Thinking about doting soulmate prince Steve bragging about his beloved to princes from neighboring nations he grew up along side
He’s so honey husband
He cannot see you, sitting in the grass with the Princess Mathilde and your lovely Robin, which makes what he says all the worse.
“I couldn’t believe it when she took my hand. Really, our soulmarks turned white as a snowdrop before she even could touch me, and the light was brighter than anything that’s been seen for decades.” Steve leans back in his chair, grinning. “Or, so they said.”
“Your Prince exaggerates,” Prince Tommy says.
Eddie fakes a gag. “I wish.”
Steve is quick to remark upon your beauty, your intelligence, and your courage. He says it all without shame nor hesitation, laying down tidbits about you like they’re the law. How sweet you are for loving oranges so much, how humble you are for insisting they walk to the city market when there are carriages oiled and waiting for your perusal. “But the best of it,” he says, his cheeks gone pink, eyes swimming like a boy drenched in the sap of the aphrodisiac Amora tree, “is how soft she is. Softer than any princess born royal, I’d wager.”
“And her kisses?” Eddie asks in a tone that demarcates how horrifically hilarious he finds Steve’s lovesickness, and how pleasurable it’ll be for him when he holds this over Steve’s head for the foreseeable future.
“Like heaven.”
You lay steaming in the picnic blanket and beg Robin to put you out of your miserable embarrassment while Princess Mathilde fans herself briskly. And minutes later, when Steve is worried you’re suffering heat stroke and pressing a cold compress to your forehead, you’ll wonder if he’s as lucky as he thinks he is, or if maybe the soulmarks were giving you the heaven you’d craved so badly.
“Okay?” he asks, stroking your cheek with his knuckle.
Robin pours an ice cold pitcher over his head. Frankly, he deserves it, and the bits that splash you help with your flustered heat.
asking clark to get married when you’re already married do you see the vision
When your legs are hurting and you’ve spent an entire day walking around with someone’s fingers woven between yours—someone who treasures every second of your company like he’s just lucky to be in it—you find you aren’t as eager to get home as you’d imagined. You’d limp the entire night through the dark with Clark if it meant you’d get to keep talking to him.
But then you remember who you married. Clark would stay up all night with you if you enticed him in conversation.
“Baby,” you say, giving Clark’s hand a swing to make him smile. “Would you marry me?”
“Again?” He wrinkles his nose, blue eyes a little dark from the squint and the thickness of his brows pinching together, but he’s still smiling, and he’s leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “Of course I would. Every day of my life, I’d marry you. That was a great day, huh?”
“Yeah.” You lay your face in his arm. “Can I put my wedding dress on when we get home?”
“If you promise not to take it off.”
“I think you’re supposed to take it off.”
Clark laughs and sweeps you up for hugging in the middle of the sidewalk, barely twenty steps from the apartment building, but he just can’t wait. He hugs you and laughs like he’s giddy by your ear. “No, please, it’s too pretty. You can put it on and we can defrost the cake, pretend it’s fresh. I have my suit pressed at the back of the wardrobe.” He frowns at your shock. “What? It’s what I was wearing when you married me. You’re lucky I didn’t put it behind plexiglass.”
(You’re not kidding around. You put on your wedding dress, and Clark kisses you in the kitchen like you’re standing at the alter.)
Can I request poly!wolfstar x reader who is feeling slightly insecure about her body for no particular reason and they notice even though she doesn’t say it?
I’m just sooo in love with your writing, it’s just *mwah* chef’s kiss
Hey gorgeous! Thank you for requesting <3
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!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 820 words
Sirius hardly steps inside before Remus is fixing him with a look.
He raises his hands, grease-stained from working on his motorcycle all afternoon, in a gesture of peace. "I'm going to shower."
"Be careful not to touch anything on your way," Remus says. He doesn't take his eyes off Sirius while Sirius skirts around the edge of the sitting room with his hands upheld like a surgeon's. "Y/n's in the shower, so you might have to wait."
"Reckon she'll let me get in with her?"
Remus rolls his eyes, relaxing once Sirius clears the sofa. "You can try."
You and Remus hardly ever want to shower with Sirius. You both act like he has lewd ulterior motives and won't hear his environmentalist arguments. You're not wrong, but still.
It turns out he's too late anyway. You're just stepping out of the bathroom as Sirius comes near, steam on your heels and towel halfway wrapped around you. You do it up quickly when you see him.
"Oh—hi," you say, startled. "Sorry."
"What for, gorgeous?" Sirius grins. "I'm sorry for spooking you. Do we have any hot water left?"
Whatever strange timidity had come over you dissipates, and you smile. "We should."
"Don't suppose you'll keep me company?"
Like Remus, your eyes roll. "I just got out."
"Worth a try."
There's an awkward sort of pause, and Sirius realizes you haven't moved to put on your lotion like you usually do after showering. It's like you're waiting on him.
"Okay." He tries not to drag his syllables, keeping his tone light. "Would you mind grabbing the door after me? I think if I leave any grease marks on anything Remus'll toss me out."
"I wouldn't let him," you promise, stepping forward to help.
Sirius showers quickly. There is some hot water left, but he's chased out when the spray turns cold on him, greaseless and clean-smelling. You and Remus are splayed out on the sofa when he finds you.
"Aren't you warm?" Remus is asking in a low voice.
Your reply is equally soft, though somehow more secretive than intimate. "I'm fine."
"You're going to burn up in there, lovely."
"It's not that warm."
"I'm warm just looking at you."
"Well, you're always warm." Sirius turns the corner in time to see you kiss Remus' cheek, the sort of sweet peck that makes a flush spread under your boyfriend's freckles. "And a film calls for a blanket."
"Are we watching a film?" Sirius asks.
"We were thinking," you say. "Paper Moon?"
"Sounds good to me." He eyes Remus. "Am I allowed to sit now?"
Remus waves a hand. "Don't treat me like a warden. You wouldn't've wanted the stains on the sofa either."
"You're the furniture's champion," you coo, kissing him again.
As Sirius sits on your other side, he sees why Remus is worried about you overheating. You have a blanket draped across your shoulders so it covers all of you. It wouldn't be so abnormal most of the time, but it's the dead of summer—even Sirius only put on a tank top after his shower. Remus has been giving you all a show in his boxers for the better part of a week.
"Alright in there?" Sirius teases, fanning a corner of your blanket to give you some airflow.
Your look is exasperated, if fond also. "Fine."
Sirius thinks you're lying. You've been a shade of yourself recently—not in every way, not in how you speak or your general loveliness, but in how you hold yourself. You seem to be always covering up, curving in, turning away, like you have something to hide. You don't. Sirius knows you don't, because he's seen you just about every way you can be and it's all spectacular. You make him feel like a teenage boy in ways that are honestly humiliating. He'd put his own shames on display if it got you out of this funk, though.
Once the film gets going, Sirius sneaks a hand beneath your blanket and puts his arm around you. You still, but you don't move away.
He kisses your shoulder. "Love you."
"Love you, too," you murmur.
It's a slow softening. Your breathing deepens, your shoulders relax. You sink gradually into his side. Sirius does what he can to help without calling attention to it; he keeps his gaze ahead, strokes love-heavy touches up and down your waist, rests his lips on the crown of your head when you get near enough.
Eventually, you let out a breath and relax completely.
Remus must have been watching. "You okay?" he asks.
"Yeah," you reply. It sounds less like a lie than before.
"I wish I could join the cuddle, but I think I'd pass out from the heat."
"All relationships require sacrifice," you hum.
Sirius laughs, manhandling you into his lap so he can take Remus' hand. "There. Think you can bear this?"
hey mae!! how are you? i don’t know if this is something you would be interested in writing as i think you’ve done something similar with remus, but i was wondering if you could do a sort of poly!marauders roommate situation where reader is super shy with remus and sirius but has a soft spot for james? thanks for considering haha !
Hi angel, I'm well how are you? Thank you for your request <3
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
roommate!marauders x shy!reader ♡ 1.2k words
"You're going to get glitter on the table."
"I'll clean it up."
"It never really goes away," says Remus darkly.
Sirius turns his head from the mirror he's propped on the kitchen table, enough glitter flashing in the corners of his eyes to cause a traffic collision. "There's nothing I can do about the fact that the kitchen has better lighting. If you'd like to install a window in the bathroom, be my guest."
Sitting across the table, James' eyebrows go up. "That's not a bad idea."
"The bathroom doesn't have any exterior walls," Remus points out. The pasta he's reheating on the hob sizzles its agreement.
"True…a skylight, maybe?"
"I think our landlord might notice."
James concedes and goes back to watching Sirius work on his makeup fascinatedly. If a bit of glitter does make its way onto the table, he's certainly not tattling. After a while, the click of the lock in the front door diverts his attention.
You open it silently, in the way that only you seem to know how to do (no matter how James tries to avoid waking everyone when he leaves for his morning runs, that thing always squeaks) and step inside on soft feet. James smothers a grin as Remus' head turns in your direction.
You have a tendency to creep through the house like you're hoping you'll go unnoticed. You rarely do, and James feels sort of bad for thinking it's funny when you're thwarted every time.
"Hiya," says James. "Late night at work?"
"Yeah." You glance up, not necessarily looking surprised at having been caught again. (You may be getting used to it.) A smile flickers like light across your lips as you toe off your shoes. "Hi."
"Oi!" Sirius turns around in his chair to face you. James and Remus both wince. Sirius' tone is nothing but friendly, but oi is not a way to win you over. You tense like you're on trial. "What are you doing tonight?"
"Um, nothing important. Why?"
Sirius' excitement grows. "We're going out in a bit. You should come."
"Oh." Your voice quiets, as though making itself small while you crouch to pick up your shoes. "Thanks, but I'm pretty tired."
"It won't really be a big night out," Remus tries in a gentler tone. "We're only going to a bar nearby. We'll be back by midnight."
"Like Cinderella," adds James, trying to get a smile out of you. It works, sort of.
"I think I'm going to stay in," you say apologetically, "but you all have fun."
"Won't be as much fun without you." Sirius pouts.
You press your lips into a good-humored smile, and flee to your room.
Sirius heaves a sigh.
"Shush," Remus chides him, "she'll hear you."
"She never wants to do anything," Sirius whines.
"Maybe because you keep rushing her."
"It's been weeks!"
"She'll warm up eventually," says James, taking care to keep his voice low. "She's just settling in. And maybe bars aren't her scene."
Sirius wrinkles his nose. "Do we have to start a knitting club for her to hang out with us?"
"It could be a fun new hobby."
"You should talk to her," Remus says.
James looks at him, and finds himself being looked at in return. "Me?"
"Ooh, that's a good idea." Sirius leans forward, glitter flashing animatedly. "Get her to go with us tonight."
"Why me?"
"Because she likes you best."
"Wha—not more than any of us!"
"She's more relaxed with you," says Remus matter-of-factly. "Just give it a try, alright?"
James argues the notion of his preferential treatment for a while longer, but ultimately finds himself at your door, knocking politely. "Can I come in?"
There's no answer. After knocking some more and casting a frightened look back towards the kitchen—to which Sirius responds with an insistent shooing motion—James cracks open the door, half expecting you to already be asleep.
You're not. You're still in your work clothes, laying on your bed with earbuds plugging your ears. You take them out when you see James.
"I tried to knock," he apologizes.
"It's okay." You sit up, blinking at him. You look like you're worried you might be in trouble. "What's up?"
"I'm here to make a case," he admits. "Can I come in?"
Wary, you nod.
James steps inside, shutting the door behind him. You shuffle backwards on your bed, making room, though he isn't sure if he should sit. She's more relaxed with you, Remus had said. James doesn't know if that's true, but you do seem more at ease in your own room, your gaze steady on his. He sits on the bed.
"I don't want to pressure you," he starts out. "You don't have to come if you don't want to, but we would like it if you went out with us. Are you really too tired?"
Your shoulder comes up in a half-shrug. "I don't know…it was a long night."
"Like Remus said, we won't be out long. This place is small—it closes at midnight. Sirius will try to get us to go somewhere else after, but we can tell him no."
That smile is back, quick as a struck match. Its warmth lingers in your eyes. "Can we?"
"It's not easy, but it can be done. Remus will champion us."
You look at your lap. James hopes you're thinking about it rather than thinking about how to tell him no. Your fingers tap on your leg.
"We don't even have to stay until close," he bargains. "Give us an hour, and if you want to leave I'll walk you home."
You look startled. "Why do you want me to go so badly?"
"Because—" There's no keeping the earnestness from his voice. "—we want to hang out with you."
You really shy, then. Shoulders drawing in, lashes kissing at the corners. James wants to wrap you up.
"So," he says to rescue you, "an hour?"
"You don't have to walk me home," you murmur.
"Sorry, I'm afraid that part is non-negotiable. I don't mind, though, if it helps."
Your head gives a little shake. James doesn't know if it's directed at him or yourself. "I'm going to need to change."
A grin splits James' face at the realization that he's convinced you. "Take your time," he says. "Sirius is still working on his makeup anyway, and you've only just gotten home from work. We're not in any big hurry."
"Okay." You finally meet his eyes again as he stands to leave, your look sweet. "Thanks, James."
"Thank you," he replies sincerely.
He's smiling gigantically as he steps out into the hallway, closing your door behind him. It gives him away immediately.
Sirius' eyes pop. "Really?"
"Yeah," James whispers, feeling like you as he creeps quietly back to the kitchen. "She's going to be a minute, but she'll come. For an hour, at least."
Sirius pumps his fist in the air. Remus looks smug as he plates up his dinner.
"Told you it'd work," he hums.
Sirius jumps out of his chair to plant a kiss on James' cheek. "You're a legend!"
At Remus' urgent shushing and James' frightened glance toward your doorway, he covers his mouth with both hands, wincing.
KBD AND MY AVERY!! Our avery feeling a little left out cause reader comes home from work and instinctively shifts to the younger ones cause they’re a handful and our avery finally mustering up the courage to ask for a mommy daughter date I miss them sm
—Avery feels a little left out. mom!reader, 1.5k
You’re surprised to find your children playing in the grass outside the house when you return home. There’s a chair in the grass where Steve probably thought he’d get to sit and sketch or read or anything besides just wrangling the kids, but it is empty.
Steve is at the front of the house untangling Wren’s fingers from around a flower she has surely crushed, while Dove and Beth stand suspiciously by the garden house.
Avery sits next to the paddle pool in a dress, only her feet submerged.
You stride past her for the hose, taking it from Dove’s outstretched hand. “Hey, evil girl. What do you think you’re doing?”
“I was just gonna spray the grass,” Dove says sulkily.
“I do not believe you.”
“Spray me, mom!” Beth says.
You test the hose on the grass, then pause. “I feel like I’m teaching the wrong lesson if I do that, baby.”
“Spray me too!” Dove demands.
“Well don’t spray me,” Steve says, hoisting a whining Wren into his arms where she can’t murder anymore flowers. “I just got dry.”
“What happened to you?” you ask, priming the hose.
Beth cackles hysterically as you spray her toes.
“I tried to water your flowers and I just fudged it up so bad.”
“He fudged it up,” Dove says.
You spray her next. She sputters and laughs, water trickling down her bare legs to wet the mud sticking to her knees.
Wren’s whining turns to real, loud crying. You offer your hands and Steve swaps you; you get the baby, he gets the hose, and you both get a kiss over Wren’s head.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
You head inside through the open door to the kitchen to find Wren a bottle. You’re screwing the cap back on when Avery walks into the kitchen, her wet feet leaving tracks. Her hair is longer than ever. She got Steve’s lot, his nose and his hair and his sense of humour, and when she looks at you like this, all nervous and trying to hide it, she’s exactly her fathers daughter.
“What’s the matter?” you ask, holding out a hand.
She rushes forward to hug you by the hip. You rest your hand on her head, and rake it through her hair. Her bangs are ruffled around her face with sticky sunscreen, but the ends are clean and soft. You scratch back up toward her neck and scalp. Avery can’t help shivering, her sad pout perking quick into a nice smile.
“I’m sorry, honey. I totally walked past you, didn’t I?” you ask.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, Avery.” You tip her head back. “Are you having a good day?”
“No.”
You take a deep breath. “Come on, come sit at the table with me. Let’s crack this thing wide open.”
She sits, and you get her a juice box and a cookie and kiss the top of her head before sitting beside her.
“What happened?” you ask.
“Every time I go in the pool, Dove splashed me in the face, and I hate it so I haven’t been in the pool. Daddy told me I was being mean because I didn’t help Beth when she hurt her foot but I didn’t even know! And I waited all day for you to come home because– because daddy was mad at me, and you didn’t even care.”
“I do care, Avery.” You reach for her hand. It is difficult, having the baby in your arm and holding her bottle up, but you’ll manage. “I do. I promise. I’m sorry daddy told you that you were being mean when Beth got hurt. I’ll tell him the truth about it, because it’s not nice thinking you got misunderstood, is it?” You shake her hand. “Don’t worry, my girl. It was just a misunderstanding. I’ll get dad to say sorry. He won’t need me to, he’ll feel bad when he knows, yeah? But I’ll get him for you. We will punish him.”
She laughs. “Yeah? He won’t have cake and ice cream after dinner?” she asks.
“Exactly.”
She takes a bite of her cookie. “I am hungry, too. We only had banana and kiwi and stuff for lunch.”
“How hungry, baby?” You rub her knuckles with your thumb. She’s getting so tall, putting on weight, growing out and up! But her hands have stayed quite small. “I can make you a sandwich, or a bowl of cereal, or some noodles and sauce?”
She slinks off of her seat to hug you again. You lean down, kissing her forehead. She’s all minky soft at the eyebrows with tiny white hairs still, like a baby.
“Yes, please,” she says.
The sound of the hose spraying and Beth’s shrieking laughter echoes down the hall. You make Avery a ham sandwich with cheese and tip a pack of chips onto her plate. She looks much happier, then, munching through her sandwich, kicking her feet under her chair.
You head to the door and crook your finger at Steve.
“What have I done now?” he asks.
“You said Avery was being mean? Apparently, she didn’t even know Beth hurt her foot.”
Steve winces. “Yeah, my bad. I thought she was ignoring her when she was crying, but it was my fault anyways. They were in the yard and I came in here to get Dove a drink real quick.”
“Now she’s sad.”
“I’m a monster.”
Steve hugs you. He smells like sunscreen from the kids and that carrot-oil tanning lotion he pretends he doesn’t use, and his skin is more than warm where he folds into you.
“You’re a meanie,” you murmur, laughing when he squeezes you too tightly. “Ouch. Meanie, see? You’re hurting me and my baby.”
“Don’t say that!” He slips his hands under Wren and takes her back. “Come on, angel, let’s get you tired out for your nap later!”
When you head back in, Avery noticeably perks up.
“You’re back,” she says.
“I’m back. Can I have a chip? Pick me one with the most flavour, honey, please.”
She gives you a big one crusted with the flavouring powder. You sit as close to her as your chairs can get and wrap an arm behind her shoulders.
“If you want to go in the pool, I will come in with you and make sure Dove behaves,” you promise.
“Can I ask you something?”
You squeeze her a little. “Yeah, course you can.”
“You remember when we went for dinner?”
“When?”
“Just me and you. We dressed all nice and got fancy dinner?” She lifts her head, eyes widened in pleading and her mouth set, like she’s suspecting a bad answer. “Can we go again soon?”
“Yeah, we can go. Would that make you happy?”
“I miss you sometimes,” she says.
“Yeah?” You rest your face in her hair, encouraging her under your neck. “I miss you too, sweet girl. We can go get dinner soon, really soon. I just gotta figure out when is best. We had a good time last time, huh?”
“I like being with you with no one else,” she murmurs.
You can’t help smiling. “You are such a sweetheart…” You rub her arm.
Being her mom is the most special thing in the world, as cliche as it sounds. She’s your first baby, the one who taught you how to love someone like an extension of your body. There were months after she was born where you’d have her with you and look for her, that’s how used to holding her you’d become. You do it now with your other babies, but with Avery, it was all the time. She’d be sleeping on your chest as you ransacked the house looking for her.
You might even feel grateful for your husband and how he’s helped love her, if he weren’t currently hosing the kids off like muddy dogs and getting water up the front step and over the threshold. Maybe you and Avery need that dinner sooner, rather than later.
Avery finishes her sandwich, but she doesn’t want the chips, so you gather them in your hand and let her lead you by the other back to the front yard. Steve is now submerged in the kiddie pool despite his t-shirt with Wren dangling from his hands, her chubby feet kicking waves through the water. Beth is sitting in the grass now, wrapped in a towel and eating a slice of apple, and she brightens when you and Avery return.
“Ave, you missed all the fun!” she says.
“Where’s Dove?”
Steve twists a bit to show Dove laying across his back, dripping water all over him.
“Want some apple?” Beth asks.
Avery takes a slice.
“You didn’t play!” Dove cries to Avery. “We got dad all wet!”
“Mommy made me a sandwich.”
“We missed you, you could’ve had dinner later,” Dove says, wrinkling her nose.
“You did?” Avery asks.
“Of course we did,” Steve says, dipping Wren in the water. “You’re our best swimmer. Come and play before Wren kick’s out all the water.”
hi!! would i please be able to request independent reader who craves comfort but has a hard time admitting when she's vulnerable (sick, in pain, scared, etc.) with any or all of the marauder boys? no pressure and thank you!! love your writing <3
Thanks for requesting sweetness <3
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 transphobic agendas
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 861 words
Sirius thinks you might be upset with him, but he's too scared to ask.
He can think of a number of things he might have done, from forgetting to take the recycling out yesterday to that tone he took a few weeks ago. If he were upset at him (which he might be, depending on why you are), Sirius would have a plethora of reasons to choose from, but he can't figure what's made you decide to go quiet on him this morning specifically.
Adding to the confusion, despite not seeming to want to speak to him you're being more affectionate than usual in a tactile sense. Not that Sirius minds, not in the least. He's happy to hold your hand and keep you tucked to his side—he'd sew you there if he thought you'd let him. It's strange from you, though, to reach for him as often as you have been.
While he puzzles it out, Sirius reciprocates all of your doting and then some. Best case, it's what you want; worst, it might endear you to him enough for you to tell him what he's done wrong. He kisses your head while you both read your books on the sofa, and you melt further and further down his side. Gloopy.
"Okay," you say, a sigh somewhere in your voice, "I'd better go."
Sirius frowns. "Go where?"
"I have a doctor's appointment." You stand and pick up your back, looking around for where you left your shoes. You're still holding Sirius' hand like you mean to pull him along.
"Do you want me to come with you?" he jokes.
You blanch. "What?"
He grins through his own confusion, squeezing your fingers.
"Oh." Your expression relaxes, but something zaps across it first that gives him pause. You let Sirius' hand go. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Do you want me to come with you?"
"No," you say quickly, spotting your shoes under the armchair, "I'm fine, thanks."
Sirius smothers his hurt. "Did I do something?"
"What?" You pick your head up from where you've bent over to tie your laces, nearly hitting it on the coffee table. "No."
"Are you upset with me?"
"No, not at all."
"Are you sure? Because you've been—you're being really quiet. If you are, I'd rather know."
"No." You sit up, and there's something raw in your gaze as it meets his. Your voice softens with earnestness. "I mean yeah, I'm sure. I don’t mean to be quiet, sorry."
"I don't want you to be sorry, lovely." Sirius sits forward, his chest tight with apprehension yet undispelled as he leans toward you. "Be quiet if you want to be, it’s fine. I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I just don't understand what's going on."
Like holding his gaze gets to be too much, you drop it. Your lips rub against each other. "It's not you."
"Then what is it?" he asks softly.
"I've just…it's stupid, but I've really been dreading this."
"Dreading what?"
"This appointment." Your voice is low, like it costs you to say it aloud. You're still looking anywhere but his eyes.
Sirius blinks at you. It's not what he was imagining you'd say; honestly, he’d nearly forgotten the reason you untucked yourself from his side in the first place. He knows you're squeamish, that you don't like to watch bloody things or medical procedures on television, so he can see how that sort of feeling might extend to doctor's offices. It's just not something you've ever mentioned to him.
"Hey," he coaxes, "I did mean it. I could go with you if you want."
It's like Sirius' gentleness provokes the opposite reaction in you. You shake your head swiftly, standing. "Thanks, but I'll survive."
"I think we can do a bit better than surviving, probably."
"I mean, I'll be fine."
Sirius catches your hand when you make to cross in front of him. "If it has a shot at making you feel better," he says, "I want to come with. Is that okay?"
Your expression cracks, the rawness he glimpsed earlier finally revealing itself. "It's embarrassing," you murmur.
"I don't think so," Sirius counters. "We all have our things. It's easier when there's someone nearby who wants to give you a hug. At least, I've always thought it was."
Your trepidation doesn't vanish, but you lift the corners of your mouth halfheartedly. "You want to come along to give me a hug?"
He raises his eyebrows. "Unless you're planning on asking someone else for one. I've been told they're not all equally as good, though, just to warn you."
"I usually do this sort of thing without a hug." It sounds like a confession.
Sirius matches your tone. "Well, that won't do anymore. Let me come with you, please?"
He throws in the please for extra persuasiveness, and it works. You wave him up from his seat. Sirius hops to, stepping into his shoes and following you to the door.
"Thanks," you nearly whisper on your way out, shame still lingering at the edges of you.
Sirius slips an arm around your shoulders and kisses your cheek in hopes of curing it.
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 transphobic agendas
part 15 | masterlist
rockstar!marauders x journalist!reader ♡ 1.8k words
Remus spends the day with you. He's tired (and, you suspect, in at least some pain, though he doesn't say) after staying out so late the night before, and there's too much walking to be done at Cadbury World. James talks about abandoning the whole idea, but Remus and Sirius won't hear of it. After breakfast, Sirius shepherds Remus into your room with strict instructions for Remus to look after your ankle and you to look after him.
You pass hours lying about and coming up with idle things to amuse yourselves. Remus teaches you a few chords on his bass. You point out noteworthy characters passing by on the sidewalk below your window. You nap. Around lunchtime, Lily comes by with sandwiches and joins you for an intense round of seeing who can complete a sudoku puzzle the fastest.
You don't talk about what you said to each other the night before, though it lingers with you. The idea that, for all your suspicion of being sweet-talked by the band, every attempt you make to get friendlier with them ultimately advances your purpose of getting them to open up so you can write an entertaining story, regardless of your intent in the moment. How when you told Sirius that your job was at stake and he told you that his friend was, you hesitated a moment at which was more sacred.
Remus asked so simply. Are you only being nice to us so that we'll give you quotes for your feature?
Like he already knew your answer. Like he had faith in you, and was only asking you to have it in him. You wish you could feel as sure as he seems.
The sun is still out, and so you're surprised when James and Sirius come into your room, James in a branded jumper and bearing chocolate bars for each of you.
"How was it?" you ask.
"Brilliant!" says James, at the same time as Sirius groans, "Awful."
"It was like being in Willy Wonka." James props his chin on a fist as both boys flop down on the bed by yours and Remus' feet.
Sirius shudders. "Creepy film. Why does chocolate require so many mascots? Between the show last night and walking around all of today, my legs are pulverized."
"Is that why you're back early?" asks Remus.
"Partly." James smiles, reaching up to ruffle Remus' hair. "We also missed you. Massage?" he offers Sirius.
Sirius looks momentarily like he could cry for gratitude, but he neatens his expression into one of cool imperiousness soon enough. "Seems like the least you could do."
James scoots closer gamely. He pushes his thumbs into Sirius' calves, and Sirius sighs, dropping his head to his folded arms.
You try not to stare, but even just the awareness of it, James' strong hands kneading confidently at the flesh, is enough to make heat rush from your face down to your chest. It only gets worse as James makes his way up the backs of Sirius' legs.
You search for something to distract yourself. You've been trying to find a hook that could function as a through-line for your feature; maybe this could be it. The Marauders as not only one of the most popular bands in Britain, but the most closely-knit group of boys you've ever witnessed. Supportive, as devoted to each other as they are to their music, and unafraid of showing it.
"So." Sirius turns his head to peer at you, cheek resting on his forearm. You tuck the idea away for later. "Do you think you'll ever walk again?"
You smile, praying it's not obvious how they've flustered you. "That's the hope. You?"
"Likely not." He heaves a great sigh. "My career is finished. Struck down in my prime."
"We'll be alright without you," James says lightly. Sirius kicks one of his feet, and James retaliates by pressing knuckles into his thigh. Sirius stills with a hiss.
"What about you?" he asks, poking Remus' foot. "How are you feeling? Think you'll ever be able to get up onstage again?"
Remus, already a few bites into his chocolate bar, gives Sirius a dry look. "Oh, because that's all I matter to you, is that it?"
"Obviously. If I'm out of the band, James will need you. Otherwise, the whole show will just be him throwing drumsticks off into the crowd. No one will come to see it."
"They'd still come," James defends himself.
A thought strikes you. You take your tape recorder from the nightstand, setting it to record and putting it where the boys can see it. Remus eyes it, but no one objects.
"Uh oh," James jokes. "She's gearing up."
"I was just wondering," you say, "what do you think you'd be doing if you weren't in the band?"
As always when your tape recorder comes out, Sirius takes the lead. He sits up on his elbows, his grin sharpening as if by instrinct or habit.
"Well, if my family had their way I'd have ended up in banking," he says, "but I think I could've been an actor. This face was just made for the public eye, don't you think?"
"So you think you'd have still ended up in entertainment?"
"Don't I entertain you, gorgeous?" Sirius winks.
"If there weren't films or microphones," teases James, "he'd have found a circus to ringlead."
It's funny, because even sitting here with Sirius now—in normal clothes, bare of the dark slashes of eyeliner he wears onstage, with the sun shining on him and warming the impenetrable black of his hair to dark brown—you can't picture him doing anything else. He's right; whether by nature or by practice, Sirius has mastered stardom. He doesn't have to wait for a spotlight to find him. He emits his own.
"Remus," James goes on, "wanted to be a teacher, though."
You turn to the bassist, feeling your brows lift. "Did you really?"
Remus appears almost shy. "I did, yeah."
"He was always very swotty." Sirius grins, fond around the eyes. "He used to finish his homework and then stick around to help us with ours. Lily, too."
Remus rolls his eyes. "You never needed much help."
"No," James agrees. "It was really more the three of them helping me. I'm useless at maths."
"What did you want to do?" you ask him.
James shrugs. "I don't know. When I was little I wanted to be a firefighter. I thought about being a veterinarian for a while, but then I heard there's some maths involved in that sometimes too…" Sirius reaches back to pat him consolingly. "Maybe a footballer? I guess it's a good thing I'm already doing this, or else I might not be able to decide."
You hum, nodding. "I could see that for you."
"That I would never have decided?"
"Yeah."
James pauses Sirius' massage, his eyes squinting behind his glasses. "That feels like it might be an insult."
You copy Sirius and reach over to give him a consoling pat. "You'll live."
"She means you could've done anything you wanted to," Remus translates helpfully. "You're good at lots of things, Jamie."
"You could've been a masseuse, too," adds Sirius, who appears to have nearly liquefied into the mattress.
"Oh." James puffs up. "Well, thanks. What would you have done?" he asks you.
You blink. "Other than journalism?"
"Yeah."
The answer, honestly, is nothing. You're not like James. You didn't have a myriad of other ideas and viable options. This is the whole plan for you. The only plan.
You're saved from answering when the room's phone rings.
You all startle. You hesitate a moment before remembering that this is your room, and you reach over to the nightstand to answer it.
"Hello?"
"L/n?" Your posture straightens unconsciously at the sound of your editor's voice.
"Yes, hi," you say quickly, then cringe at your lack of professionalism. Sometimes it feels like you get greener by the day. "How can I help you?"
He begins speaking in his usual brusque, clipped way. It still intimidates you, even if you're slowly getting used to it. The boys must catch onto the nature of the call; Sirius sits up, looking unsure, and James whispers to you that they can leave. You wave them off, frowning as you listen to the voice on the other line.
"Yes," you say. "Yeah, I can do that."
You hold the phone to your ear with your shoulder and reach for your pen and notepad.
"Where is it? Okay, thanks….and pre or post-show? Got it. No, that's perfect. I, um…" You hesitate, a bit embarassed to be having this conversation in front of others. "Thank you for the opportunity. I'll—"
You cut yourself off when your editor begins speaking again.
"I understand. It will be, thank you. Alright, goodb—"
You're cut off again by the click of the receiver.
Sirius' brow wrinkles. "That guy wasn't letting you get much out, was he?"
"What's going on?" James asks.
You take a breath. "They want me to interview another band."
His eyes widen. "You're done with us?"
"No. It's…Reckoning is having a show here tonight. They've scheduled me for a pre-show interview because I'm nearby."
"They're asking you to cheat on us?" Sirius gasps in mock outrage.
"You all cheated on me first," you remind him, "when you got interviewed by another reporter."
You don't recall what else came out of that day until the levity has already sapped from Sirius' expression, leaving a dark pinch in its place.
"We should go with you," he says.
"Don't be stupid." You shake your head, looking away. "I do this stuff all the time."
Sirius seems as if he might argue with you, but Remus speaks before he can. "It's good that they're asking you to do more work for them, isn't it?"
"Yeah," you hedge. "Just…my editor sort of implied it's because the feature is taking me too long. I think they're starting to get antsy."
Remus eyes you worriedly.
You try to sound assured. "But it'll be fine. Since I'm here, I can write this other article in the meantime to keep them happy."
Sirius sighs, rolling over and casting his head back dramatically. "So long as we're still your favorites."
"I don't think I'm supposed to pick favorites," you tell him, a smile creeping onto your face.
"What we're supposed to do and what we do are two different things, doll. Anyway, I think you already said we're your favorite band." He casts a look at Remus. "Didn't she?"
"I remember that," Remus agrees.
"Think you called us amazing once too," muses James. He bumps your good ankle with his elbow playfully. "Don't forget that when you're writing your feature, alright?"
"You're the feature," you remind them. "This is just an article."
Remus hums, and you bark out a laugh when he says in an impression of Sirius' imperiousness, "Too right."
Hi! I love your writting! the marauders rockstar x journalist reader got me hooked! Would love to hear your take on reader accidently falling asleep on one of the boys? Like maybe they're on the bus together and a lil head on the shoulder moment? Or like maybe they're all in Sirius' room again and she like passes out on the bed and they all feel too much sympathy for her and let her sleep cuz they know her backs been hurting from the bus? Feel free to ignore this req.
Have a good day/night! <3
Hi, thank you for requesting! <3
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 transphobic agendas
part 14 | masterlist
rockstar!marauders x journalist!reader ♡ 1k words
"Should I…?"
"No, wait. Maybe we can do it without waking her."
"We're not going to be able to do it without waking her, Sirius. And James can't stay on the bus all night."
"I could."
"No, you can't."
"Well, what do you think he should do, then?"
"I'm going up to my room," a new voice says. Lily. "If James does stay the night on the bus, let me know. I'll phone a chiropractor in the morning."
"Cheers. Goodnight," James replies.
There's the swooshing sound of the bus door opening and closing. You start to sit up, but at the slightest bit of movement from you, James' hand covers your head, stroking lullingly.
"Shh," he whispers.
There's a pause, wherein no one but you seems to breathe. Your indolent mind makes the executive decision to drift in not-quite-sleep for a while longer.
"James," Remus sighs, "we're going to have to wake her."
James makes a soft, mournful sound you think you likely only hear because you're so close to him. How you came to be using his bicep as a pillow, you don't recall.
It's not him that argues, though, but Sirius. "She was so knackered earlier," he says in a low voice. "And that was hours ago."
"She'll sleep better in a bed," Remus says, his tone gentling.
James makes a sound of offense. "You said I was the best pillow you ever had."
Rousing more now, you can practically hear Remus' eyes roll. "A pillow, not a mattress."
"She just looks so…" There's something in Sirius' voice you can't place. It's too close to compassion for your liking, though, which wakes you up enough to make the decision for them.
You bring a hand to your eyes, rubbing.
"Ah." You feel James wince. "Sorry."
When you open your eyes, even Remus is looking at you guiltily.
"That's…okay." You don't quite know what to make of them, peering instead around the near vacant bus. "Are we back?"
"Yeah," Remus confirms. "Lily's checked in and got our room keys already. Do you think you can stand?"
You nod without thinking, but actually standing is a different matter. Still half-asleep, you put weight on your hurt ankle unthinkingly, saved from collapsing back onto the seat by Sirius' quick reflexes as a whimper tears from your throat.
"Careful," he hisses. His grip on your arm turns less bruising only when you steady yourself on your other foot.
"Sorry." You try to blink yourself into better awareness. "It hurts worse than it did before."
"That happens after you rest it," says Remus, watching you cautiously as you take another step. Once you manage it, he turns around, leading the way out of the bus. "I don't mean to sound bleak, but it'll likely be worse tomorrow, too."
"Yay," you monotone. You wince as you step off the bus.
"Do you want me to carry you?" James offers, entirely sincere.
"No, I've got it."
"Okay, well at least let me—" He lifts your arm and steps underneath it like he had earlier. "That's better, right?"
Despite the cool night air, warmth kisses your cheeks as Sirius wordlessly takes your bag from you, freeing you up to use James as your crutch.
"Yeah," you say quietly. "It does, thanks."
You don't want to think about how ill advised this is. You don't want to think about how this could be James' way of getting on your good side, making sure you write nice things about them in your feature. You let him support you until you get in the hotel elevator, and then you step away to lean against the wall.
James is perhaps too tired to take offense. Remus, though, gives you a scrutinizing look, and steps closer to you when the elevator doors open again.
"I can help get you sorted in your room," he offers. "You'll need ice."
You hesitate for a moment, but in that moment Remus has wound an arm around your waist, supporting you while also shepherding you towards your room. Sirius hands off your bag to him before following James in the other direction.
"You're in good hands, doll," he says, then covers his mouth to yawn after James yawns loudly. He sends the drummer a dark look. "Don't you start with that."
"Goodnight." James continues down the hall, yawning and triggering Sirius' yawns in turn, which are interspersed with threats and complaints.
You yawn as well. Remus, somehow immune to this, chuckles as he opens the door to your room.
"Do you want to change while I get a bag of ice?" he asks, setting both you and your bag on the bed.
"Sure, but—you really don't need to," you say. "I can manage."
"I'm sure you can," he replies, and leaves.
You stare at the door. That doesn't sound like he's not coming back. You change quickly in case, not truly surprised when a polite knock sounds a few minutes later.
"Thank you." You try not to shrink as Remus constructs a stack of pillows to elevate your ankle, settling a towel-wrapped bag of ice on top. You're aware of the tackiness of dried tears on your face, and of how pathetic and inept you must seem. Remus finds a spare blanket and fans it out atop you. "You really don't have to do all of this."
"Don't worry about it," he says.
You do worry, though. You worry about how kind they've all been to you, and what it might mean. What might be expected in return.
"Are you being so nice to me so that I'll write nice things about you all in the feature?" you force yourself to ask.
Remus pauses. His brows twitch, a flicker of something, gone in an instant. "Are you only being nice to us so that we'll give you quotes for your feature?"
You recoil. Such as you can in bed, anyway. Your chin tucks closer to your chest, something inside aching sharply. "No," you say, relieved to find that it rings true.
He hums. "Me neither."
Remus moves your bag to the nightstand for you, nudging the telephone closer so you can reach both without much trouble. "Feel free to give us a ring in the morning," he says. "Sirius is in five-thirty-one, and Lily and Mary are in five-forty. You should meet us for breakfast."
"Thanks," you say, "I will."
Remus glances at you as he goes, another unknown flicker crossing his expression. "Good."
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