i’m just obsessed with the idea of poly!wolfstar having sex for the first time except remus and reader have been together for longer time so it’s a lot of remus telling sirius what she likes fbsibxkakx
Thank you for your request babe!
cw: smut mdni
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
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 714 words
“Sweetheart,” Remus’ voice is gentle, oh so gentle, as Sirius fucks into you, “you’ve got to tell him what you want.”
You look up at your boyfriend with wet eyes, fucked out and frustrated from chasing after the orgasm that keeps slipping away from you. You want Sirius to just know what you want, the way Remus does, even if you know it’s not fair to expect that of him. It feels mean to give Sirius directions. Like you’re saying he’s not good enough.
Remus doesn’t have the same reservations. When you don’t speak up, he turns to Sirius and tells him plainly, “She likes it harder than that.”
At the foot of the bed, Sirius’ eyebrows go up. “Yeah?” He looks at you. And there’s nothing unkind about his stare, but you still shy a bit under the weight of it. “Sorry, gorgeous, I didn’t want to hurt you. Tell me if this is better.”
The next time he pulls out, Sirius slams back into you with so much force you’re sure his cock has gotten lodged somewhere in your stomach. You arch, a choked-off cry leaving your lips.
Sirius huffs a laugh. “Suppose that’s my answer.”
“That’s it, yeah.” Remus brushes the hair from your face, his touch comforting as you reach around blindly for his cock, desperate to give something back. You’d started out asking to go down on him, but Remus hadn’t thought it was a good idea to have your mouth around him while you and Sirius were only learning your way around each other for the first time. So instead, you’re lying on his lap with your legs spread for Sirius. The way you’re feeling now, you think Remus made the right call.
“Don’t be afraid to get a bit rough with her,” he says. “She likes it.”
Sirius grins at that. “Oh, yeah?” His grip tightens on your hips, squeezing meanly. “Is that true, pretty girl? You into that?”
You think maybe all language has been jostled out of your head. You can only whine as Remus catches your hand before you can tug down the elastic waistband of his boxers, his thumb stroking over your knuckles despite the bulge you can see right beside you.
Your body answers Sirius’ question for you, anyway. His fingers tighten even more, blunt nails biting into your skin as he hisses, “Fuck, baby.”
Remus chuckles and kisses your white knuckles.
“Fuck, Remus, can you—ah—can you get her leg for me? I want to—”
Thankfully for you both, Remus knows what Sirius means before he has to fumble his way through getting it all out. Remus reaches sideways, grasping the underside of your knee and pulling it up by your chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Sirius pants, and then he’s fucking you even deeper than before, harder too, the dull, satisfying pain intensifying until your vision blurs. You twist your fingers in the hem of Remus’ boxers and hold on for dear life. “That’s perfect. You’re so perfect, pretty girl, does he tell you that enough? Fuck, Rem, we should—we should put a mirror on the ceiling so she can see how she looks like this.”
“Maybe we should,” Remus hums. He smiles down at you, and the last bit of sense in your brain dissolves like sugar into tea. “You’re doing so well, love. You’re being so good for us.”
When you look back on it later, you won’t be entirely sure which of you he’s talking to, but that doesn’t stop you from going warm all over in the moment. Sirius’ fucking gets more frenzied as you get worked up, until you’re trying to get Remus out of his boxers again, feeling frantic with the certainty that the climax you’d just been chasing is now chasing you.
“I can—I want to—” You try, distressed when he again catches your wrist in a firm grip. “—want to help you—”
“Shh, I know, sweetheart.” Remus strokes the inside of your knee. “Let’s get a couple out of you first, and then once you get used to Sirius, we can try. Yeah?” He looks at Sirius. “Think you can manage?”
Sirius scoffs. He hikes your other leg up higher. “Don’t patronize me. I had a bit of a learning curve, but I’ve got her now.”
“on your knees”
oct 7 ⋆ kneeling / praise
poly!wolfstar x reader
summary: you're eager to get on your knees for remus and sirius ♱ 909
warnings: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, kneeling, praise, oral m receiving, hand job, facefucking, deepthroating, spit, degradation if you squint, cum play, dom!sirius and remus
kinktober masterlist
“She looks so pretty like this, doesn’t she?” Remus muses, smoothing a hand over the back of your head.
“Absolutely stunning,” Sirius agrees, his lips pulled into his signature smirk as he gazes down at you.
You’re on your knees, a position you quickly took as soon as the command left Remus’s mouth. Every grain of the hardwood beneath you digs into bone, but you don’t mind the dull ache it leaves. In fact, you revel in it as your two boyfriends tower over you, looking down at you like a meal they want to devour.
Sirius hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your head up some more. He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, just barely tugging on it with the pad of his finger, calloused from hours spent strumming his old red electric. You respond by parting your lips, opening your mouth wide for him.
He slides his thumb into your mouth and presses down on your tongue, letting you taste him while keeping you wide open for him.
“Show us,” he says, replacing his thumb with two long fingers, his cold rings kissing your lips as he pushes them down your throat.
You close your lips around them, sucking and bobbing your head on them to show Sirius how good you could make him feel. Remus drops his hand from your hair to palm himself through his boxers, starting to feel the effects of his own impatience as they continue to tease you.
“Bet you wish it were a cock in that pretty mouth of yours,” Sirius coos, thumb stroking your jawline as you suck his digits.
“Mhmm,” you hum around his fingers. He pulls them out of your mouth, a string of spit briefly stretching between them to your lips until it snaps.
“What was that?” he asks, his tone slightly mocking as he wraps his spit-covered fingers around his cock, slowly pumping himself as you watch, anticipation (and something else) curling in your gut.
“Yes, I do. Please,” you beg, shuffling closer on your knees.
“So polite,” Remus muses, lips quirked into a smirk.
Sirius hums in agreement. “Don’t you worry. I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart.”
Sirius guides his cock to your open mouth, rubbing his leaking tip on your tongue before sinking all the way in.
“Mmm,” you moan as you wrap your lips around him, batting your eyelashes up at him as you bob your head and hollow your cheeks.
“That’s it, good girl. Take what you want,” Sirius praises, and you take him deeper. “Don’t forget about Moony,” he grunts, and your gaze falls on your other boyfriend.
Remus is watching hungrily as Sirius’s cock disappears into your mouth, his boxers now pushed down his thighs as he strokes his cock slowly. You replace his hand with your smaller one, expertly pumping him and twisting your wrist with every stroke.
“Just like that,” Remus grinds out, his head tipping back in pleasure.
“Atta girl,” Sirius praises as you tighten your grip on Remus’s cock. “Making us feel so fu- fucking good,” he falters as you take him so deep your nose presses into his pelvis.
You feel drunk on their cocks as you switch between sucking one off and stroking the other, gasping for air each time you do. Until Remus finally grabs the back of your head, holding you there so he can fuck your face, chasing release. Drool dribbles from the corners of your mouth, down your chin, as you gag around him. But you don’t pay it any mind, solely focused on deep breaths through your nose and relaxing your throat to take him as deep as possible. His long cock easily reaches the back of your throat, and it wasn’t easy learning to take him like this, but once you did, it became one of his favorite ways to get off.
Remus is pushed over the edge when he feels your throat fluttering around his cock, shooting ropes of cum directly down your throat, and the only option is to swallow. He pulls out in time for you to catch Sirius’s cum on your tongue as you work him through his own high with your spit-soaked hand. You stay like that for them to admire while they catch their breath. Tongue stuck out like you’re proud, Sirius’s warm cum held in your open mouth and streaking your cheeks and chin.
“So fucking pretty,” Sirius grunts, swiping some cum from your chin with his thumb and swirling his mess around your tongue. “Go on, swallow for me, baby,” Sirius murmurs, wiping his thumb off on your lip, which you greedily lick clean.
“There you go, good girl,” Remus praises as you swallow every drop, sticking your tongue out again to show them. “Took us so well, darling, c’mere,” he says, still trying to catch his breath as he helps you onto your feet. Your knees are bruised from being pressed against the floor for so long, and you wobble, finding it a little hard to stand on your stiff legs.
Your boyfriends continue to shower you with praise and sweet nothings as they guide you to the bed, where they plan to reward you for how good you’ve been for them.
Pairing: Poly!Wolfstar x Reader
Summary: Your mate drags you to a gig and vanishes, leaving you at the bar with a dry, lemonade-nursing stranger — and his boyfriend, grinning at you from the stage like he already knows how the night ends.
Tags: getting together, meet-cute, fluff, slow burn
Cass drags you to this gig by the wrist, practically, says it'll be a laugh, says you'll thank her later, and then the lights drop and she's gone, off into the crowd like she was never there at all. Typical.
So you end up at the bar on your own, watching a band whose name you didn't catch tune up under a single blue light, and that's where he is too — tall bloke, jumper with a hole in the elbow, nursing what turns out to be a lemonade like it's the last one on earth.
"They're alright," he says, not quite looking at you, nodding at the stage instead, "considering one of them once set a chip pan on fire trying to impress a girl."
You laugh before you mean to. "You know them, then?"
"Unfortunately." Dry as anything. "That one on guitar — the one currently deciding our corner of the room is more interesting than the actual song — that's my boyfriend."
You follow where he's looking, and there's a bloke with dark hair stuck to his forehead, grinning right at you both like he already knows how this evening ends.
"Sirius," the tall one adds, like it explains something, like a warning label. "I'm Remus."
"And you're not bothered? Him doing that from the stage?"
"Should I be?" He says it mildly, sipping his lemonade, eyes back on the band. "He does it to lampposts and dogs as well. It's not personal, it's just how he's built."
You don't ask what he means by that. You don't get the chance to, really — Remus keeps narrating under his breath, dry and unbothered, that one's on his third girlfriend this year, the drummer cries at insurance adverts, don't repeat that last one — and somewhere in there you stop feeling like you gate-crashed something you weren't invited to.
The second the set ends, Sirius doesn't walk off the stage so much as launch himself off it, straight at you, sweat-shining and reckless with it, hip-checking a stranger out of the way without appearing to notice he's done it. He drops onto the stool beside you like it's already his — the one Remus has, without a word about it, kept clear all night, elbow parked on it, never once looking like he was saving anything.
"You," Sirius says, "are new. Who let you in?"
"Cass did. Then she vanished."
"Sensible woman." He steals Remus's lemonade without asking, drains half of it, hands it back. Remus doesn't so much as blink, just watches him do it with an expression that says something you can't quite read yet — you'll learn later that's just them, mostly, whole conversations fought and won in a look. "Are you always this quiet, or is it just us?"
"Is that meant to be charming?"
"Depends." He grins, unrepentant. "Is it working?"
By closing you've got chips balanced on your knee outside, vinegar sharp, and a list of names thrown at you too fast to keep hold of — Cass has resurfaced, unbothered, entirely unrepentant — and when the drizzle starts Remus produces an umbrella from nowhere, holds it up without comment, and somehow you're the one underneath it with him while Sirius refuses to duck in properly, half in half out of the rain like the weather owes him something.
"You'll get soaked, stood like that," you tell him.
"Will I?" He says it like the idea's never once occurred to him and doesn't much interest him now it has.
Someone adds you to a group chat before you've even sobered up, thirty messages deep by the time you check it walking home, people you've never met greeting you like you've been expected for weeks rather than hours.
"Bit odd," you say, half to yourself, "everyone acting like they already know me?"
The chat goes quiet — not normal quiet, the kind with weight behind it. Sirius studies a lamppost like it's personally wronged him. Remus's grip on the umbrella tightens, just slightly.
"Small friend group," he says, after a beat too long. "Word travels."
You let it go. You shouldn't have.
Over the next fortnight it keeps happening. Sirius turns up wherever you are like he's got a homing instinct for it, steers you the wrong way down streets on purpose just to keep walking beside you, says things that land somewhere between a challenge and a confession and never explains which. Remus is quieter about it — a joke that lands at exactly the right moment, a look that holds a beat too long before he glances away and pretends he hasn't, self-deprecating enough about himself that you start to wonder what he's protecting.
"You do know why they're both like that?" Cass says one night, far too pleased with herself.
"Like what?"
"That." She waves a hand at nothing and everything. "Sirius, doing whatever he wants and daring you to mind. Remus, pretending he isn't doing anything at all."
You don't say you know. You're not sure yet that you do.
It's a Friday when Sirius walks you to your door, hands shoved in his pockets for once, restless with the effort of keeping them there, and Remus trails a step behind with the umbrella shut and tucked under one arm.
"Right," Sirius says, rocking back on his heels on your step, none of his usual nerve anywhere in his voice, "we wanted to ask you something."
"Both of us," Remus says, careful, watching your face the way you'd watch a kettle about to go. "To dinner. Would you come to dinner with us? Both of us, I mean."
The rain's stopped. The umbrella stays shut under his arm, and it hits you all at once, standing there on your own doorstep — the stool that was somehow always saved, the eyebrow conversations, the group chat that already had your name in it before you did, the whole chat going quiet the night you said everyone seemed to already know you (you'd put it down to a bad signal, at the time).
They had. Of course they had.
"You mean — together?" you say, and it comes out smaller than you meant. "All three of us?"
"That's the general idea, yeah." Sirius's hands finally give up on his pockets, come out with nowhere to land. "Is that — is that alright?"
Remus doesn't fill the silence this time. He just waits, the shut umbrella held between them like something they're both still holding onto, and you think of standing under it in the rain, the two of them either side of you, neither one minding how little room there was.
"Yeah," you say. "Dinner. Both of you. Okay?"
"Okay," Sirius says back, like he's checking the word still means what he thinks it means, and then his whole face does something helpless and bright. Remus just breathes out, slow, like he'd been holding it since the gig.
"Right, then." He opens the umbrella again — pointless, under a clear sky, just to give his hands something to do — and holds it up over the three of you on your doorstep, not a drop of rain anywhere in sight, and none of you move to get out from under it.
Summary: You and Remus buy ugly Christmas sweaters and Sirius has some strong feelings about it.
Poly!Wolfstar x Reader| Established Relationship | 1.1K Words
CW: Muggle AU
A/N: I left readers ugly Christmas sweater's description out so you guys can imagine whatever fits you best <3
"What the hell is that!?" Sirius exclaims, as he walks into your flat.
"It's nice to see you, too." Remus replies dryly, from his spot on the couch.
Sirius gives him an exacerbated look, before walking over to give the poor boy a kiss. If Remus was any more mean, he'd refuse the kiss, make him work for it, but he really is happy to see him.
"They're ugly Christmas sweaters!" You happily shout on your way out of the kitchen, a tray of tea and biscuits in your hands. Wearing an ugly Christmas of your own.
"Aren't they great!! Remus and I picked them up this afternoon!" You cheer, setting the tray down on the coffee table before reaching up to kiss Sirius sweetly on the cheek.
"There's one in that bag for you!" Pure excitement pours out of you as you point to the bag beside the coffee table, next to Remus' feet.
"There is no way, that I am wearing one of those." Sirius states, matter of factly.
"You're not even going to look at it?" The pout on your lips is over-exaggerated.
You had anticipated that this would happen. In fact, it took a wild amount of begging and pouting to get Remus to agree to buy them.
"Okay. I'll look at it, but I'm making no promises." He says, pointing his finger at you, feigning seriousness.
From the look on your face, Sirius knows his heart would allow him to do anything for you; even wear the ugliest piece of fabric he has ever laid eyes on.
As he pulls it from the bag he is met with the brightest red he has ever seen. It has plastic boughs of holly sewed onto it haphazardly, scattered over the entire thing, even the back. There are dark, red velvet bows in all the spaces in between. To top it all off, it has small tuffs of silver tinsel thrown on in random and unorganized places.
"Do you like it!?" You exclaim with a giggle.
Sirius tries to keep the horror off his face, for your sake.
"Well, it certainly matches its namesake." Sirius reasons.
"Remus picked it out! He said it would look perfect on you." You smile up at him.
"I bet he did." Sirius says dryly, looking at Remus with a scowl. Remus only offers a sly smile that he hides behind his mug of tea.
"Go on! Try it on!" You say, oblivious to the mischeif infront of you.
"I don't know, doll. It looks a bit small, no?" Sirius tries.
"No. We double checked, it's your size. Try it on!" You encourage.
"It kind of clashes with my outfit, maybe I should try it on later." Sirius tries again, desperate.
"If you don't like it, that's alright." You say, a real pout making it's way onto your face.
"You don't have to wear it of your really don't want to." You say in a sad whisper, reaching your hands out to take the sweater from Sirius. "We can give it to James, I know he'll like it."
If your sad demener wasn't enough to convince Sirius to put on the sweater, that statment was.
No way is he going to make you sad AND loose an imagninary battle against James.
"No! No that's okay. I'll put in on."
And with that, Sirius fights against every moral he's ever had, which isn't a lot if he's being honest.
"Really!" The pout a distant memory, replaced with the a smile which resembles that of sunshine.
Remus stiffles a laugh as Sirius presents himself begrogingly, armed in the uglist thing he has ever worn.
"Awe, see I knew you'd look lovely wearing it!" You practily swoon.
"Wait here. I'm going to go get the carmera." You say, running off to go find the camera.
As soon as you're out of ear shot Sirius lets out a dramatic sigh, sulking over to the couch and slumping next to Remus.
"Well don't you look beautiful!" Remus exclaims, slightly sarcastic, far too happy for Sirius' liking.
"Shut up." He grumbles, kissing Remus' shoulder before resting his head on it, leaning fully into Remus. Remus chuckles fondly under his breathe.
"I couldn't say no either." He says softly. "All she had to do was look up at me with her big, sad eyes and I was asking which one she liked best."
"She could persuade us to do anything with those eyes." Sirius agrees, sitting up.
"At least yours is semi-decant." Sirius says, his hand jestering to Remus' sweater.
Remus had to agree, he was the least ... out there. His is a dark green grandpa style sweater, with bright green garland and multi-coloured lights wrapping around the middle. Remus releases a genuine laugh.
"Y/N said this one suited me best. And before you start complaining, mine lights up and sings."
Sirius gives Remus and his sweater a once over, his eyes meeting Remus'. They share a soft laugh, Sirius leaning back into Remus.
They truly would do anything for you, sad eyes or no.
"I found it!" You shout gleefully, from a distant room.
Your appearance being anounced by the sound of your feet thumping excitedly down the hall.
"I found it." You say again, in a softer voice. Your smile causing your eyes to crinkle shut.
"Picture time!" You say, in a sing song voice.
Sirius sigh softly, "Okay, but just, don't show James."
"Too late." Remus interjusts.
Sirius looks at him with a puzzled expression.
"We bought him one too." You say, still very overjoyed. "We dropped it off earlier. He was so excited, so was Lily!"
"She was practically speechless." Remus interjucts, with slight sarcasm that you miss.
"His had a plush reindeer sticking out from the middle, and it's nose glowed! And sings!" You practically shout, your excitment growing even more.
"Oh! That reminds me! Remus' lights up and sings aswell!" You cheer, looking to Sirius.
"Yes! He was telling me all about it while you were gone." Sirius smiles teasingly.
You cast your eyes to the taller man, eyes going soft and sparkley. Your love for him radiating thoughout the whole space. Remus' cheeks flush, closely resembling Sirius sweater.
"Lily and James said they wanted to get a picture of all of us wearings our sweaters." He says softly, trying to devoldge the attention off of him.
"Yeah!" You beam. "I think I may send one to Effie and Monty as well, I know they'll love it!" You smile warmly at the idea.
"Well," Sirius says, running a hand through his hair. "Looks like we're having a photoshoot."
You let out an excited squeal, doing a small jumpy dance.
Remus and Sirius would do anything to see you this happy, even if it means wearing an abomination of a sweater.
You are worth far more than any embarrassment it may cause, especially when you look at them like they're the most beautiful people while wearing them.
“the thing about polyamory is now i have two people getting mad at me when they ask what i ate today and i tell them “coffee.” ”
and i thought it was rlly cute and was wondering if you could do something like that for poly!wolfstar :)
Thanks for requesting 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
cw: talk of not eating (unintentional)
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 820 words
It’s not rare for Sirius to come home to a quiet house—he jumpstarts the noise, usually, because left to your own devices you and Remus are quiet as mice—but when he kicks off his shoes today, he can’t help feeling like the quiet has a different flavor.
You’re sitting at a barstool across from where Remus is working in the kitchen. Sirius sneaks up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist and smooching your cheek. “Why are we sulking?” he asks you.
You turn your head, a silent request for a real kiss which he happily obliges. “I’m not sulking.”
“Liar,” he says fondly. “Come on, it’s not even six. Too early to be upset.”
You nod at your other boyfriend, who’s chopping basil with the steady mercilessness of an executioner. “He’s icing me out.”
“I am not,” says Remus.
Sirius hums. “Everyone seems to have an idea of what they’re not doing.”
You sulk harder. “He is. He’s cooking at me all passive-aggressive.”
“I’m cooking for you,” Remus snipes. “You can’t cook at someone.”
“You manage it.”
Sirius tsks, giving your middle a pinch of admonishment. It’s not like you to antagonize Remus—not like either of you to squabble much at all, usually—but it’s especially strange that you’re doing it while he’s making your dinner right in front of you.
Sirius taps your jaw, directing you to face him. “What did you do?” he asks quietly.
You lour. “It’s silly.”
“I could use a laugh.”
Your gaze moves to Remus. He’s directing his attention pointedly at the cutting board. “He wanted to know what I ate today, and then he got fussy about it not being enough.”
“Because the answer was nothing,” says Remus.
“It wasn’t nothing! And you shouldn’t have asked if you didn’t want to know.”
“Doll. Look at me.” Sirius taps your jaw again. When you do, he does his best to look non-accusatory. “What did you eat today?”
You shrink a bit, as though you suspect the answer won’t go over much better the second time around. “I had coffee this morning, and then a couple cups of tea at work…”
Slowly, Sirius retracts his arms from around you. Your lips part with betrayal.
“So, you do understand that coffee and tea are liquids, don’t you?”
“But they still—”
“Which means that when Rem says you ate nothing, he’s not wrong, because you didn’t actually eat anything.”
Remus still hasn’t looked up, but his expression has taken on a smug hue.
“It wasn’t on purpose. I just haven’t felt like having anything.” You look at Sirius with big, sad eyes. “I haven’t been feeling very well all day.”
“I’ve got an idea as to why,” Remus hums.
Sirius has to tuck his lips in to keep from smiling. Your expression sours.
“You guys are pricks,” you decide. “Fine, I won’t complain to you about feeling sick anymore. Sorry to burden you.”
“Darling,” Remus sighs, softening a tad, “it’s not that I don’t want you to talk to me. I just wish you didn’t have anything to complain about, which I don’t think you would if you’d looked after yourself better today.”
Sirius keeps his mouth shut, watching you digest this. You gnaw on your lip. Neither you nor Remus are particularly argumentative by nature, but this is where you occasionally butt heads; Remus, who has to be right and thinks he knows what’s best for everyone (he often does), and you, who also has to be right and chafes against being told what to do.
“You’re supposed to feel bad for me,” you say, sulking still, but now with the slightest bit of humor. “You’re supposed to curse the skies and shout ‘she doesn’t deserve this!’”
Remus’ lips quirk. “Maybe next time.”
You relax a bit more. Sirius reaches for your hand, tangling his fingers with yours. When you look at him, he brings your knuckles close for a kiss. “You don’t deserve this, our lovely girl,” he says, slow and saccharine enough to bring a bit of bashfulness to your expression. “You know how you can make it up to us?”
You hum.
“Eat all of whatever Remus is making for you.”
You roll your eyes. “I was always going to eat it,” you mutter.
Sirius kisses your knuckles again happily before moving onto his next partner in need of consoling.
“Poor love,” he murmurs, squeezing himself in between Remus and his cutting board to steal a kiss. “She had you all twisted up, didn’t she?”
Much like you had, Remus rolls his eyes, but there’s fondness curled up in the corner of his mouth. He palms Sirius’ face to kiss him back, and his fingers smell like herbs.
“Next time you’ll have your script,” Sirius promises.
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?"
Hi! Can i request poly!wolfstar with casual dominance, if that's what it's called??((:
Thanks for requesting!
cw: casual d/s dynamics, reader struggles with her mental health
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words
The flat smells like cinnamon and sweetness when Sirius steps in the front door. It heavies the air and cups warm hands around his heart.
“Oh, no,” he feigns weariness as he bends over the back of the armchair and puts his arms around Remus’ shoulders, “you’ve remembered the crock pot again, haven’t you?”
Remus looks up from his book with a low hum. “I found it underneath the sink.”
“And I thought I’d hidden it so well.” Sirius kisses the corner of his lips. There’s a niggling bit of worry that’s made itself at home around Remus’ eyes, so Sirius gives him another. “Where’s our girl?”
“In the bedroom.” The worry digs in further, but Remus looks glad at least to be sharing it. “She said she was tired when she came home, so I’m trying to give her some peace.”
What Remus doesn’t say is that you’d seemed tired, or that he thinks you’re having a nap, or that he’s happy about it. Sirius knows well enough how to read into his silences.
He sweeps his thumb over the knit fibers covering Remus’ shoulder. “And how much peace have you given her?”
“A bit over an hour’s worth.”
“Alright.” Sirius straightens, making sure to trail his fingers reassuringly over Remus’ chest as he does so. “I think that’s quite enough peace, don’t you?”
Remus doesn’t stop Sirius as he ventures down the hall and nudges open the door to the bedroom. The smell of whatever Remus is cooking in the crock pot is less pervasive in here. You’re curled up atop the covers, facing away from the door, bent over what Sirius can only imagine is a book and doesn’t believe for a second you’re paying any real attention to. You pretend you haven’t heard him come in.
He goes around the bed to the front of you, laying down parallel to brush a kiss across your lips. “Hello.”
“Hi,” you murmur. You bump your nose against his but keep your gaze downward.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Hm?”
“Baby.” Sirius curls his fingers under your chin, his thumb pressed into the bump of it. “Look at me.”
You lift your eyes, and the look in them threatens to crack Sirius’ heart right down its center.
“What’s the matter, darling?” he asks. Softly, though not leniently.
Your head gives a tiny shake. “Nothing.”
Sirius tsks. “Try again.”
Where Remus’ expression was plagued by worry, yours is tight with shame. After a moment, you say quietly, “I don’t know.”
Sirius looks at you. You’ve been reading the same book for days; not unusual, except your bookmark has hardly moved despite the time you spend with it. He thinks it’s an excuse to lock yourself away, but maybe the attempt at distraction isn’t working as you planned. Usually it’s you who brings up dessert after supper, but lately you haven’t mentioned it. You’ve been going to work without your cup of coffee in the mornings, showering without music, neglecting to reach for his hand or Remus’ until they take yours. You’ve been denying yourself all sorts of creature comforts. Sirius doesn’t know whether this is cause or effect of what’s dimming you, but he’s certain it plays in somehow.
Remus catches up to you before Sirius can make up his mind. “Oh, dove,” he says, “why do you still have your work clothes on?”
You look down as though you’ve forgotten what you’re wearing, and Sirius lets go of your chin to pinch the starchy material of your shirt between his fingers. When you look up, it’s to his arched brow.
“Can’t be very comfortable,” he notes.
You shrug. “I just got home.”
“You got home an hour ago.” Remus rolls his eyes. He starts for the dresser, giving your foot a tap on his way by. “Get out of those, I’ll find you something nicer.”
You look to Sirius for help, but he only flicks his stare away from the bed. With a sigh, you get up, beginning to unbutton your top.
Remus helps you step into a pair of pajama bottoms and tugs one of his jumpers over your head. It nearly matches the one he’s wearing now; Sirius makes a mental note to grab his camera at some point tonight. Remus chides you in low tones about how he thought you’d at least put on cozies before laying down, and better his jumper than your work shirt if you spill cinnamon apples in a bit.
“Is that what you’re brewing in there?” Sirius asks once you’re sufficiently swaddled in soft materials and Remus is pressing a lingering kiss to your head. “Cinnamon apples?”
Remus turns to him with a lifted brow. “Is that acceptable to you?”
“Loads better than vegetable slop.”
“Did it smell like vegetables, Sirius?”
“Oh, my love,” Sirius rolls off the bed to lay a smiling peck atop Remus’ frown, “I never really know what you’ll do once you start on the crock pot. This one does smell nice, though.” He gives your bum a pat to encourage you out of the bedroom in front of him. “It’s ready?”
“It’s ready,” Remus replies. “Don’t know that you’ll get any, though.”
Remus serves you first, gracing you with a soft-hearted look when you thank him for it. He makes his own portion before listening to Sirius grovel and simper for his own, but eventually the three of you end up with spoons clinking against bowls on the sofa, Remus on one side of you and Sirius pressed shoulder to hip against you on the other.
“This is really good,” you hum around your spoon. It’s clear to Sirius that you’re trying to dredge up some extra enthusiasm for Remus’ efforts (not to say that it isn’t very good; it is). He catches his bottom lip pushing out before he gets it back in place.
It seems like Remus can tell, too, by the smile he gives you. “Thanks. You haven’t seemed much for sweets lately. I wasn’t sure if you’d care for it.”
Your look is perplexed as you scoop up your last bite. “I don’t have a problem with sweets.”
“I know you don’t usually. I’ve just noticed you haven’t seemed to fancy them as much.”
Sirius glances at Remus. It’s only once he sees the insouciant way his boyfriend is looking down into his bowl that he catches onto what Remus is getting at. His clever boy.
You’re studying Remus, too, but you still look lost. “I think it’s the same,” you say, licking your spoon.
“There’s nothing wrong with it, lovely. I just wasn’t sure if you might be going on a health kick or something.”
“Has James been in your ear?” Sirius nudges you teasingly.
It works to ease some of the uncertainty from your brow. “God, no,” you joke back. “If you catch me making protein smoothies at the crack of dawn, then you’ll know he’s gotten to me, but until then don’t worry.”
Sirius grins, and Remus gets to the point. “Then there’s no reason for you not to have sweets when you want them,” he says, finally meeting your gaze. By the way your expression sobers you realize you’ve fallen into a trap. “You can stop punishing yourself, please.”
“Remus.” Your voice is quiet. Wounded, but ashamed underneath.
Remus matches your volume. “I’m not upset with you, sweetheart. But if you’re not going to be kind to yourself, you can’t also keep us from doing it for you.”
“Ideally you’d allow both,” Sirius adds.
“Yes,” Remus agrees, without taking his eyes off of yours. You’re surely feeling the weight of both of your boyfriends’ stares, and as you shift in your seat your fingernail finds its way between your teeth almost unconsciously.
Sirius steals it away. He gives your fingers a short squeeze before bringing them to his lips. “Be nice,” he reminds you sternly.
“Sorry,” you mumble.
“You’re not in trouble,” Remus reassures you.
“Mm,” Sirius hums, “I think you could be in a little bit of trouble.”
Remus cuts him a look. “You’re not.”
“You’re not,” Sirius relents. “You’re just not taking very nice care of our girl right now, and someone needs to set that to right. That’s our job, but it’s harder to do when you’re always hiding yourself away, yeah? Could you do us all a favor and stop hiding?”
“I’m not—”
“Say ‘yes, Sirius.’”
It’s impossible to keep a straight face when you blink in such offense. The twitch of Sirius’ mouth softens your own into something reminiscent of a smile. You sigh. “Yes, Sirius.”
“There’s our girl.” He presses a smug kiss to your knuckles. “You’re supposed to come to us when you’re having a hard time, not hide away. Try and remember that.”
“Okay.” You hold his gaze. Something sweet as the cinnamon on Sirius’ tongue passes through the air between you. “Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Sweet girl,” Remus shushes you, laying a heavy kiss atop your head, “would you stop apologizing? You’re fine, lovely. Do you want some more apples?”
“What?” Sirius pretends at outrage as you nod and Remus takes your bowl. “I didn’t get offered seconds.”
“The crock pot heard you slagging it off earlier and won’t give them up for you.”
“Oh, it told you that, did it?”
“Yes.” Remus has turned toward the kitchen, but Sirius hears the smirk in his voice. “We’re in confidence.”
“This is blatant, unrepentant favoritism.” Sirius throws himself across your lap, looking up at you with a pout. Your smile is his reward, though the hand you card through his hair is a nice bonus as well. “You love me, don’t you baby?”
“I love you,” you say. “You know he’ll still give you some if you go in there with your bowl.”
“I don’t know, this crock pot seems like a real bitch.”
Your smile grows enough to show teeth, and that’s what Sirius was waiting for. “Worth a try, though,” he allows, sitting up with a peck to your chin. He starts for the kitchen. “Hold on, don’t dish it all out. I’ve got some words for the crock pot.”
Hi! Idk if you still write for poly! Wolfstar or poly! Marauders anymore but if you wanted to write for them again could I request a reader that literally never shows when their in pain and the bfs wake up in the middle of the night to the reader crying and throwing up from pain due to a kidney stone/ kidney infection and freak tf out? (Literally what happened to me one time and I never got around to writing a fic about it) obvs if you don’t wanna write for them anymore totally fine! Just thought I’d shoot my shot bc I love your fics and I’ve never requested anything before lol
Thanks for requesting lovely!
cw: vomitting, nausea
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
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words
You’re so quiet that Remus doesn’t wake until the bathroom fan comes on.
He’s aware, in the distant, half-coherent way, that you got out of bed some time ago. That’s not uncommon; at least once a night, one of you (usually Sirius, because he has a bladder the size of a pea) will clamber across the mattress in a drowsy obstacle course of tangled limbs to make your way to the bathroom. Remus registered your leaving, and went back to sleep.
Now, with the reminder of the fan, he goes to investigate.
Your name comes out soft and scratchy as he knocks on the bathroom door. Behind Remus, Sirius makes a mumbly sound that lands somewhere between irritation (presumably at realizing he’s been abandoned by both of you) and curiosity (presumably at why), but the drone of the fan drowns out any reply from you.
Remus knocks again. When you don’t answer, he twists the doorhandle.
The bright ceiling light is a shock even though Remus thinks he’s prepared for it. He blinks a few times, un-fuzzing your image until he can see more clearly the shape of you, which is curled over the basin of the toilet, your knees on the cold tile and face hovering above the bowl, seemingly trying to hug yourself out of existence.
A somnolent coo drops from his lips, and Remus drops to his knees behind you. “Hey.” He lays the backs of his fingers to your nape. You’re clammy—and trembling, Remus can see it in your hands—but you don’t feel warm enough for a fever. “Not feeling well?”
You make a soft noise that’s likely meant to be a hum of agreement. It breaks partway through and turns to a whine.
“Think you might have caught a bug?” he murmurs sympathetically.
You might shrug, though Remus isn’t sure if it’s only the involuntary jerk of your shoulders as you gag unproductively.
“I don’t know,” you say after a while. Your voice is raw, and exhausted; Remus’ heart wrings itself out like a wet rag.
He hums, sweeping his thumb over your nape as you breathe in and out through your mouths. A sort of breathing Remus recognizes, shallow and controlled.
“Are you in pain?” he asks.
Your breathing doesn’t change as you nod, eyes squeezed shut.
Remus’ alarm doubles.
You’re not one to broadcast your discomfort. You’d rather weather it on your own. This is an instinct Remus understands, and so he does his best to respect it; even when it pains him sometimes to do it; even when it means forcing Sirius to respect it against his instincts as well. There have been times when your boyfriends have learned that you pulled a muscle or hit your head days after the fact because you didn’t feel like telling them and you’re nearly frighteningly good at hiding when you’re hurting.
Now, your small nod sends fingers of dread creeping up Remus’ spine—not because you’ve never been in pain, but because you’ve never admitted to it. Whatever you’re feeling, the intensity of it overwhelms your want for privacy.
Before he can fully reconcile with this, Sirius comes stumbling into the bathroom. Remus hadn’t heard him coming over the fan (which, he realizes now, was likely a measure you took to keep them from hearing you). Sirius blinks, his face scrunched under the assault of the ceiling light in a way that would make Remus grin any other time.
Perhaps it’s because Remus’ expression remains so somber that Sirius asks instantly, “What’s wrong?”
(Or a more slurred version of that, but Remus puts it together.)
“She’s hurting,” he replies.
And Sirius, bless him, despite his still bleary eyes and his confusion and the fact that Remus knows it takes him at least a few minutes to wake up fully after getting out of bed, crouches behind you and knows precisely what to ask.
“Where?” he says, smoothing a strand of hair away from your mouth. And at your helpless whine, “Show me, baby.”
Remus watches you lift a trembling hand from the floor. Every movement looks like it pains you, and he feels vaguely nauseous himself at the prospect. You rest your palm over your stomach. “H—here.”
“Can I feel?” Sirius asks.
You look terrified at the prospect. “No.”
“Okay,” he soothes, “okay.” Remus rubs a slow back-and-forth across your nape, wondering if Sirius has noticed your slight trembling or the wet sheen over your eyes. If he’s as frightened by them as Remus is. “Did it just start?”
You take a moment to respond, breathing through another bout of intensified pain. Remus sees your throat work around a gag. “Yeah—” you manage “—just tonight, but it gets—it’s in waves.”
“Do you feel done being sick for now?” Remus asks.
You hum weakly. “I don’t think there’s anything left.”
Sirius makes a pitying sound. He takes your shoulders to help Remus ease you back from the toilet. You look like you want to curl up on your side, but settle for leaning into Remus’ side instead. When you push out another shaky exhale, a tear slithers down your cheek.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby.” Sirius’ expression pinches and he shuffles closer to kiss your temple. “I know it hurts. Does it feel like it’s getting any worse?”
Your reply is so soft Remus hardly catches it with you inches from his ear.
“Maybe,” he repeats for Sirius.
Sirius nods, his eyes clearer now and chewing his bottom lip. He sends Remus a grimace.
“What do you want to do, love?” Remus tries asking you. Because he knows what he and Sirius want to do, but it seems worth checking.
Your reply is near a sob. “I don’t know.”
“Okay,” Sirius is quick to reassure you. He kisses your head again. “Let’s start by getting some painkillers in you, angel, okay?”
Remus kicks himself internally for not thinking of that sooner.
You nod, and Sirius gets up to find them, the bathroom now full of sound between the fan and cabinets opening and pill bottles rattling around.
“And then,” Remus does his best to make his voice calm and lulling, “maybe we can go by A&E and see if they can help sort this out.”
He needn’t have been so cautious. You’re in too much pain to do anything but nod, a small miracle that makes Remus feel at once relieved and distressed.
Sirius sits beside you again, but not before—seriously, Remus could kiss him—shutting off the fan, extinguishing some of the chaos in the room in favor of a more peaceful sort of quiet.
“Here you go,” he says, dropping a couple of paracetamol into your hand. “You’ll be alright, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”
