Prompt taken from this request: a sort of continuation of what youve already written where reader is helping remus with whatever he needs, but this time it would be james and/or sirius’s reaction to it? like she wouldve been helping him or researching what could be helpful and either one of them (or both) are like “oh thats really kind of you” and it makes them like her more because #anythingforourmoony
Thanks angel <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
cw: muggle au, arranged marriage, talk of chronic pain/migraines
poly!marauders x princess!reader ♡ 1.7k words
You think Remus is having one of his headaches again.
Hidden away in a secluded corner of the library, you don’t mean to spy on him, but his long, weary sigh snags your attention. Your book lowers slowly to your lap. Through the gap between shelves, you watch Remus pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, the terse set to his mouth unchecked with no one but you to witness it.
You aren’t close enough to see him well, but you think you know what you’d see if you were. A handsome face drawn tight with pain. Haggard half moons pressed under honeyed eyes. A faint tremor plaguing usually deft, gentle hands. Remus lies down on the settee with another sigh, and your heart aches for him.
You think you can admit, now, that it wasn’t only James you were taken by upon arriving in Gryffindor. You thought that you cared for Remus because he was James’ friend and was kind to you, that you always kept one eye on Sirius because of how he put himself between you and your betrothed, but it wasn’t ever so simple. With either of them.
You wait until you’re sure Remus is asleep before slipping past him out of the library. The kitchens are rowdy, a clamor that never seems to die down even between meals. You wave at a few familiar faces as you go to the freezer for an ice pack. Marlene shouts hello to you, kneading some sort of dough with batter caking her wrists, and you smile back. It’s nice, feeling like you’re almost friends with some people in the castle, though secrecy remains a wall between you. You’re keenly aware of how no one has decided you’re trustworthy enough to tell you of your actual role here; for your part, you haven’t told any of them what you know, either.
Thinking on it for too long makes your insides feel hollow, so you say a cheery hello to Marlene and move along.
Winter’s creeping up on Gryffindor now. It’s cold enough that you don’t go outside on a whim, but the sun seems brighter than ever, almost piercing the windows of the castle with its warmth. You’ve taken to cracking your bedroom window when you’re in there, bundling yourself in blankets and letting the cool air kiss your face.
You wonder if Peleria has had its first chill yet. It always comes a bit later at home, closer to the holidays. There might still be some pears on the trees, or otherwise they’ll be pressing marigold seeds into the soil to attract bees and butterflies after the cold season. When you were small, the children would run into the lake, screaming, until it either froze over or fretful mothers made them stop. You wonder if they’ll be recovering their ice skates from the backs of closets soon. You wonder if your family will come across yours, if they’ll keep them or give them away.
“Hi,” says a voice, pleasantly surprised.
It’s a testament to how far inside your head you are that you haven’t noticed James coming up behind you. You turn, an instinctive happiness bursting inside you as your eyes catch on his, before you remember. Your smile becomes a bit more effortful.
“Hi,” you say back.
James catches up to you, grinning. “It’s nice to see you.”
He sounds like he really means it, and that aches like a bruise. James strikes you as an honest person. Genuine. You want to believe he means everything he says sincerely, but that’s hard to reconcile with all you know he holds back from you. You understand why he does it. You sympathize, really; you wish you could tell him he and his secret are safe with you without revealing that you already know, but because you can’t you’ve been avoiding him more than anyone.
You miss him.
“You, too.” The warmth in James’ eyes ignites the same feelings it always has. It’s hard to look at. “Are you on your way to the library, by chance?”
James hesitates. “I am, yeah. You?”
“I was, but...” You hold the ice pack out lamely. “Maybe you can bring this to Remus instead.”
He looks bemused but takes it from you. Your fingers brush, and a frisson goes up your arm which you ignore.
“Is he okay?” James asks. “He asked you for this?”
“Yeah—or no, he didn’t ask me.” You press your lips into a reassuring smile. “I was just going by and saw him laying down on the couch. He looked like his head might be hurting him, so…”
James’ eyes go all melty soft. There’s a terrible ache inside the base of your throat, a pain that begs to be let out. “That’s really thoughtful of you,” he says in a tender voice.
You swallow around the ache.
“He gets migraines,” he says, and you nod to show that you know. “They’ve been coming more often lately. It happens sometimes when he’s stressed.”
You wonder if that’s your fault.
“I hope the ice helps,” you say feebly.
James smiles. “I’m sure it will. And he’ll appreciate it.” You smile back, meaning to go—to turn down some random hallway or whatever gets you away quickest—but before you can James says, “I feel like we haven’t seen much of you lately.”
You almost make a sound. A sigh, or a low whine; only a lifetime of etiquette training keeps you from it. You turn back around. “I’ve been exploring more,” you say.
“We’d be happy to show you around.”
“We?”
James grins, sheepish. “I,” he amends. “The engagement ball is coming up anyway. It would be good for people to see us together.”
You have to work hard to shove down on how that stings. For people to see us together. James wants to be seen with you, not to be with you.
“They can see us there,” you say, in as breezy a tone as you can muster. “It’s really fine, I don’t need to take up so much of your time when we’re not in the public eye. It’ll be good practice for after the wedding, right?”
James’ smile has faded. His brows twitch slightly towards the center, like he’s searching for something he can’t quite grasp. “Right,” he echoes you.
“Right,” you say again, taking a couple of steps away from him. “Thanks, James. I hope Remus feels better.”
“Yeah.” He still sounds a bit lost. “I’ll let him know you went and got this for him.”
It’s only the second day back to school and I’m already over it (●´⌓`●). One of my profs has a ‘no devices’ rule which i think is inconvenient. Sure some people get distracted and spend the whole time on their phone, but thats their problem. More often than not i rely on pdf textbooks (cheaper if not free) and pdf readings! And its a three hour class
Summary: When Reader's attempts at finding love fall short, she turns to her roommate, Sirius Black, for assistance. As Sirius offers his unique perspective and charm to help her navigate the complexities of romance, unexpected feelings begin to emerge between them, blurring the lines between childhood friends and something more.
Word count: 2.9K
Warnings: I'm going to put bodily insecurity just in case.
'I kinda hate it- Jermaine'
It’s been two weeks since your date with Frank and you still haven’t managed to uproot the seeds of insecurity he’d sown in you with a single word.
You'd be going about your work, completing whatever mundane task, when his voice would make its now customary rounds in your thoughts. As clear as day and as fresh a sting as if he was standing directly next to you, whispering into your ear. The image of his eyes flittering up from his phone for a split second, snapping across your face with a scrutinizing glint, kept you up at night. Disappointed. Your appearance had disappointed someone.
It’s not like he’d even specifically called out your weight, but your mind kept telling you that was the main thing he'd been alluding to.
You'd been on a yoyo diet since your teen years as someone who’s weight fluctuated easily. It was usually enough to keep you at a size you were comfortable at, but maybe your sedentary job was finally catching up to you. You could never get into the rhythm of a full exercise routine, the sweaty consistency of it. But you had to find something to appease yourself and James Potter was the closest solution. A lover of all things physical for as long as you'd known him. He went on a run every morning. If you asked to join him, he'd probably be ecstatic. However, your nerves would never allow you to do it directly.
So, you'd taken to getting up with the sun and lingering amongst the shadows of the kitchen in hopes of catching him leaving so you could spring yourself on him. Propped up on your toes checking the peep hole every few minutes. You'd wait until he was stooped down tying his laces to scuttle outside with a soft greeting, half expecting to be met with annoyance.
But it was James.
A sleepy smile and a raspy line like "What have I done to deserve such company?" was all there was to it.
The first few days it made you feel better. The quiet of the streets. Taking in sights that you'd never notice otherwise. The colorful pops of graffiti splattered across any available cranny. The same few taggers battling for space. Little shops with their lights already on, setting up for a busy day. People swaying on their feet at the bus stop, bundled up to twice their sizes. The fresh air. The yellow tint of the sky. The burn in your muscles.
You enjoyed it all up until you realized you're holding James back with your lack of athletic prowess. His long limbs purposefully dragging to remain in step with you. You assured him he could run a little ways ahead, keep his regular pace, but he waved you off. Instead, lingering by your sluggish form, regaling you with whatever funny tale one of his swim kids had told him. He taught afterschool lessons at the community pool.
You run four miles, much less than usual for your benefit, and head back home. When you get to the complex, huffing and puffing your way up the steps, James offers to cook you breakfast the same time he prepares his own, but you decline. You’re supposed to meet Lily this morning and need to shower and have a quick lie down before. You’d have to walk to the shop and your legs were already screaming at you to get off them.
James wishes you a good day before disappearing into his apartment. You enter your own, heaving yourself down the hall towards your bedroom.
When you throw the door open, you’re surprised to find Sirius already in there. Still in his pajamas, sprawled across your unmade bed with one of your magazines in hand. Flipping through the thin pages with heavy lidded eyes and a pencil dangling from his fingers. His tongue pushed into his cheek. Gone now is the sparkly black polish, replaced with a rich bloody red.
“What’re you doing?” you ask, clicking the door shut, bending to pry off your sneakers. Sweat drips from your hairline, splattering to the wooden floors. It wasn’t weird for Sirius to be in your room, just not while you weren’t there. You hoped that was the case.
He circles something on the page, frowning deeply at whatever is there.
“Taking a quiz to see when I’ll meet the love of my life.” He circles something else, and his frown only deepens.
You aren’t all that interested in knowing. You’d taken that quiz when you first bought the book but only received vague and undecipherable answers. “What does it say?” you ask anyway, feeling it rude if you didn’t.
“Says I’ve already met them.”
“What do you think?”
He juggles the idea for a minute “Maybe that girl I met at Claire’s?”
“With the chunky highlights you hated? You only dated for a month”
“Or septum ring girl, she was fun” Fun up until she started sending you death threats under the assumption you wanted to hoard Sirius for yourself. You were not that brand of girl best friend.
Rummaging through your closet for underclothes you make your way to your bathroom. You crack the door back open twenty minutes later swaddled in a robe, feeling lightheaded from the heat. Curls of steam escape, drawing Sirius' attention.
“Off somewhere today?” He calls. The magazines been placed back where he found it. He's rolled onto his side, picking lint from your comforter.
“Coffee with Lils” you reply around a mouthful of toothpaste.
There's a beat of silence. “I’m glad you two get on better now.”
You wholeheartedly agreed with that. Lily was the only member of Sirius’ crew who wasn’t very welcoming from the get-go. You’d always assumed it was because your personalities just didn’t gel, but she at times would make it a point not to even try. And by some greater power you’d gone from her holding her head straight while passing you in the hallways, from purposefully not inviting you on group outings, to one on one catch up dates.
“Don’t you have work?”
“Shops closed, busted water pipe” Ah, so he was just bored and looking for someone to bother.
Finishing your bathroom routine, you make your way to the closet. You pull down two shirt options. One is yellow with a thin line of ruffles along the sleeves. The other is blue with a white peter pan collar. “Which one do you think?” you ask, holding each to your chest.
“Blue” he answers without even giving them a good look “You always look lovely in blue.”
You get dressed in the closet to the occasional ruffle of Sirius tossing and turning. As soon as your jeans are over your ass you throw yourself down onto the bed, exhaustion finally catching up to you. Your face is sunken into the pillow, you can barely breathe, but you lie still none the less. Stretching your shoulders out and hoping you won’t be too painful in the morning. The longer you stay there, the more you realize your pillow doesn’t even smell that much like you. You preferred light scents for day to day use. This was something much stronger, a smell that already lingers around every other room of your apartment.
Sirius must have had enough of your silence. He shimmies closer, the heat of him present at your side, and places his palm on your back. It doesn't move, just rests there.
“Running with prongs, still can’t believe it” he whispers.
Turning your head, your eyes catch and spark. His are much prettier than yours you think. A metallic grey that twinkled when he was up to no good. His hair spills between your faces. Glossy and tangled.
Sirius breaks out into a grin at your attention, one of his canines a little sharper and more protruding that the other “Shall I drop you off?”
“I was planning to walk”
“On these sore legs?" your thigh is shoved for emphasis "Not a chance, I was heading into town anyway.”
“For what?”
There was that twinkle “for brekkie with you and Lils of course”
A startled snort bursts out of you “it’s a girls thing. You aren’t invited.”
“Aw, please? I'm starving.”
“Well, why don’t you go into the kitchen and make yourself something to eat.”
“You know I'm a shit cook.”
“Jamie is cooking, go next door.”
“But I want to come with you, please, I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
“Sirius.” You aren't one to say no to him. But you had yet to get the chance to tell Lily the full story of your date from hell. You had some things you wanted to get her opinion on, and you wouldn't be able to do that with Sirius there. He'd already been hounding you nonstop to tell him what went wrong, but you’d stuck steadfast to your story that everything was just peachy.
“Please darling, I’ll buy you a blueberry muffin.” He gazes up at you with puppy dog eyes and a quivering lip. A known weakness for you.
There's no other good reason you can give for him not to come besides just not wanting him there, and you'd never say such a thing. “fine” you relent “Get dressed quickly, or we’ll be late.”
You've rolled onto your back to grab your phone and text Lily the change of plans when you realize Sirius hasn't moved yet. Scolding words crowd your mouth, telling him to hurry before you change your mind. However, instead of rushing to crawl from the end of the bed like you assumed he would, Sirius chooses to trample directly over you. His weight settles on your stomach for a moment, and he’s leaning down. Hands on either side of your head, you're assaulted with the same sweet scent now embedded in your pillows. His lips land on your cheek with an exaggerated smack “love you!” He's off you as quickly as he'd gotten there, feet thumping loudly down the hall.
Your chest burns all the way to the cafe. You start fanning yourself with the menu as soon as you sit down. "Sorry we’re late.”
"No sweat, you’ve brought company." Lily chimes with a saccharine smile on her painted lips.
Sirius plops down in the chair across from you. Lily between you, back straight, not a hair out of place.
"Evans," he greets.
"Black."
"Did you order?" you ask, finally starting to cool off.
"No, I was waiting."
The café isn’t much. A cute place equal distance between your respective living arrangements. Nobody is here so early in the morning. Pop music plays softly over the speakers. A waitress brings you three waters and promises to be back shortly for your orders. You aren’t much of a breakfast food person, so you decide on something light. An iced coffee and a blueberry muffin, secretly giddy that you wouldn’t be paying for this meal. Everyone places their orders and hands over their menus when the waitress returns.
Once she’s brought all your food, you settle on your elbows, waiting, but none of the regular friendly small talk picks up as you're used to. In fact, Lily is looking at you very expectantly. Your stomach drops. Why didn’t you just reschedule?
The red head clears her throat. Two sets of eyes bore into you.
You look at her, then look at Sirius, then look back at her in hopes she’d get the hint. Her eyebrows raise in acknowledgement, and you think you’ve successfully conveyed your message until she turns on Sirius “Always one to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong aren’t you?” she breathes in good humour.
Sirius holds his hands up “Don’t mind me, ladies. I’m not even here”
Lily nods, bringing her attention back to you. She rests her chin in her hand, patiently waiting for you to begin. Your date was the only thing of interest to happen of recent anyway, so the stage was yours to set and perform.
You spare Sirius one last look. His gaze is directed out the window, watching people go about their lives. You’re sure he’s listening, however. It takes effort, but you shove down the anxiety bubbling in your throat. Sirius was your best friend; you told each other virtually everything. Why did you feel such a need to keep this pain from him?
With a deep breath, you dive into the tale, keeping your focus on your muffin. Going into every detail you’d purposefully left out when telling the story the first time.
When you finish, instead of the comfort you’d hoped for, when you look up again, both of your friends are frowning in irritation. You can’t help but laugh a bit. They look far more upset for you than you’d felt in the moment. But it seems as though what angered them the most is the same word stamped into your brain forever. Lily holds a slender hand out.
“Let me see the photos babe.”
Huh?
“Show me the pictures you uploaded” she asks again, shaking her fingers in impatience. You fish your phone from your purse, open your dating app and hand it over.
She and Sirius converge on it like two birds of prey. They scroll through the profile together, having some kind of silent conversation.
“These are what you chose?” Lily asks, an air of disbelief apparent in her question.
You sink into your chair “What's wrong with them?”
“Well for starters” she turns the phone back for you to see “that lighting does you no favors”
“You were the one who took it!”
“Well yeah, it’s cute for a little post but look it’s even kind of blurry! And you’ve got red flash eyes!”
Sirius looks surprised. He puts a hand on her wrist, an obvious signal to lay off you a bit. And you’re grateful for it because this was not at all the response you thought you'd get from her. Being the one who encouraged you to try out apps to begin with. Sure, Lily had always been the spearhead, straight to the point type, deadly so in more recent times. And usually, you were grateful for such blunt criticism. You just don’t think you have the gall for it today. A buzz starts up behind your ears as you withdraw a little.
“A dating profile is like an audition” her tone is gentler, but not by much “would you send this in as a headshot?”
She must see the answer in your face “Be honest.”
No.
So, it was your fault then? That you’d been treated so horribly. A few not-so-great photos warranted you that. The disrespect didn't matter because that's what a profile such as yours attracted. But what did she know anyway? She and James had been dating since school. It’s not like she ever had to ‘audition’ for love. She could never understand the desperation that clawed beneath your skin. How undoing an emotion such as loneliness could be.
“Ok, how about we take a step back here.” Sirius pipes up when neither of you speak. Getting his own phone out he hands it to you “look at this.”
“I thought you were on a break from dating” you mumble, seeing a profile on the devices screen.
“Yeah, but my profiles still exist.”
He has a lot of nice photos on display, but the best is his main. It is an upper body shot. Clear and in focus. A cream-colored sweater hugs his form. Dark hair slicked back; shadow smudged around his light eyes. He’s smiling at the camera full blast, lips stretched to capacity. Cheeks pink with an alcohol blush.
“I remember this” In fact you’d been the one to snap it at some party he’d dragged you to last year.
Sirius nods “but you see how it leaves nothing of my personality up to interpretation.”
Charming, easy going, fun.
“Theres nothing wrong with your profile, but it doesn’t do very well at capturing who you are.”
Lily pulls your phone back. She runs through everything wrong with your profile like it’s a checklist. You were completely underselling yourself apparently with an uninspired bio, uninteresting hobbies and poor-quality photos “We need to revamp this whole thing, but a new photo will be a good start.”
You don’t know how long the three of you sit there sieving through your photos. One by one, they are all shot down for some reason or another. You begin to wonder if Lily is just having a bad day herself, or maybe shes annoyed with you for allowing Sirius in on your personal time. But you'd asked her, and she hadn't objected.
Soon enough you’ve had enough and ask for your phone back, embarrassed. Lily has to run after a bit more clipped conversation on what you should and shouldn’t include. She leaves you and Sirius seated at the table together, your phones between you.
You can barely speak around the tightness of your throat. You hated crying over pointless things, but tears are building without your consent. You rest your head down, so he doesn’t notice your wet eyes “This is hopeless. The only chance I have at love is if Cupid himself comes down here and shoots me in the ass.” Your voice sounds reedy.
You don’t know why you'd allowed yourself to dream. To think that apps may be the solution to all your problems despite hardly ever working for anyone else.
Hot droplets dribble down your face. They slide along your nose before plopping onto your knee.
“You'll waste your time waiting for that to happen but I'm willing to fill in part time until then.”
“What?” You raise your head slowly, sniffling.
Sirius is angled as if he’d been trying to catch a glimpse of you beneath the table. He stays low, voice impossibly soft “I'll be your part-time cupid.” He states matter-of-factly “It makes sense. Nobody knows you better than I do, so who better to help find your perfect match.”
As sweet as the offer, a piece of you didn’t want his help. Sure, you could outsource to Lily, James or even Remus if absolutely necessary. But to fall back on the same person who’d instigated most of your relationships to begin with? It would be like you’d made no self progress at all. You can’t rely on him to act for you forever.
whats ur fav kpop groups?? i need to find more marauders fans who like kpop tooo 😝😝 stan loona x
Uhhh if i had to choose favorites it would be BTS, Twice, and p1harmony. I wanna put XG on this list but i know they don’t necessarily fall under the kpop umbrella 😭
The question clangs painfully against the back of your clenched teeth when Peter mumbles ‘mhmm?’ for the fifth time throughout your story. The sudden urge to question his affections almost unbearable as you stand off to the side of his desk, still sweaty and in your outside shoes having been in a rush to tell him about your day. Heart leaping with joy over the compliment you’d received from a classmate in your poetry workshop.
“And then he bent me over and fucked me on the profs desk while everyone watched”
“Mhmm”
At least Ned and MJ were listening where they lounged about the room, albeit rosy in the cheeks. They encourage you to continue as if any of this could be remotely true.
“In fact, he asked me when we’d be able to make sweet love again.”
“Mhmm”
“Figured I could pencil a date in for next week seeing as I’ll probably be single by then”
“Yeah? That’s great junebug.”
Peter has not once lifted his gaze away from his laptop. The light of the screen reflecting off his glasses, casting a soft blue haze over his features.
Your two friends sensing the oncoming argument scuttle off silently to the kitchen with the excuse of wanting snacks.
“Petey?”
“Yes my love?”
“You know, if you want to break up all you have to do is say so.”
“Mhmm.”
You’re halfway to the door when his brows pinch inward. Shaking his head quickly, Peter struggles to rewind the conversation in between a slew of agonizingly complicated equations. His brain chugging along much slower than he’d like, than he's used to.
“Wait what?”
“I think I'll head home for the day, see you later," you mumble. You had some lectures to catch up with anyway.
He finally breaks away from the device, lowering the lid slightly “Wait bug what did you say?"
“Nothing.”
“No, you said something. Repeat it for me"
“I shouldn’t have to repeat it. You should have heard it the first time.” You spit over your shoulder, reaching for the doorknob.
Peters up, trailing behind you on long legs “Now hold on a minute, that's not fair.”
“And I wouldn’t be so bothered if this was a once in a while thing, but it's becoming an everytime thing! I come back after a good day or even a bad one, and I try telling you about it, and you sit there more focused on the performance of listening than actually listening." And what a performance it was. Leaning in, nodding with the occasional smile or eye contact or frown or gasp or laugh. All without actually having heard a word you said.
You listened to any and everything he had to share with enthusiasm and even questions to follow.
“That’s not true! I was listening.”
You cross your arms over your chest with a sceptical tic in your jaw “Ok, then what did my classmate say about my poetry?”
Peter stops in his tracks “um”
“quickly.”
“He said it was lovely?” You had used the word lovely in your story, but the questioning pitch of his voice has you fleeing all the same. He didn't know for sure if that was what you said.
Your fingers have just wrapped around the cool metal of the knob when all of a sudden your wrist is pinned to the door by a sticky white substance. A beat of silence resonates through the room before you're whirling on your boyfriend with twice as much annoyance as before.
“You did not just web me!” You yell
“Everything's happening too fast!” Peter wails, arm still extended from trapping you, pupils wide.
“Well allow me to excuse myself while the boy genius catches up,” you say, going for your keys. You'd use them to saw your way free, no matter how long it took. But as soon as you wiggle them free from your pocket, another web shoots out and sticks your free arm to the other side of the door. The keys clank uselessly to the ground. “Stop doing that!”
“Stop trying to leave!”
“If I don’t go now ill be late for my date with someone who actually cares about what I have to say!”
“I do care about what you have to say!" The wet rasp of his confession immediately extinguishs your anger. With a predatory focus, you hone in on the abrupt glossy sheen of his eyes, the rosy tint creeping up his neck. The way he starts to shift his weight from foot to foot, rubbing his plams against the abrasive material of his jeans. His lips tremble, pale with the force of his trying to keep them still. "I-" He chokes. Stops. Gaze snapping up to the ceiling before running to you. Working his jaw back and forth as if the words are fighting him, refusing to be spoken, "I've just been really fumbling with the whole juggling school and spidermanning lately.”
The sentence seems to zap what little energy he has. He stumbles in what you assume to be relief, to sit down on his bed. Removing his glasses, he tosses them without care, pressing his knuckles into his eyes and scrubbing at them cruely “…’m tired”
You watch in silence as Peter closes in on himself. He uses his hands to muffle his sniffles, but in doing so, allows a few salty drops to escape and slip along the slope of his nose. Falling from the tip, a row of tiny dark splots begins to form on his shirt. His tears only drip faster as the minutes tick by. His chest stuttering erratically with the task of inhaling and exhaling.
It makes you feel shitty but you don't try to comfort him.
You remain still and quiet as to not disturb the moment in fear that if Peter remembers you're there, he'll attempt to compose himself when all he really needs is to let it out.
When he's cried himself dry, you probe lightly “are you eyes hurting you again?”
He doesn't raise his head. You're faced with knots and tangles of brown “mhmm.”
“words please parker.”
“So much” he gasps, seemingly renewed with sorrow.
This is the boy, you realize, the one Aunt May has told you about amongst the shadows and hush of night. When you sleep over on weekends and wake up longing for a cold glass of water, slipping from bed a little while before dawn only to find her already up, never having actually gone to bed.
The boy who tries to shield his gentle soul behind humour and smarts. Who often takes on much more than he can handle to satisfy others, and is content to crush himself beneath the weight of responsibility if only to let one more person rest easy that day. The one who yearns to please above all else.
Peter often suffers from aches and pains, comes with the territory, but his facial discomfort has been a persistent problem of late. A deep soreness in his cheekbones, temples, behind his eyes, that no pain killer seemed to relieve.
“temple massage?”
“Please?”
With a final sniffle, Peters back on his feet. Swaying over, he makes quick work of freeing you. Pressing shy kisses of apology to your wrists.
No longer having it in you to be upset, you swat him back towards the bed, getting comfortable in your usual postions. Your back propped up on the pillows, Peter sprawled across your lap, face plastered against your tummy. His arms loop around your thighs, fingers playing with the stiching on your pants.
Retrieving the oil and comb from his sidetable, you set to work untangling his hair before you get to the real job of massaging his scalp and temples. A repetitive activity that allows you both time to think about what you've been truly wanting to say.
“You make me feel so invisible sometimes." You start. Peters' hair is soft despite being so uncared for. You comb back his bangs, cupping his face gently and shifting it to look up at you "like it doesn’t matter if I’m here or not. I know you're a busy person, and i accept and love that part of you. But all i ask is five minutes where we act like I'm not some annoyance.”
Insecurity was something you'd fought tooth and nail to rid yourself of over the course of your relationship. Not only a genius but a superhero , being interested in a mere arts major certainly took a toll on the psyche. Sometimes, you caught yourself slipping back into not so nice thoughts and behaviours.
A flash of hurt strikes across Peters face. When he speaks, warmth puffs under the hem of your shirt “I’m sorry. I'm not doing it on purpose. I love having you around and hearing about your day. It's the most relaxing part of my own."
“That’s why you need to tell me when you’re feeling overwhelmed so I can support you in the way you need. I never want you to feel like that.” Like there's nobody in his corner paying attention to his needs.
You accept the apology and continue with your work of destressing your boyfriend. His eyes fall shut after a time and you think he's fallen asleep, familiar with post cry exhaustion when,
“He said you write with patience, giving every word the chance to be what it wants to be” Peter whispers.
“Now, was that before or after he stuck his tongue down my throat?”
“Bug” he groans, springing up. He playfully shoves you back with an exaggerated scowl. You roll to your side, giggling at your own antics. Peter closes in. Slotting a thigh between your legs to lay his body against yours, smothering you with his elevated temperature.
“Trick question! It wasn’t his tongue he stuck down my throat.”
Another howl of disgust rips free from Peter “I hate you!”
Summary: Reader makes Remus stand barefoot in grass to help his chronic pain
Warning: its pretty short
"Is this really necessary?"
You step into the grass with a frown “didn’t you say you were having a flare-up?”
“Killer”
“Then yes, it’s necessary.”
You and Remus have only been living in this house for a few months. It fell on the more expensive side of what you could afford, but you'd both agreed to cut back on a few luxuries until you developed a suitable spending cushion.
You'd chosen it because it was the only spot you'd viewed that really had your sole requirement. A yard. Even if only a measly few feet of it.
You thrived off being outside. A few minutes of sunlight and fresh air a day were enough to breeze you through a rough week. Sometimes, you would even retreat out here for hours at a time to just stare at the sky and listen to music. Falling asleep on more than one occasion.
All you had to do now was convince your indoorsy boyfriend just how beneficial the investment could be for him as well.
It's a beautiful day.
A perfectly clear blue sky. The neighbourhood in a lull as afternoon sweeps in. Signs of life drift over your high fence, allowing you to imagine what you couldn't physically see. Muffled chatter from a television, someone watching old reruns. The smell of freshly baked pastries, an oven timer chiming. The squeals and giggles of a child echoed by the rowdy grumble of a dog. That in particular was a sound you heard quite often these days. The people that lived directly beside you had a young son who relished in terrorizing their new Golden.
A gentle touch presses into your hip, startling you.
You turn to face Remus and almost break out into tears at the sight of him, already feeling guilty for forcing him off the couch.
He looks so frail for such an otherwise tall, imposing boy. Dark hair sticks to his damp forehead, sweater haphazardly thrown over his drooping shoulders. His skin is washed, cracked lips melded together in a grimace, and eyes glassy where they stare at you. Heavy lidded. He sways on bare feet. Fingers bunch into the fabric of your shirt and pull taught. You stumble a step at his grip.
Reaching out, your arms circle his waist “Here, lean on me." He's slumping forward before you've even finished offering. His face settles into the space between your neck and shoulder. He inhales deeply, suppressing a groan only for your benefit. With a sharp intake of air, he rubs his nose into your skin, allowing the next bellow of pain to slip free. The grisly sound of his teeth grinding makes your heart clench.
You're such a horrible person.
"Only for a few minutes Rem," you promise, sliding your hand into his hair to massage his scalp. He's putting much more weight on you than he usually allows. You have to lock your knees to steady you both.
“I'm burning” Remus complains.
You squint up at the sun. There's no cloud cover to protect you from its battering rays. "Sunlight is good for you." He'd been shut away in the house all week, with the curtains closed.
"Not if I end up with skin cancer."
You remind him of the sunscreen you'd so lovingly slathered on him prior to your journey outside. The citrusy aroma of it lingers on him. "The spf was pretty high."
This doesn't seem to appease him. Warm breath billows across the front of your face as Remus shifts to your other shoulder, hiding himself from direct contact. He does feel pretty warm. Overheating wouldn't do his exhausted body any good.
Tapping him twice, you try to dislodge your intertwined limbs. "I'll get you a hat." Some water as well. He could rest on the porch steps until you get back. You wait a beat for Remus to let go, and when he doesn't, tap him again.
"I'm fine like this," he mumbles, kissing the hollow of your throat lightly
You ask if he's sure but receive no response.
The two of you stand in the centre of your yard in comfortable silence for the next few minutes. Occasionally, Remus will groan and rearrange himself, to which you can provide little comfort other than a firm rub on the back. You don't want to disturb him, so you keep busy by wiggling your toes in the grass. It rained last night, the soil still damp. The cool ground feels good.
After a while, Remus eases some of his weight. Leaning up, he bumps your foreheads together. Cheek to Cheek, he rests his lips against your ear, sending a pleasant jolt down your spine. He whispers, "So what's the science behind this?"
"Well, it's called grounding." As soon as you say it, you feel stupid.
Remus has dealt with chronic pain for as long as you've known him. Has tried every remedy there was. Who were you to think you'd found all the answers from one of your silly little deep dives.
Your palms start to get clammy. How could you explain to him that you were forcing him into discomfort to satisfy your own curiosities.
"Go on, don't get shy now." Remus can feel the sudden tension in your posture. Pressing in closer, he virtually fuses your bodies together.
"Imagine your body is like a phone," you start. "You have to recharge it regularly for it to work properly. Grounding is like plugging your phone, yourself, in. When you do it, you connect your body to the electrical energy of the Earth. Simple things like walking barefoot on grass or leaning against a tree or deep breaths of fresh air can rejuvenate you." And just to sound like you have some sort of good reasoning you tack on "Its supposed to be anti-inflammatory." At least that's what every nature healing blog you'd read claimed.
Remus remains quiet as if he's waiting for you to say more. Your nerves fizzle with embarrassment.
"Is it working?" You wonder aloud, more to yourself than anything.
Remus tips the two of you side to side with a long hum. Nimble fingers play at the edge of your top, gliding upwards to push at the pluff of your tummy. "I'm not sure, but you’re soft."
You struggle to contain a giggle when they slide even higher. Up and up until they brush along the underside of your chest.
Yanking his hands down, you nip at his chin. "A few more minutes, and then we’ll go inside." Maybe you'd even reward him for not laughing outright at your idea.
I made blueberry scones with lemon glaze. They came out a bit too soft and bit more cakey than hoped but overall very delicious ( ˘▽˘)っ♨! Next time i wont add any salt either since i used salted butter.
Summary: James is understanding of your food sensitivities
Warning: food sensitivity/sensory issue
*I personally dislike my food touching and creamy textures. Plus this is short and horribly written but what can be done.
- jermaine (シ_ _)シ
“That bush looks like a head of broccoli”
You don't say it because the bush necessarily looks like broccoli. It's simply the urge to talk nipping at you. The need to Distract yourself. Foods all that's on your mind at the moment. The bushes lining the street are the only things in your field of vision where its fixed out the car window.
Besides, what other food could a bush possible resemble but one of many tasteless greens.
James doesn't respond with anything other than a concerned glance. Usually on drives you'd be lounged out in the passenger seat, playlist cued up, serenading him with raspy heavy metal. But there you sit, stiff as a plank. Quiet except for the occasional mumble. Hands knotted in your lap placing wrinkles into your pretty clothes. Mouth pinned into a thin wobbling line.
You'd met his friends before. They were kind so that wasn't the source of your stress. The trouble arose around the fact that it had been in a pub setting, where the only requirement was drinking and nodding along.
But this would be different. This was big.
A birthday dinner. Where you'd have to sit up straight at a dining table and contribute to conversation, answer and ask questions, smile. All while eating your meal in the same timely manner as everybody else. Not too slow and not too quickly. Not itty bitty spoonful's and not gaping mouthfuls. You'd have to pause between bites, swallow, have a sip of your drink and repeat. Not staring at your plate, make eye contact occasionally.
You've always been very sensitive with food. You grew up in a clean plate household. Only by the grace of the universe were you able to find someone as understanding about it as James. Exactly why you don't want to embarrass him in front of his friends with your pickiness.
You would try your best to stomach whatever was placed before you but boy would it be hard. When certain textures or smells or mixtures made your mouth watery and your palms sweaty.
Food touching. Utensils scraping. The mushy sound of chewing and the wet gulp of a swallow.
However, You'd grind your teeth and bare with the horrors if it meant making a good impression.
“I made sure to tell Moonie you have trouble with certain foods.” James is talking lowly as if afraid to startle you.
“Huh?”
“Oh, I told Remus some of the things you don't fair well with-
Your eyes grow to twice the size in alarm "You shouldn't have put him out that way Jamie!"
The slight wobble of his head is done in apology. All you'd get, because he wasn't actually sorry. The movement sends his glasses slipping down his nose. You reach out on instinct to adjust them for him. "Its no stress mouse, he was happy to make sure you'd be accommodated"
And how would that appear. Everyone enjoying a full homemade roast dinner while James’ girlfriend poked and prodded at some frozen chicken strips and potato wedges?
"I can eat whatever he prepares" Could and Would.
"You can. But you don't have to. Remember that." The grounding weight of his hand finds its place on your thigh and your shoulders immediately slump with a release of tension. "Take a breath for me love"
You've squeezed your fingers so tightly your nails have dug bloody crescents into your palms. They burn. Your face warms in a rapid flush. Maybe it wasn't too late to throw yourself from the car.
"Yeah"
"If you start to feel icky we can always find you a safe food alright? It puts nobody out to make sure you’re well fed"
Icky. James' word for what was, in your head, unreasonable upset and stubbornness. There was a time when more cruel terms were hurled at you. When you sat in the kitchen until the morning doves began to coo. A plate of pasta long cold on the table. You liked pasta. Would have eaten the pasta if only the sauce hadn't been pre added for you. White and thick and slimy. Buttered noodles by themselves were delicious. But you weren't allowed to get yourself a fresh plate until you ate the one already given to you. Even if that meant going to school the next day on an empty stomach and not a wink of sleep.
"Yes mum" You have to bite your cheek to keep from smiling at how thoughtful you actually found his actions, feigning upset by purposefully avoiding his gaze. He sees through this of course.
"There she is"
And you know by the crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he grins at you that James would gladly join in with any alternative option if it would make you feel more comfortable. Confident. All you had to do was ask and he'd do anything for you.
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