Summary: You feel insecure about gaining weight. James cannot fathom the thought.
Note: Please consider leaving a comment/reblogging if you liked it! It helps a lot! 💙
It isn't always obvious what James is thinking.
You like to think you can figure him out easily. He is basically an open book. Except for the times like tonight, apparently.
The night starts with a nice dinner you made for him and a movie he picked for the two of you. The movie is something romantic and cozy. Like he wants to make sure the date night will end in cuddles and kisses. See? Easy to read.
However, when his arm slide around you on the couch and he starts giving gentle butterfly kisses to your hair, your shoulders tighten. You immediately try to relax so he wouldn't worry. Yet despite your attempt, he still pulls back to look at your face.
"Something wrong, angel?"
You can't bear to say it when he is looking at you so softly. You shake your head.
"Tell me what it is?" He still says because apparently he can read you just as easily.
"It's stupid." You murmur. He looks at you patiently, like he has nowhere else to be and nothing else to do.
"I realized today that I've put on some weight recently..." You let it out with a tentative tone. Like for some reason you're waiting for your incredibly devoted boyfriend to realize the same thing and pull back. The weight of the insecurity presses harder over your chest, somehow.
He hums softly.
"Does it bother you?" He asks and you almost laugh at the question.
"I was afraid of it bothering you, actually." You don't think your smile is doing anything to soften the sentence.
He pulls back with a cute frown.
"Why would it bother me?" He sounds genuinely confused.
"Because I feel... fluffier than usual?" You try to say it as gentle as you can, but his cute frown deepens with confusion.
"So?" He tilts his head to the side. "If this is about me being able to lift you, you know I go to the gym daily, right?"
His question catches you off-guard and you hear yourself laugh briefly. He looks so clueless.
"Why did your mind go to that? No, I just meant that maybe you wouldn't like your girlfriend to be chubbier than usual. That's all." You manage to get it all out without your chest tightening this time.
"Angel. I like you at all times," he presses a kiss to your forehead, "in all shapes," another kiss to your cheek, "at all places," another to the tip of your nose, "in all versions," he finishes off by plastering a final kiss to your lips.
"You're always pretty to me. All the time." He says softer this time, against your lips.
You can't find your words when he is being like this. All gentle and very convincing. You must've look so, because he continues as he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes properly.
"Does that pretty little brain is feeding you lies, baby? Because I'm being completely honest. Don't listen to that traitor, hm?"
"My traitor brain is pretty too?" You can't help the little smile that decorates your face. He matches yours with his signature bright smile.
"Everything about you is pretty. I thought we established that, gorgeous." He taps your nose.
"Does it bother you?" He circles back to his first question.
"Maybe a little." You shrug. "I was more worried you'd be bothered. I didn't really check what I thought about it."
His hand plays with the tips of your hair.
"If it bothers you, we can maybe have gym dates? I can help you with whatever you want to do in the gym and you can watch your boyfriend look all strong and capable." His brows go up and down as he sends you a playful smile. Your smile widens.
"Well, how can I possibly say no to watching my boyfriend look all strong and capable?"
"That's my girl." He declares with a kiss between your hair.
His playful smile sober up for a moment as he meets your eyes.
"Just for the record though: I'm completely fine with my girl being however she is. Because she is always my pretty girl."
You choose to kiss him then, just because it would hide your warming cheeks.
I was wondering if I could request an obvious!reader x marauders? I read this headcanon for marvel once and I’ve always found it so funny. where marauders are dating reader like fully going on dates and cuddling and EVERYTHING but when asked about it reader is like we’re really good friends. And the the mar are like????? We go on DATES she’s like “yeah??? I also go on dates with Marlene am I dating her too?” Like all innocent and confused
hey! i feel like i was toeing the line between oblivious/innocent and juvenile, so i hope i did the the request justice without infantilizing reader!
poly!marauders x oblivious!reader who didn't know they were dating [1.4k words]
CW: fem!reader, Sirius' POV [so an unreliable narrator], friend group chaos, Marlene loving to stir the pot, established relationship except she doesn't know, fluff
Sirius made a rather concerted effort to snap his jaw shut as he stared at you dumbfoundedly, wondering how in the world they managed to botch this so thoroughly.
His gaze flickered towards James whose mouth was fully agape, eyes wide and locked on you with a bewildered expression on his face. Remus, at least, returned Sirius’ startled glance with a what the fuck expression of his own.
How could one little throw away comment expose such a massive miscommunication?
Marlene stood up from the couch with a playfully aggrieved expression on her face as she joined the rest of the group in the kitchen.
“Lads, tell your girlfriend here she’s not allowed to play Mario Kart anymore,” she announced, gesturing with a flippant thumb towards Lily as she took over Marlene’s abandoned controller to challenge you for your crown as reigning Mario Kart champion.
Sirius let out a rather inelegant snort. “Come on, McKinnon. I didn’t take you for a sore loser.”
Marlene glowered at him. “Do you even know me at all, Black?”
“Relax, babe,” Dorcas called as she mixed her whining girlfriend a drink. “It’s just a game.”
That earned her various sounds of disagreement.
Marlene—not relaxed in the slightest—continued her needling. “Yeah, and your girl’s a cheat.”
Sirius, Remus, and James' response was simultaneous.
“Oi!”
“Hey, now.”
“McKinnon, I swear to God…”
“Marls, you’re not going to win this,” Dorcas offered with faux consolation, handing Marlene a drink with one hand and pulling her in with the other to place a placating kiss to her temple.
“Just like you can’t win at Mario Kart,” James taunted.
“You looking to take this outside, Potter?” Marlene volleyed, putting up her fists which saw the two of them dancing around each other shadow-box style with wild grins on their faces.
“Aaaand she remains undefeated,” Lily announced as she, too, joined the bodies in the kitchen.
At least she was a better loser than Marlene.
Speaking of the devil, Sirius winced as she screeched your name. “The boys say you’re not allowed to play anymore!”
“We did no such thing,” James hollered quickly.
“Marlene,” Remus sighed like the disappointed, tired old man he often claimed he was.
You appeared in the doorway with a controller in hand and a look of bemusement on your face. “What?”
Marlene turned back to Sirius. “Would you please tell your girlfriend she’s not allowed to play Mario Kart anymore?”
It was this moment when Sirius’ entire understanding of the world imploded.
“I don’t know how you speak to your girlfriend, Marls. But our girlfriend is allowed to do what she pleases.”
Sirius’ haughty response was punctuated by your breathy, disbelieving “Girlfriend?”
James lowered his fists from his defensive state to look at you, Remus’ neck cracked as he whipped his head in your direction, and Sirius’ mouth fell open.
“Erm, yeah, doll. Girlfriend.” Sirius recovered first, letting out a nervous chuckle as you directed your attention to him.
“Since when?”
Sirius’ hands went up in surrender as he turned to Remus and James in search of help.
“What do you mean since when, dove?” Remus questioned cautiously. “We’ve been dating for quite a while now.”
“Quite a while?!” Your voice began to take on a panicked, shrill sound that Sirius can’t profess to liking too much. “Wha- dating? When…when was our first date?”
“The butterfly conservatory,” James answered readily, a look of concentration on his face like he was being quizzed and planned on acing it.
A startled breath leaves you. “Wha- I…no!”
“Yes,” the three of them replied in unison.
“That wasn’t a date!”
Remus tilted his head at you like he was seeing you for the first time. “Sure it was.”
“I’ve been to the butterfly conservatory with Marlene! Was that a date?”
Marlene’s bemused smile turned wicked. A mischievous glint in her eyes had Sirius taking three quick steps in your direction before she could hit on his girlfriend.
Who, apparently, didn’t even know she was his girlfriend.
What a mess.
“Of course not,” James denied quickly, elbowing Marlene when she began with a salacious “well…”
“Since the butterfly conservatory?” you repeat, looking between the three guys to see their responses. “Holy shit… Holy shit! And no one told me?”
“Angel, I…we got you flowers?”
You managed a smile—albeit an sheepish one—in James’ direction. “I thought that was an apology present.”
Remus let out a disbelieving breath. “An apology for what!?”
“For always being the fourth wheel!”
“Oh my God,” James murmured, a look of horror on his face as he tugged at his roots.
Lily, as unhelpful as ever, chose then to pipe up. “You mean to tell me you never asked her to be your girlfriend?”
A beat of silence passed before Sirius’ waspish response. “No, red. Clearly, it never came up.”
“You guys are, like, really bad at this,” she chuckled as she headed towards the living room, quickly followed by Marlene (eager at a chance to finally win a round without you in the room) and Dorcas (who followed her girlfriend to ensure she behaved herself).
“Oh, dove. I’m so sorry,” Remus finally announced, standing from the barstool to gather you into a hug that you—rather than accepted (or even reciprocated)—more or less fell into. “I- have we really never had this conversation.”
“I…I don’t think so? I mean…not in so many words.”
“Didn’t I ask you to be my girl?” Sirius questioned, closing the distance to press a hand to your spine as James took one of your hands in his.
“Well, yes, but-”
“And I told you that you were my favourite,” James reminded you. “Even said it in front of these two.”
“I just thought you guys were saying I was your favourite, like, friend? Like saying I was your best friend.”
Sirius was glad to note that your shoulders didn’t seem to be so tense now that you were in Remus’ arms and having this conversation without an audience.
Remus made a noncommittal sound. “You’re certainly our best girl. Our favourite girl.”
“Which is largely because…” Sirius emphasized. “You’re our girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend,” you echoed with a whisper, staring unseeingly at Sirius’ chest as Remus gently swayed you back and forth.
James made a pathetic tsking sound, unable to fight the urge to swipe at the hairs near your temple.
“I-” you began, and James was already squaring up for you to say even one negative thing about yourself “-am so dum-”
“-absolutely not,” Sirius argued immediately.
“None of that now,” Remus agreed.
“Not dumb.” James nodded like he was making a grand declaration. “We’re dumb, clearly. I honestly thought we’d had, you know, the talk.”
“Like, the birds and the bees?” you asked, blinking doe-like at him and forcing the guys into silence. It was only the twitch of your mouth that alerted them to the fact that you were taking the piss.
“Minx,” Remus chuckled under his breath, digging his fingers into your side and making you squeal.
“Okay so, are we all on the same page now?” Sirius asked, holding his arms out as if bracing for impact.
“Yes,” you agreed quickly, turning a beautiful shade of bashful as Remus planted a kiss on your cheek and James leaned in to press one on the corner of your mouth.
“And, just for clarity’s sake, exactly what page is that?”
An impish twinkle in your eyes—which, if Sirius was being honest, was kind of sexy—had the three guys holding their breath.
“That your girlfriend is way better at Mario Kart than Dorcas’ girlfriend.”
Remus tried and failed to suppress the grin that took over his face whilst James took off towards the living room to play interference with his childhood friend who clearly overheard your taunt.
Sirius couldn’t help himself, he grabbed your cheeks and pressed a bruising kiss to your lips, pulling back only far enough to murmur against your lips. “Truer words, my girl.”
poly!cazriel x sick!reader who is 'too good' to Cassian [780 words]
CW: fem!reader, sick fic, Cassian trying to crack jokes cuz he's worried and teasing is his love language and reader indulges him, mostly fluff
“Cassian?”
“Yeah?”
“Please stop touching me.”
The large male makes a wounded sound, but you find that you’re too tired—too hot, too sick—to feel anything but relief when he finally, blessedly, removes his hand from your back.
You manage to stifle a pleased groan as cool air hits the nape of your neck and leaves goosebumps in its wake when the now-warm, damp cloth is removed, but it comes tearing out of you when it’s immediately replaced with a new, cold one.
Azriel’s breath ghosts across your shoulders in a puff of amusement. “Is that better, love?”
The fever must be melting the part of your brain where the pride you usually hold onto so tightly lives because the care in his voice brings tears to your eyes. You keep them closed and make a sound of agreement, but apparently, the tears are obvious in your voice.
“You’re killing me, gorgeous,” Cassian groans, rolling onto his side—closer to where you’re lying on your stomach in bed—and daring to brush his hand along your shoulderblade.
“I’m the one melting from the inside out.”
“She doesn’t want you touching her, Cassian.”
Cassian’s responding huff is less wounded and more offended this time around. “How come you’re allowed to touch her?”
“Because I don’t rub her back like I’m trying to warm her up after a dip in the Sidra.”
“Is that what it is, gorgeous?” Cassian hums conspiratorially, laying his head on your pillow and encouraging you to open your eyes. “Am I just too hot to handle?”
You end up looking slightly down at him from where your head is resting on your folded arms, and while his smirk screams mirth and his eyes ooze love, the tension in his wings really gives away the extent of his concern.
You throw him a bone. “That’s exactly it.”
His wings relax before fluttering gently. “I knew Az was just jealous of me.”
“Can you blame him?”
“Not even a little.”
“I don’t appreciate you two ganging up on me,” Azriel announces with a certain level of reproach, though he dutifully repositions the cloth to the side that hasn’t been warmed by your fever heated skin.
“You usually love when we gang up on you,” Cassian replies, returning to lying on his back as he smirks up at his Illyrian mate.
“I’ve never once said I liked that.”
“Didn’t have to.” Your reply comes muffled by the way your face is hidden in your arms, but you know it’s heard when Cassian lets out a laugh.
Before he has a chance to continue his crusade against Azriel, the shadowsinger speaks.
“Cassian, why don’t you go to the shops and pick her up some ice cream.”
“But-”
“It might not bring her fever down, but I think it would feel nice.”
Cassian stills, and when you open your eyes you’re met with his furrowed brow and hazel eyes. “Would that help, sweetheart?”
The warmth in your chest nearly rivals the fever you’re suffering and the slight burning of your sinuses.
“That’d be really nice, Cass.”
He looks at you like you’ve just gutted him.
“Okay,” he murmurs, pressing a barely there kiss to your forehead before removing himself from the bed. “You’ll be okay with Az?”
You can almost hear Azriel glowering at the Illyrian general, but you muster up a grin. “I’m in good hands.”
Cassian softens further, pausing to squeeze Azriel’s arm in thanks and to press a kiss to his temple in apology for the teasing before he takes off out the window.
Azriel’s quiet for a few moments, long enough that you can feel the mattress pulling you deeper into its hold before he speaks.
“You’re too good to him.”
You twist your neck so that you’re facing him, though you keep your eyes closed. “Hm?”
Azriel shifts higher up on the bed, perched on the edge by your hip and raising his hand to brush the sweaty baby hairs plastered to your hairline.
“Your forehead is as hot as the cauldron, yet you placate him because you know he’s worried about you.”
“He’s easy to placate.”
Azriel hums noncommittally. “Try to rest, my love. I’ll play interference and keep him distracted when he gets back.”
And that all sounds well and fine, but a brief moment of panic stops you from immediately giving in to sleep.
“But I want my ice cream, though.”
Another breath tickles your shoulder—the Azriel equivalent of a laugh—before it’s chased away by a delicate kiss and a shroud of shadows.
“I’ll make sure you get your ice cream, love,” he promises as your consciousness starts to darken at the edges. “Get some rest.”
Can I request poly!wolfstar x reader who is feeling slightly insecure about her body for no particular reason and they notice even though she doesn’t say it?
I’m just sooo in love with your writing, it’s just *mwah* chef’s kiss
Hey gorgeous! Thank you for requesting <3
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her vile agendas
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 820 words
Sirius hardly steps inside before Remus is fixing him with a look.
He raises his hands, grease-stained from working on his motorcycle all afternoon, in a gesture of peace. "I'm going to shower."
"Be careful not to touch anything on your way," Remus says. He doesn't take his eyes off Sirius while Sirius skirts around the edge of the sitting room with his hands upheld like a surgeon's. "Y/n's in the shower, so you might have to wait."
"Reckon she'll let me get in with her?"
Remus rolls his eyes, relaxing once Sirius clears the sofa. "You can try."
You and Remus hardly ever want to shower with Sirius. You both act like he has lewd ulterior motives and won't hear his environmentalist arguments. You're not wrong, but still.
It turns out he's too late anyway. You're just stepping out of the bathroom as Sirius comes near, steam on your heels and towel halfway wrapped around you. You do it up quickly when you see him.
"Oh—hi," you say, startled. "Sorry."
"What for, gorgeous?" Sirius grins. "I'm sorry for spooking you. Do we have any hot water left?"
Whatever strange timidity had come over you dissipates, and you smile. "We should."
"Don't suppose you'll keep me company?"
Like Remus, your eyes roll. "I just got out."
"Worth a try."
There's an awkward sort of pause, and Sirius realizes you haven't moved to put on your lotion like you usually do after showering. It's like you're waiting on him.
"Okay." He tries not to drag his syllables, keeping his tone light. "Would you mind grabbing the door after me? I think if I leave any grease marks on anything Remus'll toss me out."
"I wouldn't let him," you promise, stepping forward to help.
Sirius showers quickly. There is some hot water left, but he's chased out when the spray turns cold on him, greaseless and clean-smelling. You and Remus are splayed out on the sofa when he finds you.
"Aren't you warm?" Remus is asking in a low voice.
Your reply is equally soft, though somehow more secretive than intimate. "I'm fine."
"You're going to burn up in there, lovely."
"It's not that warm."
"I'm warm just looking at you."
"Well, you're always warm." Sirius turns the corner in time to see you kiss Remus' cheek, the sort of sweet peck that makes a flush spread under your boyfriend's freckles. "And a film calls for a blanket."
"Are we watching a film?" Sirius asks.
"We were thinking," you say. "Paper Moon?"
"Sounds good to me." He eyes Remus. "Am I allowed to sit now?"
Remus waves a hand. "Don't treat me like a warden. You wouldn't've wanted the stains on the sofa either."
"You're the furniture's champion," you coo, kissing him again.
As Sirius sits on your other side, he sees why Remus is worried about you overheating. You have a blanket draped across your shoulders so it covers all of you. It wouldn't be so abnormal most of the time, but it's the dead of summer—even Sirius only put on a tank top after his shower. Remus has been giving you all a show in his boxers for the better part of a week.
"Alright in there?" Sirius teases, fanning a corner of your blanket to give you some airflow.
Your look is exasperated, if fond also. "Fine."
Sirius thinks you're lying. You've been a shade of yourself recently—not in every way, not in how you speak or your general loveliness, but in how you hold yourself. You seem to be always covering up, curving in, turning away, like you have something to hide. You don't. Sirius knows you don't, because he's seen you just about every way you can be and it's all spectacular. You make him feel like a teenage boy in ways that are honestly humiliating. He'd put his own shames on display if it got you out of this funk, though.
Once the film gets going, Sirius sneaks a hand beneath your blanket and puts his arm around you. You still, but you don't move away.
He kisses your shoulder. "Love you."
"Love you, too," you murmur.
It's a slow softening. Your breathing deepens, your shoulders relax. You sink gradually into his side. Sirius does what he can to help without calling attention to it; he keeps his gaze ahead, strokes love-heavy touches up and down your waist, rests his lips on the crown of your head when you get near enough.
Eventually, you let out a breath and relax completely.
Remus must have been watching. "You okay?" he asks.
"Yeah," you reply. It sounds less like a lie than before.
"I wish I could join the cuddle, but I think I'd pass out from the heat."
"All relationships require sacrifice," you hum.
Sirius laughs, manhandling you into his lap so he can take Remus' hand. "There. Think you can bear this?"
hey mae!! how are you? i don’t know if this is something you would be interested in writing as i think you’ve done something similar with remus, but i was wondering if you could do a sort of poly!marauders roommate situation where reader is super shy with remus and sirius but has a soft spot for james? thanks for considering haha !
Hi angel, I'm well how are you? Thank you for your request <3
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her vile agendas
roommate!marauders x shy!reader ♡ 1.2k words
"You're going to get glitter on the table."
"I'll clean it up."
"It never really goes away," says Remus darkly.
Sirius turns his head from the mirror he's propped on the kitchen table, enough glitter flashing in the corners of his eyes to cause a traffic collision. "There's nothing I can do about the fact that the kitchen has better lighting. If you'd like to install a window in the bathroom, be my guest."
Sitting across the table, James' eyebrows go up. "That's not a bad idea."
"The bathroom doesn't have any exterior walls," Remus points out. The pasta he's reheating on the hob sizzles its agreement.
"True…a skylight, maybe?"
"I think our landlord might notice."
James concedes and goes back to watching Sirius work on his makeup fascinatedly. If a bit of glitter does make its way onto the table, he's certainly not tattling. After a while, the click of the lock in the front door diverts his attention.
You open it silently, in the way that only you seem to know how to do (no matter how James tries to avoid waking everyone when he leaves for his morning runs, that thing always squeaks) and step inside on soft feet. James smothers a grin as Remus' head turns in your direction.
You have a tendency to creep through the house like you're hoping you'll go unnoticed. You rarely do, and James feels sort of bad for thinking it's funny when you're thwarted every time.
"Hiya," says James. "Late night at work?"
"Yeah." You glance up, not necessarily looking surprised at having been caught again. (You may be getting used to it.) A smile flickers like light across your lips as you toe off your shoes. "Hi."
"Oi!" Sirius turns around in his chair to face you. James and Remus both wince. Sirius' tone is nothing but friendly, but oi is not a way to win you over. You tense like you're on trial. "What are you doing tonight?"
"Um, nothing important. Why?"
Sirius' excitement grows. "We're going out in a bit. You should come."
"Oh." Your voice quiets, as though making itself small while you crouch to pick up your shoes. "Thanks, but I'm pretty tired."
"It won't really be a big night out," Remus tries in a gentler tone. "We're only going to a bar nearby. We'll be back by midnight."
"Like Cinderella," adds James, trying to get a smile out of you. It works, sort of.
"I think I'm going to stay in," you say apologetically, "but you all have fun."
"Won't be as much fun without you." Sirius pouts.
You press your lips into a good-humored smile, and flee to your room.
Sirius heaves a sigh.
"Shush," Remus chides him, "she'll hear you."
"She never wants to do anything," Sirius whines.
"Maybe because you keep rushing her."
"It's been weeks!"
"She'll warm up eventually," says James, taking care to keep his voice low. "She's just settling in. And maybe bars aren't her scene."
Sirius wrinkles his nose. "Do we have to start a knitting club for her to hang out with us?"
"It could be a fun new hobby."
"You should talk to her," Remus says.
James looks at him, and finds himself being looked at in return. "Me?"
"Ooh, that's a good idea." Sirius leans forward, glitter flashing animatedly. "Get her to go with us tonight."
"Why me?"
"Because she likes you best."
"Wha—not more than any of us!"
"She's more relaxed with you," says Remus matter-of-factly. "Just give it a try, alright?"
James argues the notion of his preferential treatment for a while longer, but ultimately finds himself at your door, knocking politely. "Can I come in?"
There's no answer. After knocking some more and casting a frightened look back towards the kitchen—to which Sirius responds with an insistent shooing motion—James cracks open the door, half expecting you to already be asleep.
You're not. You're still in your work clothes, laying on your bed with earbuds plugging your ears. You take them out when you see James.
"I tried to knock," he apologizes.
"It's okay." You sit up, blinking at him. You look like you're worried you might be in trouble. "What's up?"
"I'm here to make a case," he admits. "Can I come in?"
Wary, you nod.
James steps inside, shutting the door behind him. You shuffle backwards on your bed, making room, though he isn't sure if he should sit. She's more relaxed with you, Remus had said. James doesn't know if that's true, but you do seem more at ease in your own room, your gaze steady on his. He sits on the bed.
"I don't want to pressure you," he starts out. "You don't have to come if you don't want to, but we would like it if you went out with us. Are you really too tired?"
Your shoulder comes up in a half-shrug. "I don't know…it was a long night."
"Like Remus said, we won't be out long. This place is small—it closes at midnight. Sirius will try to get us to go somewhere else after, but we can tell him no."
That smile is back, quick as a struck match. Its warmth lingers in your eyes. "Can we?"
"It's not easy, but it can be done. Remus will champion us."
You look at your lap. James hopes you're thinking about it rather than thinking about how to tell him no. Your fingers tap on your leg.
"We don't even have to stay until close," he bargains. "Give us an hour, and if you want to leave I'll walk you home."
You look startled. "Why do you want me to go so badly?"
"Because—" There's no keeping the earnestness from his voice. "—we want to hang out with you."
You really shy, then. Shoulders drawing in, lashes kissing at the corners. James wants to wrap you up.
"So," he says to rescue you, "an hour?"
"You don't have to walk me home," you murmur.
"Sorry, I'm afraid that part is non-negotiable. I don't mind, though, if it helps."
Your head gives a little shake. James doesn't know if it's directed at him or yourself. "I'm going to need to change."
A grin splits James' face at the realization that he's convinced you. "Take your time," he says. "Sirius is still working on his makeup anyway, and you've only just gotten home from work. We're not in any big hurry."
"Okay." You finally meet his eyes again as he stands to leave, your look sweet. "Thanks, James."
"Thank you," he replies sincerely.
He's smiling gigantically as he steps out into the hallway, closing your door behind him. It gives him away immediately.
Sirius' eyes pop. "Really?"
"Yeah," James whispers, feeling like you as he creeps quietly back to the kitchen. "She's going to be a minute, but she'll come. For an hour, at least."
Sirius pumps his fist in the air. Remus looks smug as he plates up his dinner.
"Told you it'd work," he hums.
Sirius jumps out of his chair to plant a kiss on James' cheek. "You're a legend!"
At Remus' urgent shushing and James' frightened glance toward your doorway, he covers his mouth with both hands, wincing.
hi Mae!! I just have to say I loved the peter aftercare oneshot sooo much! I swear you are like the queen of soft smut, which sounds so hilarious but it really is true! you just absolutely have mastered writing things that are so comfy while still being equally so steamy that I'm just always melting into a puddle.
anyways I have a request (if you like it) for peter, specifically roommate peter and reader where one of them is getting up in the middle of the night to go to their kitchen for water, or because they can't sleep, or had a dream, and the other is already there. maybe there's been some previous tension between them or something or other, and things get smuttyyy in the kitchen, what do we think!
Thanks so much, angel!
cw: pg-13 smut (mdni please)
roommate!peter parker x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words
Peter appears in the kitchen like a mirage. Damp hair, a loose sweatshirt, silent footsteps that falter when he finds you leaning against the counter with your glass of water. His eyebrows go up.
"Uh, hey."
"Hi," you say back, startled too and lightly mortified to have come across Peter in the apartment you share with him. "Did you just shower?"
"Yeah." Peter reaches past you, and the kitchen is illuminated for a moment in white light from the fridge. He grabs a takeout container. "Yeah, I went for a run, so."
You wrinkle your nose, as much at the idea of running as doing it at two in the morning. You didn't even hear him leave.
Peter grins at your face. "Are you just standing here in the dark?" he teases.
You shrug. There's enough light coming in from the windows for you to see with. "I didn't feel like turning anything on."
"How long have you been up?"
"Just a few minutes." Peter nods, twirling a fork before bringing it to his mouth. You don't know what compels you to go on. "I had a dream."
He frowns. "A bad dream?" he asks through a mouthful.
Heat flushes through you. "Not really."
You woke with your heart in your throat and an urgent ache between your legs, blurred recollections of brown eyes and your name uttered by a familiar voice already fading. You wanted to fall back asleep and see if you could find your way back to the dream. You forced yourself to get up and find a glass of water instead to cool you down.
The corporeal Peter is looking at you strangely, so you try to clarify. "It was just…weird."
He hums. You feel it like a frisson through you, and take another sip of your water.
"So, um, why did you decide to go on a run now?"
Peter shrugs, the corners of his mouth lifting self-deprecatingly. "It's cooler at night."
"More dangerous, too."
"Well, I've been told a key quality in any real runner is masochism."
You laugh. Peter's smile widens in response, but you see it flicker at the edges when his gaze drops lower. You follow it, and stiffen. Your nipples are raised and showing through the tank top you wore to bed.
"Who was in your dream?"
You blink, your breath catching. "Huh?"
Peter smiles, but there's something behind it. "I'm just wondering. You don't have to tell me."
You think he knows. And the thing is, you can't even say he's arrogant for having guessed. Something has shifted between you and Peter lately. You don't know how, but you know you've both noticed it. It can't just be you. It's too obvious.
You look at the takeout container in his hand and do your best to ignore the self-conscious prickle going down your neck. "I don't mean to dream about anyone," you mumble.
"Hey, I know." Peter's voice drops into a more sympathetic register. "I get that. It's not like you do it on purpose." He drops his finished takeout in the trash, leaning against the counter next to you. "It's the unconscious mind, you can't help it."
"It's still embarrassing."
"That depends on who it's about," he says lightly.
You lift your eyes, giving Peter a despairing look. His expression sobers. "Don't make me say it."
"Okay," he murmurs, gently now. "It's okay."
His hand finds your arm, squeezing up the length of it to your shoulder. You burn silently. You think maybe Peter’s cheeks deepen in color, but he doesn't look away. And so neither do you, letting him bare witness to your shame.
You watch as brown eyes, even lovelier when you're awake, soften in the low light. Peter is so close you think an inhale could close the distance.
"Hey," he says, nose nearly to your cheek.
Your heart beats in your mouth. "Yeah?"
"It's okay." His breath tickles your skin. "It really is. Was it a good dream?"
"Yeah." You can hardly hear yourself, but Peter seems to.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, it was nice."
"That's good. Nice, I mean. I'm glad." His lips tick, an almost self-conscious smile. "I think about you too, you know."
You inhale, and he's there, a whisper from you.
"This okay?" Peter whispers.
You nod, and he closes the distance.
It's a soft press of a kiss. Warm enough to melt into, but not hurried. Peter coaxes you to relax into him with nice, inviting kisses, stepping in front of you to hold you steady.
You reach behind you to set your glass of water on the counter. As soon as you're done, his hands are under your thighs, lifting you up beside it.
"Yeah?" he mumbles.
You exhale into his mouth, "Yeah."
Things heat slowly. You have the half-dizzy thought that you might keep from waking up longer if you draw it out, and whatever Peter's motives are he seems to be in agreement. You kiss until you've committed the shape of Peter's mouth to memory and you're beginning to think you really are going to fall asleep, and then Peter diverts his attention elsewhere.
You come instantly more awake as he puts his mouth to one of your nipples, sucking through the material of your tank top. Your legs clench around his waist. One of Peter's hands drops to your thigh, keeping it there.
"Jesus," you hiss.
"Nope, still me." The damp of his saliva begins seeping into your top. "I'm flattered, though."
You hold onto Peter's shoulders as he licks and teases at the bud, devoting himself thoroughly to one before moving to the other. It's then that you grow impatient, but when you start to pull up your top Peter pushes your hands away.
"Okay, okay," he says, like you're really in a hurry. "I've got it."
He says that, but then he doesn't do it quickly. Your tank top moves up inch by inch, Peter kissing every bare swatch of skin that gets revealed as he goes. Your chest is falling in discordant rhythm by the time he makes it back to where he started, a trail of spit going all the way down your abdomen. Peter bunches the fabric above your breasts with a look like Happy? and takes one into his mouth.
It's a thousand times worse than the dream. Everything is sharper, up to and including the ache between your legs, where Peter has nestled so comfortably you think it can't be half the torment for him that it is for you. He rubs up and down your thigh like he means to console you, only stoking the heat.
"God—" you keen.
"Still no."
"—Peter—"
"There you go."
You shift your hips against him, and Peter moans, sucking you deeper into the wet heat of his mouth. When his teeth press into your flesh, you think you whimper.
You pray to whoever will listen that you won't wake up this time.
hockey remus ?
HOCKEY REMUS???
any scraps are appreciated. ...please
hockey player!Remus Lupin x fem!reader who's on the social media team [1.7k words]
CW: team chaos, Swedish Remus [as per our hockey au's], Remus has a crush, pre-established relationship, crack/comedy
“No.”
“Please.” Your voice is tinny, muffled through the door that Benji Fenwick has barricaded shut behind him after he fled your proximity.
“Cute, and usually works on me as far as pretty girls go, but my answer’s still no.”
Oliver Woods smirks as he zips up his bag. “You’d think she had been chasing you with a gun.”
Fenwick turns to scowl at him. “Fuck off, Woodsy.”
“Is there a reason you’re hiding from the woman with a camera?” Remus asks casually, more focused on dutifully packing his duffel bag post-practice than the antics of his teammates.
“I’m not simply hiding from a woman with a camera, Loops,” he hisses in response. “I’ll have you know, that’s usually a kink of mine.”
Remus groans. “Gross.”
“Fenz, please add to list of things I do not want to know,” Viktor Krum announces gruffly.
Woodsy—in typical Woodsy fashion—steers the conversation back on track. “Okay, so if the woman with a camera isn’t your problem, what is?”
“I cannot be photographed like this,” Fenwick huffs, gesturing animatedly at the fat lip he received at last night’s game. The vain bastard.
“Fenz, please. You’re just as handsome as ever,” you contend through the door.
Fenwick scoffs, shooting the door a disbelieving look. “Well, duh. That was never up for discussion.”
“Where’s Black?” Remus ventures helpfully. “He’s usually all about the social media presence.”
“Team’s entire feed is Black already,” Krum grumbles. “Asshole is pretty, but not that pretty.”
“Fenwick,” you call out.
The player in question eyes the door warily. “Yes?”
Your question echoes like a death toll. “Who else is in there with you?”
With this, the remainder of the locker room freezes; four professional six-plus foot hockey players hold their breath like terrified rabbits in the face of a prowling mountain lion.
“Fenwick,” Woods hisses. “Don’t you fucking-”
“Lupin, Krum, and Woods,” Benji rapid fires, wincing contritely in the face of his three teammates groaning in betrayal.
“Fenwick, you’re off the hook if you open this door right now,” you promise.
“Benji Fenwick, if you open that door-” Remus starts, only to be cut off by Krum.
“I will string you by testicals to rafters, Fenwick.”
“Guys, I love you, you’re my entire world, I would take 83 slapshots to the ribs for all of you-”
“Fenwick…” Remus pleads again.
“-I cannot be photographed like this.”
Benji—in his final act of betrayal—swings the door open and flies out into the hallway behind you, using your smaller frame like a human shield. And while Remus is surprised by the show of restraint from Krum and Woods, there was never any chance that Remus was going to go shoving past you to get to Fenwick.
No matter how badly he wanted to throttle the sod.
“Förbannada skit,” (translation: fucking shithead) Remus curses under his breath, though even he can hear the resignation in his voice.
You have the grace to smile apologetically at the three remaining players, holding your camera up in one hand and the other in a universal sign of surrender. “Any chance one of you is willing to smile for the camera? I’ll be so quick.”
“No. Russians do not do this,” Krum announces, earning him a glance from Woods.
“Russians don’t what? Smile?”
“Da.”
“Woodsy, you’ve got a nice smile,” Remus hedges cautiously, cautious of drawing attention to himself by pointing it in someone else's direction.
“You do,” you agree, flashing a smile in the assistant captain's direction. “But we’ve got lots of the team captains already.”
Woodsy’s smile is victorious.
“Well, then,” he hums happily, offering the last two players in the locker room a smarmy salute. “Lady, gentlemen.”
Krum mutters Russian profanity under his breath as he finishes up in his own stall.
“Just a picture,” you all but beg, and Remus’ traitorous heart squeezes at how desperate you sound.
It doesn’t squeeze enough for him to willingly place himself in front of your camera lens, though.
“Is never just a picture with you, l’vyónak,” (Львёнок: lionet/little lion, lion cub) Krum argues, but his use of a Russian epithet belittles whatever ire he has with you.
That’s the danger of the team's favourite social media team member. While they all make a point of avoiding you like the plague, there’s something about you that has wiggled its way into the heart of every player on the team. You even managed to win over the prickly Russian goalie and the notoriously aloof Remus.
Especially the notoriously aloof Remus.
Perhaps that’s part of the reason he avoids you so resolutely; he doesn’t want to do anything to draw attention to the fact that he’s really quite smitten with you.
Honestly, when you’re not waving a camera or phone in his face, you may very well be his favourite person on the team’s support staff.
And that’s saying a lot, considering that their PT, Lars, has magic fingers and turns Remus into a certified pile of goo twice a week during their therapeutic massages.
“It must be Loops,” Krum decides, earning him a strangled sound of disbelief from Remus.
“Why must it be Loops?”
Krum shrugs as if it’s really quite simple. “Because, Russians do not do this.”
“Russians smile, Krum. You have a lovely smile,” you argue sweetly, and—dammit—even Krum softens.
“Paper, rock, scissors me,” Krum announces.
“I beg your pardon?”
Krum doesn’t bother responding, merely steps up to Remus with one palm raised flat and facing upwards, the other held above it in a fist.
“Paper, rock, scissors. Da? Scissors me, Loops.”
“Never say that again,” Remus tells him emphatically.
“Why won’t scissors me?”
“Krum, please stop asking me to scissor you.”
Remus loses the stand-off with his starting goalie when he’s distracted by your laughter. Dammit, he wishes Swedes didn’t smile either.
“Okay, it all comes down to a game of rock, paper, scissors,” you announce, holding up your damn camera to capture the moment between teammates. Krum was right; it’s never just a picture with you.
Remus—against all his better judgement—mirrors Krum’s posture and does, indeed, play a round of rock, paper, scissors.
He loses when Krum crushes Remus’ scissors with his rock.
“Best two out of three?” Remus all but begs.
“Net,” Krum declines, slinging his bag over his shoulder and striding from the room. “Smile for camera like good little Swede.”
“Bye, Viktor!” you call out after him.
Krum replies from some distance down the hall. “Goodbye, Львёнок.”
“I’m really sorry, Lupin.” You sound so apologetic, look even more so when Remus removes his glare from the now empty hallway his teammates have abandoned him in to face you. “I know no one likes to get stuck with me, we can be quick.”
And well, now doesn’t Remus feel like the biggest prick. “I love being stuck with you.”
Too honest, dial it back, Loops.
“It’s that” He points at the camera like it might bite. “that I struggle with.”
You laugh good naturedly at him. “Fair enough. Come sit, we’ll be quick.”
It is not, in fact, quick, because apparently all of Remus’ smiles look like pained grimaces.
“You look like you just ate something sour.”
“I don’t look like anything,” Remus argues.
“Yes you do.”
“This is just my face.”
“Your face is usually nicer than this,” you counter.
“Well, now you’re just being hurtful.”
You laugh and look up from your camera; Remus smiling in victory at eliciting it.
“See! Like that. Why can’t you smile like that for me?”
I did just smile like that for you, Remus thinks grimly. It’s the camera I’m not fond of.
You sigh. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
You hum thoughtfully, scrolling through the viewfinder on your camera. You’re silent for so long that he thinks you’re going to dismiss him before you carry on. “What do you think you’d do for work if you were more athletic?”
Remus pauses, his mind like a record, scratching and skipping and trying desperately to feed the needle back onto the thread.
“What?”
“If you were more athletic,” you repeat, still not looking up. “What do you think you’d be doing? Like, a sport, or something.”
“What sport?” Remus clarifies. “If I was…”
“More athletic,” you confirm.
Remus is staring at you open mouthed, confused as to how he’s not possibly missing something in translation here.
“Can you repeat that?”
You’re still looking down at your camera, but your lips purse as if you’re fighting off a smile.
“What kind of sport would you be playing, or job would you be doing, if you were more athletic?”
“More athletic?” Remus balks, disbelief colouring his tone. “I’m an athlete!”
“Well, yeah, sure.” Sure, you say! Like Remus hasn’t dedicated the majority of his life to perfecting his skill, strength, and body to elite levels. “But like, if you were more.”
Remus lets out a startled laugh, and then you finally look up at him.
Your eyes shine with mirth, silent laughter shaking your shoulders as you smirk triumphantly at Remus.
It’s over for Remus then; he dissolves into delighted laughter which only picks up when you join him.
“Unbelieveable,” Remus huffs with a shake of his head.
“That’s me,” you agree triumphantly, lowering your camera until it hangs from your neck. “That’ll be all.”
You don’t end up showing Remus what you managed to capture of him while you made him question all of his life’s work and choices; the picture you ended up posting on the team’s social media was of him and Krum playing rock, paper, scissors, plus one of Remus throwing his head back in defeat and Krum smirking (though certainly not smiling) triumphantly.
It’s only (much) later that Remus finally sees the picture you took of him that day—one of him laughing at your chirping—used as his contact image on your phone.
He’s glad that’s where it stayed; he looks entirely too love sick for that to be posted onto the team’s account.
heyy can i pls request camp counsellor james smut? like in the week before the kids get there and theyre sneaking around maybe 😼 Thanks!!
Thanks for requesting!
cw: smut mdni, afab reader
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
camp counselor!James x fem!reader ♡ 924 words
James is in a mood.
Not a bad one, though it's not terribly convenient either. You've reminded him more than once that you only have a short window of privacy, and that's if you're lucky, but you cannot seem to impress upon him any sense of urgency.
Worse, he's trying to get you to give up yours. You've been waylaid with kisses, softened up rather deftly by laughter and strong hands, and now find yourself struggling for a sense of how long you have before the training you've both already completed lets out and someone finds you smushed together in the tall grass offside the lake.
James wriggles his fingers underneath the stretchy material of your bathing suit, and you catch your lip between your teeth. An afternoon swim was your cover story. It wasn't a very convincing one; James' friends know about you already, and everyone will soon if Sirius continues waggling his eyebrows at you both every time you speak to each other.
"Where are you?" James mumbles from your neck.
You shake your head. "Sorry. I'm just thinking, they're probably nearly done, right?"
"I'm not sure," he says, unconcern audible. "Even if they are, it'll be fine. They won't find us."
"They know we came down here, though."
James takes a moment to consider this. "If they find us," he allows, "I'll run off, and everyone will be too distracted by my nakedness to see you. You can say you were in your cabin the whole time."
It's such a silly picture, the edges of your nerves disappate again. Your lips tilt. "What a gentleman."
James' smile blooms at seeing yours. He cups your face in his hand and kisses you. It's the sweetest way of being kissed, savored like ice cream on a hot day.
You melt into the grass, pushing your palm up his chest, his shoulder. James was more undressed than you to begin with, shirtless in only his trunks, whereas you have had the top half of your bathing suit manhandled down to nearly your waist. With James' fingers now stuffed inside the bottom half, you may as well be wearing a belt.
James kisses the corner of your lips, then your jaw, making his way back down to your neck. "I missed you today."
Ordinarily, you'd make fun of him—you've been apart for only a couple of hours all day, as long as it took you to renew your lifeguard certification while James helped with training the new counselors—but right now he's earnest in a way that turns everything he touches to sweet, sticky sap. You're not immune to it. (Arguably, you're the most susceptible.)
"Me, too," you admit. Breath hitching when he draws his fingers out of you to smear wet over your clit.
James finds a place to settle in the curve of your neck, and a pace that suits you both. You moan, nails digging into the back of his bicep, as he works you over. He sucks your skin into his mouth and takes it gently between his teeth. When his tongue soothes over the sore spot, awareness jolts your brain back to functioning.
"Do not give me a hickey."
James' mouth curves in a grin you can feel. "I think it might be too late," he says, sitting up to look you over. "You have a few."
You look down to see two already coloring marks on your chest, only one of which might be covered by your bathing suit if you pulled it up. "Oh, James," you moan into your hands, covering your face.
James laughs and kisses your knuckles lightly. "I'm sorry."
"No, you're not."
"I'm not," he agrees.
You part your fingers to glare at him, intending to make him feel the severity of your upset, but James appears too happy to be dissuaded from it. He wraps hands around your wrists to coax them down the rest of the way.
"You can give me some," he offers.
"Then they'll definitely know we're together."
"Well, Sirius is working on that either way. And if you think I'm going to let everyone think someone else did this to you—"
"James?"
You flatten yourself to the earth at the sound of a new voice, but James, with seemingly no instinct at all for secrecy, sits up curiously.
"Remus?"
"James? Oh—er, I'll stay over here, then." You shut your eyes in mortification, sparing a moment of gratitude that it's only Remus. "Just thought you ought to know that we're all out of training, and everyone's coming to the lake for a swim."
James clicks his tongue disappointedly. His manner is perfectly easygoing, though, as he extracts his fingers from inside of you, wiping them on your leg. "Thanks," he calls to Remus.
"Yeah, um….right. I can try to stall them, I suppose?"
"That'd be great, mate, thanks." You're struggling to get your arm through the strap of your bathing suit, and James lends a hand. He lowers his voice as you hear Remus leaving. "You don't have to look so embarassed. It's only Remus."
"It is embarassing!" you whine.
"Only if you make it that way." He takes your face between his hands, grinning. "You're all hot."
You want to groan and roll your eyes like a teenager. You settle for pulling up the other strap of your bathing suit. "Even Remus sounded embarassed for us."
"True. If it makes you feel better" —James kisses you sweetly— "you can both be awkward about it at dinner together."
Hii mae i don’t know if you’re still taking requests or if you’re still doing poly steddie x reader but if you are can we have a sickfic ?
First request kinda nervy much love 🤍
- 🪼 anon
Ofc I am and ofc we can!
modern au
poly!steddie x fem!reader ♡ 659 words
You admit you paint a rather dramatic picture when Eddie comes home. Lying supine on the couch, arm cast over your face, eyes squeezed shut.
“Uh, hey,” he says. You hear the heavy thud of his bag dropping to the floor, and a moment later the couch sinks by your legs. “What’s your deal?”
“Nothing.” You move your arm a smidge to see him. “Just spent too long looking at my laptop.” Your stomach gurgles pointedly. “And I’m sort of hungry. How was work?”
“Better than yours, it sounds like.” Eddie’s voice has that slight hoarseness it gets after he’s been singing for a while; a dead giveaway he spent more of his shift at the record store sneaking off to practice with his bandmates than he did working. You’re envious (not of the band practice necessarily, but of the slacking off). He rubs your hip. “I feel like I can help with at least one of those things. What do you want to eat, pretty girl?”
“Steve’s already making dinner,” you tell him, "but thanks."
“Oh, yeah? What’re we having?”
Your eyes burn, and you cover them with your arm again. “Soup, I think? I’m not sure.”
“I’ll go find out.”
You’re both surprised and not when Eddie’s lips press to yours a moment later, a small sound half forming in your throat as he pats your hip and begins to stand.
“What’re you—don’t kiss her.”
Eddie straightens up fast. “Jesus,” he says. “I thought somebody's dad was here for a second.”
Steve makes an exasperated sort of huffing sound. You don’t have to open your eyes to know his hands have landed on his hips. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What am I doing? I thought I was kissing my girlfriend. Why are you acting like you’re gonna call the cops?”
“She’s sick, idiot. You wanna get sick?”
“I am not,” you argue idly.
Eddie’s tone takes a dip into sympathy. “You’re sick?”
“No. I just looked at my laptop for too long.”
“You have a fever,” says Steve, the sternness of him softening the tiniest bit. “You’re totally getting sick."
“It’s just hot in here.”
“It’s really not, actually.”
There’s a pause while you both wait for Eddie to decide who he’ll back up. He betrays you kindly, at least, setting his hand consolingly across your forehead. “It’s not, sweetness. You should have called me earlier. I was just dicking around at work. We could have dicked around together.”
Steve makes an amused noise. “I don’t think that’s really what she needs to—”
“Hey, get your mind out of the gutter, Harrington.”
Eddie’s hand leaves your forehead, and then you hear the familiar sounds of him kissing Steve wholeheartedly. You sneak a peek. Steve’s posture is relaxing (hands indeed on his hips, but lowering now), a dish towel thrown over his shoulder.
He sighs when the kiss ends. Eddie looks satisfied with himself.
“Well,” says Steve, meeting your eyes over Eddie’s shoulder, “I guess we’re all getting sick now.”
“Or none of us are,” you try.
Eddie laughs, turning and plopping back down next to you on the couch. “No, you’re for sure sick. But the good news is, you’re totally rocking it.”
You groan. You have to admit it does come out sounding more nasally than you expect. “I don’t want to.”
“Yeah,” Steve hums compassionately, “none of us did.”
“Speak for yourselves,” says Eddie. “The only thing better than dicking around at work is not going. We should start figuring out what movies we’re going to rent before it really sets in.”
You groan again, rolling over so your aching eyes are pressing into a throw pillow.
An amused puff comes from Steve. He squats down beside you to kiss your cheek. “Sorry, honey.”
Your voice is muffled into the pillow. “I thought you didn’t want to kiss me.”
“Shut up, you know that wasn't it. Anyway, we’re all in this now.”
EMT!marauders realising their medical instincts are sometimes the wrong instinct when it comes to reader's chronic pain, like they keep jumping to "let me assess you" when reader just needs to be held?
Thanks for requesting!
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
emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 717 words
Remus thinks it might say something about his life that returning to a hushed home brings him less peace than cause for alarm.
James and Sirius are hardly ever quiet. That they are raises the hairs on the back of Remus’ neck and makes him tread himself a tad softer as he opens the door.
“Have you had any water?” Sirius murmurs in the sitting room. His voice is gentle, a stroke of velvet meant to soothe.
The reply must come nonverbally, because James then asks, “How was it before the storm last night? Better then?”
Remus steps around the sofa to find you and James curled up atop it. Your hand is held in his, his thumb running consolingly across your knuckles while Sirius, perched on the edge of the coffee table to face you, feels your lymph nodes. You nod yes to James’ question before any of you notice him, Sirius hardly taking his attention from you for a moment while you manage a pained smile and James offers a sad one.
“Hi, lovely.” James extends his free hand, squeezing and encouraging Remus down next to him on the sofa.
“Hi.” Remus finds his own voice dropping into a softer key, the way one whispers while others are sleeping, though no one here is. “Not feeling well?”
Your expression pinches. Like acknowledging it is another pain. “No,” you say quietly.
He looks you over. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Have you had any painkillers yet?”
“She has.” Sirius’ brows are sewn together. He moves on from your lymph nodes, checking your pulse for what Remus feels confident isn’t the first time.
“Obviously,” James tacks on, trying to lighten the mood. He nudges Remus’ shoulder, grinning at the both of you. “You really think you’re the only one who might remember to try painkillers?”
Remus goes along, humming teasingly. “Sometimes.” He glances at Sirius. “Fever?”
“A little one. No swelling, though.”
“I’m thinking it must have been a combination of stress and the storm last night,” says James.
Remus hums again, more sympathetically now. He reaches across James to rub your leg. “How bad is your pain, lovely? Can you rate it?”
Your face does it again. This—pinch. You’re plainly exhausted to begin with, but at Remus’ question you look strangely put out.
“What?” he asks before you can answer.
“Sorry.” You look at your lap. “Nothing.”
“No, hey.” Sirius ducks, budging his way into your eyeline. His brows bend. “What’s the matter, baby?”
You look close to tears. “Sorry,” you say again, hardly a whisper. “We’ve just already talked about all of this.”
“I know,” says Sirius. “And I know you’re tired, lovely girl, but we just want to help.”
“Can you please just—” You pause, taking a shallow, pained breath. “Can you hold me, please?”
Remus’ heart cracks clean down its center at the weariness and shame with which you ask. Anguish breaks across Sirius’ face, and James looks much the same before he recovers first, reaching for you.
“Of course. Of course, yeah,” he says. “Can I move you?”
You nod. James gets his arms underneath you, maneuvering you carefully into his lap. He takes a few tries to find the best way to wrap you up, eventually settling with one arm around your hips to keep you in place and the other across your back, his lips stamping ardently to the top of your head.
Remus brushes a wayward strand of hair from your face. A lone tear squishes out of your eye when you close them, trudging a listless path down your cheek as you rest your head on James’ shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius murmurs. “We weren’t really helping, were we?”
You don’t open your eyes. “Maybe we can work on it more later,” you say. “Right now, I’m just…so tired.”
“Think you might be able to nap?” asks Remus.
You don’t even need time to consider it. “No.”
“Okay,” he says. He settles in. Sirius moves from his coffee table perch to the couch, taking the spot you vacated on James' other side and kissing your shoulder consolingly. A sigh leaves you, the sound long, and exhausted, but not wholly discontented.
It's the same sort of quiet Remus came home to. He thinks there's more peace in it now, though.
hi mae!! i hope you're well. i saw your thing about requests/ideas for a camp counselor james (and let me tell you i'm all over that bc you always do a great job 😋). this is probably about to be a tad long but i want to explain what i mean a bit. i'm kind of generating this idea from when i was a sleep-away camp counselor, but essentially throughout the day there are activities campers engage in and counselors are given a schedule for the week as to which activities they'll be leading every day for that week. maybe reader and james receive their schedules and compare and realize they're both teaching "blank" class together (archery, arts and crafts, kayaking, whatever you'd like). they have to spend time together planning the activities for the week, then leading the activities together, and they get a little flirty during the class but can't be too much because they're in front of kids yk and overall they just spend some time together and it's light and fun and a little teasing because they aren't established as a relationship yet, it's like a mutual crush. thank you for reading ALL of that, i probably could have said it quicker and i hope it made some sense, but i really appreciate it. thanks if you decide to take this up or take up some version of it. have a great day/night! sending love
Sending love back angel! (I think they should let you be one of the strokes and maybe once you’re in you can put in a good word for me.) Thanks for requesting <3
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
camp counselor!James x fem!reader ♡ 616 words
"Before we get started, we have to go over the rules."
A chorus of boos from the nine-year-olds gathered in front of the ropes course. James joins in, seeming to forget (as he often does) that he's a counselor and not a camper, until you roll your eyes and he remembers.
"Hey," he says, "whoever y/n and I think does the best job of listening during this part gets to go first. Okay?"
The kids perk up, and the booing stops. James makes a show of looking around the group.
"Wow, that's good." He nods, impressed. "It could be a tight race. Stay on your game."
"The first rule," you continue with a pointed look at your co-counselor, "is no racing. It's not about who can get to the top the fastest."
"The way to win," says James, "is to fall the least."
You nod. "Exactly. James and I will keep score, and whoever makes it to the top without falling wins."
One of the campers raises his hand. "What if more than one of us doesn't fall?"
"Then there will have to be a tie-breaker," you allow. "Um, rock paper scissors?"
James dismisses this quickly. "Boring."
You turn to him in offense, and your campers titter—likely both at James' remark and your reaction.
"Not you," he amends, then grins teasingly. "Just your idea. If there's more than one winner, how about whoever does the best dance for us afterwards takes first place?"
You look at the kids for the verdict. It's a mixed bag—this group just old enough for a few of them to find the prospect of a choreographed dance embarassing while others find it fun—but there's enough enthusiasm for you to agree to James' plan.
You go over a few more rules, then let James help you into a harness to show the kids where it needs to be tight. You distract yourself with the demonstration, giving instructions to the campers to avoid making eye contact with James while he tightens straps around your torso and legs and tugs at them to make sure they're secure. You're grateful that the summer sun serves as an excuse for your suddenly hot skin.
"Any questions?" he asks after he's done.
The kids shake their heads.
"Okay." You make a show of thinking hard and looking over the group. "I think our best listener was…Thomas."
Thomas grins, and James high-fives him as he comes over to have his harness put on.
"I'll meet you all at the top," you tell them, "and I'll ring the bell for everyone who makes it up to me."
You turn towards the beginning of the course, but before you can get far you're halted by a tug on your middle. You turn, and James has a finger hooked in the strap around your waist.
"Hold on," he says, "what if I want to ring the bell?"
You nearly laugh. It's often unavoidable around James, you've found, not that you particularly want to avoid it. He makes your insides feel like a shaken coke bottle. "I'm already in a harness."
"So?"
"Do you want to play rock paper scissors for it?"
"No, but I'll dance-battle you."
A smile sneaks out of your mouth. You try to catch it, but not before James' eyes light with mirth.
"Okay," you say, crossing your arms and watching him expectantly, "you go first."
James blinks. "Well, obviously I'd have to go back to my cabin and get a radio first."
"Hm, convenient." You turn away. James grabs for your harness again, but he doesn't pull hard enough to keep you from hooking yourself onto the course. "Guess you forfeit, then."
Wait OMG hi if requests are open can I ask for something in newgirl!verse ? I don't have anything specific in mind scenario-wise but I would love to read something about Remus and Reader sharing a tension-filled, romantic/flirty moment, like where it's been long enough for each of them to realize they're attracted to the other but early enough that neither one of them is ready to make a move sorta thing... if that makes any sense. Sorry haha this got so long and rambly lol anyway LOVE YOU!! And feel free to pass on this if it isn't speaking to you! ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you for your request angel!!
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: alcohol and drunkenness
Marauders New Girl AU
roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words
James told you about Remus and fruity drinks in the same breath as he made you promise to never, not under pain of death, tell Remus.
Sirius is the key to it, apparently. He can pour a draught beer like anyone else, but when he puts effort into a fancy cocktail it’s reportedly magic. For Remus specifically. Despite being brilliant about most things and generally rather observant, Remus has never made the connection between the drinks and the way he acts after a few of them. According to James, you all know he will, someday, but you shouldn’t be in any hurry to illuminate him when it provides such excellent entertainment in the meantime.
You’re beginning to see what he means.
“Are you singing?” you ask Remus.
Your flatmate blinks at you slowly. His humming peters off. “I like this song,” he says.
“That’s nice.” You smile, bringing your straw back to your mouth. “I’ve just never heard you sing before.”
“So wait, wait.” James is leaned halfway over the bar trying to be in your field of vision. You turn your attention back to him obligingly. “Tell me again. What’d this guy do to put you off?”
“There was a dog,” you say.
“Right. Following.”
“It walked right past us, and I—obviously—freaked out because it was so cute.”
“Obviously,” says Sirius, with an eye roll you swear is totally fond.
“And he didn’t even look at it!”
Remus scoffs. “What a prick.”
You gesture to Remus emphatically. “Precisely.”
“Or,” James argues, “he wasn’t looking at the dog because he was trying to pay attention to you.”
“It was a labrador, James.”
“You were on a date! He was supposed to be paying attention to you.”
“I’m fairly sure that most people,” says Sirius, with the superior air of the only sober one, “would find it flattering if their date was staring at them so hard they didn’t notice anything else.”
You hum, unconvinced. “I just don’t think I could be with someone who doesn’t care about cute dogs.”
“Now.” James points a finger at you. “We don’t know that for a fact.”
“No,” Remus says conclusively, “you shouldn’t be with anyone who doesn’t get excited about the things you do.”
You send James a triumphant look.
“Sirius.” Remus is doing something very strange with his face. It almost looks like pleading. “Let me have some more cherries.”
Sirius sighs. “You’re so predictable. My boss is onto me. She’s said I can’t give away that many in one night again.”
Remus scowls.
“So the story is,” Sirius goes on, putting a small bowl of maraschino cherries on the bartop with a significant look, “you held me at knifepoint.”
Remus nods solemnly as he picks one up by the stem. “I did.”
“So,” James pushes you, “you’re really not going to go out with this guy again just because he didn’t see the dog?”
You shrug. “It’s like Remus said. I want him to be excited about the things I’m excited about.”
Remus mumbles his approval, and you steal one of his cherries. James frowns at the both of you.
“That seems harsh. Couldn’t you at least give him one more chance? What if you end up really liking him?”
“I don’t feel like I will,” you admit.
“Why not?”
You sigh heftily. “I guess I could give it one more try. He wants to go out again tomorrow.”
“Well,” James laughs, “don’t let me twist your arm. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“No, I should.” You fold your hands on the bar and set your chin down atop them, resigned. “I’m not being fair.”
“You’re kinda not,” James agrees. Sirius crosses his arms, arching a brow at you.
“Not fair that you can do that,” you tell him. “Jar.”
He blinks, indignant. “On what grounds? James!”
“Overruled,” James says.
“Right. Thank you,” Sirius huffs. Much to your annoyance, that expression of knowing returns. “Why do you not want to go so badly? It’s only a second date.”
“I don’t know.” You let your head loll to the side, knuckles to your cheek.
“Where does he want to take you?” asks Remus.
“Pub.”
You turn to look at him, and so you don’t miss the look of disdain that comes over his expression. “You can’t let him take you to a pub,” he says.
“Oi,” Sirius interjects. “Why the fuck not?”
“We’re in a pub now,” you point out, amused.
Remus frowns. “We’re different,” he says simply. “You don’t want to go out with anyone who’s idea of a date is a place like this.”
“I’ve taken dates to pubs.” James sounds vaguely offended.
“I don’t want to do this anyway,” you say. “A pub seems as good a place as any. It’s less pressure than dinner, at least”
Remus’ voice goes gentle. “If you don’t want to go,” he says, “then don’t.”
“James is right,” you admit quietly. “I’m not giving him a fair chance. He’s probably not a bad guy.”
Remus’ frown worsens. “Just because someone isn’t bad doesn’t mean they’re good enough for you.”
You blink at him. The alcohol has you feeling already warm and hazy, but there’s something inlaid in those words that seems to stupefy you under Remus’ gaze.
“You don’t need another date to know he doesn’t deserve you,” he says. “You should be going out with someone you’re excited to see. And who treats you the way you ought to be treated.”
“How’s that?” you murmur.
Remus holds your stare for a heartbeat that feels too heavy in your chest. “Better than a second date at a pub.”
You know he’s right. You have no interest in a second date with this guy. With anyone, really. You can hardly persuade yourself to have an interest in first dates. You only even began this whole dating stint because you realized you had a crush on your flatmate.
You’d been noticing things about Remus you didn’t mean to. The way his voice is raspier first thing in the morning and late at night, when he’s tired. The warmth of his body next to yours when you watch telly together on the sofa. Those smiles that seem to ignite in his eyes before they turn up the corners of his mouth. You couldn’t stop watching him, and then you couldn’t stop thinking about him, and soon you were dreaming about him with no clue how to stop that either. You like your living situation too much to ruin it. A distraction seemed like the best solution for you. Or several distractions. None of them have taken yet.
You steal another of Remus’ cherries, feeling the sweetness crack between your teeth. “So you guys can take me to a pub,” you say, “but he can’t?”
Remus reaches forward and takes the stem from your mouth. You’re too startled to stop him. “We’re different,” he repeats.
You wet your lips. Remus’ look is unwavering, his eyes like warm honey in the dim light of the pub. The cloying sweetness of the cherry turns to something that sits heavier on your tongue.
The moment stretches long and thin, or it feels like it does, until Sirius clears his throat and cleaves right through.
“Glad you find these conditions acceptable,” he says drily. “You’re all cut off, by the way.”
You tear your gaze from Remus’. “Why?”
“James has passed out.”
You sit up to see your most energetic flatmate slumped over the bar, his smushed cheek making his glasses sit askew. “No,” he mumbles halfheartedly, “m’awake.”
Sirius levels Remus with a look. “Are you going to be able to help me get him home?”
Remus looks offended. “Yes.”
You’re dubious of this, but as it turns out Remus’ strangely expressive state has almost no bearing on his physical stability. He refuses to leave until you’re wearing his jacket and pinches your chin in a way he never has before (Sirius seems immensely entertained by this), but stands from his stool and slips James’ arm over his shoulders like it’s nothing.
As you’re fighting the wind on the way to your flat, Remus’ jacket a welcome weight over your shoulders, James asks you, “You are going to go, then? On a second date?”
“Why do you care so much?” you ask genuinely.
James doesn’t even hesitate. He answers with the same genuineness, “I just want you to be happy.”
You’re caught offguard by that, your guts doing a funny little twist. You blink fast.
Sirius scoffs and bumps your shoulder lightly. “Sop.”
“Yeah,” you answer James. “I think I’m going to go.”
You chance a look at Remus, but his eyes are ahead. James turns to grin at you, nearly tipping over in the process, and Remus rights him with a curse. “Fuck’s sake, Jamie. Mind your feet.”
It’s funny how your heart can feel heavy and light in the same breath. You ignore both and let Remus lead you home.
Hi darlin! I’m a big fan of yours, I’ve recently read your entire account in four day span and I’ve been rereading and such. You have such a gift- your ability to portray the different characters with such distinct voices is incredible.
I was wondering if you could do EMT!marauders with a claustrophobic reader? Like maybe she gets a stuck in a car or an elevator and they help her and calm her down? If you feel inclined, an established relationship would be awesome, but if that doesn’t work with you that’s okay too!
Thank you for all the incredible writing you do for us! I hope you know how appreciated you are by the fandom.
Thank you angel! Love you <3
cw: claustrophobia
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
emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words
You're so caught up in escape you hardly register the ambulance arriving. The wail cuts off, and you're still tugging frantically at your seatbelt, trying to get it off of you. Sirius might say your name a few times before someone else calls, "Breaking glass," and your window shatters.
You turn to see a fireman sweeping glittering shards off the car door. Sirius is there as soon as he steps back, gloved hands firm on either side of your face.
"Don't move," he says. You can't make sense of him for a moment—it's strange to see Sirius in his uniform when he's not coming or going from home, and with his hair drawn back away from his face. "I'm just holding your head still so you don't hurt yourself, okay?"
"Okay," you reply tightly. "Hi."
Sirius grins. You can tell it's not wholly untroubled, but still seeing it loosens the knot in your chest slightly. "Hi, sweetness. Does anything hurt?"
"Not really." It might, you don't know. You can't think about that right now. "Can you help me get this off?"
Your boyfriend's gaze drops to where your hands are both clenched around your seatbelt. His lips press together briefly as he sees where the dashboard of your car has collapsed inward, trapping your legs.
"We will," he says. "Soon, okay? We have to make sure you're okay before we can move you."
The panic that had muffled at his arrival returns full force. You swallow a keen. "I just—can't you—"
"Hey." Sirius' finger rubs into your jaw to make up for cutting you off. "You're going to be fine. We're here. I'm passing you off to James now, stay still for us."
Your heart thuds against your ribcage as strong hands come from behind you to replace Sirius'.
"I've got c-spine," James confirms in a serious voice.
"James?"
"Good guess," he jokes. "Though I suppose you had fifty-fifty odds."
"Is Remus here too?"
"Yeah, just outside. Are you breathing okay?"
"How'd you get in here?"
"Most of the doors are jammed, but your trunk still opens. I crawled in. Hey, lovie—"
"Can you get me out?" Desperation claws at your voice.
"—breathe," James finishes. "Just breathe for a second."
You'd love to. It's not that it should be impossible—the window next to you is an open space now, after all, you have plenty of access to outside air—but the space around you is so small it feels like there's no room for oxygen. You can't move. Your legs are caught in a metal trap, the front of your car pressing in on you in a way it isn't meant to, and now you're sharing the already tight space with two more bodies. Your head spins.
"I need—" You choke on an unknown blockage. "I need to get—"
"Listen to me," says Sirius, perhaps not for the first time. You blink, and he's looking you in your eyes intently. "Are you with me? The sooner we clear you, the sooner we can get you out of here."
Your eyes burn. "Okay."
Sirius exhales, softening. He pries your hands from the seatbelt. "Wiggle your fingers for me?" You do. "Good. Can you feel this?"
You answer all of his questions and do what he tells you to, even when Sirius has to worm his arm awkwardly under the contorted mess of your dashboard to check if you can move your feet. The inside of the car gets so hot you're sweating. It doesn't make sense, when the weather outside isn't oppressively warm, but you can't think that through, much less hear Sirius' instructions, over the rushing in your ears. James has to repeat things for you more than once.
When Sirius comes up from checking on your feet, his expression creases at whatever your face must look like.
"We're almost done," he promises you.
It sounds less like a reassurance than a sentence. Your throat tightens around a sob.
Sirius' brows hook. "I know, baby," he says, sounding genuinely sorry. "We'll get you out of here soon. I can get this seatbelt off now, though, would that help?"
You try to nod before realizing you can't, James' hold on your head tigthening preventatively. Your distress ratchets up at the restriction, but Sirius seems to cotton on to your agreement anyway.
"Okay, don't move." He takes your seatbelt in hand, ducking out of the window to speak to someone outside—Remus, you realize. When Sirius returns, there's a box cutter in his other hand, and he wastes no time in getting you free.
It's like free falling and then catching onto a branch. Fear still squeezes tight in your chest, but you suck in a breath, tears blinking from both eyes.
"There you go," says James lightly. He sounds like he sighs, possibly nearly as relieved as you are. "That's better, yeah?"
Sirius pulls the collar of your shirt to the side, frowning at where the strap of the seatbeld left a red mark the disappears down your chest. "Yeah," he answers for you. "Okay, nearly done. Close your eyes for a moment."
You do. Sirius pinches your finger and asks you to tell him which one it was. When you wiggle your ring finger, he lets you open your eyes again.
James lets you go, kissing your head. "Good job. You're done, angel, let me just get the backboard and we'll—oh, you're ahead of me, are you?"
You're confused as to what he means for a moment, but James isn't talking to you. Sirius finds the lever to tilt your seat back, and when you look up to see Remus standing in the open back of your car with blue sky behind him, you begin to tremble.
Even once the focus is on freeing you, it takes longer than you can stand. James is all encouragement, and Sirius makes one joke—"You know, usually you rather like when my head is in your lap"—before getting that you're not up to it, but when Remus crawls in to help get the backboard underneath you, sparing a loving hold for your cheek, you rip at the seams.
"What did you do?" Sirius sounds half like he's ribbing and half genuinely upset, sitting up to see Remus where he's looking down at you in dismay. You can hardly breathe around sobs.
"Shh, you're alright," Remus tells you, his mouth bent with sympathy. "You're alright. It's only your legs that we're still working on, you're nearly out. This'll be done soon."
As he says it, Sirius manages to wriggle free the first of your legs. He bends it carefully at the knee, setting your socked foot up on the backboard with you and diving into the new space to begin working on the next.
"You got really lucky," says James, leaning over you in a way that can't be comfortable to feel about your leg and ankle. By this point, he's already moved your clothes all one way or another, checking over each part of you systematically. "You could have been hurt a lot worse."
"Fractured tibia and fibula," Sirius reports from below.
James winces. "Right. Well, still could have been worse."
Getting your second leg out of its confines proves a lot more painful than the first. Your just want it over quickly, though, so you screw your eyes shut and bite down on your bottom lip (at least, until Remus scolds you for it) and eventually James and Sirius manage to maneuver it out. They situate you properly on the backboard, James holding your injured leg steady. Then you're in open air.
It makes you cry harder, for some reason. You're breathing easier almost instantly. Your body shakes with tiny shivers.
"You're alright, we're here," Remus consoles you as they carry you over to a stretcher. The moment you're set down, he's bending over, his nose to your brow. "It's okay, sweetheart. Breathe."
"Are we going to be okay in the ambulance?" James looks between you and Remus, seeming unsure which of you he's asking.
Remus nods, straightening. "She'll be fine. Let's just take a minute before we go."
You nod, too, pleased with this plan.
Sirius chuckles. He leans down for a kiss while James goes to get some of their eqipment from the cab of the ambulance. "You did really well," he tells you. "Thanks for staying so calm for us, lovely. I know it was hard."
"Calm?" you choke out, appalled.
Remus snorts.
"Calm considering how badly you must have been freaking out," Sirius amends.
You swallow. "Yeah. Thanks."
When James comes back, he decides wants a turn with you, handing the eqipment off to Remus so he can wrap his arms around you carefully. This sort of tightness, you don't mind so much.
MAEEE I just thought of something. What about fem!reader×Lily Evans where they aren't together yet but there's some tension between them (like Lily doing reader's makequp and their faces getting really close or similar scenarios). I love my Yuri tension.
As always thank you if you decide to do it and take your time, feel no pressure!
Thank you for requesting gorgeous! Love you
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
Lily Evans x fem!reader ♡ 846 words
"Are you sure you still want to go?"
"Honestly?" Lily rustles through your closet for a coat to borrow. "I could stay in. But Mary really made it sound like if I come home anytime before two she'll murder me."
You watch her in your bathroom mirror while trying to steady your hand enough to do your eyeliner. "We could just stay for a little while, and then when you go home you can say I got sick."
Lily grins, stepping out of your closet in a faux-fur-lined coat that falls open over her satin dress. "I didn't know you had anything like this," she says, a note of teasing in her voice.
Your heart thumps.
This is where you often find yourselves on Friday nights, though not usually just the two of you. You met Mary when she got a job at the coffee shop where you work, and after apparently deciding she liked you well enough she introduced you to Lily and Marlene. The three of them have been friends for ages. It strikes you still as a rare honor to have been added to a group so close-knit, to be invited along for coffee dates and charity store hunts and, most regularly, going out on Friday nights.
It's such a fixture in your week you don't even plan it anymore; they all just show up to your flat, and you drink and get ready and then walk out the door together. Except, this afternoon, Mary suddenly came down with something. Then Marlene cancelled hardly an hour later.
You love Mary, but Mary loves a scheme, and you suspect you may be caught in one of them.
"It was an impulse buy," you say. "You should keep it, actually. I never wear it, and it looks nice on you."
Lily's smile takes on a different quality. One you've seen before, and are too afraid to investigate. "Thanks. Do you want any help there?"
You lower your hand, frowning at the overlarge bump of eyeliner in the middle of your lash line. "I'm useless without Marlene."
"Aren't we all," Lily agrees. She comes to join you in the bathroom. "But I think sometimes it's easier when you're not working on yourself. Can I?"
You turn, passing her the pencil. Lily wets a cloth and takes her face in her hand to hold you still while she cleans off the mess you've made.
"It always looks like I've hardly done anything," you say with your eyes closed, "so I add a bit more, and then I look insane."
"You don't," she chides softly, though there's a smile in her voice. "You look gorgeous, it's just that you can only see the problems. And like I said, it's easier when someone else does this for you."
"Because you have a steadier hand?"
"No." She hardly has to murmur for you to hear, and you're struck, rather abruptly, with the epiphany of how close Lily is to you. Marlene does your eyeliner for you nearly every time you go out, but it's never felt like this. "Perspective."
Lily sweeps the dry side of the cloth across your lid, creating a fresh palate, before setting it down. You open your eyes, catching only a glimpse of her before she cups your face again, liner in hand, and gestures for you to close them.
Your body has caught onto what's happening now, though. Your every nerve thrums with awareness. You feel the brush of faux fur against your leg as she steps closer. The graze of her knuckle as she draws the pencil gently across your lash line. The (perhaps imagined) warmth of her closeness. Your heart flutters in your throat.
"If you wanted," you say, using the opportunity of your closed eyes to muster a bit of courage, "we could just stay here. Then you could go home after two, and Mary would be happy with you."
A pause. "Actually, I wouldn't mind dancing for a while," says Lily. Her hold shifts as she moves to your other eye. "I liked your first idea, though. Maybe we stay for a little while, and then when we're sick of it, come back here for the night."
Her thumb brushes beside your eye, correcting something, and your breath catches. Lily's touch lifts.
"Would that be okay?" she asks.
You blink your eyes open. This close, you can see the flush risen beneath her freckles that you couldn't when she was in your bedroom. You think Lily has to know she's beautiful, but sometimes you wonder if she knows the extent of it. You feel confident that even if she did—if she understood her power to stop hearts, to derail trains of thought and upset swarms of stomach butterflies—she'd only use it for good. That's just who Lily is.
"Yeah," you reply. "That sounds perfect."
"Great." She smiles and brushes a thumb under the corner of your eye again. "Well, done. You look really pretty."
"Thanks to you."
"No." Lily turns away, going to find her shoes. "You just always are."
Hi! I was hoping to request a bodyguard!sirius fic, maybe one where reader is down in the dumps and just gets some comfort from her big but soft bestie? Tyia, I hope you're doing well!
Thank you angel, hope you're doing well too!
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
bodyguard!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 584 words
You really don't know what's wrong with you. Nothing awful has happened, only unpleasant things. Apparently, ordinary words in a vexed tone are enough to get to you now. You've had an upset brewing in your chest all day since.
Sirius can tell. He's being extra gentle with you. Not that he's not gentle usually, but now even his teasing is all padded edges. You wouldn't always know it by looking at him, but he's good at being a soft place to land.
"You know," he says, standing with his back to you while you change into your pajamas, "when I'm upset, I usually get a tattoo."
You take a moment to skim your gaze over his inked-up arms. "How often are you upset?"
"Fairly often."
"Is that what you think I should do?"
He hums. "I'm supposed to say no, probably, but if you ask me to get the car I can pretend I don't know where we're going."
"Ha." You slip your shirt over your head. When your lotion clicks as you open it, Sirius turns around.
A strand of hair has slipped free of the confines he's subjected the rest to at the back of his head, curving along his cheek. He regards you with a stare that used to appear cool and calculated to you, and it still does, but now you can see the tenderness that lies beneath. Sirius lets you see it.
"Do you need to have a cry?" he asks, whispery, like he wants to protect you from prying ears.
You swallow as, summoned, an urgent heat closes around your throat. "You usually hate it when I cry."
"I'd rather you didn't need to," Sirius admits, "but if it would make you feel better…I think someone more well-adjusted than me might say it's worth a try."
Your mouth tugs. "I think you're perfectly adjusted."
"Tell that to the tattoos."
You hesitate before mumuring, "I'd rather not cry, too."
He nods, and you pretend not to notice that his eyes soften. "Okay. Do you want to go get ice cream instead?"
Now you do smile, if weakly. "Like I'm five?"
"Hey." Sirius levels you with a mock stern look. "Ice cream brings joy to all ages."
"I've just put on my pajamas, though."
"There's no need to change out of them. You'll look stunning either way, so you might as well be comfortable."
Heat spreads to your face now, of a less urgent kind; this always happens when Sirius flirts with you. "You're in regular clothes," you point out.
"I'm in uniform, babe. As much as I'd love to show up in solidarity, I can't get between you and a bullet as quickly with pajama pants flapping around my ankles."
You frown. "Don't joke about that."
"I'm sorry." Sirius uses the apology as an excuse to get you close, winding an arm around your shoulders and stamping a kiss to your head. You focus hard on not melting into him. You really will cry, then. Sirius feels more like home than the home you're in.
"The truth is," he says lowly, "if I were to wear what I actually do to bed, I'd be freezing cold."
You scoff. He gives you a friendly squeeze.
"So?" he coaxes.
You nod, moving with him towards the door. "I'll drive."
He snorts. "You know, that's okay. I'll take this one."
"I'm very sad," you say, looking at him with big eyes. Sirius looks back with quirked lips.
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
part 15 | masterlist
rockstar!marauders x journalist!reader ♡ 1.8k words
Remus spends the day with you. He's tired (and, you suspect, in at least some pain, though he doesn't say) after staying out so late the night before, and there's too much walking to be done at Cadbury World. James talks about abandoning the whole idea, but Remus and Sirius won't hear of it. After breakfast, Sirius shepherds Remus into your room with strict instructions for Remus to look after your ankle and you to look after him.
You pass hours lying about and coming up with idle things to amuse yourselves. Remus teaches you a few chords on his bass. You point out noteworthy characters passing by on the sidewalk below your window. You nap. Around lunchtime, Lily comes by with sandwiches and joins you for an intense round of seeing who can complete a sudoku puzzle the fastest.
You don't talk about what you said to each other the night before, though it lingers with you. The idea that, for all your suspicion of being sweet-talked by the band, every attempt you make to get friendlier with them ultimately advances your purpose of getting them to open up so you can write an entertaining story, regardless of your intent in the moment. How when you told Sirius that your job was at stake and he told you that his friend was, you hesitated a moment at which was more sacred.
Remus asked so simply. Are you only being nice to us so that we'll give you quotes for your feature?
Like he already knew your answer. Like he had faith in you, and was only asking you to have it in him. You wish you could feel as sure as he seems.
The sun is still out, and so you're surprised when James and Sirius come into your room, James in a branded jumper and bearing chocolate bars for each of you.
"How was it?" you ask.
"Brilliant!" says James, at the same time as Sirius groans, "Awful."
"It was like being in Willy Wonka." James props his chin on a fist as both boys flop down on the bed by yours and Remus' feet.
Sirius shudders. "Creepy film. Why does chocolate require so many mascots? Between the show last night and walking around all of today, my legs are pulverized."
"Is that why you're back early?" asks Remus.
"Partly." James smiles, reaching up to ruffle Remus' hair. "We also missed you. Massage?" he offers Sirius.
Sirius looks momentarily like he could cry for gratitude, but he neatens his expression into one of cool imperiousness soon enough. "Seems like the least you could do."
James scoots closer gamely. He pushes his thumbs into Sirius' calves, and Sirius sighs, dropping his head to his folded arms.
You try not to stare, but even just the awareness of it, James' strong hands kneading confidently at the flesh, is enough to make heat rush from your face down to your chest. It only gets worse as James makes his way up the backs of Sirius' legs.
You search for something to distract yourself. You've been trying to find a hook that could function as a through-line for your feature; maybe this could be it. The Marauders as not only one of the most popular bands in Britain, but the most closely-knit group of boys you've ever witnessed. Supportive, as devoted to each other as they are to their music, and unafraid of showing it.
"So." Sirius turns his head to peer at you, cheek resting on his forearm. You tuck the idea away for later. "Do you think you'll ever walk again?"
You smile, praying it's not obvious how they've flustered you. "That's the hope. You?"
"Likely not." He heaves a great sigh. "My career is finished. Struck down in my prime."
"We'll be alright without you," James says lightly. Sirius kicks one of his feet, and James retaliates by pressing knuckles into his thigh. Sirius stills with a hiss.
"What about you?" he asks, poking Remus' foot. "How are you feeling? Think you'll ever be able to get up onstage again?"
Remus, already a few bites into his chocolate bar, gives Sirius a dry look. "Oh, because that's all I matter to you, is that it?"
"Obviously. If I'm out of the band, James will need you. Otherwise, the whole show will just be him throwing drumsticks off into the crowd. No one will come to see it."
"They'd still come," James defends himself.
A thought strikes you. You take your tape recorder from the nightstand, setting it to record and putting it where the boys can see it. Remus eyes it, but no one objects.
"Uh oh," James jokes. "She's gearing up."
"I was just wondering," you say, "what do you think you'd be doing if you weren't in the band?"
As always when your tape recorder comes out, Sirius takes the lead. He sits up on his elbows, his grin sharpening as if by instrinct or habit.
"Well, if my family had their way I'd have ended up in banking," he says, "but I think I could've been an actor. This face was just made for the public eye, don't you think?"
"So you think you'd have still ended up in entertainment?"
"Don't I entertain you, gorgeous?" Sirius winks.
"If there weren't films or microphones," teases James, "he'd have found a circus to ringlead."
It's funny, because even sitting here with Sirius now—in normal clothes, bare of the dark slashes of eyeliner he wears onstage, with the sun shining on him and warming the impenetrable black of his hair to dark brown—you can't picture him doing anything else. He's right; whether by nature or by practice, Sirius has mastered stardom. He doesn't have to wait for a spotlight to find him. He emits his own.
"Remus," James goes on, "wanted to be a teacher, though."
You turn to the bassist, feeling your brows lift. "Did you really?"
Remus appears almost shy. "I did, yeah."
"He was always very swotty." Sirius grins, fond around the eyes. "He used to finish his homework and then stick around to help us with ours. Lily, too."
Remus rolls his eyes. "You never needed much help."
"No," James agrees. "It was really more the three of them helping me. I'm useless at maths."
"What did you want to do?" you ask him.
James shrugs. "I don't know. When I was little I wanted to be a firefighter. I thought about being a veterinarian for a while, but then I heard there's some maths involved in that sometimes too…" Sirius reaches back to pat him consolingly. "Maybe a footballer? I guess it's a good thing I'm already doing this, or else I might not be able to decide."
You hum, nodding. "I could see that for you."
"That I would never have decided?"
"Yeah."
James pauses Sirius' massage, his eyes squinting behind his glasses. "That feels like it might be an insult."
You copy Sirius and reach over to give him a consoling pat. "You'll live."
"She means you could've done anything you wanted to," Remus translates helpfully. "You're good at lots of things, Jamie."
"You could've been a masseuse, too," adds Sirius, who appears to have nearly liquefied into the mattress.
"Oh." James puffs up. "Well, thanks. What would you have done?" he asks you.
You blink. "Other than journalism?"
"Yeah."
The answer, honestly, is nothing. You're not like James. You didn't have a myriad of other ideas and viable options. This is the whole plan for you. The only plan.
You're saved from answering when the room's phone rings.
You all startle. You hesitate a moment before remembering that this is your room, and you reach over to the nightstand to answer it.
"Hello?"
"L/n?" Your posture straightens unconsciously at the sound of your editor's voice.
"Yes, hi," you say quickly, then cringe at your lack of professionalism. Sometimes it feels like you get greener by the day. "How can I help you?"
He begins speaking in his usual brusque, clipped way. It still intimidates you, even if you're slowly getting used to it. The boys must catch onto the nature of the call; Sirius sits up, looking unsure, and James whispers to you that they can leave. You wave them off, frowning as you listen to the voice on the other line.
"Yes," you say. "Yeah, I can do that."
You hold the phone to your ear with your shoulder and reach for your pen and notepad.
"Where is it? Okay, thanks….and pre or post-show? Got it. No, that's perfect. I, um…" You hesitate, a bit embarassed to be having this conversation in front of others. "Thank you for the opportunity. I'll—"
You cut yourself off when your editor begins speaking again.
"I understand. It will be, thank you. Alright, goodb—"
You're cut off again by the click of the receiver.
Sirius' brow wrinkles. "That guy wasn't letting you get much out, was he?"
"What's going on?" James asks.
You take a breath. "They want me to interview another band."
His eyes widen. "You're done with us?"
"No. It's…Reckoning is having a show here tonight. They've scheduled me for a pre-show interview because I'm nearby."
"They're asking you to cheat on us?" Sirius gasps in mock outrage.
"You all cheated on me first," you remind him, "when you got interviewed by another reporter."
You don't recall what else came out of that day until the levity has already sapped from Sirius' expression, leaving a dark pinch in its place.
"We should go with you," he says.
"Don't be stupid." You shake your head, looking away. "I do this stuff all the time."
Sirius seems as if he might argue with you, but Remus speaks before he can. "It's good that they're asking you to do more work for them, isn't it?"
"Yeah," you hedge. "Just…my editor sort of implied it's because the feature is taking me too long. I think they're starting to get antsy."
Remus eyes you worriedly.
You try to sound assured. "But it'll be fine. Since I'm here, I can write this other article in the meantime to keep them happy."
Sirius sighs, rolling over and casting his head back dramatically. "So long as we're still your favorites."
"I don't think I'm supposed to pick favorites," you tell him, a smile creeping onto your face.
"What we're supposed to do and what we do are two different things, doll. Anyway, I think you already said we're your favorite band." He casts a look at Remus. "Didn't she?"
"I remember that," Remus agrees.
"Think you called us amazing once too," muses James. He bumps your good ankle with his elbow playfully. "Don't forget that when you're writing your feature, alright?"
"You're the feature," you remind them. "This is just an article."
Remus hums, and you bark out a laugh when he says in an impression of Sirius' imperiousness, "Too right."
Hi! I love your writting! the marauders rockstar x journalist reader got me hooked! Would love to hear your take on reader accidently falling asleep on one of the boys? Like maybe they're on the bus together and a lil head on the shoulder moment? Or like maybe they're all in Sirius' room again and she like passes out on the bed and they all feel too much sympathy for her and let her sleep cuz they know her backs been hurting from the bus? Feel free to ignore this req.
Have a good day/night! <3
Hi, thank you for requesting! <3
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
part 14 | masterlist
rockstar!marauders x journalist!reader ♡ 1k words
"Should I…?"
"No, wait. Maybe we can do it without waking her."
"We're not going to be able to do it without waking her, Sirius. And James can't stay on the bus all night."
"I could."
"No, you can't."
"Well, what do you think he should do, then?"
"I'm going up to my room," a new voice says. Lily. "If James does stay the night on the bus, let me know. I'll phone a chiropractor in the morning."
"Cheers. Goodnight," James replies.
There's the swooshing sound of the bus door opening and closing. You start to sit up, but at the slightest bit of movement from you, James' hand covers your head, stroking lullingly.
"Shh," he whispers.
There's a pause, wherein no one but you seems to breathe. Your indolent mind makes the executive decision to drift in not-quite-sleep for a while longer.
"James," Remus sighs, "we're going to have to wake her."
James makes a soft, mournful sound you think you likely only hear because you're so close to him. How you came to be using his bicep as a pillow, you don't recall.
It's not him that argues, though, but Sirius. "She was so knackered earlier," he says in a low voice. "And that was hours ago."
"She'll sleep better in a bed," Remus says, his tone gentling.
James makes a sound of offense. "You said I was the best pillow you ever had."
Rousing more now, you can practically hear Remus' eyes roll. "A pillow, not a mattress."
"She just looks so…" There's something in Sirius' voice you can't place. It's too close to compassion for your liking, though, which wakes you up enough to make the decision for them.
You bring a hand to your eyes, rubbing.
"Ah." You feel James wince. "Sorry."
When you open your eyes, even Remus is looking at you guiltily.
"That's…okay." You don't quite know what to make of them, peering instead around the near vacant bus. "Are we back?"
"Yeah," Remus confirms. "Lily's checked in and got our room keys already. Do you think you can stand?"
You nod without thinking, but actually standing is a different matter. Still half-asleep, you put weight on your hurt ankle unthinkingly, saved from collapsing back onto the seat by Sirius' quick reflexes as a whimper tears from your throat.
"Careful," he hisses. His grip on your arm turns less bruising only when you steady yourself on your other foot.
"Sorry." You try to blink yourself into better awareness. "It hurts worse than it did before."
"That happens after you rest it," says Remus, watching you cautiously as you take another step. Once you manage it, he turns around, leading the way out of the bus. "I don't mean to sound bleak, but it'll likely be worse tomorrow, too."
"Yay," you monotone. You wince as you step off the bus.
"Do you want me to carry you?" James offers, entirely sincere.
"No, I've got it."
"Okay, well at least let me—" He lifts your arm and steps underneath it like he had earlier. "That's better, right?"
Despite the cool night air, warmth kisses your cheeks as Sirius wordlessly takes your bag from you, freeing you up to use James as your crutch.
"Yeah," you say quietly. "It does, thanks."
You don't want to think about how ill advised this is. You don't want to think about how this could be James' way of getting on your good side, making sure you write nice things about them in your feature. You let him support you until you get in the hotel elevator, and then you step away to lean against the wall.
James is perhaps too tired to take offense. Remus, though, gives you a scrutinizing look, and steps closer to you when the elevator doors open again.
"I can help get you sorted in your room," he offers. "You'll need ice."
You hesitate for a moment, but in that moment Remus has wound an arm around your waist, supporting you while also shepherding you towards your room. Sirius hands off your bag to him before following James in the other direction.
"You're in good hands, doll," he says, then covers his mouth to yawn after James yawns loudly. He sends the drummer a dark look. "Don't you start with that."
"Goodnight." James continues down the hall, yawning and triggering Sirius' yawns in turn, which are interspersed with threats and complaints.
You yawn as well. Remus, somehow immune to this, chuckles as he opens the door to your room.
"Do you want to change while I get a bag of ice?" he asks, setting both you and your bag on the bed.
"Sure, but—you really don't need to," you say. "I can manage."
"I'm sure you can," he replies, and leaves.
You stare at the door. That doesn't sound like he's not coming back. You change quickly in case, not truly surprised when a polite knock sounds a few minutes later.
"Thank you." You try not to shrink as Remus constructs a stack of pillows to elevate your ankle, settling a towel-wrapped bag of ice on top. You're aware of the tackiness of dried tears on your face, and of how pathetic and inept you must seem. Remus finds a spare blanket and fans it out atop you. "You really don't have to do all of this."
"Don't worry about it," he says.
You do worry, though. You worry about how kind they've all been to you, and what it might mean. What might be expected in return.
"Are you being so nice to me so that I'll write nice things about you all in the feature?" you force yourself to ask.
Remus pauses. His brows twitch, a flicker of something, gone in an instant. "Are you only being nice to us so that we'll give you quotes for your feature?"
You recoil. Such as you can in bed, anyway. Your chin tucks closer to your chest, something inside aching sharply. "No," you say, relieved to find that it rings true.
He hums. "Me neither."
Remus moves your bag to the nightstand for you, nudging the telephone closer so you can reach both without much trouble. "Feel free to give us a ring in the morning," he says. "Sirius is in five-thirty-one, and Lily and Mary are in five-forty. You should meet us for breakfast."
"Thanks," you say, "I will."
Remus glances at you as he goes, another unknown flicker crossing his expression. "Good."
