind. Your soul. Everything splintering under the weight of your own presence.

So you sit instead. Folded into yourself like you're trying to disappear. The rocking chair beneath you is unmoving, a cradle of stillness you don't dare disturb. You've begun to believe that motion will invite disaster. Your knees are pulled tight to your chest, arms locked around them like a shield. The soft fabric of your jumper bunches at your elbows, already worn thin at the cuffs. You've been wearing it for days, maybe longer. Time feels warped, stretched into something indistinct and sludgy. The fibres are stiff with dried tears and milk, the stale scent of sweat clinging to your skin like smoke after a fire. You're not sure the fire ever stopped.

The cradle sits across the room, quiet and motionless, bathed in the slant of a late afternoon sun that bleeds through the curtains in golden stripes. The light makes the dust shimmer like falling ash, suspended in air, never quite settling. You watch each particle drift with morbid fascination, as if something inside the dust will spell out an answer—some cosmic instruction for how to be a person again.

Inside the crib, the baby shifts. A minute movement. A flutter of fingers. A breathy little noise, no louder than the creak of a settling floorboard. It shouldn't startle you. It does. Your whole body jerks, just slightly, and the guilt that follows hits hard and fast, like being struck across the face. You glance at the cradle again, terrified you've disturbed them, terrified you haven't. The stillness is worse. Like a pause before something happens. Like the moment before a scream. You can feel it coming, whatever it is.

You can hear your pulse. It pounds in your ears, a low thud that syncs with the twitch of your fingers. It crawls up the sides of your neck like a parasite, persistent and inescapable. You wonder if the baby hears it too. You wonder if they can hear everything—the blood rushing through your veins, the frantic static of your thoughts, the way panic hums between your breaths like a second heartbeat. You imagine it bleeding out of you. Dripping from your fingertips like ink. Poisonous. You imagine it soaking into the carpet, staining the pale pink fibres. And worse—you imagine it reaching them. Creeping up the crib. Slipping beneath the soft blanket. Touching their skin. Soaking into their perfect little bones until it shatters them too.

You imagine them opening their eyes and seeing it—seeing you for what you really are. A thing cracked open. A thing not meant to be near something this small, this clean, this sacred.

The shadows in the nursery aren't shadows anymore. They move. They stretch. They whisper. They gather in corners and cling to the ceiling and curl along the edge of your vision, flickering like candle flames in a windless room. They speak in half-formed words, a chorus of murmurs just low enough to pass as your own voice. You shouldn't be here. You don't belong. You will hurt them. You already have. They'd be safer without you. They'd be better off. The whispers braid together until they become a lullaby of loathing, a hymn sung in your own cadence. You try to shut them out, but they live in your skin now. They know your name. They know what you're afraid of. They remind you.

You hold your breath without realising, lungs burning before you release it in a shaky exhale. Even that feels dangerous. You're afraid to breathe too loud. Afraid to shift in the chair. Afraid to blink wrong and somehow tip the room into chaos. The air is thick. Stale. There's the sharpness of antiseptic, the sweetness of baby powder, the sour tang of milk, and beneath it all, the cold metallic scent of fear. It settles in the back of your throat, bitter and cloying. You taste it when you swallow. You taste it even when you don't.

Above the crib, the toy mobile spins slowly. Moons and stars made of paper and plastic drift in their ghostly orbit, catching the sunlight in fractured flashes. The walls are speckled with soft, warping shadows—a constellation of movement that has nothing to do with the sky. You stare at them, transfixed, your mind trying to draw sense from the chaos. They don't look like stars anymore. They look like eyes. Like mouths. Like open wounds that watch you without blinking.

You watch the baby like you're watching a live wire. Each breath they take is loaded, every twitch a countdown. You imagine a thousand ways it could all go wrong. Their chest might stop rising. They might start crying. They might disappear. They might look at you and see you. You, with your shaking hands and your ragged thoughts and your body that hasn't felt like yours in weeks. You, who is meant to love them. You, who is afraid to touch them.

They make a soft sound—a sigh, or a grunt, or a dream. Your heart seizes. The feeling that rises isn't simple. It isn't maternal. It isn't pure. It's a knot of things: awe and grief and terror and longing. Something primal and broken and too vast to name. You want to go to them. You want to run. You want to disappear. You want to be better. You want to be gone.

Your hands tremble. You tug your jumper sleeve down, wrap it over your knuckles, and press your fist against your mouth. The wool is rough, faintly bitter, something to anchor yourself with. The silence in the room has become something else entirely—it is sentient, maybe. It holds its breath with you. The house groans faintly, wooden beams settling under the weight of something invisible, something ancient. Something watching. You imagine it perching in the corner, its breath synchronised with yours, waiting for you to slip.

You don't rock the chair. You can't. Stillness is safety. Stillness means the edges don't fray further. If you move, something might notice. If you move, something might change. You tell yourself that if you stay like this—curled in, silent, distant—nothing bad will happen. You will not break anything else. You will not shatter what remains. You will not become the reason.

Eventually, the door opens like a breath.

Slow, careful. As if the hinges might snap under too much sound. As if the quiet in this room is sacred, or brittle, or both. You don't turn to look. Can't. Your body is still a fortress, your knees a barrier between you and the rest of the world. But you feel him before you see him. Sirius. His presence is like smoke under the door—inevitable, warm, a little wild. He steps inside with the sort of gentleness you've only ever seen him offer to frightened animals and broken glass. It doesn't suit him, not really. Not the man who has always been too much for the world to hold. But here he is, trying to take up less space. Trying not to be loud. Trying to be safe.

You hear the soft clink of ceramic on wood. A teacup, placed on the little table beside you. Chamomile, probably. With honey. The mug is his favourite one—chipped near the rim, stars faded around the handle. You stare at it for a moment, then glance up, vision blurry with sleep you haven't had. You can smell the tea from here. Sweet. Floral. Comforting. The steam curls in the air like an invitation you don't feel worthy of.

His fingers tremble as he pulls back.

It would be easy to miss if you weren't already an expert in shaking. He shoves them into the pockets of his jeans like he's trying to hide it, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away. There's always been something of the boy in Sirius when he's scared. The way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes flicker over you, like he's trying to memorise you in case you vanish. Like he's already seen it happen in his mind. Maybe he has. Maybe he's lived it in nightmares. Maybe that fear is why he's here now, moving slow, speaking softer.

He kneels slowly, one leg folding under him, the other propped up like he's ready to bolt if he has to. He doesn't say anything at first. Just breathes. Just exists beside you. His presence anchors the air.

"You're a good parent," he says finally.

The words stop everything.

You blink. The shadows hush. The baby sighs in the crib. The air, thick with the ghosts of imagined disasters, stills for a beat. Just one. But enough to make you look at him.

You open your mouth, but the apology climbs up your throat before the words form. He sees it coming. He always does.

"Don't," Sirius says, shaking his head. His voice is hoarse, like he's been rehearsing this. "Don't say you're sorry. Not for thinking. Not for being scared. Not for—" He swallows hard. "Not for what's in your head. That's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

You lower your gaze again. The mug is steaming gently, a tendril of warmth reaching for you. Your hands twitch with the thought of touching it, but you don't. You can't. Not yet. Even the thought of your fingers closing around something that warm, that safe, makes your heart thud like an alarm bell. Even safety feels dangerous, like a trap. Like a thing you might break by needing it too much.

The floor creaks, then another presence joins the room, quieter still. Remus.

He doesn't speak right away. Just kneels on the other side of the rocking chair and rests a hand gently on your ankle. Not to restrain. Not to comfort. Just to say: I'm here. I see you. His touch is feather-light, like he's afraid too. Of hurting you. Of tipping you off balance. Of taking one thing too far and unravelling the little threads you've wrapped around yourself. You wonder if he can feel how tense you are, how close to shattering.

He disappears from your peripheral vision for a moment, and then he's back, unfolding one of the baby's blankets. The yellow one, soft and slightly stained, the edges frayed from a month of gentle chewing and washing and folding. It smells like formula and lavender and something impossibly safe. You can smell it before you feel it.

He wraps it around your shoulders without asking.

The weight is soft. Soothing. Real. The fabric slips around your collarbone like a breath, catching in the hollows of your body where the fear has hollowed you out. It warms your skin, prickles the hairs on your arms. You breathe in the scent and, for a second, your chest loosens.

"You're allowed to be scared," Remus says, his voice barely louder than breath. "That doesn't make you dangerous. That makes you human."

His lips brush your temple. Not in a performance of comfort, but in a ritual. Something practised. Something offered. A reminder that even if your hands won't move, theirs still do.

"I don't know how to do this," you whisper. "I don't know how to be the kind of parent they need."

Sirius tilts his head. "You think we do?" he asks, almost laughing, but there's no mockery in it. Only honesty. "I've been winging it since we brought them home."

Remus smiles faintly. "You're not doing this alone. That's the whole point. There are three of us. Three. You get to fall apart sometimes. That's why we built this together."

"And," Sirius says, more softly now, "they still reach for you when they wake up."

Remus nods, his hand still resting light against your arm. "They know you. They trust you. They don't know what fear is yet. They just know warmth. Sound. Your voice."

You swallow, throat dry. "But what if I break them?" you breathe. The question leaves you raw. "What if I already have?"

Sirius leans forward until his forehead almost touches yours. His eyes are wide and wet and furious with love. "Then we un-break them together. Just like we un-break each other."

You let out a soft, helpless noise. "I thought I saw things. Heard things. I think I still do. I thought if I touched them, it would—infect them. Ruin them."

Remus exhales, a sound like pain. "That's the illness talking. Not you."

"But it feels like me," you say. "It sounds like me. It wears my face when I close my eyes. It whispers in my own voice."

"That's how it works," Sirius says. "It puts on your voice so it can trick you into believing it's true. But I know your voice better than that. We both do."

Remus rests his chin on your shoulder, the scratch of his stubble grounding. "Your real voice sings lullabies. Your real voice cried the first time they opened their eyes. Your real voice loved them before you ever saw their face. That voice is still in there. It's just quieter today."

You clench your fingers into the blanket. "I want to hold them. I want to. But my body won't move."

Sirius nods like it makes perfect sense. "Then we'll wait with you until it does."

"We'll wait as long as it takes," Remus adds. "No clocks. No milestones. No pressure."

Sirius bumps his knee against yours. "Besides, I still don't know how to burp them without getting puked on, so if you want to watch me make a mess..."

You laugh. It cracks something open, but it doesn't hurt. The sound is soft. Unsteady. A beginning.

Remus presses his forehead lightly against your temple. "There you are," he murmurs. "We've missed you."

Sirius reaches for your hand, tentative. You let him take it. He squeezes once. Just once.

They don't make you hold the baby.

They don't push. Don't hover. Don't hand them over like a test you might fail. There is no expectation, no pressure curled into their posture. Just presence. Just the steady rhythm of being here. Just the quiet promise that love doesn't always have to be loud or earned. Sometimes it only has to be shared. Sometimes it only has to be there.

Sirius stays close, his knee still pressed against yours, grounding. He doesn't let go of your hand. His thumb moves in slow, absent circles over your knuckles, like he's soothing himself as much as he's soothing you. His hands are warm and calloused, the kind of worn comfort that comes from a lifetime of holding too tightly and being held too little. But here, now, they are steady. Reverent. Like he knows what it costs you to stay in this moment, and he's willing to pay the toll with silence. He doesn't speak unless you do. He doesn't flinch when your fingers twitch. He just stays.

Remus hums something under his breath. It's not a tune you recognise, exactly, but it sinks into the room like a thread, stitching the air together. Low and warm and wordless, a sound meant for settling frightened things. He sits cross-legged on the floor beside you, shoulder just brushing your calf. Occasionally he glances toward the crib, then back to you, like he's reminding himself—reminding all of you—that the world has not ended. Not yet. Maybe not today. His eyes are soft, their tired gold dimmed by worry and wear, but they never lose focus. They never leave you stranded.

The tea beside you is cooling, but you still don't reach for it. The mug sits like a symbol of something kinder, something ordinary. You can't quite imagine being the kind of person who could drink tea right now. That version of you is too far away. But its presence matters. Like Sirius and Remus. It doesn't ask anything of you. It just waits. It reminds you that there is softness still, somewhere.

You listen instead. To the baby's breathing, impossibly light and even. To Sirius shifting occasionally, his denim brushing against the wood floor. To Remus' quiet melody, which has turned into something you realise is a lullaby—or maybe a memory of one. You don't know where it comes from, but it wraps around your ribs like a soft scarf. Each note unravels a little of the tension braided into your spine.

Sirius says your name like a question he already knows the answer to.

"Still here?"

You nod. Barely. But it's enough.

He smiles, faint and crooked. "Good. We like you here."

Remus chuckles quietly. "We do. We're rather fond of you, actually."

Your lips twitch. Not quite a smile. But almost.

Time becomes strange. Minutes pass, or maybe hours, thick and slow like syrup. The shadows in the corners stretch and settle again, no longer threatening, only waiting. At some point, the baby lets out a little coo in their sleep. A tiny sound, so small it would be lost in any other moment. But here, it pierces straight through the fog.

Your eyes flick to the crib.

Sirius notices. He squeezes your hand again, gentle. Steady. No rush. No suggestion. Just understanding.

Remus leans forward just a little, speaking softly. "They've been sleeping well today. They missed you this morning, I think. Kept fussing until Sirius hummed your song."

You glance at him. "My song?"

"The one you hum when you change them," Sirius says. "You probably don't even know you do it, but they do."

You swallow hard. The lump rises in your throat too fast to catch. You look down at your lap, then at the blanket around your shoulders. It smells faintly like lavender and milk and warmth. Your breathing has slowed, not even intentionally. The fear is still there, still gnawing beneath your ribs, still curling sharp and mean at the edges of your thoughts. But it's quieter. Muffled. Like someone turned the volume down.

Remus speaks again, slower this time. "You don't have to rush anything. There's no checklist. No right way to be ready."

"But if you are ready," Sirius adds, voice softer now, "we'll be right here. Not watching. Just here."

You don't answer. Your throat is thick with feeling. With doubt. With longing. With fear.

Instead, you shift. Slight. Barely perceptible. But your hand rises from the blanket, hovers in the space between you and the crib like it weighs a hundred pounds. Your breath stutters. A gasp caught in your lungs. Your chest tightens, then loosens, then tightens again.

Sirius doesn't say a word. He just slides his hand over yours.

Solid. Sure. Warm. His palm covers yours like a seal, like a promise. Like a vow spoken without ceremony.

"We're here," he murmurs, voice anchored like stone. "All three of us."

Remus rises onto his knees beside you, steady and slow, not to guide or direct but to witness. He reaches up and touches the blanket, smoothing it over your shoulder like it matters that you are still wrapped in something soft. Like it matters that you remember what comfort feels like.

The crib feels far away and far too close all at once. But you keep your hand where it is. Hovering. Trembling. Reaching. The distance between you and the baby is the width of the world. And yet.

You don't touch. Not yet. Just hover. Just exist in the space between wanting and doing. But the baby stirs, little fists uncurling, a soft sound slipping from their lips. Not a cry. Just life. Just breath. Just being.

And the shadows—the ones in your mind, the ones clinging to the corners of the nursery—they go still.

[underthewill0wtr3e]

Hp characters react:

Asking them to leave the room so you can change

Includes: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Theodore Nott, Mattheo Riddle, Blaise Zabini & Pansy Parkinson

A/N: thought I’d try something new to try motivate myself to write. Wouldn’t mind making a series of one shots for different scenarios so if you have any requests send them in! Probably an idealised version of these characters but idccc 😛🤷‍♀️ gender neutral reader! I do write for other hp characters too Warnings: Talk about body insecurities

Masterlist

Draco Malfoy

He goes still, freezing with his eyes still looking at the ceiling. The request is so ordinary and so mundane yet something flickers behind his grey eyes, a brief shadow he tries to smooth over. "Why” Not a question but a quiet demand, his eyes moving to look directly in yours. He's already crossing his arms, leaning against your headboard like he has no intention of moving. "We've been together for months, known each other years. I've seen every inch of you, what's different about today?"

His jaw tightens when you don't answer immediately. He thinks he understands what’s wrong, thinks you're hiding something from him. Possibly a mark or a bruise but something you don't want him to see. "Did someone hurt you?" His voice drops, cold and dangerous. "Tell me who” his face hardens to stone with all his muscles tensing.

When you finally explain it's nothing like that just that you just feel self-conscious today, bloated, tired and not wanting to be seen, all the tension leaves his shoulders slowly. He crosses to you, takes your face in his hands, and presses a kiss to your forehead.

"You're ridiculous” he murmurs into your hair at the top your head where his face is now resting. "Beautiful, but ridiculous. I'll wait outside. But if you're not out in five minutes, I'm coming back in” he leaves one last kiss to your forehead and then leaves the door cracked just enough to hear you.

Harry Potter

He freezes mid-step as exits your bathroom only just having flicked the switch off, a confused crease forming between his brows. "Oh. Yeah. Sure." He says it quickly, already backing toward the door and stumbling over his feet but he lingers in the doorway knowing something must be wrong, he scratches the back of his head. "Is everything okay? You're not... I mean, you know you don't have to hide from me, right?"

His green eyes search your face, and there's a vulnerability there he rarely lets anyone see. He's thinking about the Dursleys, about cupboards and locked doors, about all the reasons someone might want privacy. He's wondering if he did something wrong, whether he can fix whatever’s wrong. "Whatever it is” he says quietly, "you don't have to deal with it alone. I'm right here”

When you assure him it's just a bad body day, nothing more, he lets out a breath he’d been holding deeply and smiles. That real, crooked smile. "Okay take your time. I'll be right outside” He pauses. "Yell if you need me” He waits by the door like a guard dog until you open it again.

Theodore Nott

He doesn't move. Just watches you with those dark, unreadable eyes, head tilted slightly. The silence stretches long enough to make you fidget. "You're deflecting” he says finally, voice low and even. "You've never asked me to leave before. What changed?" He's too observant for his own good. He's already reading into your posture, the way you won't quite meet his eyes and the tension you’re holding in your shoulders. He walks toward you slowly, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer.

"Are you afraid I'll see something you don't like?" He cups your cheek, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I see you every day. I know when you're tired. I know when you're sad. I know when you've been crying and try to hide it. None of it has ever made me want you less”

He waits for the real answer and when you admit you just feel ugly today, he huffs a quiet laugh and kisses your temple. "Stay. Change. I'll turn around. But I'm not leaving you alone in here with whatever your head is telling you” He turns his back to you, arms crossed, and doesn't move until you tell him you're decent. You both wear lovesick smiles when your eyes meet again.

Mattheo Riddle

He grins lazily from where he's sprawled on your bed. "Why? Planning to put on a show?" He waggles his eyebrows, clearly trying to get a rise out of you but when you don't bite, when you just stand there waiting, the grin fades. He sits up slowly, all that easy confidence dimming.

"Hey” His voice is different now, softer and quieter. “What's going on? You're being weird” He gets up, crosses to you, and tips your chin up so he can see your face. His dark eyes search yours with a pout on his face and for a moment he looks almost scared, like he's bracing for you to say it's over. His own insecurities immediately rising.

"Are you... is this about you? Or us?" He asks it plainly, no games. "Because if it's you, if something's wrong, I need you to tell me. I can't fix what I don't know about” his face almost looks desperate for an answer.

When you confess you're just feeling insecure, he pulls you into his chest and holds you tight underneath his chin "Merlin, don't scare me like that. I thought you were dumping me” He laughs it off into your hair but you can hear his spiked heart rate where your ear rests on his chest. "Take all the time you need. I'll be right here. And when you're done, I'm going to tell you every single thing I love about you until you believe it” He doesn't leave. He sits on the floor outside your door, back against the wall, and he keeps his promise.

Blaise Zabini

He raises an elegant eyebrow, a slow smile curving his lips. "Darling, I've watched you change a hundred times. What's one more?" But when you don't smile back, his expression shifts. He sets down the book he was holding and gives you his full attention.

"Talk to me” He says it simply, no pressure. He settles on the edge of your bed, pats the space beside him. "Come here” He listens without interrupting. When you finish, he's quiet for a moment, then speaks carefully. "I know what it's like to want to hide. To feel like what's on the outside doesn't match what you want it to be” He takes your hand "But I also know that I've never looked at you and seen anything less than beautiful. And I'm not saying that to make you feel better. I'm saying it because it's true”

He stands, kisses your knuckles, and heads for the door. "I'll be in the common room. Take your time. But when you're ready, come find me. I'd like to take you to dinner” He doesn't make it about his ego or his feelings, he just makes room for yours.

Pansy Parkinson

She scoffs, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. "Why? Planning to sneak out and meet someone else? Should I be jealous?" It's a joke, or it starts as one but her smile falters at the corners when you don't laugh. She crosses her arms, and her voice turns sharp, defensive.

"Fine. Whatever. I'll go” She's halfway to the door when she stops and turns back. Her expression is unreadable, but her voice is small when she speaks. "You're not... you're not tired of me, are you?" She asks it like she's bracing for a blow. "Because if you are, just say it. I'd rather know”

When you rush to reassure her, when you explain it's about you, not her, she blinks rapidly and looks away. "Oh” A pause. "Well. That's stupid. You're gorgeous. You know that” She huffs, but she comes back and sits on your bed, pulling her knees up. "I'll stay. I'll face the wall. But someone needs to be here to tell you you're being an idiot if you start thinking ugly thoughts” She keeps her word and every few minutes, she mutters another compliment just loud enough for you to hear.

[imtheproble]

after watching the odyssey I have a sudden urge to write for Telemachus. 👀

(I was blushing every time he came on)

(someone please request something for him)

[imtheproble]

after watching the odyssey I have a sudden urge to write for Telemachus. 👀

(I was blushing every time he came on)

(someone please request something for him)

[moonstruckme]

hii mae ! i hope you’re doing good ! this is gonna be very self indulgent so feel free to ignore haha but i’m working in the service industry and work has been taking such a toll on my body i was wondering if you could write some sort of hurt/comfort with either emt!marauders or just poly!marauders where they see r getting more and more tired and they worry until either something happen or they confront her/them

Thank you for requesting, I hope you're doing well too lovely!

a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her vile agendas

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You twist yourself around in the armchair, and a satisfying series of pops ripples down your back.

"Stop it," you say to Remus.

James turns from his self-assigned task of finding a board game for you all to play. "What?"

"He's glaring at me."

"I am not glaring at you," says Remus from the floor in front of your coffee table.

"You are, though."

"Well, it's not because of the cracking—"

He's interrupted by a bark of laughter as Sirius emerges from the kitchen with James' requested water. He sends Remus a fond look. "You are such a dirty liar."

Remus rolls his eyes, but relents. "It's in part the cracking," he admits, because James pulled a muscle cracking his neck one time, and Remus felt vindicated and has used it against all of you ever since, "but mostly I don't like that you've strained yourself so badly you feel like you have to crack it."

"It's just being on my feet all day." You don't mean to whine. You work with people who have been doing this job for years or decades; you're loath to think what their backs must feel like, how they can continue through every shift. "I'll get used to it."

Remus isn't glaring at you anymore. He looks rather put out. They all do, actually.

"What?" you ask, exasperated.

James holds his hands up. "Nothing. Don't get mad."

You quiet your voice. "I'm not mad."

"No," Sirius agrees, squishing into the armchair with you, "you're tired, baby. And you're hurting, yeah? It's shit."

You accept his invitation of a lifted arm and rest your head on his shoulder. It is shit.

"Would you sleep with the heating pad tonight?" asks Remus.

You shift, feeling the achey stretch of your muscles. "Maybe," you hedge. "It's not really that bad."

"Try, please." His tone oozes soft concern. You think that you'll be too hot all night if you wear the heating pad, but you'll likely do it anyway just to appease him. James sets a box down on the coffee table with finality, and they both begin taking out the pieces for the game. "If it doesn't feel any better tomorrow, maybe we can get you in to see a chiropractor."

Thinking of tomorrow presses a sigh from your chest. "I can't. I have to work."

Sirius' chin bumps your head as he turns to look at you. James and Remus have both stalled in their movements. "Tomorrow?" Sirius asks.

"Yeah."

"Since when?"

"Since today. My manager asked me to."

"Fuck that guy." It's said brashly, with enough feeling to startle you. "What's he need you there for?"

You shrug. "Apparently somebody's sick."

"Well, maybe you'll be sick tomorrow, too."

"He saw me today. I doubt he'll be convinced I caught something overnight."

"You can say you have diarrhea," offers James. "That comes on fast, and nobody ever wants to know more details."

Your lips part on a breathless laugh. "I can't!"

"You could," Remus counters.

"He won't have any follow-up questions," James goes on encouragingly, "promise."

"Why do you all want me to call in so badly?"

"Because your back is in bits!" Sirius exclaims.

You feel your eyebrows go up. "You weren't so worried about it a minute ago."

"That was when we thought you had tomorrow off." James is frowning, a sure sign things have gone awry. There's a troubled little divot sitting above the bridge of his glasses. "I mean, angel, you haven't had a day off in…when was the last time you had a day off?"

"It wasn't that long ago," you mumble. As though you haven't been counting your shift days like tally marks in a prison cell. "Last Tuesday."

Sirius looks at you sternly. "Baby—"

"Don't," you whine.

"—you need a break."

You let a breath out through your nose, looking at him dejectedly. The lines of your boyfriend's face soften. It's strange to resent being so cared for.

"I know," you admit, "but I need to work."

Remus nods. "You do need to work."

You nod back at him, relieved. He understands. Sirius and James have jobs, but they don't know what it is to need money, to perceive it as something that can run out. Weathering discomfort to keep that from happening is something Remus can understand that they can't.

"You don't need to work as much as you have been, though," he says gently. "You need breaks, too. Going over a week without a day off, that's too much, sweetheart."

Now it's you glaring at Remus. Sirius snickers as you shrink down his side. "You're ganging up on me."

"God, it's almost like we're trying to help you," Sirius teases.

"I really don't think I can call my manager and lie tomorrow."

He tsks, rubbing your arm. "I'll do it for you. More believable that way, anyway. I can tell him you're on the toilet and so distraught you can't come to the phone."

You moan and turn your face into his side.

"Don't say that," James laughs. "I'll do it."

"No, you can't," says Remus.

"Why not?"

"You'll laugh," Sirius and Remus say over one another.

You don't have to move from Sirius' side to envision the put-out-but-conceding look on James' face.

"We'll have Remus do it," Sirius says with finality. "He won't use any toilet humor, and he's the best liar anyway."

"Fine," says Remus.

"Fine," you groan. You pick your head up, looking at him somewhat abashedly. "Thank you."

Remus' look goes painfully tender. "Love you. Look after yourself, please."

"Yeah, I love you, too."

"Hey," James objects, "I offered to call, too."

Your lips tug. "Thank you for offering, lovely."

"And you love me too, right?" He sits up on his knees, angling for a kiss.

When you lean down to meet him, your back clicks.

"Ugh!" James flinches back from you. Remus' eyes narrow, as though by pavlovian response, into a glare.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" you defend yourself.

Sirius gives you a sympathetic squeeze while Remus lays his head back. He casts a hand over his eyes like a damsel in a Jane Austen novel. "I can't."

[jadedgravity]

Answering questions no one asked about

Sirius Black

Do they drink an appropriate amount of water

Rarley

Do they pronounce it carmel or car-a-mel

Car-a-mel

What is their take on twilight (Edward or Jacob)

He's seen them all and is fully team Jacob

How do they feel about birthdays

Once he started Hogwarts he actually started to like them because James always goes all out for party's and he knew what Sirius wanted best

Who is the most important person in their life?

It was Regulus for the majority but eventually Remus

What is lounge wear to them?

Anything can be lounge wear if you're pure of heart

What is the relationship like with their parents?

It's Sirius idk if y'all need another take on this

What is their zodiac sign?

Scorpio

What is their favorite holiday?

Christmas at the Potter's

If they had three wishes what would they be?

If this was while in school he would wish for Regulus to come live at the Potter's safely

Make sure his friends are all happy and healthy

For Remus to no longer be a werewolf

Who's their soulmate?

Remus Lupin

Have they ever stolen from a person/place?

He's probably picking your pocket as we speak

Are they a good singer?

Seeing as he's good at everything else you would think but no he is not

What is their go to to your boredom?

Annoying people

Would they pass notes in class?

Hell yeah, as a matter of a fact he if balling the note up and chucking it at the persons head

Chances of survival on a deserted island?

He would be able to hunt and forage pretty well but he couldn't make a good shelter and dies from weather

Would you consider them a gossip?

Yes and half the time he's what the gossip is about (or his family)

Thoughts on motivational posters / speakers?

He laughs at both

If they picked the hangout what are you doing?

Spending the day fucking with people around the school or following Filch around

[jadedgravity]

Answering questions no one asked about

Sirius Black pt 2

What do they do when they're sad?

He's sitting in bed alone sulking tell James shows up

Hidden talent or talents?

He is at least past beginner level at most instruments

Do they have a morning/night routine?

He has a morning haircare routine and a skincare for at night

Coffee or tea?

Coffee

Early bird or night owl?

Night owl, he hates waking up

Hot take ship pairing?

I can only see him realistically with Remus ngl

Do they collect anything / what?

He gets gifted lots of band posters and tees but he isn't the one collecting them

Are they a leader or a follower at heart?

Leader

Would they rather live in the city or country?

He would live anywhere as long as his friends are there

How good are they at perceiving emotions?

Unless he knows the person he is clueless

How trusted are they with small children?

Trusted to keep alive yes, but they will come home kicking people in the balls and saying fuck you

Who would they want to be for halloween?

Jack Sparrow

Would they get hooked on gambling?

Out of the core 4 he's the most likely

Where would they go to get 1 / 2 items?

He is door dashing it to the house

Do they work out / how regularly?

He used to for quidditch but stopped

How organized are they at home?

He's not dirty but he's not clean. His floor is just a clothes pile that absorbs whatever touches it

[yeonno]

the chaos of watching football with the marauders

marauders x reader | 700 words

Tags: poly OR platonic!marauders, James and Sirius are big football fans, roommate AU + muggle AU + modern AU, mostly just silly, no mention of anything romantic happening, but could be interpreted that way, no use of y/n

A/N: no idea if anyone is genuinely interested in reading this since it’s just something silly but I’ve been so invested in the world cup. and what better way to deal with that than combine it with one of my favourite things? england v argentina today, guys, and I’m losing my mind already the lads need to bring it home for james potter

You’re currently sitting on the tiny, beaten-up settee in your living room, squashed between a very agitated and nervous James, fully decked out with England flags drawn on his cheeks and his Harry Kane jersey, and Remus with Sirius, equally as affected as James, sitting on the other end. Every time it was England’s turn to play in the current World Cup, James had begged you and Remus to join him and Sirius so you could be stressed out together. The only problem is, James is the worst person ever to watch football with, especially when his team loses.

The match is approaching half-time, and it’s still 1-0 for Norway, which has James bouncing his knee nervously and muttering under his breath. You can’t tell if it’s a prayer or a curse, but it’s definitely not a good sign. 

“Why do you do this to yourself if it affects you this badly?” you ask, looking over at him. 

His eyes don’t move away from the TV for even a split second. Sure, maybe by now you’re also a little invested. England had gotten this far for a reason, after all. But you could never admit that to James and Sirius, they’d have a field day and force you to watch Premier League as well. 

“Because he’s a masochist,” Remus deadpans from beside you, and you can’t suppress a little snort. 

“Shut up, Moony,” James mutters and jumps to his feet again to start pacing around the living room, but he doesn’t deny it either.

Both he and Sirius freeze when the ball gets close to the Norwegian goalie again, and Sirius scoots to the edge of the settee. They groan in unison when the ball is kicked away without a goal. Sirius lifts both hands to his face to massage his temples.

“Bellingham or Kane just needs to get the ball in there already,” he complains and then throws his hands up when things don’t go his way again. Both he and James shout unintelligibly at the TV while making very wild, very angry gestures like the team would somehow be able to hear their complaints.

“What are they doing!? Haaland’s going to get the fucking ball!”

You and Remus share a grin and just take a sip of whatever you’re drinking. It’s pretty funny how worked up they get every single time, and maybe also a little cute. The two of you are just happy to be there, really, although you know Remus is also a little happy when England wins. 

“Bellingham’s fit, isn’t he?” you say when they show another slow-motion shot of his attempted goal. 

Remus just hums, but you see him nodding along. James, on the other hand, finally turns away from the TV to shoot you a glare. To your surprise, Sirius pipes up in agreement as well.

“Definitely.”

“Oi, can we focus for more than five seconds?” James says to all three of you before groaning again and placing his hands on his thighs to steady himself like he’s about to pass out, which honestly isn’t that far-fetched. 

A few minutes extra time to the first half are announced, and he huffs, muttering something about needing a drink. It’s rare that he looks away from the television during any match, so he must be in a really bad state tonight. He turns away for one second to pop open a can of beer when Sirius suddenly jumps to his feet.

“Mate!”

All four of you watch as Bellingham finally scores the 1-1. James actually screeches when the ball goes in the Norwegian goal and spills beer everywhere when he and Sirius jump into each other's arms, cheering. 

“Fuck yes, Bellingham!” Sirius bellows.

Even Remus claps his hands together in silent victory, proving your theory of him secretly enjoying this despite his denial. From the open window you hear the neighbours erupting into cheers while James and Sirius are still clinging to each other and singing the “Hey Jude” song. Watching football with them really isn't so bad if you think about it.

[paranadroid]

5/3 food log 🕷️

🪐total: 840 kcal

[the-wolf-moon-diaries]

Every time I get sick I revert back to loving twilight and I'm on my period and it's doing it again😭

Seriously, same.

My period sucks so hard and I always need things that comfort me...the hours I've spent in bed, suffering though cramps and listening to the soundtracks endlessly, oh my god. Imagining the wolves being cuddly and comforting helps too.

So here are some random period thoughts for the pack:

🖤As a weird affect of imprinting, all of the wolves get super concerned for their partners during their periods. So, as a rule, that's time off for that particular wolf.

🖤Sam is the guy that keeps period products/your favorite snacks at his place and, if he doesn't have them, then he's going to go out and get them. No matter the time, weather, or whatever, he's there for you, Sam's a problem solver sort of guy. He likes to help by doing something, making himself useful, but cuddling, you remind him, is doing something...so he makes sure to do that too.

🖤Jacob is the most casual about it. He has sisters after all so he knows all about that stuff and isn't at all uncomfortable with period talk. It's just a part of life, you know? So he makes sure you have whatever you need, lends you one of his tee shirts, and just holds you for a while. He'll put on your favorite music and just chill with you until you feel better.

🖤Jared is all about cuddling. He doesn't really know what to do at first and, when it doubt, he holds you close and keeps you safe and sound in his arms. That's the perfect place for you anyway, you fit perfectly! In time, he'll figure out the other stuff too but cuddles is still his go to move (and if he can't be there, he gives you this giant teddy bear that smells just like him as a back up).

🖤Paul is awkward about it but he's trying not to be. In his defense, he grew up with a single dad and didn't have a lot of female friends, he's late to the game and figuring stuff out. He had some misconceptions at first. In the beginning, he thinks that getting you supplies and food and leaving you alone is good enough. But when you remind him that menstruation is not contagious and you like his company, especially when you're blue, Paul kind of kicks himself for being so awkward about it and cuts it out.

🖤Seth is super cool about it. Much like Jacob, he gets it, he's got a sister and everything. There's period products in the house, of course, but he also keeps some in his backpack in case you need it. He's actually very good at picking up on your feelings/noticing you acting off before you even notice it, but that's just Seth being super empathic. He'll bake you something with one of his mother's recipes, whatever you want,

🖤Quil brings food and fun. He's got all your favorites in all of the flavors, salty/sweet/savory, whatever you want, baby, he's got it for you. The first couple of times, he's little over concerned about it (and that can be cute to witness), this isn't a super familiar situation to him. But he'll calm down quickly enough and figure out how best to be there for you.

🖤Embry is gentle and sweet. He makes up the bed with your favorite stuffed animals, puts on your comfort shows/movies and just chills with you, sharing snacks and making you laugh when you didn't even want to smile. His calm energy is very comforting in times like this, Embry is just a naturally soothing sort of guy.

🖤Leah gets it. She's been there and she'll be there for you. Has a little care kit, both at her place and in her car, just in case of an emergency. Your favorite snacks are on hand, your favorite comfort shows and movies are ready to go, you can borrow her clothes and cuddle in bed together, holding the teddy bear she got you (his name is Frost, for the poet) and just soaking in her warmth.

[juniperleavesfall]

A Lesson in Gift Giving

What would Theodore Nott want for his birthday?

a/n: hi! this isn't the next chapter of my story, but I wanted to take a little break to write a quick oneshot, so here it is! I'm also open to requests for my fics so feel free to ask, enjoy!

word count: 2.4k

Theodore Nott is an enigma. A mystery you're slowly unraveling, and you really mean it when you say slowly. Dating him for the past four months has given you a glimpse into his mind, though it's definitely not enough for you to feel confident in choosing a birthday gift for him on your own. His birthday. You know he's not particularly enthusiastic about celebrations, especially those concerning him. He wouldn't bat an eye if the day passed without a peep from anyone, but you believe he deserves some fuss over his birthday, even if it's just from you. You have four days to think of the perfect gift for the boy who seems perpetually unimpressed by everything. What better way to start than by asking each of his house mates?

You set off, determined, as you approach a chatty Astoria Greengrass who's currently talking the ear off of some poor Hufflepuff girl. 

"Astoria, I need your help." you say sitting down next to her, the Hufflepuff taking the graciously given opportunity in full as she makes a quick getaway, shooting you a relieved glance. 

"Sure! What do you need?" she says sweetly, already having forgotten about her previous conversation. 

"It's Theo. I'm trying to figure out what to get him for his birthday. I want it to be special for him." 

"Oh, that's sweet! I'm sure he'd like anything from you, but if you need suggestions, how about a personally bound journal with charmed with a spell to keep it away from prying eyes? Can't trust Mattheo not to go snooping." she says with a laugh. 

"That's actually a really good idea. He does write a lot." you say, glad to start your investigation on such a high note. At this rate, you won't even have to ask any of the others. Thank Merlin there's someone at least partially sane in your house. 

"Oh, please. He doesn't need another reason to go lock himself away to brood." a sudden, familiar voice comes from behind, startling you out of your thoughts. 

"You should get him a silver pocket watch. Something traditional and sophisticated to match his aristocratic background." 

"Daphne, I appreciate your input but I'd rather not remind him of his father on his birthday. Besides, he doesn't care much for flashy things like that." you say, standing up now that the newly arrived Greengrass sister had practically taken over your side of the bench. 

"Well I can't say I didn't try. Come on Tori, we need to get started on that Binns essay." Daphne tugs on Astoria's arm until she's standing and she gives you a quick, apologetic wave before she's dragged away by her sister. 

You look down at the mostly empty piece of parchment you had brought with you to keep track of potential gifts. The journal idea is still on the table, but now you’re unsure about it. He does have tons of journals already. You shake it off, deciding to continue your search; you head down a corridor where you eventually come across Blaise Zabini, who's leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he wordlessly judges the students that cross his path now and then. 

"Zabini, do you have a second?" you ask, approaching him. 

He looks you up and down before answering. "What is it?"

"Theo's birthday is coming up. I wanted to get a few gift ideas from people, so I'm asking you." you say, slightly self-conscious now. 

He raises an eyebrow, letting out an amused scoff though you can tell he's thinking about it now. "I'm sure you know Nott isn't interested in any mundane rubbish you might buy from Hogsmeade. Get him some obscure book on ancient runes or theory. The older and more expensive, the better." he says, before straightening up and leaving, abandoning the conversation as soon as it started. 

"Okay…" you murmur to yourself, now even more discouraged, parchment still painfully blank. You weren't drowning in galleons and any connections you did have weren't anything to write home about, so even if you wanted to, getting a rare book he'd like is completely out of your reach. 

As you're standing there, dwelling on your shortcomings, a hand slaps you on the back, the sting causing a sudden wave of annoyance to wash away any previous feelings of self pity. You turn around, ready to chew out whoever it is, but they're speaking before you can even open your mouth. 

"Why the sad face?" Mattheo's voice is obnoxiously loud as he laughs, slapping your back again. Of course, you should've known it was him. Only he'd have enough audacity to do something like that. 

"Mattheo." you say with a grimace, pushing his hand away. 

"I've heard about your dilemma and I'm here to help." he says, his smile more unnerving than friendly. 

"Right, okay. You're close with him, what do you think he'd like?" you say, less hostile now that he's not just here to bother you. 

"A dagger," he says, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "One with a goblin-wrought silver blade. It's practical and sharp, perfect for him." 

"You want me to get him a weapon? For his birthday?" 

"Hey, I'm trying to help you out. Just don't get him anything overly sentimental; he'll end up throwing it out." he says seriously for a second before the smile returns to his face. 

"Good luck!" he laughs before walking down the hall, his voice echoing off the walls before it fades. 

That night you go to bed restless, your mind a jumbled mess of almost gifts that still don't seem right. Three more days to figure it out. You still have people to ask and thankfully no one's let it slip to Theo, who's still blissfully unaware of the lengths you're going to for him. 

You're refreshed and newly inspired the next morning, your qualms from yesterday nowhere to be found. You have Snape first thing that morning, and there's nothing like an early morning Potions class to get your mind going. You sit next to Theo, he'd get suspicious if you didn't, though your thoughts are focused on who you'll ask next after class is over. 

"Theo, I need to talk with Pansy after class, can I catch up with you later?" you ask, watching him prepare the ingredients for the potion assigned as the task of the day. 

"Parkinson?" he says, looking up at you now. "Why? Did she say something to you?"

"No, it's nothing like that. She just borrowed my Ancient Runes notes last week and she's 'forgotten' to give them back. It'll be quick, I promise."

You assume it's fine because he just shrugs and goes back to whatever he’s doing, but after class, when you grab your things and make your way over to Pansy out in the hall, you notice he's already there waiting for you. 

"Theo, you can go ahead, you don't have to wait for me." you say, slightly nervous now as you move to stand in front of him.

"You're acting strange. It'll only take a few minutes right? I can wait." he says, arms crossed now. He's probably noticed the tension in your form and on any other day, his awareness of your habits would make you swoon, but it isn't any other day so it does nothing but make you anxious. 

"Please? I just want to talk to her, and I can't do that if you're hovering over me." You love him but he really can't take a hint. 

"…Fine. I'll be in the common room. Don't be long." he gives in, still wary but you're clearly uncomfortable and he doesn't want to push it. 

"Thank you." you say giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before shooing him away. 

Your consultation with Pansy goes about as well as you expect. 

"Cologne." she says definitively once you ask her. "Something expensive, with cedarwood or amber." 

"What's wrong with the way he smells now?" you ask, frowning. 

"It's fine, but it's not impactful," she says, leaning forward and gently poking your chest with a manicured finger. "A proper wizard needs a signature scent. Trust me. Pick up something from that high-end apothecary in Paris. If you give him cedarwood, he’ll actually wear it just to keep you happy."

"Besides, every time he puts it on, he'll think of you. Romantic, isn't it?" she says with a satisfied smile. "You'll be thanking me later, I promise." 

You watch her as she walks off, chewing the inside of your cheek as you give the idea some thought. Another bust. Theo doesn't like attention (nothing screams attention like cologne), and the last thing you'd want to do is give him something that will make him uncomfortable, but that he'll still use out of obligation because you gave it to him.

You decide to retreat back to the common room, running into Draco on your way there. Your interaction with him is so short lived however, you’re not even sure you can call it a conversation. 

He laughs in your face not even a second after you finish speaking. "If you don't know what to get Nott for his birthday, then you shouldn’t be dating him." 

Jerk. So much for that. 

You head into the common room, dragging your feet as you practically throw yourself onto the nearest sofa, groaning into a pillow. After staying there for a few seconds, you lift your head, scanning the room. Theo's not there, he must be in his dormitory right now, but there are a few stragglers scattered around. Lorenzo Berkshire, your last hope, is currently laughing at a fifth year who's eyebrows are now singed from a particularly nasty game of exploding snap. 

"Enzo." your voice carries across the room as you sit up to face him. 

He looks up at you, his eyes still filled with mirth as he stands up. "Yeah?"

"Quick, come here and keep your voice down." you say waving him over. 

"Oh, a secret. Okay, I can do that." he's whispering now as he comes to sit beside you.

"It's Theo. What do you think he'd like as a gift?" 

"Mmm..how about a snake!" He says grinning and you know immediately he won't be of any help. "A pet that'll stay under his bed and guard his books. It'll even keep him company."

"Enzo, I want to give him a nice gift, not a trip to the hospital wing." You say sighing. "Also, I go to his dorm. Why would I want a venomous snake waiting for me?" 

"Oh right, good point." he smiles sheepishly. "Okay, then get him a bottle of Firewhisky, he looks like he needs it." 

"Thanks for the suggestions, but I'll just think of something on my own." you say, still cringing at the thought of Theo with a snake.

He gives you a shrug before he goes back to his game, already laughing again. Theo comes down now, his eyes searching the room before they land on your figure. A small smile pulls at his mouth as he approaches you. 

"Hey, you okay? Did you sort things out with Parkinson?" he says in that low, calming tone that makes your heart flutter, and now you can't help but feel bad that you've been tiptoeing around him trying to figure out what his friends think of him when he's right in front of you. What were you thinking? You know him better than anyone else, you're the one constantly around him, so why wouldn't you trust your own judgment?

"Theo, do you want to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" you ask softly, your hand finding his as your heart clenches painfully from the overwhelming affection you're constantly feeling for him. The others don't know anything about Theo, your Theo, who stays up until 2:00 AM reading muggle poetry because he finds the structure fascinating, who takes his tea with exactly two sugars but always pretends to drink it black, who secretly keeps dried flowers pressed between the pages of his favorite astronomy books because you had given them to him.

"Yeah, we can go." his fingers intertwine with yours as he watches you carefully. "You sure you're okay?" 

"I'm fine now. I've fixed my problem." 

____________________________________________

On the morning of his birthday, you drag him away to a secluded bench in a hidden corner of the courtyard. You're excitedly tugging him along, and he's still half asleep, but he's always willing to entertain you so he goes wherever you take him. You pull him down to sit next to you once you get to the bench, his eyes clear now that he's fully awake. 

"Close your eyes." you say grinning.

He does without questioning it and you're thankful to him for that. You quickly remove the parcel from the pocket in your robe and you take a deep breath, examining it over once again before speaking. 

"Okay, you can open them now." you say, and your excitement now turns to anxiety as you wait for his reaction to the gift you had put together the day before. 

You know he collects the chocolate frog cards so you managed, luckily, to track down a rare, vintage card of an ancient astronomer he's been talking about for a while. It's tucked inside the front page of a classic piece of muggle literature you had found second hand. You had gone through the book, making annotations and leaving notes for him to read. He'd been eyeing it for a few weeks, but he never bought it because he was wary about its muggle origin, so you just got it for him, problem solved. The final gift is a jumper you charmed with a warming spell, folded and placed neatly under the book. 

He goes through all the items one by one, his lack of response and expression making you unsure about his feelings towards the gift. He looks up at you once he's finished, the intensity of his gaze making you flinch. 

"When did you even have time to do all this?" he says, and he sounds as breathless as you feel. 

"I got them when we were at Hogsmeade yesterday and I couldn't really sleep last night anyway so.." you say fiddling with your fingers. 

He pulls you into a hug so quickly, it knocks the air out of you. You're guessing he likes the gift. You pat his back, laughing softly as his grip on you tightens. 

"Okay, okay. Seriously, you're crushing me." you say, patting his back harder now. 

His grip loosens, though he doesn't let you go completely. "Thank you. Really, it's perfect." he sighs into your hair, his voice wavering slightly. 

You're now immensely grateful you didn't follow any of the silly advice you were given about him. You know now that Theo does like sentimental things as long as they always come from you. Your arms wrap around him now as your head falls onto his shoulder, your voice a content murmur when you speak. "Happy Birthday, Theo."

————————————————————————

Tag list:

@st4rsabove

@rafessidemeal

@foolintherainnn

@dayluxe

@slutfordpr

[sonofamushroom]

In the name of love

Summary: You hide your allergy to make Remus happy.

Pairing: wolfstar x reader

Warnings/tags: minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, allergies, English is not my first language.

A/N: I wrote it fully in one sitting, and it has the biggest word count of all my works. I've reached the flow state here

P.S. Wanted to tag the user who asked about more wolfstar, but they'd asked anonymously( Sorry it took that long, hope you see it😓

For Remus's birthday, you and Sirius gave him flowers. Well, not exactly ordinary flowers. Three modest orchid leaves protruded from a large, painted pot, but even just by looking at them, Remus immediately recognized what you'd given him.

Your boyfriend was jumping from happiness, as if you'd given him a castle in Scotland. This orchid—the name too long and difficult to remember—was so rare that even Professor Sprout's greenhouse didn't have a living specimen, only dried petals. Remus had dreamed of this plant ever since he saw it in a botany book. And you and Sirius, of course, had no choice but to obtain this wonder for the love of your life.

And so, after scouring Diagon Alley, Carkitt Market, and even a couple of shady dark streets, you found a supplier (we won't even mention the financial implications of this).

Remus nurtured his orchid like his own child. For months, he watched its growth, repotted it, constantly mixed in some fertilizers. Sirius and you weren't exactly botanists, but what did it matter if Moony was happy?

In the end, his efforts were not in vain: the orchid sprouted a thick, sturdy stem and began to flower. So, one day, you woke up from shaking. Disheveled and still rumpled from sleep, Remus shook your shoulders and then Siri's. Pads yawned widely and grimaced with displeasure.

"Babe, it's Saturday..."

"It's blooming!! It's blooming!!" Remus exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly, waking James across the room.

"Who? Where?" You babbled sleepily, but the pot was already right in front of your face. You and Sirius sat up in bed across from Moony, gazing at the plant.

The buds unfurled their delicate, snow-white petals, which in their whimsical shape, unfolded into wings. The flowers swayed and flapped those "wings," as if in flight.

"Oh, Merlin, I see why it's so special," Pads whispered in amusement.

A delicate, fragrant aroma touched your nose, more beautiful than expensive perfume. Enchanted, you reached out to touch the fringed petals, but hesitated, clenching your fingers into a fist.

"Congrats! You did it! It's entirely your doing, love."

"Duh! You were paying more attention to it than to me," Siri playfully pouted.

Over the next few hours, half the dorm gathered to admire this botanical wonder, gazing at the strange flutter of the bird-like flowers. When excitement died down, the plant took proud place on the boys' window.

At first, everything was normal. For a few days after the bloom, you could chalk up the symptoms to something random, like your throat was sore from the chill outside, or your eyes watering from reading late in the dim light. But things only got worse, and with a heavy dread, you realized you were allergic to the orchid.

So what should you do now? Tell Remus? He'd worked so hard for so long, nurturing his plant with care and hope for a miracle! You came to the only right decision: simply wait for it to stop blooming period on its own. Your allergies were annoying, but not fatal.

At first, you relied on a potion you made yourself; it alleviated the symptoms, but the effect didn't last long. Soon, red, itchy spots appeared on your arms, which you hid with long sleeves. You had to find excuses to spend less time in your boyfriends' room, as even 10 minutes there triggered headaches and fatigue. The wonderful aroma turned into a bitter stench to you. But, as it turned out, you weren't safe even far from the dorms. When your nose was so stuffy it was hard to breathe, and you sneezed every five minutes, the potion provided much-needed relief.

Staying until the end of class was torture. Running around the corner of the hallway, you uncorked a small vial from the depths of your bag with trembling hands and downed the contents in one gulp. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exh-

"What is this?"

You jumped in fright, almost dropping the glass bottle. Sirius looked down at you from his own height, arms crossed over his chest, leaning on the corner.

You clutched your heart dramatically, looking away.

"Fuck you, Black!"

"Later, baby, I promise. Now, what's the matter with you?" He tilted his head slightly to the side, and one unruly curl fell across his forehead.

You blushed to the tips of your ears, fully aware that Pads wouldn't let go.

"You can't tell this to anyone. Do you understand?"

Squinting at you suspiciously, he leaned closer conspiratorially. "Even Remus?"

"Especially Remus!!" You whisper-yelled. "I... I am a little bit—kind of—maybe—probably—slightly allergic to his orchid..."

"You WHAT?!"

"HUSH!!"

He frowned, "Why didn't you say anything sooner?!"

"Why? So Moony would get upset and rashly cut off the fruits of his hard work? I can wait a week or two until the flowers dry!"

Your argument didn't seem so absurd to Sirius now, at least he didnt say anything. Silent for a moment, Pads was simply looking you up and down. You could hear the cogs turning in his head.

"So that's why you've been sleeping in your room these days?" He guessed, almost offended. "You still have to tell him," Siri insisted, less confidently.

"Pads, it's just a runny nose," you downplayed, of course, but it didn't seem worthy of his attention. "I'll put up with it for a couple of days, but think about how happy Remus is. I can't take this away from him."

His shoulders slumped. Running out of other arguments, you took advantage of the pause, finishing the poor guy off with one last blow. Rising up on your toes, you cupped his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his.

"I promise, I'm fine," you whispered into the kiss, leaving Sirius helpless to decide what was best for both of his partners.

.

.

.

You thought you were managing everything well. Sirius remained silent, as you had agreed, though the dirty looks he occasionally threw you seemed all too obvious. But the hardest thing to hide was your sneezing.

Curled up in an armchair by the common room fireplace, you pinched your nose with your fingers and shuddered with a sneeze. Usually, it was almost soundless, but in the silence with just the three of you, it was impossible to go unnoticed.

"Sunny, it's the sixth time in the last fifteen minutes, are you okay?" Remus put his book down, looking at you with concern. Sirius's head, resting on his hip, shook the mop of curly hair, turning in your direction.

"What are you doing out there alone anyway? C'mere!" He outstretched his arms, inviting you to the embrace, and at that moment your heart sank with longing and love. You had no choice but to refuse. Their clothes, saturated with pollen from the days the plant was blooming, smelled as strong as the flowers themselves.

"No, I'm... I'm probably sick, I don't want you to get sick too."

Siri's smile vanished, and he looked at you almost sternly, which was a little frightening for him.

"Are you going to tell him, or am I going to tell?"

"Sirius!" You rolled your eyes.

"Tell me what?" Remus tensed, his frightened gaze shifting from you, limp and ill in the chair, to Sirius, uncharacteristically stern and serious.

"This is just ridiculous, you can't do this."

"No, don't te-" your words were interrupted by a sharp tickle in your nose. Your sneeze, loud and dramatic this time, echoed throughout the room. It sent a headache shooting through your temples, and you winced in pain. Your eyes were watery and red.

Remus stood up from the couch, gently lifting Sirius's head to slide out, and came close to you.

"Are you really sick?" He squatted down in front of your chair, gently touching your forehead with the back of his hand.

Looking you dead in the eyes, Sirius said, "It's an allergy."

"I hate you!" *sneeze*

"Allergy? To what? For fuck's sake, please! What's going on?" Remus's worried and agitated look shamed you as much as Siri's. You took a deep breath and whispered.

"Orchid."

"Orchid?.."

"The orchid."

"Oh."

You bit your lip, looking up at Moony's puzzled expression with teary eyes.

"I'm so sorry," you sniffed. "B-but I'm all- *sneeze* right! I'm all right! Don't cut the flowers!"

Sirius got up and silently joined Rem on the floor by your armchair. For a while, neither of you spoke.

"So," Remus's voice was even, frighteningly so, "you didn't tell me because you didn't want me to be sad about having to cut the flowers. And you," he turned to Sirius, "knew it and kept quiet."

The emotion on his face was unclear to both of you. He was either angry, or touched, or suppressing a smile. Without further explanation, he stood up, picked up the scissors from his desk, and headed up the stairs to the dorm.

Sirius and you hurried after him, shouting over each other in an argument that was inaudible in the cacophony of voices. The door to the room swung open as Remus, without breaking stride, headed for the windowsill. Peter nearly fell out of bed, James winced, pulling the blanket over his bare torso, Sirius argued, and you sneezed and coughed, matching his stubbornness in your verbal battle. And when time slowed to the point where the sharp tips of the scissors approached the fluttering birds, the blades removed only pollen-laden stamens, one by one.

"Now it won't produce any pollen."

The stunned silence was broken only by your sneeze.

"What just happened?" James's question went ignored.

"So you won't have to trim the flowers?" You mumbled, matching the confusion on Siri's face.

The three of you went back down to the common room, where you, pale and dizzy, were seated on the sofa. With a wave of his wand, Remus cleared invisible pollen particles from each of you in turn, and breathing immediately became easier.

"No, just trimming the stamens will be enough," Moony shook his head, handing you a clean handkerchief. "We'll need to do a wet cleaning and wash your clothes and linens, then you should feel better... You should've told me sooner though, sunny." The last part sounded without reproach, but he looked sad.

"I told her! I told her so, and she shut me up by casting some cruel spell!"

"I just kissed you!" *sneeze*

"... a love spell, Moony!"

He laughed out loud, kissing your forehead, then Siri's.

"You both are idiots. I have no words for your stupidity," you frowned like two guilty kittens. Rem added, "But I must admit, I'm touched by your self-restraint, Sunny."

"You're not mad?" You asked, snuggling deeper into the blanket Sirius had wrapped around you like a burrito.

"Of course not. And you know, if I had to, I'd cut that orchid down to the ground without a second thought," he admitted.

Sirius sighed with relief, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Do you want anything, lovely? A cup of tea? A book?"

You smiled gratefully at the two of them, "Some cuddling *sneeze* would help a lot."

[pmgrntss]

ur remus baby harry blurb was so cute🥹🥹

any chance we could get any more…

hi!!! of course!!! i love writing baby harry, thank u so much for the excuse to do so

warnings: baby harry!!! babysitting together, reader is harry’s godmother (i have decided so for this au!!!!!), jily mentioned of course

pairings: remus lupin x fem!reader .5k

You think you’ve brought everything: a new book for Harry, a couple of teething chews because your fingers couldn’t handle the last time, and a change of clothes, in case Sirius hadn’t gotten any for Harry’s short visit.

When you knock on the door, you’re greeted by Remus and Harry. Harry’s sat on his hip, and when his wobbly head turns to you, his excitement is immediate.

“Hey, lovely,” Remus smiles, waving Harry’s hand at you in a mock wave.

“Hi,” Is all you can manage before Harry is leaning towards you.

“Come here, you.” His pudgy fingers are reaching towards you, and you can’t deny him. “Missed you, bug.”

Remus takes the bag from your shoulder without question and passes you the infant, who promptly drools onto the front of your shirt from his excited babble.

“Who’s here?” You press a kiss into Harry’s cheek. “Uncle Remmy? Who else?”

Remus makes a sound behind you, almost a scoff, and follows you into the house. Before you even make it out of the hallway, Sirius pops in, pointing a finger at Harry.

“Traitor,” he starts. “You’re a traitor, y’know that, Harry?”

“Can you blame him, Sirius?” Remus says from behind you.

His fingers touch your side as he passes around you to put your bag down, and all the fight has seemingly left your body. You let Sirius win without hassle, chest warm as Remus stares at the two of you from the doorframe.

“Yes,” Sirius sweeps Harry from your arms, and somehow your heart turns just a little. He leans Harry into his face until they’re eye-level with each other. “I can! I’m your favourite God-whatever.” 

Sirius sweeps Harry into a cradle, humming a tune as he dances his way into the kitchen. Harry’s little eyes flutter, tiny fingers tangling in Sirius’ dark locks, babbling mindlessly. They look utterly enamored with each other, and it warms your heart to think that it’ll always be this sweet between them.

“You think he’ll always be this sweet?” You hum, leaning against the wall. 

“Sirius?” Remus kicks his shoe into yours, smiling cheekily.

“Yes, Sirius,” your eyes roll, but the smile on your face has him standing straighter. “I hope he is, really.”

Remus leans his head into the floral wallpaper, arms crossed as he stares, his smile pulling a fresh scar taut. His fingers tap on his wool sweater, and he nods his head at you.

“Impossible for him not to,” he hums. “I think you spoil him rotten, sweetness.”

“No, I don’t,” you try, but you know it’s a lie. 

You can tell he sees your cheeks warm with the way he tries not to laugh, and you hide your smile behind the back of your palm. Remus pushes himself from the wall and places a warm hand on your shoulder to guide you into the kitchen. His thumb rubs circles into your shoulder, 

“Sure you don’t, lovely.” And for the first time, you don’t mind that he can tell you’re indulging in his touch.

[yourgirlinpieces4]

all roads lead back to the loneliness i felt as a child

[poyomofutalks]

Yo WHERE is the epic the musical community.. genuinely did it die cause I NEED more telemachus x reader one shots😿