#poly!marauders x self insert

[moonstruckme]

hello i’m not sure if you are taking requests but i have binged all of your emt marauders and absolutely loved them. i was wondering if you could do one where the boys get a call in for an emergency and turns out the reader called for it and by the time they get there they find the reader unconscious.you can chose the reason for why reader is passed out. also have an amazing day and yeah <3

Thank you for requesting lovely!! Slight deviation because reader doesn’t call them herself

cw: fainting, hospital mention

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You wake to a firm tapping on your face and the din of too many voices. 

“Y/n?” The tapping persists. You try to unstick your lashes. “There you go, sweetheart, open your eyes for us.” 

You try harder. 

“Good girl. I’m just going to shine this light in your eyes, keep them open…” 

“Sirius,” you say. Or try to say. Your mouth is a desert, and your lips move without much sound coming out. 

Sirius seems to hear you anyway. His businesslike tone softens into something more tender. “Hi, baby.” When he clicks off the light, you can see that his eyebrows are set close together, hooking upwards. “How are you feeling?” 

“M’okay.” 

A little grin. “Try again, sweetness.” 

You blink. It feels like it takes ages. “My head hurts.” 

“What kind of hurt, angel?” Another familiar voice, and you look up to see James crouched above your head. He gives you a quick smile, too handsome for your fragile heart to keep up with, before he tilts your head back the way it was and starts feeling about your scalp with gloved hands. “Is it like a headache, or do you think you might’ve hurt yourself?” 

“Um.” Your head swims. “Like a headache.” 

“Okay, thanks. Wanna roll onto your back for us?” 

“What’re you doing here?” 

James’ hands slip from beneath your head. “You fainted,” he says. A gentle touch on your shoulder, pressing downward. “Roll over, okay?” 

It takes more effort than it should. You feel like you’re moving through a thick sludge, your head pounding and a hint of nausea at the back of your throat. 

“Some space, please. We’ve got it from here.” Remus comes into your field of vision, looking vaguely irritated. Some of it melts away when he meets your eyes. 

“Hi,” he says softly, crouching beside you. He takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. Looks at Sirius. “Any signs of a concussion?” 

“No,” he says. “Her pupils look fine, and there doesn’t seem to be a contusion on her head. Yeah, Jamie?” 

“Yeah,” James agrees. He puts something cold underneath your neck. “I think falling onto the grass probably helped.” 

Remus nods, stroking the side of your thumb absentmindedly. “The woman I just spoke to thought the same, said the way she fell sideways had to have kept her from hitting her head.” He sounds wry. “She had a lot of opinions, actually. You had quite the group of concerned spectators looking out for you, dove.” 

Remus is giving you a small smile, but his words finally register the sheer amount of people standing near you. They’re spread in a loose circle around you, random pedestrians who just happened to be walking by when you apparently crumpled like a tin can off the edge of the sidewalk and have since stuck around to watch the show. Your head is still too fuzzy to muster up any response that feels correct, but you know you don’t like it.

James picks up on your unease first. “Don’t worry about them, sweetheart, just focus here, yeah?” He gives Sirius a look, and your scariest boyfriend gets up, going towards the nearest onlookers. James takes his place at your side. “I need to put these ice packs under your arms, so I’m going to reach up your shirt, okay?” 

“You do that all the time,” you mumble. Remus snorts. 

“True,” James admits, chuckling as he slides the ice packs up one side of your shirt, then the other, “but I’m fairly sure I’m supposed to maintain some degree of professionalism while I’m on the job.” 

Your bones seem to melt where the ice packs cool your skin, which doesn’t make any sense because you’re fairly sure you’re already as melted as a girl can get. You feel much more at ease with your boyfriends here to handle things, and you’ve been tired for so long it feels like forever now. You close your eyes. 

And then Remus sprays you with water like a misbehaving cat. 

It’s surprising, but nice. James laughs again at your expression when your eyes open, and Remus too is smiling to himself as he sprays several points on your body with the fine mist. 

“You’re right,” Sirius says to Remus, returning, “that one woman was fucking pushy.” 

“Purple glasses?” Remus asks. 

“That’s the one.” 

He hums complacently. 

Your eyes have slipped closed again. Sirius thumbs at your cheek, prompting them open. 

“You ready to get out of here, pretty girl?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh. Talking is easier now. “Where are we going?” 

Sirius’ grin goes a bit sheepish, as if he knows you won’t like it. Remus breaks the news instead. 

“We’re taking you back to the hospital with us,” he says. “You’re dehydrated and overheated. You should be on fluids for a little while before you go home.” 

A petulant sound rises from the back of your throat. You’re too exhausted to be embarrassed of it. 

“Oh, come on, it’s like take your girlfriend to work day!” James grins at you, squeezing your upper arm bolsteringly. “You can just relax and recover for a few hours, and when we get off we can all go home.” 

“I don’t like your work,” you complain, even as James and Sirius move you onto the gurney. 

“Crazy coincidence, because I don’t like seeing you at our work,” Sirius teases. He pinches your chin meanly. “Honestly, doll, could you do us a favor next time and drink water? I almost threw up when we got here and saw it was you. And I’ve never seen Remus move that fast in his life. He vaulted over a park bench.” 

“I went around it,” Remus says, rolling his eyes. “There was no vaulting involved.” 

“And if I’d thrown up, and Remus had broken his ankle performing athletic feats,” Sirius goes on, “then our poor Jamesie would’ve had all three of us to deal with! Really, my love, try to think ahead next time. There’s more on the line than just you, you know.”

[ellecdc]

the poly!marauders and lily x shy!reader!!!!! I genuinely cannot handle how much I love it omg🫠🫠 would u be willing to make it a series??

maybe remus being overprotective/possessive of her before the full moon and she’s just like ???? bc she doesn’t know about his furry problem🫣 but the rest of the group are just really casual about the way he’s acting like “oh yeah he does this sometimes, just ignore it” and r is just like 🤔?? bc he literally won’t let her go and wants her by his side and lap all day!!

aaaaaah my mind got carried away after reading ur amazing fic🩷🩷

so. stinkin. cute (thoughts and prayers for our shy!reader fr)

poly!marauders + lily x shy!reader close to Remus' time of the month

CW: love bite/hickies, man-handling Remus [ik, ik]

You had been…seeing the boys and Lily for long enough now to have noticed a few peculiarities. 

Black envelopes with green wax melts on the front that were delivered to Sirius were always confiscated immediately by Lily. Following the envelope's arrival, the rest of the group tended to fawn over Sirius for the rest of the day.

James was incredibly bright as a student in all subjects except Ancient Runes; prior to any quizzes or assignments, the group would play a game of “question pong” which was a twist on the muggle game ‘beer pong’ where cups were lined up and James would aim a ping pong ball and have to answer a question that was placed inside the cup that he had scored in. This amount of effort wasn’t placed into any of the others’ studies.

And what was obviously something the boys were ultimately accustomed to doing for Lily now extended to you when you couldn’t help but notice that at least one of them always escorted you to any of your classes in the dungeons. 

Another peculiarity, however, seemed to centre around Remus. 

Once a month, the group got a bit…sketchy before the three boys would disappear for about a day and then return basically back to normal. 

Lily seemed to be accepting of these occurrences, so you opted not to concern yourself with it either; if it was something you needed to know, they’d tell you.

Right?

Because, you see, the sketchiness wasn’t just limited to their comings and goings; but rather Remus himself.

He was a tactile person, that much you knew to be true. He almost always had a hand on one of his partners, a boyfriend or a girlfriend in his lap, or an arm around someone’s shoulders.

And yes, you’d been growing increasingly accustomed to the affection.

But it seemed to you that around these bouts of…sketchiness, the affection seemed to grow into something rather possessive. 

For example; it became clear to you that out of the three boys, James and Sirius were the ones who had a particular problem with Severus Snape, but during said period of said sketchiness, Remus nearly growled when he saw Lily and Snape discussing the upcoming Potions exam before he latched himself onto Lily’s side until Severus finally left. 

And then at the quidditch game against Ravenclaw, a group of girls behind you, Lily, and Remus were giggling over how ‘fit the Gryffindor captain was’ which led to Remus standing abruptly, moving to lean against the railing of the Gryffindor stands to wave James over before he pressed a searing kiss to the chasers lips leaving them both rather breathless. 

And then there was the party in the Ravenclaw common room for Benjy Fenwicks birthday where you, Lily, and Remus had been sitting watching James and Sirius dance with Marlene and Mary before Gilderoy Lockhart slid up behind Sirius in an attempt to dance with him. Sirius hardly had a chance to react before Remus was on the dancefloor and pulling his boyfriend into him, slotting their hips together and swaying sinfully to the beat all while maintaining eye contact with Gilderoy.

It seems important to note that Remus doesn’t dance.

All this to say, Remus got…sketchy.

But all of this had nothing on how he seemed to become around you.

You weren’t sure what caused the difference; perhaps it was because you were new to the group, perhaps it was because you were shy, or perhaps it was because he was more confident in his and the others’ roles within the dynamic. Either way, you were certain you were simply going to combust from the sheer amount of attention being devoted to you by your quietest boy.

You could hardly breathe or blink without him noticing, it seemed. And if you were within his vicinity, you were in his arms or on his lap.

Like right now…

You’d no sooner entered the Great Hall when you spotted Lily’s fiery red hair and made for the group before you were being man-handled to sit on the bench between his thighs.

“You almost missed breakfast, dove.” He offered quietly as he started preparing a plate for you right in front of your eyes. 

“Jeez Moony, whatever happened to good morning.” Sirius teased as he shot you a wink.

“Morning angel.” James offered quickly as Lily smiled softly at you.

“Oh, hi! I..uhm, I’m not that hungry, Rem.” You tried, but it was apparently the wrong thing to say.

Remus’ movements hardly faltered as he continued buttering an english muffin for you, but everyone else seemed to freeze in their movements as they watched the two of you with bated breaths. 

“Breakfast is important.” He said simply.

And believing he was quite close to actually hand feeding you the english muffin, you simply took it from his hands and shrunk into his chest at the attention. 

You felt your heart leap both in affection and embarrassment as you felt him press his lips to your neck as you ate, looking to the other three in hopes of help or explanation, of which you received neither.

“I was wondering if you wanted to have a sleepover with me tonight?” Lily asked you as she sipped from her tea.

“Oh, I uhm…sure, that’d be nice. Is everyone going to be there?”

Remus kept his face pressed to your neck but the others shared a glance. 

“No, we have a Marauders thing to attend to tonight, sweetness. Can we call dibs for the weekend?” Sirius offered, but his attempt was quickly shot down by Remus.

“Tomorrow.” He muttered from your neck as you fought the urge to shiver at the tickle of his breath. 

“What about the night after that?” Lily tried again.

You let out a surprised (and perhaps nervous) squeak when Remus’ embrace tightened around your middle.

“Tomorrow.” 

“Moons…” James tried, which finally got Remus’ face out from your neck in order to glare at his boyfriend.

“Tomorrow will be fine.” He proclaimed with an air of finality before he shoved his face unceremoniously back into your neck and latched his mouth to your jugular, eliciting another surprised yelp from your lips. 

“How’s that for a good morning, Y/N?” Sirius asked with a wink. 

You spent the rest of your breakfast wondering if this was your own personal heaven or your own personal hell.

Jury was still out by the time you left the Great Hall with a love bite displayed above the collar of your uniform.

[empress-simps]

James Fleamont Potter

>> A Gryffindor’s Grief >> Heart Chaser

>> Bruises and Broomsticks

>> Foolish Heart

>> Dating Sirius’ Younger Sister

|Series|

♠️ Self-Destruct

Remus John Lupin

>> Letters To My Lupin

>> Missed Hints

>> Beyond the Surface

>> Loving Yellow and Black

>> Uncle Padfoot’s Motorcycle

Sirius Orion Black

>> Scribbles and Sketches

>> Line That Leads To You(smau!)

>> Amortentia’s Fault

>> Close To Me (Bodyguard Au)

Poly!Marauders

>> Worried Sick

>> Lazy Days

>> Study Buddies? Yeah No

Main Masterlist

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[360iris]

So don’t run (they’re not so tough)

Pairings: James Potter x Lily Potter, Sirius Black x Remus Lupin, Grant Chapman (created for the fanfic: ATYD by MsKingBean89 on AO3) x OC/Reader Insertable Character + Remus, Eventual Poly!Marauders x OC

Series Status: Ongoing, as of 11.05.22

Play: “Soft” by Vacations, “Bloom Later” by Jesse & “Unf*cktheworld” by Angel Olsen

Summary: Should one fight, or flee? Dig their toes into the sand and risk being pummeled further into the grainy bits, or hide away to survive another day? Sparing yourself the battle of will and chance to hope leads you to darker roads yet. Though, our paths always lead us somewhere purposefully; and there may be more chances along the way to show our true strengths- love, perseverance and forgiveness. Word count: 8.6k

Warnings: Reader’s discretion is advised, please read the warnings carefully. Profanity, she/her pronouns primarily used for OC/Reader Insertable Character, minor character illness, mention of minor character cancer diagnosis, attempted use of lethal weapon, deteriorating mental health, mentions of EDs/insomnia, allusion to a laced drink, a (rather deserving) loss of fingers and broken bone to a minor character, mentions of minor character deaths, deep-dive into grief, loss, depression and death.

hp masterlist / bts masterlist / ao3 link

Growing up is an odd, peculiar and loathsome thing to endure for those who aged and seemed to be instantaneously saddled with only the most unfortunate circumstances by mere chance and the handling of cards.

While those you knew from ages eleven to eighteen and onward graduated from Hogwarts during the Summer of ‘77, eager to move on to the next exciting prospects of starting careers, feeling out long term relationships and obtaining residences of their own- your immediate future seemed to be met with only the following:

An elderly, widower father who could no longer work from having previously fallen ill, the immediate necessity to get a high paying job so that you could promptly and efficiently take care of the household affairs- and ultimately no one from whom you could even remotely relate to in regard to your new found personal experiences.

Your dads were never well off by any means, having been ordinary muggles who lived nearly paycheck to paycheck in order to make ends meet as far as bills and your needed school supplies were concerned. Both having either no surviving or tolerating relations resulted in you being a generally isolated trio. So when your father who you lovingly coined as, Da, passed away from stage four lung cancer, he left behind only yourself and your despondent, Pa. Who, though tried as he might, was only the shell of his former self after his husband passed on to the next life during your fifth year.

Who, amongst your immediate friend group, could both lend a kind ear and offer more than a generic word of pity before inevitably going back to the complicated algebra they knew as their own lives? Were any of them yet capable of understanding and grasping the spider web-like nuances of grief, that were a direct result of the absence of a parent who could no longer support or witness the growth of their child who gradually became accustomed to the bitter truth of maturity and adulthood?

Your peers, who you’d wholly loved and trusted, in the grand scheme of overall life experiences were but babes, blessed with near decades to slowly learn how to walk. You, as fate would have it, had been cruelly tossed amidst the brutal and relentless churning cogs of life, left to either will your limbs to cooperate and deftly coordinate your steps or risk being snagged, broken and crushed by the reality of your circumstances.

James and Sirius came from money and pureblood status, and while Lily and Remus were significantly less endowed, the pair were never left wanting for any of the simple pleasures of life. Their parents had health and/or enough connections to allow their kids to remain as such for as long as they needed. James with his trust fund and Sirius with the fortune passed down to him by his uncle- each making sure their respective partners continued to want for nothing, every need satiated.

Try as you might over the passing months following graduation, no matter how strong your feelings of respect, love and general fondness were for the four, nothing could keep the vines of envy at bay as time went on and your tower of responsibilities and expectations grew.

It was hard to see what good group lunch dates, bar hopping tours across Central London and indulgent sleepovers would do when you had an entire life depending on how firm you stood alongside your duties.

Eventually weekly hangouts were reduced to semi-weekly dinners, then to semi-monthly meetups until the only updates, or lack thereof, they received of you was through the dispirited inquiries issued amongst themselves in search of who had heard even a solitary word from you in the matter of weeks.

This decay of confidence festered for nearly two years and two months in total, happening gradually and then engulfing the friendship all together.

—

October 23rd, 1979

LILY

It was a wonder how quickly time could pass. Though for Lily, she found her care never waned due to distance or the absence of communication between you- who had been the beloved recipient for the most trivial, to the most intimate secrets of her soul. You, who she trusted with the sweetest of truths during her waking hours, and sometimes even in her dreams.

Though they all understood to a certain degree that you were entitled to live how you saw fit, she missed her best friend.

She missed having you assist her in the kitchen, admiring the way you’d jolt your head back when you were overcome with laughter. Or the moments when the boys would venture in to covet snacks, only to find the two of you whispering and giggling quietly amongst yourselves. Lily with her cheek squished and chin hooked over your left shoulder, her arms interlocked around your waist as she dotingly studied your features with great care.

So as she lay awake in the pitch black, staring into the void with only the noise of James’ snoring as an accompaniment to her own thoughts, she resolved she’d get her friend back in whatever little way she could.

The two of you would be able to figure it out, come to some sort of agreement so that you would at least come home more regularly. And even if you weren’t initially enthusiastic to do so, maybe you’d do it for her because you’d realize how badly she needed it.

Closing her eyes and turning onto her side, she lulls herself to sleep with the hope that you’d listen once she told you how much she missed you.

Once she revealed that she knew she was three weeks pregnant.

—

October 27th, 1979

LILY

On the fourth consecutive day of calling your landline, the call finally goes through.

“Hello?” Lily eagerly greets, holding the phone to her ear with both hands and shifting her weight from one side to the other. She found herself to be too flurried to even think about sitting, she’d be unable to remain still. “Sorry to call out of the blue like this, I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

“May I ask whom I’m speaking with?” Is the response given and it’s only then that Lily realizes it isn’t your voice on the other line.

“Hello? Are you still there? Do you have the wrong number perchance?” The young woman on the other side inquires when Lily doesn’t respond immediately, finding her tongue stuck as she momentarily sits frozen in her disappointment.

“Um, I apologize.” Lily finally speaks up, shaking herself from her dumb stupor. “This is the Corbyn household, is it not?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl answers politely.

“My name is Lily Evans, uh- Potter. Lily Potter, I’m a childhood friend of Miss Corbyn’s. Is she available to talk currently?”

“Miss Corbyn no longer resides in this residence, ma’am.” The girl calmly informs her and Lily is nearing shell shocked.

“For how long?” Lily quickly inquires, “If you don’t mind me asking of course, how long has she been gone?”

“No more than about three months give or take now, I suppose.” To say she was amazed would be an understatement, three months and she’d been none the wiser.

“Excuse my manners, I never asked your name. Is her father home then?”

“My name’s Grace, ma’am. Mr. Corbyn was moved to a hospice center a year ago, come this December. I’m just a caretaker Miss Corbyn hired to mind the ‘ouse in their absence ‘nd give it a good washing every two weeks or so.”

“Would it be possible for you to give me her new residence line?” Lily’s voice is soft, intimate, as she speaks into the receiver, bordering sorrowful as she remembers all the occasions she’d spent over at their house growing up; birthday parties and New Year’s Day dinners.

There were multiple summer vacations when your dads would take the kids to Muggle ice cream parlors and malls where they’d insist on buying everyone one item of their choice, even when their parents had sent them along with an allowance for the day.

Their house was endlessly blooming and overflowing with love and they were never stingy with it. Now it stood empty, save a lone caretaker. It’s denizens numbering one long since passed, one whose ear extended towards the veil and the last… where? Alone? Self isolating from all those who once knew her happy, safe and content?

“I’m sorry ma’am but I’m not at liberty to give that out. However I can take a message, if you’d like? I could pass it on to Miss Corbyn when I see her next.” She offers, sounding like she was ready to get off the phone.

“Oh. I see. Um, no thank you. There’s no need to trouble yourself with it.” Lily answers quietly. “Thank you again.”

“No problem, ma’am. Take care.” And the call ends.

Sinking into the nook they fashioned for the landline, Lily inwardly muses that getting in contact with you is easier said than done.

—

October 27th, 1979

SIRIUS

All things considered, it was warm for a late October’s day in West England, where James and Lily had aptly settled down in pursuit of building a life together.

He’d uprooted her from the muggle-induced smoke and smog filled skies she’d grown used to being choked by during her girlhood and nicely planted her close enough for James’ folks to pay a visit, without prompting too much of a scene from their aging bodies.

It was warm enough that even James, who nowadays was hellbent on being the most perfect, shining example there ever was of a husband and soon-to-be father, could not resist Sirius’ seductive remarks of how much of a shame it’d be to miss out on such an ideal day to give his flying bike a spin.

James’ will was remarkable however, the man suffering a near two and half hours of Sirius’ sighs of wonder and barrage of wistful glances thrown towards the nearest windows before he caved.

“We’ll only be gone for half an hour, love. Down to Stowell for a quick drink and back before you even know it.” James had wholeheartedly promised Lily as she leaned smugly against the kitchen counter while an odd assortment of kitchen tools gradually toiled away behind her lean form.

With the way knives diced potatoes into neat cubes, peelers reduced apple skins to model curling coils and whisks diligently stirred in their respective mixing bowls- the common person would think perhaps some grand holiday had snuck up and caught them unawares. However, this rather stately preparation of dishes and desserts could be witnessed every Thursday afternoon at either The Potter’s residence or the boys’ flat in Birmingham.

The four had promised to meet at least once a week to enjoy each other’s company as they matured. Partying until they were too ill to do much the following morning was phased out for pleasant conversations over meals, VHS movie nights and semi-tipsy sleepovers.

“I wouldn’t make promises Sirius doesn’t intend to keep.” She commented playfully, her eyes squinted at Sirius over James’ shoulder as her husband leaned downwards to pepper her cheeks with kisses. “What will cause the hour and a half delay this time around, Black? Do you know? Did you prepare a list on your way over?”

“Tell me, which do you prefer? A flock of migrating brent geese blown off course? Or muggle policemen in dire pursuit to dish out hot speeding tickets?” He asked, shrugging on the worn leather jacket he’d made a wardrobe staple a few months back.

“Oh! Whatever you do, your godchild and I would rather we don't have a repeat of The Incident of ‘77!” Lily ordered out with a laugh and James’ endearing smile widened as he stared adoringly at her face tracing her features, his arms cradling her waist with the utmost gentleness. “Remus and I will have you both spending the night in confinement if you get apprehended for refusal to cooperate!”

“Duly noted.” Sirius nodded, looking intentionally grave as he slipped off one of the two hair ties he keeps on his wrist to tie up his hair, allowing a few onyx tendrils to frame his face.

James could be seen knelt on the tiled flooring, cooing out promises to definitely not get arrested to Lily’s stomach. With a roll of his eyes, Sirius grabs the collar of his shirt like one would scruff a cat and pulls him towards the door with a sigh. “The wain’s the size of a vanilla bean seed right now, Prongs. Doesn’t even have the ears to hear you in its current state.”

“And how do you know that?” Was the response heard right as the door closed and Lily notes it was half past one when they’d departed.

By the time they had returned, all big smiles and smelling of fresh fog and unfallen rain from passing through clouds to remain out of immediate view, it was a quarter past three. Dinner wouldn’t be ready until seven and Remus wasn’t to be expected before five. There was still ample time to both relax and busy themselves before their scheduled carousing.

Their joviality falters when they reenter to find Lily sitting in the landline nook, with her eyes cast up at the ceiling as she tries and fails to hold back tears of frustration.

“We’re well past the time we gave but I made sure to get him back just in time for tea, Evans.” Sirius offers as James rushes to her side, scooping her hands up into his own.

“I’m here now, love. I’m sorry we took so long.” James apologizes softly, looking up at her with eyes wide with guilt. “We should’ve called.” He adds but she shakes her head frantically, gasping in a breath before speaking.

“No! You’re fine! It’s not you.” She finally answers, wringing one of her hands free to dab at her splotchy cheeks. James’ brows quickly furrow in confusion as he waits for her to regain composure.

Sirius’ shoulder collides with a wall, eyes dark as he asks what he’s afraid to hear the answer to. “Is, Is it Moony?” His body relaxes strangely and then tenses again when she shakes her head, no.

“For the last few days, I’ve been calling to give her the news.” Lily begins and neither men feel the need to ask who it is exactly she’s referring to.

To Sirius, there’s only one person who decided to drop off the face of the earth with only a handful of poorly crafted excuses and a lifetime's worth of voice messages left unanswered.

“Today the call finally went through and I was so… excited to hear her voice. I couldn’t even bring myself to sit. But it wasn’t her.” A few more tears roll down her face and James is wiping them away before she can even think to. “It was the house caretaker. Said that her dad’s been in hospice for almost a year, and she moved out three months ago. Couldn't get her new address or number.”

James is quiet and still, his face perfectly unresponsive as he brings Lily’s hands into his own again. The only movement being produced from him are the circles his thumbs rub soothingly into her skin. He’s the very picture of composure.

Sirius, on the other hand, is a mass of multiple moving parts. His arms don’t know what to do with themselves and his mouth is in a state of morphing into a variety of shapes as he thinks of so much he wants to say, but can’t even begin to start.

At the end of it all, he resolves to turn around. Simply walking towards the front door and allowing it to loudly slam shut behind him.

Before long James is outside, trailing behind him. “Sirius.” He calls, his voice is ever so composed and Sirius bitterly bets he isn’t a shade past normal or a single hair out of place.

Sirius neither stops walking nor answers, making his way to his bike, instead busying himself with attempting to get his goggles to cooperate.

“Sirius!” James tries again and yet again is ignored. Resorting to snatching the motorcycle keys from the outside pocket of Sirius’ jacket before he can even begin to fly off.

Unable to leave but unwilling to be the first to speak, Sirius slumps forward on his bike, his head falling into his hands as he breathes raggedly.

“You can be upset. I’m not telling you, you aren’t allowed to be, but I’m not allowing you to leave like this.” James says firmly, palming the keys and keeping them wrenched in the center of his grasp.

“Give me the keys, James.” Sirius finally demands, voice angry and low.

“No.” James answers, resolute in his decision. “Not like this. Not right now.”

“Monty is sick.” Sirius whispers to the metal of his bike, his hands still cradling his head as the reality of the situation settles in and his emotions swell. Tears rise to his eyes as he speaks the words. “Monty is SICK! If he’s in a hospice, then he’s dying too! And she, she what? Thinks that information is hers alone to hoard? Hers alone to bear?”

“She’s undoubtedly hurting. Probably feels like no one could understand.” James answers with his closest guess, causing Sirius to huff humorlessly.

“He and Silas raised me too. Gave me more than my own fucking parents ever did. So if she thinks I’m going to sit by idly while he-“ Sirius rants only to be interrupted by James and his rationality again.

“So you’re going to go where? Do what, exactly?”

“Look! Just because you could care less about the fact that she just up and decided one day to say ‘you know what? fuck you’ and abandon us, doesn’t mean you get to brandish your indifference against me!” Sirius bellows from the core of his being, whipping his head up to finally look James in the face, only to be promptly rendered speechless.

James is standing still with his head held high and his shoulders squared. Even the voice he uses is uniform and decisive, yet his eyes. Sirius finds that his eyes are overshadowed and blazing with hardy emotion as tears dampen his cheeks.

James in fact was not indifferent, nor was he detached. He was thoroughly hurt, and utterly pissed.

“You think I am unmoved by her wanton neglect? I am not. You think I am cool, and callous? I am not. She was my friend too.” James speaks steadily, mindfully, as though if he did not take care to stress and enunciate every word he would be swept up by his own internal whirlpool. “And she left me all the same.”

“But, Sirius.” James sighs, reaching his empty hand out to grasp his friend’s shoulder as though he were suddenly saddled with a great weight. “If Lily is suffering even a fraction of what I am, then I am certain I need to be strong, for her. If not just for myself. Which is why I am not allowing myself to be cast astray.”

Looking away, Sirius rubs his eyes. Feeling tired, considerably petty, and begrudgingly he wonders when James got to be so darn cool. Briefly, he thinks perhaps that’s what being married does to a man, but quickly scraps the notion. No, even at his most immature, James Potter had always held this unique quality to stand firm while others waded in uncertainty.

“What do you recommend we do then, Obi Wan Kenobi?” Sirius dryly jokes, even though there’s a pit in his chest that doesn’t want to laugh, smile, or tolerate any sort of frivolity.

“There’s a right and a wrong way to approach this.” James begins mapping out the best possible course of action as he once would have as the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. “We can’t blindside her by suddenly showing up to her house and then realistically expect her to want to play any part in our lives. Lily wants her support, especially with the pregnancy, so we really need to handle this with care.”

“Right.” Sirius scoffs, dismounting his bike and taking his hair down so that he could massage his scalp. “So the objective is to reopen communication with someone who wants nothing to do with us, and we have to figure out a way to do that without pissing them off. You might as well ask me to open a door with both of my hands tied behind my back.”

“Okay, admittedly there is a very wide margin for potential error.” James nods, his mouth pressed into a fine line as his eyes narrow and blink rapidly.

“So your suggestion is, what, exactly?” Sirius asks, leaning back against his bike with his ankles crossed and arms folded.

“We write a letter?” James proposes with his eyebrows raised and his eyes portraying that he’s every bit of the word clueless.

“You’ll write the letter.” Sirius corrects, cocking his head forward as though to remind James who exactly he’s asking to be tactful and precise.

“Yeah. No, you’re right. I’ll, I’ll write the letter.”

—

October 27th, 1979

YOU

Over the years, you’d taken to living amongst muggles rather easily, adapting what habits were required of you to appear as normal and unassuming as possible. Using magic only within the confines of your home and taking great care not to forgo your wand all together, but to keep it concealed in case of any immediate need.

All things considered, you’d done well for yourself, having racked up a total of zero Muggle witch hunts during your last two years and two months attempting to disguise yourself as normal, when you were anything but.

Though, as a gray and white owl pecks at your office window with a white envelope tucked in between its beak, with the handwriting you’d spent years deciphering during your girlhood scrawled across the front, just as you’re closing the bookshop for the night- you inwardly muse to yourself that all good streaks must in fact be broken in order for life to shake itself up again.

“Oh! Neat, more wizard mail. What do you reckon the occasion is this time?” Grant asks with a grin, showcasing his infuriatingly endearing wonky canine tooth. His dark blonde brows arch upwards as he sets the recent issue of National Geographic aside, in favor of this new outlet of entertainment.

“It’s not The Ministry this time.” You begrudgingly note, standing from your desk and moving towards the glass. “Help me with this fucking window, will you?”

“Can do.” He answers jovially, following closely behind, only to do most of the lifting himself. The rusty old latches give way as you both force it to open with brute force alone. Grant leans against the windowsill, thoroughly amused as the bird slips underneath the opening the two of you made for it.

The creature curiously rotates its head as you don’t accept the letter right away, watching instead as you move to retrieve a singular banana slice from the bowl of fruit you’d been only intermittently nibbling on, much to Grant’s irritation. Only once sufficient payment was in hand did you interchange the treat for the letter.

“Have a rest, Roux.” You softly say to the owl, your face unchanging as it nuzzles its feathery cheek into your bent knuckles, and Grant doesn’t comment on the way the bird seems to happily chirp in the familiarity of your presence.

Neither does he crowd in behind you, resting his face up against your own as he nosily reads the contents and purposefully ignores the way you grumble, as though you were actually bothered by the intrusion and not wholly comforted by the effortlessness of the gesture alone.

This time he gives you your space, and a part of you wishes he didn’t, as you nervously finger the red wax sealed envelope. Sure, it was only James by the look of it, but you hadn’t spoken to him in precisely a year, and now suddenly there’s a letter delivered with your name inscribed on it, in his handwriting.

Deciding it would be better to rip the bandaid off in one fell swoop so as to not prolong your internal worrying, you deftly retrieve the slip of paper encased inside. The message it held was short and to the point.

* *

Y/n,

Would’ve liked the first words I spoke to you in almost a year to have been in person, but this will have to suffice for now. Would you be willing to speak to me, or any of us, sometime soon?

Lils tried to call your landline earlier today, but ended up reaching the house caretaker instead. I’m really sorry to hear about Monty’s condition. Please reply, lovebug.

Yours in mischief,

and in good,

James.

P.s. I’m certain Roux is positively thrumming with excitement to see you, he always tends to be a little bit needy when he hasn’t seen you in a while. Give him plenty of good scratches for your old pal Potter, will you?

* *

And for a moment, you think he’s a jerk, just for being sweet, for taking the high road when you waxed cruel in the manner in which you broke all contact. Then you feel sad, and guilty, and you know it’s rightfully so. This was something to be repentant for.

Sinking into your chair, your eyes shine glossy as you make eye contact with Grant, who always tended to just know. “Bad decisions have a way of sticking to us huh?”

“As reminders for when the time comes to do what’s right.” He answers, with the slightest of smiles.

—

December 7th, 1977

5 months and 17 days after Graduation,

1 month and 9 days post Self-Isolating

YOU

The five months you spent juggling two Muggle jobs, at one point even managing to shortly maintain a third, based in the customer service industry facilitated the discovery of new borders of misery for you. The hours were long, the pay was lacking and you were convinced most people became possessed by the spirit of narcissism the second they stepped foot into shops of any kind.

In the month since you’d purposefully shut down all avenues of communication between yourself and the group, and by proximity, the entirety of The Wizarding community- you’d diminished to something of a self-imposed recluse.

A grouchy, self-loathing hedge witch who busied yourself with skulking about your lonesome dwelling. Spending hours listening to muggle music stations and keeping your nose deep in books, both fictional and educational. Another large portion of your downtime was geared towards advancing your proclivity for mixing potions, elixirs and crafting tonics.

You checked in on your father, who lived in the main house directly next to your small outbuilding, routinely in order to advise his nurse and the house caretaker; outside of which, you were rarely seen, spoken to or generally thought of by anyone in your immediate vicinity. And for a while you genuinely preferred it that way.

There was no longer anyone for you to sell yourself to, in a sense. No appearances to upkeep, lies of contentment to maintain or people to force yourself to smile at. At work, though no one flat out admitted it, you were merely just another body used to push boxes and restock shelves. It didn’t matter if you were happy or slept and ate enough, just so long as you showed up on time and stayed out of any trouble that could place you under close scrutiny.

But at the five month mark, you realized you’d truly left yourself no one. By then, self pity, discontentment and loneliness regained residency in your back pocket yet again and you were spurred to find new avenues to keep yourself occupied.

You eventually took to walking about town, however not before fortifying yourself with a selfcrafted shield charm; the effect resulting in all potential onlooker’s eyes to quite literally roll off of you, even if they’d been staring right at the spot where you were standing. It allowed you to visit various shops without any unwarranted social interactions, for a total of two hours before you’d have to recast it.

Today was yet another walking event, you studied people and buildings alike. Often wondering what their stories were, what they ate, what times they awoke and went to bed, if they ever felt alone in crowds or laid in bed crying into the bleeding black corners when it was time to go to bed too.

Today however, you were drawn to a building that is all brown and red brick, with a black storefront frame. The name on the front read, Pearlescent Moon Books.

It was the bookshop Silas opened and ran with one of his mates from college, Racburter. Until Silas’ death in 1975, when said ‘mate’ decided he was no longer interested in sharing the business, and proceeded to withhold all of the shop’s future earnings from Monty and yourself.

Overwhelmed with Silas’ funeral costs, his own grief and a fifteen year old child to continue to raise on his own, Monty was forced to cut his losses while he was ahead. He couldn’t afford to retain a lawyer or find time outside of work to build a case. The icing on the cake was that Silas left no last will or testament, and they were never officially married to begin with.

Stepping across the same red carpet, through the aisles of darkened and aged wooden shelves filled with books of different genres, you think back on your childhood.

There were still tiny traces of you as a toddler, growing up within the space; marker lines messily stained into corners of the carpeting or remnants of glue and glitter smacked onto a random wall, now mostly hidden behind a shelf. You briefly wondered if Racburter had either been too cheap, or a pinch too sentimental to conceal all traces of the past, when you hear someone speaking nearby as though they were addressing you.

Turning around, you’re met with an almost familiar visage. Racburter, but instead of the towering, proud and smirking figure you’d last seen, he too had diminished.

He’d lost some height with the way his spine now slouched forward as his knobby knuckles clenched a simple walking stick. In place of a once golden complexion and high cheekbones, was now bordering a sallow and translucently pale sheet of skin, showcasing all the red and blue veins it held underneath it; purply red lines intermingled with the rest.

A once full head of thick, curly hair, matching the exact likeness of charcoal, was replaced with a patch of scalp apparent at the crown of his head. His eyes had sunken, undereyes weighed down with purple rolls. His lips shriveled and overly pink. He looked like an odd shadow of a human for a man of only thirty-eight years.

“Mr. Racburter.” You acknowledged the older man with a curt nod of your head.

“You’re his girl.” He states plainly and it isn’t a question, his voice blunt around the edges. “It’s been two years and you’ve grown some, but I still recognize you all the same. Even with the dark circles under your eyes and the dyed hair.”

“You know,” He continues. “I can still recall the days he’d bring you in with him, before he met your father of course. You were only three years old but always so insistent he dressed you up in the most pastel little dresses.

“He’d buy you soft serve ice cream on the cone, and you’d beg and beg until either of us propped you up onto the counter, right next to the cash register while we rang up books. `So I can say hello to all the pretty ladies’ you’d say most days. And that would give him and I more than a good chuckle at the time.” He recounts, and you’re gnawing your bottom lip at the recollection, trying not to tear up.

You remembered those times well, if not for the ice cream you highly anticipated, then for all the moments when the local business women would bring their orders up to the cash wrap and shower you in compliments.

You only give him a nod but he appears to be preoccupied with other thoughts as his face borders serious.

“I know I don’t look the same as I once did either.” He confesses soberly. “I used to be strong, handsome. A right bastard, but charming enough to get away with it.”

“What I did to your father by sullying his memory, and my promise to him.” He inhales deeply from his nose, before continuing. “I swore to him before he passed, that he could go with no regrets, because I’d, I’d look out for you and Monty. I didn’t hold true to that, and as you can see, it’s the one thing I couldn’t get away with.”

“It’s only been two years but the time has crawled at a snail’s pace for me. I’ve withered. And I, I’m going to die very soon. I know it, I can feel it.” He stresses the final admittance by placing a clawing hand over his chest. If you looked into his eyes, you could see that he was tired, not only physically but mentally, emotionally.

You inwardly remarked that he had the look of someone who had given up fighting. And you briefly pondered if perhaps you looked worn and fatigued around the edges too, if that was why you insisted on hiding yourself whenever you ventured out, because you didn’t want anyone else to know that you were quietly waiting to see your Da again.

Especially since your Pa only seemed to wane by the day, unable to talk or stay awake most of the time, biding the months until he was reunited with the one he loved the most.

Though, Racburter pulls you from that thought as he speaks up. “In the beginning there were times when I thought my health draining was his way of enacting his revenge on me, of making me unable to even enjoy the prize I stole away for myself.”

“But recently, I’ve been able to remember him as he was. And, and it was not in Silas’ nature to hurt those who had gravely wronged him. I may have forgotten the truth but I’ve also regained much clarity in my last days. Silas would not have cursed me.”

And you nod softly again, unable to control the way your eyes clouded with tears as you agreed affirmingly. “No, Da wouldn’t have hurt you Mr. Racburter. He wouldn’t have wished ill on anyone.”

Your father was an overwhelmingly kind man, who would look gravely sad when he thought no one was paying close enough attention to him. And at times you think you inherited that quality from him after he passed. As though he’d accidentally gifted his sadness onto you, when you were intended to be something else, something good, like he was. But instead you ended up the way you did, isolated and jealous of the dead.

“It is not a habit of mine to visit the shop anymore. Mostly due to my condition, I have not bothered myself to come here in months, but today I thought I might withstand the journey.” He says, his voice gradually getting hoarser. This must have been the most he’d spoken for the first time in a long while, but he pushes through purposefully.

“I never married, or fathered any children of my own. My lawyer has been bothering me for months now to either name someone to inherit the rights to the business or sign away the property to the government. Now I know why I was called here today.” He then reaches into his pocket and retrieves a dark leather wallet, from inside he pulls out a single card and extends it to you.

“I am giving that which I owe you, and more.” He begins to breathe a little heavier. “This is my lawyer’s contact information. Call him, tell him that Eugene Racburter has made his decision, and that the old bastard plans on no longer answering any more phone calls.”

You take the card with wide eyes and tepid fingers, and before you can begin to speak, he hobbles away.

For a moment you wonder if his condition had anything to do with you, that perhaps in your initial state of grief and betrayal, you wished ill on him.

If that was the case, you wanted to set him free of that now. As you stand there, holding the last gift of Eugene Racburter between the tips of your fingers, you loosely extend your mind out to him and wish him well. “Set your soul at rest, Eugene. May you find comfort, respite and peace. I forgive you. I forgive you.”

That was the very last time you ever spoke to, or saw, Mr. Eugene Racburter.

—

January 29th, 1978

YOU

Eugene passed that very same early December night.

His lawyer later told you that he did not feel pain or discomfort in the end, instead he went peacefully in his sleep. Pushed beyond the veil with the upmost care.

Not only did Eugene name you the inheritor of the business, but he also gifted onto you the entirety of his life savings and the earnings he’d made from keeping the shop running for the two years he owed you, as well as the remaining fifteen years he spent working there.

He proved to be quite the frugal man, for the amount you were blessed with was no mere sum to scoff at, but instead a grand total of £136,670 GBP.

Your first course of action after you were given the news by the lawyer, Mr. William Michael Aberdeen as you'd later learned- was to quit both of your muggle jobs at once, without an ounce of regret or shred of guilt.

The second was to hold a funeral service for Eugene. The service was small, as not many attended, but it was beautifully organized by yourself and Mr. Aberdeen. You sent your father’s friend off with many flowers, thanks and prayers; as he was a man who kept true to his promise to Silas in the end.

+ + +

Sudden wealth did not cure you of your many flaws and unhealthy ways of living. It did not suddenly make you eat more than you felt you could stomach, sleep in timely fashions or magically rebuild all the bridges you’d burnt. It wasn’t the cure for great loss and grief for a cherished loved one, or miraculously healed your surviving parent.

You still experienced depressive and overly anxious episodes. Still didn’t quite know how to actively make friends, long lasting or otherwise.

In short, even with money and an easy job, you were still a loving, insomniatic mess.

Sudden, abundant wealth did however, free you from ever having to work for another person or corporation ever again. You were your own boss, manager and supervisor. You got to decide what was acceptable behavior from customers, and what was not. You chose how many people worked for and with you, and it was nothing short of liberating.

You started at home base first, hiring the nurse that had kindly and diligently taken care of your father through a service offered by the government, fulltime. You gave Rosalind room and board, as well as a healthy raise to her initial earnings.

Rosalind Pikekit was a meek and dependable girl of twenty-eight from Manchester. She’d originally aspired to become a nun and live in a convent somewhere peaceful and scenic, before she’d decided against it at the last minute. She’d realized that deep down, she still held onto the hope that she might find someone nice to settle down with and marry.

Secondly was the house caretaker, Miss Grace Lenfield, a kind, respectable and rather serious girl of twenty-three from Northumberland. She’d traveled to Reading in search of an opportunity to live anywhere more populated than where she was sired and raised. In the end, she was quite pleased with the raise she’d received, smiling more than you’d ever thought she was particularly capable of.

With the book shop, which only employed a total of three, loyal employees who you quickly found maintained the standard business affairs rather well, and as a result you fired no one. In turn, hiring only one person at the recommendation and request of one of the long time employees, Margeaux Windfax.

Margeaux was a tall, buxom girl of twenty-five with short, box dyed black hair from Essex. She was a generally private but funny person, who more often than not managed to get a genuine laugh or two out of you during your transitional period as shop owner.

Your time with her however, was gradually coming to an end as her university graduation date approached and she prepared to take a job opportunity up in Oxford.

The person she’d recommended was a boy of eighteen, he was a touch lanky with short, fluffy dirty blonde hair, a fair complexion and a wholly disarming smile; his name was Grant Chapman.

He’d been passed from one unloving guardian to the next as a younger boy, until the only places he lived on a regular basis were care homes for ‘troubled’ or ‘challenged’ youths. Margeaux later explained that she’d gotten to know him during the summer she’d spent volunteering at the care home he’d lived in when she was twenty-three, and he, sixteen.

She remarked that at the time she’d realized he was a good kid who just needed a little TLC, so she kept her landline the exact same just in case he ever needed a helping hand. And a little while after he’d turned eighteen, he’d apparently given her a call and she’d made sure he got on the first train to Reading, allowing him to crash at her place until he got on his feet.

Grant’s education over the years had been sporadic, but for what he lacked in that field initially, he quickly made up for in social and emotional intelligence, as well as being a remarkably quick visual learner.

You’d interacted with him intermittently in the beginning, but from the few moments you had been in his presence, he made you feel more your age than you had felt in a very long time. And momentarily you remembered that despite everything that made you feel old, worn and weathered inside, you were just seventeen.

Margeaux moved to Oxford on the ninth of January, Grant finished training on the twelfth. And on the twenty-first, he stopped coming in to work. No call, no show.

You’d initially found it strange seeing as he’d made considerable progress on the register and was absolutely adored by all customers that lined up into his queue. But left with no way to reach out to him, you were forced to continue running things as they once had been. Though you weren’t in any hurry to fill the position, resolving to maintain the role yourself.

+ + +

It wasn’t until the night of January twenty-ninth that you saw Grant Chapman again.

You’d been on your way home from treating yourself to a solo cinema date, a semi-indulgent act of leisure that you had intentionally been attempting to nurture, when you threw a customary glance around at your surroundings, only to see someone who you thought to be Grant; standing in an alleyway with his back pressed into grimy brick as a man pointed the tip of a pocket knife at his throat.

For a split second you simply stood there, your feet glued to the pavement as potential courses of action lined up in your head, neurotically shuffling through each one as a timer began ticking.

The first advantage you had was that you were completely concealed, having casted your shield charm before you stepped out of the theater- seeing as it was well past ten, broaching eleven at night, and you were a teen girl making your commute completely alone. You could act and not have to risk exposure.

Your next worry however was the knife shining at Grant’s jugular, if you weren’t absolutely meticulous about what spells coincided with which, you could inadvertently be responsible for slicing his throat yourself. This automatically removed expelliarmus, stupefy and petrificus totalus out of the running. These spells could accidentally result in the knife being flung in an undesirable direction.

Unable to risk waiting any longer you suck in a deep breath and you slip into the shadows, producing your wand out of your sleeve.

Momentarily you consider that if you were a bit cleverer, you might have been able to pull this off with more elegance and grace. But you only had one shot at this, and desolved to go with the spells you were absolutely certain you could pull off nonverbally.

Grant has both arms clinging to a metal pipe protruding from the alleyway brick, his eyes seem to barely be capable of staying open as he squints pointedly at the perpetrator, blinking sluggishly as though he’s actively attempting to stay present and awake. He says nothing as insults and threats alike are nastily spit into his face.

“Let go of the fucking pipe.” The man roughly snarls in a way that would be thoroughly menacing if said person was holding you at knifepoint, except he wasn’t.

The switchblade suddenly clangs to the pavement beside their feet, his detached fingers almost soundlessly plopping and rolling alongside the metallic instrument as they appear to cleanly amputate themselves.

“Mmh-“ The garbled noise emanates from the back of his throat but, before his exclamation of bafflement, or horror can meet his lips, he’s propelled nearly six feet as an errant portable AC unit throttles at full force into his side and you’re more than certain his left arm is broken, at the very least.

As the man lay sprawled out amongst almost damp patches of what you could only assume was human urine, and a few traces of rat excrement, he feebly groans out in pain.

Grant now swayed in place, having fully forgone holding onto the pipe for dear life amidst the puzzling debacle. As he stood squinting at the man through the dark, you clasped one of his hands into your own abruptly, causing him to jolt around in alarm.

“It’s me! It’s me.” You whisper lowly, your faces mere inches apart so that only he could hear you. You watched as his eyes widened and squinted as he momentarily attempted to place who you were. When you’d known he had properly doneso, you pulled him towards the entryway of the alley, where you had quietly slipped in from.

Lightly pushing him forward from behind so that you were certain he would not see the amputated digits not return to the man but simply pop out of existence; you figured if the guy was going to hold weapons to the throats of defenseless teenage boys, then he didn’t deserve to hold anything from that former hand again.

+ + +

With Grant’s hand in yours, you hurriedly pulled him further and further away from the scene.

While you were positive that no ordinary witness would be able to connect you to the event of a muggle getting his fingers divorced from his hand and then promptly steamrolled by an air conditioner- you were well aware that doing magic on a muggle, in front of a muggle, while you were concealed or not- could result in your wand being snapped, or worse. Azkaban was not for the faint of heart and you weren’t in any particular hurry to find out if you truly were made of stronger stuff.

Only once you were certain there were more than three blocks separating you from the man, did you slow down to a stop and turn to properly assess Grant’s condition. He hadn’t spoken at all during the entire getaway, or the initial incident.

Still grasping his hand, in hopes that physical contact lent the effects of your charm onto him (since you never had cause to test it at this level of capacity before), you looked over his person for any immediate reasons to worry. He appeared fine, albeit his clothes were wrinkled beyond belief and a bit grungy. The only signal being his apparent difficulty to keep his eyes focused and legs sturdy.

“Grant, what happened? Can you tell me?” You asked gently, searching for anything that might explain all of this.

“Waz drinkin’ at a pub.” He starts, his speech notably slurred but not unintelligible. “Met that guy, he bought me a drink, which I thought waz nice. Waz g’nna go home with ‘im, but then, I started feelin drowsi.”

Oh, you think. Getting the gist of the situation before he even finishes his explanation, and you effectively feel sick. Grossed out beyond belief as your stomach feels like it’s dropped to your feet, and for a moment you allow yourself to consider tucking this lovely boy somewhere safe- maybe waking Rosalind and Grace up to look after him so you could apparate back to that spot.

He’d probably still be there, or at least somewhere nearby, and it wouldn’t take you long to find him. You were certain you could think of ways to leave him even worse for wear than you already had.

“I’m so sorry that, fucker, did this to you, Grant.” You breathe out, biting your bottom lip as you look up at him. “Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

“No.” He weakly shakes his head. “No, don’t. Please.”

You’re worried about him, but at a loss by his adamant refusal, resolving to at least see him safely home. “Well let me get you home then? Can you recall your address okay?”

But yet again he shakes his head, keeping his eyes closed or pointedly away from you as you ask, “You aren’t able to remember it right now?”

“I,” His voice cracks and he swallows, sluggishly busying himself with peering at the people who line the streets of the more popular areas of Reading at night. All seeming to pass in droves completely unaware of your presence, and you watch as he appears to focus on one group in particular- a rather common, nuclear family of five who blissfully go about their evening as the littluns tug their parents’ hands for one thing or another.

And for a moment you both watch almost enviously as their possibly bratty, or endearing demands are met only with words of acquiescence and fond grins, before they’re completely out of sight, and Grant attempts to clear his throat.

“I can’t recall it, becaz I don’t ‘ave one.” He mutters, face downturned out of shame, or weariness. “I’m ‘omeless. I’ve been ‘omeless since Mars lef’ for Oxford.”

“Where have you been sleeping?” You inquire, eyes squared on his face even as he refuses to meet your gaze.

“Been couch surfin’ when people I meet at pubs or clubs would let me crash. Spent a few nights passed out on benches, when the police were in’t ‘round to kick me off that iz.”

You inhale deeply after he finishes explaining, before tightening your grip on his hand.

“I have a spare bed and more food than I can personally even begin to eat. It’s yours if you want it, and don’t mind/aren’t allergic to animals. I have three.” You offer and his eyes finally focus onto your features.

“I’m not ‘lergic.” He answers slowly, eyeing you cautiously as if you might be pulling his leg. You aren’t.

“Good.” You nod curtly, pursing your lips into a fine line. “It’s settled then. You’ll come with me.”

[moonstruckme]

James being a big bear of a boyfriend and always just like lifting u up so easily to hug and sit on his lap and even tho u hate when anyone else does it he’s so BEEFY that you’re fine with him doing it

Yessssss I'm not much of a physical touch person irl but James I would allow

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 847 words

Sirius is trying to follow Remus’ example and focus on the puzzle, but his eyes keep flitting up to you worriedly. You’ve monopolized the couch, laying flat with a hand cast over your eyes and your mouth pinched in obvious discomfort. He’d tried rubbing your calf and Remus had offered you tea, but they’d both given up when the attention only seemed to worsen your mood. Remus suggested they work on the puzzle while you rest (not Sirius’ favorite activity, but forced upon him because it keeps him quiet) and now they’re both simply trying not incur your wrath. 

“Quit looking at me,” you growl without opening your eyes. 

In Sirius’ case, not doing a very good job. 

“Fine, sheesh,” he says, and you press your lips together like you’re restraining yourself from snapping at him. 

You cringe when the door opens, every line of you pulling taut. James is all smiles as he tosses his gym bag to the floor with a heavy thump. “Hello, my loves!” His voice is a decibel short of booming, but it softens when he sees you on the couch. “Oh, sorry, is she napping?” 

Remus shakes his head, lips pursed as he watches your hand tighten over your eyes. “Headache,” he explains quietly. 

“Oh, I’m sorry lovie.” James reroutes from the kitchen, heading for you. Sirius tenses. “How bad is it?” 

“Prongs,” Sirius whispers urgently, “don’t—”

But James has already lifted you, one hand under your knees and another supporting your back as he moves you smoothly from your chosen position of rest and into his lap. He makes it look like nothing, which is the first offense (Sirius isn’t sure which of you he’s more jealous of), but the second is that you let him. Sirius and Remus have both looked up in alarm, waiting for a biting protest that doesn’t come. Instead, you remove your hand from your face, burying in it James’ brawny shoulder instead. 

“Bad,” you grumble, but your tone lacks the venom you’d spat at Sirius a moment before. 

James coos like he’s got a kitten in his lap instead of a viper, bringing his considerable arms around you. His palm cups the back of your neck, kneading gently at the tensed muscles there. “Where does it hurt, darling?” 

“Everywhere.” 

“By your eyes?” 

“No.” 

He hums, brows furrowing as he works steadily at your neck. You’ve gone nearly lax in his arms, trusting him to hold you up as you slump against his front. “Have you been drinking water?” 

“It’s not that.” Some of the irritation is back in your tone, Sirius notices, but it’s been markedly softened for James. “I had tons of water this morning.” 

“Probably a tension headache then, yeah?” He looks to Remus, who nods. The quiet boy looks as dumbstruck as Sirius feels. 

James moves his grip to your sides and lifts you again, rearranging his legs to get more comfortable before placing you back in his lap. He places a hand on each side of your head, thumbs pushing into your temples and rubbing in slow, soothing circles. You begin to look like you might fall asleep.

“This is so unfair,” Sirius hisses to Remus. 

“He has a power,” Remus admits weakly, “which transcends understanding.” 

“Do you want some tea?” James murmurs to you after a while. Sirius’ eyes have gotten stuck watching the movement of his forearms, and he snaps them reluctantly back up. 

You hum, uncertain but definitely considering it. Behind you, Remus throws up his hands. James sees him and smiles, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. 

“I’m getting the sense this isn’t the first cup you’ve been offered,” he says, looking immensely entertained. 

You sigh, but even that sounds pleasurable as his big thumbs drill diligently into your temples. “Yeah, but I just wanted to be left alone.” 

Remus and Sirius exchange a look. You seem perfectly fine with company now. 

“Don’t be silly,” James chides lightly, “a warm drink will make you feel better. Remus, love, would you be so kind as to make her a cup?” 

“Sure.” His voice is gruff, but then you murmur a quiet thanks, Rem and Sirius actually sees the moment his heart turns to mush. “No problem,” he says, softer now. 

“Attagirl.” James’ hand drops to give your shoulder a squeeze, his bicep flexing slightly with the movement. Christ, Sirius might have to fake a headache later, if this is the sort of treatment those receive. “Drink your tea and then we’ll get you to bed, yeah? You can sleep the rest of this off.” 

“You know, I offered to carry her to bed earlier,” Sirius says, still slightly bitter, “and she told me very clearly to fuck off.” 

You don’t sound so much exasperated now as exhausted. “Siri, when you carrying me doesn’t involve setting me down every five steps for a break, then we’ll talk.” 

James’ laugh surprises both of you, and he apologizes hastily for jostling you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before resuming his ministrations. You don’t seem all that upset about it.

[moonstruckme]

the sleepy remus drabble was everything but what about sleepy james x reader just cuddling on the couch with remus and sirius teasing them omfgg

Thanks for requesting lovely! I realized halfway through writing this that I wasn't sure if you meant rem and sirius were there platonically or not, but I hope this is alright <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 870 words

Even when you hear the voices, you pretend you don’t, too comfortable on the plush cushion of James’ hoodie. Opening your eyes isn’t worth the effort. 

“Is this what they do when we’re not home?” Sirius’ voice is low and ripe with faux outrage.

James hushes him, so he’s awake apparently. His thumb moves over your tummy, big hand tucked into the warmth between your sweatshirt and your bare skin. “You’ll wake her,” he says, voice still sticky with sleep.

“She ought to be awake, it’s five in the afternoon!” 

Remus’ voice is softer, skeptical. “I don’t see how either of you expect to sleep through the night if you nap like this during the day.”

“We manage,” James yawns. 

You hear Sirius huff. If the muscles in your face were more active you think you’d smile. “I thought we were going to Marlene’s thing tonight,” he complains. 

“Still planning on it.” James’ palm splays over your middle, warm and safe. “We’re resting up.” 

“This is how you prepare for Friday nights now? Fuck, we must be getting old.” 

You whine at his volume, nuzzling your face into James’ chest. 

“Oh, so she is awake. What, sweet thing, you don’t feel like saying hi?” 

This time James coos at your protesting sound. His hand slips from beneath your sweatshirt to wrap around your shoulders, shielding you from your pestering boyfriend. 

“Oh, let’s have a bit of sympathy,” Remus says, sounding amused, “she’s had a long, hard day of napping. She deserves a bit of rest.” 

You want to remind him it’s your day off, but speaking feels like giving into wakefulness, and that is something you are not inclined to do. Instead, you try to wriggle beneath the blanket halfway up James’ torso, curling in on yourself like a roly poly. He helps you out, pulling it up to cover your head and draping an arm over your balled-up form. 

“It’s her day off,” he says, your hero. “Why shouldn’t she get to rest?” 

“That’s fair enough,” Remus allows, “but why were you sleeping?”

James hesitates. “Well, I didn’t have anything to do after training and she…she lured me in.” 

It’s true. James after rugby training is like Remus after he spends all day reading; he’s all worn out and pliable, and you’d practically only had to open your arms for him to fall right into them and then a cuddle on the couch had turned into a two-hour nap. Terribly unfortunate. Certainly not your plan all along. 

You decide it’s your turn to protect James from the others, wriggling up on his chest and covering his head with the blanket. You see his smile through half-lidded eyes, and outside of your little cave, Remus chuckles. 

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” 

“I think we should get in bed and have a cuddle they’re not invited to,” says Sirius. “See how they like it.” 

“I’m not sure we can leave them in good conscience.” The sound of Remus' smile makes you smile, your cheek smushing into James’ chest. “She’s just taken Jamie. If we let her go on like this, she’ll have them both sleeping ‘til tomorrow.” 

That actually sounds rather appealing. 

“They’re jealous of us,” James whispers. You hum your agreement, and he kisses the crown of your head. 

“We could go to all their favorite things,” Sirius proposes. “Make them remember the benefits of leaving the couch.” 

“Like what? Watch sports?” 

“And eat pastries. She loves a sweet.” 

“Mm, yeah. I could fancy a sweet.” 

“From the shop on sixth? They should still be open, yeah?” 

“Stay strong, angel,” James whispers. “Don’t let them break you.” 

“They ought to be. Oh, and the pub down that way will be showing the Manchester match tonight. We could stop and see that.” 

“Sick and twisted!” James throws the blanket off, uncovering you in the process. “You never watch football with me.” 

“I have,” Remus hedges, “that one time.” 

“Last year! And you were reading your book on the other side of the pillow!” 

He turns sheepish. “Didn’t realize you’d noticed that.” 

“But now you’re going to watch it just to spite me?” 

“No,” Sirius admits. “We were never going to watch football, Jamie, sorry.” James deflates, and you squeeze him tight around the middle in a show of solidarity. 

“But we can go by the bakery on our way to Marlene’s thing,” Remus says, adding when you perk up, “if we leave soon enough. They make those danishes you like on Fridays, don’t they?” 

“Seriously?” you ask, your voice croaky and hopeful. 

“That’s me, babe,” Sirius teases, “and I’m down to stop by, but only if I get what I’m owed.” At your blank look, he raises a dark brow. “My welcome home kiss?” 

Oh. “You’re gonna have to come down here,” you mumble. He makes a show of rolling his eyes, but obliges you, bending at the waist to take your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours firmly. He does the same to James once you’re done, straightening with a satisfied look on his face. 

“Appeased?” Remus asks placidly. 

“Yes,” Sirius answers, “the evening may now continue. Up, you two. We’ve got places to be.” 

[moonstruckme]

hi! i've been stalking your page for literal hours and i love how you write poly marauders so much!! could you write how they would react to the reader coming home from a night out with a black eye or something like that?? <33333

Thank you lovely! And thanks for being so patient while I took literal months to get to this request haha, love you! <3

cw: reader is drunk and has a black eye

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Hey, gorgeous,” Sirius says as you come in the door. Remus shushes him, and he lowers his voice. “How’re the girls?” 

“Good,” you reply, cautiously quiet as you kick off your shoes. 

Rounding the couch, you see James asleep on Remus’ shoulder, a small puddle of drool soaking into the material of the taller boy’s pajama shirt. They’re all in pajamas, actually. Envy strikes you through the heart. They look so unbearably cozy, better than you in your scratchy jeans and too-tight top. 

“I hope you didn’t wait up,” you say as Remus flips his book closed, and Sirius chuckles. You’ll learn later that you’d been slurring your words. 

“We don’t mind,” Remus confirms your suspicions. “You didn’t walk home by yourself, did you?” 

You shake your head, flopping into the spot beside James on the couch. Only you hadn’t quite thought that through, and Remus tuts as he starts to rouse. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Um, the girls dropped me off out front.” 

Sirius nods his approval. James hums as he picks his head up off Remus’ shoulder, spotting you. 

“Hey, lovie.” He transfers his affections to you, wrapping his arms around your neck and letting himself weigh heavily against your front. You giggle, your favorite monkey. “Did you just get home?” 

“Uh-huh. Oh, Jamie!” You gasp as a memory makes its way out of the fog of your brain. “I saw something you would have loved.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

“We came across a dog park, and I didn’t even know those could be open at night but—” 

“No, angel.” He’s stopped hugging you, an unpleasant development, one of his hands leaving your neck to hold your cheek. “What’s that on your face?” 

“Hm?” You don’t remember anything getting on your face. “I dunno. Jamie, I’m trying to tell you about the puppies.” 

“Just hold on, darling, sorry. Is that a bruise?” 

“What?” Sirius is in front of you before you know what’s happened. Vampire-fast, you think fascinatedly, wondering if he’d have been a streak across your vision had you bothered to look. Though, to be fair, your vision is generally streaky at the moment. He takes your chin in his hand, tilting it up and to the side. “Remus, point your light here.” 

There’s a low creaking as Remus adjusts his reading lamp, and then you’re squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Jesus, what the hell?” 

Remus curses softly, and you squint to see him leaning closer to you. Your boyfriends’ faces crowd your vision like a three-headed monster. 

“Baby,” Sirius says, sounding heartbroken, “what happened?” 

“I don’t—can you move the light away?” 

More creaking, and you can see again. You blink, eyes watery, and Sirius lays a painstakingly gentle thumb over the skin beneath your eye. 

“It must be bad if it’s already bruising,” he says. 

Remus stands. “Then we should put ice on it.” 

You pout as he disappears into the kitchen, but Sirius recaptures your attention by turning your face toward his. 

“I need you to think.” He fixes his stare on yours gravely. His eyes are the color of the moon reflecting off water. You try to tell him so, but his frown doesn’t abate. “Listen,” he says, “what happened to hurt your eye? You have to remember.” 

You purse your lips, shaking your head at him. “I feel like I’d know if something happened,” you say self-assuredly. “It’s probably just makeup. Can you get me a wipe?” 

“Angel.” James’ eyebrows have hooked upwards in the middle. He’s looking uncharacteristically serious, too. Your boyfriends are really not being a ton of fun tonight, you think. “It’s all red and purple. You can’t tell me that doesn’t hurt, babydoll.” 

You shrug. That may be so. But if it doesn’t hurt, who really cares? 

Sirius gets up just as Remus comes back with what looks like a balled-up dish towel. He passes it to you with a tender look on his face. 

“Put this on your eye, honey,” he says. Then, “Sirius, love, where are you going?” 

“To call Evans.” 

You touch the cloth to your eye, but it’s freezing cold, and you opt to let it rest in your lap instead.

“She won’t even be home yet,” Remus argues. “And what do you think you’ll accomplish if you do get ahold of her? She can’t tell us anything now that she won’t still know in the morning.” 

“What if somebody did this to her? If Evans saw, I want to know about it tonight.” 

“Don’t you think,” James says, “that if someone hit her, the girls would’ve come in and told us?” You lean against his side, and he wraps an arm around you automatically, rubbing your shoulder. He smells like strawberries and laundry detergent and something ineffably homey. “They wouldn’t have just dropped her off out front.” 

“What if no one saw?” 

“Then what do you think calling will do, love?” 

“I just…I feel like I have to do something. Don’t you?” 

You lean your head on James’ shoulder and snuggle into the familiar sounds of your boyfriends’ voices, overlapping and intermingling. You don’t realize they’ve gone quiet until Remus’ hand wraps around yours, and you open your eyes. 

“You’ve got to actually hold this on your eye,” he chides lovingly, taking the dish towel from you and pressing it to your face. 

The edge of something hard beneath the cloth digs into a tender spot beneath your eye, and you flinch. “Ow.” 

Remus’ forehead creases sympathetically. “Sorry.” 

But the pain brings another memory out of the fog. You pick your head up as you feel your good eye widen in realization, meeting Sirius’. 

He flicks up an eyebrow. “What’re you smiling about?” 

“I remember what happened,” you admit, a touch of embarrassment to your tone. And if you hadn’t had everyone’s attention before, you do now. 

“What was it?” James rubs your shoulder reassuringly. “You can tell us.” 

“It’s…when we were at the dog park, I got distracted.” 

Remus’ eyes narrow. “Go on.” 

You rub your lips together self-consciously. “I may have walked into a sign. About poop bags.” 

James leans away from you to see you better. “Like, a metal sign?” 

You nod, and he winces. 

“Ouch, lovie.” 

“Fucking hell.” Sirius covers his face with both hands, loosing a big breath through the cracks in his palms. Remus reaches back to pats his leg consolingly. “I was ready to go after whoever did that with a tire iron.” 

You shrink into the couch cushions. “Sorry.” 

“You could still take a tire iron to the sign, I suppose,” James says. 

Sirius ignores him, crouching in front of you and taking your face in both hands. Remus lets the cloth drop rather than maneuver around him. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, understand?” 

“Yeah,” James agrees, “if you injure yourself in the future, ask for a pen and make a note on your arm or something. Save us the worry.” 

You lean forward, pressing a lingering, heartfelt kiss to Sirius’ cheek. 

“Thanks for worrying,” you say, and where your lips touched him the skin glows pink. 

“You’re taking years of my life, you know,” he says quietly. 

Remus chuckles. “Don’t worry. It looks good on you.” 

[moonstruckme]

could i request poly!marauders with reader who has trouble sleeping/insomnia pls? it’s so frustrating not being able to sleep and seeing everyone sleeping and then having a raging head and being exhausted throughout the days,,, just want someone to make the nights a little less stressful :((

Sorry for the long wait sweetness! Thanks for requesting

modern au

poly!marauderes x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You want desperately to know what time it is. With the blackout curtains covering the windows and the digital clock stowed away in the drawer of the nightstand, it’s impossible to guess whether the sun is rising outside or if it’s only an hour past when you went to bed. You honestly have no idea. It feels like you’ve been lying here for an eternity, willing yourself to relax, but in your experience it’s equally likely that ten minutes have gone by. 

It’s that much worse with your boyfriends snoozing all around you. You envy Sirius’ open-mouthed snore. You feel trapped. You want to be sleeping with them but you can’t, so you want them to be awake with you, but waking them would be cruel. When you’d first gone to bed James had held you up against him, but it hadn’t taken long after he’d fallen asleep for him to roll over, unconsciously abandoning you between his and Remus’ backsides. Remus is a light enough sleeper that you know he’ll wake if you try to get out of bed, so you’re stuck here, staring into the formless black of your room, not knowing how much longer you have to endure it. 

Eventually you sit up on your elbow, reaching over Remus to check the time on your phone. Your hand is arrested just above the nightstand. 

“What,” Remus’ voice is croaky. “What’re you doing?” 

You don’t answer, knowing an honest one will only earn you a scolding. Remus rolls over and takes you hand with him. You can just barely see the outline of his head in the darkness, but you can feel his warm breath fanning across your face. 

“You know it’s only going to make things worse,” he says quietly. 

“It's worse not knowing,” you whisper. 

Remus sighs, rubbing his thumb into the meat of your palm. Some of your apprehension eases just from having him awake with you. “I’m sorry, sweet girl.” His voice is barely a murmur, but you can feel James starting to stir at your back. “I still think we have to try what the doctor said for now, okay?” 

He pushes his warm palm flat against yours, coaxing a small “okay” out of you. 

“I can stay up with you.” 

“No,” you say, despite the selfish voice in your head going Yes!. Remus needs more sleep than the rest of you to begin with, and you’re more accustomed to going without it than he is. “That’s okay, you should sleep.” 

You’re bracing yourself for his denial when James rolls over behind you, one big arm wrapping around your front. 

“Hey,” he slurs, “where’d you go?” 

You smother a laugh and Remus makes a similarly amused sound, likely guessing what had really happened. He reaches the hand not holding yours over your head to pet James’ hair. 

“I didn’t go anywhere,” you say softly. 

“Stay put this time, hm?” James replies fondly, giving your middle a squeeze. “Y’supposed to be on cuddle duty.” 

This time you can’t suppress it, and a little giggle escapes you. “Sorry,” you say. 

Remus hums in gentled remonstrance, you’re not sure at whom. 

“You’re all being terribly loud,” Sirius groans, and then there’s a shape leering over James’ head, doubtlessly glowering down at the three of you. “Why are we awake?”

“Someone couldn’t sleep,” Remus murmurs. 

Sirius makes a whiny pitying sound, reaching over James to paw blindly at you. You inhale when his perpetually freezing fingers fumble at your collarbone. James saves you, clasping Sirius’ hand in his own. 

“What else is new,” you try to joke. It comes out sounding more glum than you’d like. “Sorry I woke you guys.” 

“No, don’t be, angel.” James’ hand finds its way underneath your sleep shirt, thumb stroking the skin just above your navel. “We’d rather be awake with you anyway.” 

Sirius makes a sound like he could disagree, but his slender fingers burrow into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp the way he knows you like. You bear the cold for his sake. 

“There’s no point in us all being awake,” you say, though you’re nearly purring from all the loving. “S’not your problem.” 

Sirius tsks. “We’ve been over this, doll. Your problems are ours, too.” 

You hum like Yeah, I know. Sirius takes in a breath like he might say more, but Remus comes to your rescue. 

“Do you want one of us to rub your back, dove?” 

That sounds amazing, actually. But you’re not sure if it’ll help, and you don’t want to put your boyfriends to work if there’s no promise it’ll do anything. “That’s okay,” you say. 

“No, come on.” James is already turning you in his arms. He cozies up to your front, big palm splayed out over your back. “We’re supposed to get you relaxed, right?” 

You nod, and his chest feels warm against your cheek. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep, though.” 

“That’s okay,” he replies readily. “Let’s just give it a try, yeah?”

You hum, acquiescence inlaid with guilt. From behind James, you hear Sirius chide you quietly (“Stop that”) and you know he’s heard it. James likely does too, but he ignores it, big palm beginning to move in broad, slow circles on your back. You try to help as best you can, relaxing into his hold and shutting your eyes. Even so, you grow tenser with frustration the longer it doesn’t work. 

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Remus murmurs behind you. His words brush over your nape like a caress. “Relax. Listen to his heartbeat.” 

You nestle your face closer to James’ chest, and he increases the pressure on your back as if to keep you there. You can hear the steady bump-bump of his heart as well as feel it against your cheek, and something about it has a tranquilizing effect on your own. It creates a beat to match the rhythm of his hand gliding along your back, steady and unwavering. You can hear your own breathing matching up to his, Remus’ too. Distantly, you become aware that Sirius is snoring again, but the thought dissipates half-formed. Your limbs feel warm and soft as wax. 

You don’t notice James moving until his lips come down on the top of your head, his palm still wearing its same track into your back. “Love you,” he says. 

You think you echo the sentiment, but you’re too far gone to know for sure.

[moonstruckme]

PLEASE!!! im on my hands n knees begging. poly!mauraders with a hyper partner that give off golden retriever vibes I BEG

Happy to oblige my love!

poly!marauders x golden retriever!reader ♡ 1k words

Sirius is still in the process of waking up when you come inside, bags of groceries in your arms. 

“Morning!” You lean over the top of the couch to kiss his cheek as you go by, all but skipping into the kitchen. “Have you been outside? It’s gorgeous.” 

Sirius levels you with a deadpan look. “Do I look like I’ve been outside?” 

“You should,” you say, undeterred by his attitude. “Spring is in the air! The sun is out, the trees are starting to get their little flowers—I even bought us some tulips to put on the table.” 

“That’s nice,” he mumbles, sinking deeper into the cushions. He knows he really should help you unload the groceries, but it feels like his bones have been replaced by barbells. Luckily, he hears a set of footsteps coming down the hall. 

“Hey, sunshine.” James comes in fully dressed, pecking you on the lips before starting the coffee machine. “What’d you get?” 

“I got tulips,” you tell him excitedly. “Have you been outside? It’s a really lovely day.” 

James smiles, sliding one of the bags away from you as you start snipping the stems of your tulips so they’ll fit in a vase. “Yeah, I poked my head out for a sec. It is nice.” His glance slides over to where Sirius languishes on the couch, grin going somewhat cocky. “Morning, Sirius. You could help with the groceries, you know.” 

Sirius waves his hand. “Two of you are enough.” 

The coffee machine starts to gurgle, summoning Remus like a siren’s call. He trudges out of the bedroom, sleep clinging to his frame. Sirius opens his arms commiseratingly.

“It’s hardly ten,” Remus grunts as he collapses into them. “How have they already been productive?” 

“I know, they’re so perky.” Sirius pets down the cowlick at the back of his boyfriend’s head. “It’s freakish.” 

“You’re freakish,” you say brightly, bringing them each a cup of coffee. Sirius has no clue how you’ve managed to unload the groceries so fast, or where you found the time to doctor his coffee the way he likes it. You’re like a machine. You laugh giddily when he nips at your fingers as you pull away. “Remus, wait until you see the weather outside, it’s so perfect. I think we should have a picnic. What do you say?” 

“I say it’s too early for decisions,” he mumbles, sitting up off Sirius so he can drink his coffee. “But that sounds nice.” 

You beam as if you’ve gotten a full-stop go-ahead, breezing back towards the kitchen. “We can make brownies,” you say, bringing your vase of tulips to the table, “and sandwiches, and lemonade. And we can go to that park with the stream—what’s the one?” 

You look to James, who in turn looks to Remus. 

“Mayfield,” Remus says. 

“Right! We can go to Mayfield park, and hike over to that meadow-y area.” Sirius glances your way, and you’ve already started taking down the ingredients for brownies. “It’s so sunny and nice out, you guys won’t believe it. We can bring a frisbee or something.” 

“Hiking and frisbee?” Sirius murmurs to Remus. “I don’t like the sound of all this activity.” Remus snorts. 

“That sounds great, angel.” James apprehends you before you can start pouring things into the mixing bowl, putting a mug of decaf tea in your hand and steering you towards the living room. “I think these guys are going to take a bit to be ready for all that, but I’m sure it’ll be fun.” 

“Right.” You look a bit abashed, sitting down criss-cross-applesauce in the big armchair. “Yeah, we don’t have to go, like, right now. You guys just woke up.” 

“Thanks for noticing,” Sirius says wryly. But when you fidget in your seat and he can feel James’ glare boring into the side of his head, he throws in an eye roll of feigned reluctance. “Get over here.” 

You happily transfer into his lap, letting him brush your hair aside and squealing when he plants a wet, squelching kiss on your neck. Remus, sensing that Sirius’ attention has a new captive, leans back into James, who winds his arms around Remus’ middle gamely. 

“Now why would we go outside,” Sirius asks, nosing at the underside of your jaw as you giggle and squirm, “when we can just do this all day?” 

“You could just as easily do it outside,” James points out. Sirius whines petulantly against your skin, setting you giggling again. 

“He’s right,” you reason, transferring your tea to your other hand so you can wrestle Sirius away from your neck. “We could do this in the sun, with wildflowers and trees around.” 

He pouts. “But you know I burn easily,” he says, “and poor Remus’ hip can’t take the hike.” 

“You don’t know what I can take,” Remus huffs, and Sirius realizes he’s chosen the wrong avenue for his argument. “If my hip hurts, it’s only because your mum was so rough last night.” 

“I don’t particularly enjoy being compared to Sirius’ mum,” says James. Remus’ ears go a bit pink as he mumbles an apology. 

“I won’t let you burn,” you tell Sirius. “You can use sunblock, or we’ll find you a nice shady spot. And Remus, if your hip’s bothering you, we can always find another park. One without a hike.” 

Any vexation that might usually be summoned in Remus by mention of his aches and pains melts away in the face of your earnestness. “Thanks, dove, but I’m alright,” he says. “It’s fine today.” 

James rubs the skin just above Remus’ hip lovingly, and you send him a beaming smile. “It’s probably because it’s so nice out,” you say. 

“Yeah, Sirius,” James turns on him. “It’s so nice out. Do you really want to miss out on what could be the single most beautiful day of the year?” 

Sirius really could give a shit, but he sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine, let’s picnic.” 

“Yay!” You won’t be contained any longer, hopping up from his lap. “I’m going to go get the frisbee.” 

“The frisbee’s in the attic,” Remus muses, then raises his voice so you can hear him. “Don’t go up in the attic by yourself.” 

“I can get it,” you call back. 

“Don’t,” he warns. “You need someone to hold the ladder, just—” The ladder groans as it comes down and Remus echoes it, starting to stand. But James pats him on the shoulder, encouraging Remus back down as he gets up. 

“Slow your roll, angel,” he calls ahead. “I’m coming.”

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I would die for a poly!marauders x reader where reader gets a bloody nose and almost passes out. This has happened to me and I wish I had the boys 😅 of course only if this sounds interesting!! 🫶🏼

Thanks for requesting love!

cw: blood, near fainting

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 642 words

You’re mid-story when Remus’ expression shifts. 

“And he didn’t even…ask…” You trail off as James’ eyes flare suddenly. Remus is scanning the room like he’s searching for something. “...what?” 

“I’m just looking for the tissues…” 

You feel your expression crease.

“Don’t worry,” says Sirius, in a no-nonsense tone you don’t hear often. “Just pinch your nose shut and close your eyes, okay?” 

“What…” You touch your fingertips to your nose, and the second the bright red pads come into your view you’re overcome by a wave of nausea. 

“Don’t, don’t.” James takes your hand, bloody fingers and all, hiding them away. Your head fills with cotton. Remus gets up and goes into the kitchen. “Baby, that’s what we’re trying to keep from happening.” 

The feel of something splattering on your thigh has you looking down on instinct. You barely process the bead of blood curving down your thigh before your vision starts to blacken. 

“Okay.” A hand cups the back of your head, cold fingers pressing into your scalp as it takes your weight, and another pinches your nostrils. “None of that, doll, c’mon. You’re okay.” 

You blink a couple of times before the fuzzy darkness clears enough for you to see Sirius in front of you. He’s the picture of calm, while James’ eyes are magnified cartoonishly wide by his glasses. It takes you a second to figure out you need to breathe through your mouth. 

Sirius nods as you inhale. “Good,” he says. “Just keep your eyes on me, doll.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” James quips, and Sirius’ lips quirk but he doesn’t take his eyes from yours. 

“It’s a happy consequence.” 

“Sorry,” you say, voice sounding whiny all stuffed up. 

“You’re good,” James reassures you. “Rem’s gonna get you cleaned up in just a second. It seems we’ve misplaced the tissues.” 

“Found them!” Remus announces from down the hall. “Who put them under the bed?” 

You and Sirius look to James. He shrugs, sheepish. “That’s my bad,” he admits. “My allergies were bothering me, and I didn’t feel like getting up.” 

“Hoarder,” Sirius accuses fondly, letting go of your nose briefly to allow Remus to swipe at the skin beneath it. 

“Close your eyes,” Remus warns softly, and this time you listen before you can see the tissue. You feel him blot at your nostrils and then wipe up the blood on your hand and leg, keeping your eyes squeezed shut tight. “Good girl.” The lid of the trash bin clangs shut. “You can open now.” 

You replace Sirius’ hand with your own, and he gives you a cautious look as he lets go slowly. “You sure you’ve got it?” He raises an eyebrow at you. “I don’t mind.” 

You smile at him, closed-lipped and trying not to think about what you’re staunching. “I’m good, thanks.” 

Remus sits back down with a heavy sigh. James nods his agreement heartily. 

“Since when do you get nosebleeds?” he asks you. 

“Since now, I guess,” you say. “It’s not my new favorite thing.” 

You’ve always fainted at the sight of blood, so spontaneous bleeding is probably one of the top ten worst things that can happen to you. 

“It’s a bit worrisome,” Remus agrees. “What happens if you’re driving and your nose starts bleeding again? You can’t very well pass out behind the wheel.” 

You level him with a deadpan look. “I’ll try to refrain.” 

“It won’t happen again,” Sirius says surely. He’s eyeing you in a peculiar way, somehow both assessing and decided at once. “We’ll figure out what caused it, and make sure it doesn’t.” 

You look to Remus for an eye roll, but both of your boyfriends look about as trusting in this plan as Sirius. 

“How?” you ask. 

He gives you an indulgent smile. “Don’t worry about it, baby. We’re not gonna let anything happen to you.”

[moonstruckme]

Hey !

So I've just come out of a week with an absolutely awful cold where I lost my voice and it was absolutely exhausting.

So, if you'd like I wanted to request a poly!marauders x sick reader with fluff and coddling when reader lost her voice and they're being overprotective and soft . Maybe emt!marauders? As you'd like ✨️

Thank you 💕 🌸

Ugh hope you feel better soon my love <3

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 915 words

Sirius’ thumb draws circles into the fat of your hip, your head heavy against his chest. You’re letting your cheek smush against the material of his shirt, your entire body lax with lethargy. You really feel mostly fine, but it’s difficult not to indulge in some self-pity when your boyfriends are treating you so tenderly. 

“Are you tired, love?” Remus’ voice is low and dulcet, his eyes honey-colored in the afternoon light spilling through the window as he watches you from his chair. 

“No,” you rasp. His eyebrows stitch together compassionately. “Just comfortable.” 

You can very nearly feel the smugness emanating from Sirius at that. He kisses the top of your head, and Remus rolls his eyes at whatever face he’s made that you can’t see. 

“Do you want to try to gargle some saltwater before you have your tea?” Remus asks. 

You sigh, sinking further into Sirius’ side. “Maybe later.” 

“Oh, sweetheart, please stop.” James hisses through his teeth as he carries in a steaming cup of tea. “It hurts me when you talk, you sound so awful.” 

You shoot him a wry look—thanks—and Sirius grins. 

“I think you sound dead sexy,” he whispers conspiratorially. 

You laugh, and even that sounds warped and awful. “Yeah?” you say, reaching up for the tea as James passes it to you. Your voice squeaks, cracking horrifically. “Just like this?” 

“Prick.” James sits down beside you on the couch, kicking halfheartedly at Sirius’ leg. “Don’t encourage her.” 

You have to quell your giggling before you trust yourself to take a sip of your tea. It’s so sweet you think it might be half honey, not that you’re complaining; the effect is immediate relief for your raw throat. Remus unpauses the film you were watching, and James pulls one of your feet into his lap, massaging it like a stress ball through the material of your fuzzy sock. Sirius is still drawing heavy circles into your hip, and despite your claims of alertness, you’re well on your way to actually falling asleep when you notice Remus has turned subtly away from the TV and appears to be scrutinizing you. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Sweetheart,” James begs, his fingers tensing around your foot, “please.” 

“You really won’t let me check your throat for strep?” Remus asks. 

For James’ sake, you confine your response to a shake of your head. 

“Why not?” he presses, fully turning his back on the film. “If it was strep, we could get you some medicine. I don’t like seeing you sick, dove.” 

You send him a sorry little smile, but your answer hasn’t changed. 

“Why don’t you let him just have a look?” James coaxes. Sirius’ free hand comes up, laying flat over your forehead as he checks again for a fever. 

“Because it’s gross,” you say, and James winces but doesn’t complain, “and I think my breath must be awful. It’s only been a couple of days anyway.” 

“It could be a lot longer if it is strep throat and you don’t treat it,” Remus points out.

James leans closer to you, beckoning. “Give me a breath, and I’ll let you know if it’s horrid.” 

“No!” you lean away from him, laughing. 

“Why not?” 

“Bec—” Sirius takes the opportunity to get his index finger in your mouth, wedging it between your teeth. 

“Sirius!” you squeak, all the s’s of his name reduced to vague shushing sounds. “What are you doing?” 

James and Remus snicker at your lisping, but Sirius is the picture of cool composure, watching you steadily as you wrap your hand around his wrist. You give a tug, but he curls his finger around the inside of your bottom teeth and holds fast. 

“I could sit like this all day,” he says, disgustingly proud of himself, “or you could let Remus check your throat for pesky little spots.” 

You stare him down. The problem with Sirius is, he stares right back, and it’s difficult to feel very intimidating when you’ve got his finger sticking out of your mouth. He drops one eyelid in a wink. You’re loath to give into his smugness, but after a few seconds you roll your eyes. James takes your tea from you as Remus comes forward, getting out his phone light and stooping over you, and you allow Sirius to tip your mouth open. 

“Ugh, rank!” he jokes, immune to the glare you send his way. Remus ignores you both, steadying himself with a hand at your jaw as he peers inside your mouth. 

“Stick your tongue out, dove?” he requests, and you do, heat creeping up your neck. James squeezes your foot sympathetically. 

“I think,” Remus says softly, brows furrowing as he looks a moment longer, “you’re in the clear.” 

You let out a little cough, curling towards your chest as he steps away and James and Sirius cheer. 

“Told you,” you can’t help but say, voice scraping. 

“You were right, angel,” James indulges you, squeezing up the length of your calf. “So what does this mean?” 

Remus shrugs. “That it’s probably not strep throat. Could be anything else, we likely won’t know unless it gets worse.” 

“Steady diet of tea and honey?” Sirius asks gravely. 

“Certainly,” James answers in the same serious tone. “And rest. Lots of rest. Probably shouldn’t move on her own.” 

“So, business as usual,” you joke. Remus chuckles as Sirius stamps a kiss on the crown of your head. 

“Smart girl,” he praises. “Glad the fever’s not gone to your head yet.” 

[moonstruckme]

May I pleaseeee request poly!marauders x reader (gn or fem, up to you) where r and siri come home at like, 4 am from a rave (or clubing), and they are in makeup and have glitter all over them, and their exhausted and only slightly tipsy (from alchohol or drugs, up to whatever you think would be more fun to write) so they try to get cleaned up without waking up james or remus but ultimately fail?

I totally understand if you don't wanna write it 🫶

Thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: mention of alcohol

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

When Remus wakes, he doesn’t at first know why. James is asleep next to him, snuffling softly, his cheek smushed into the pillow and drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. Remus’ fingers are woven loosely in the curls by his forehead. 

Then there’s a muffled thump from down the hall, followed by some hushed cursing, and he remembers. 

“They definitely moved the couch closer to the door to fuck with us.” Then, a moment later: “I am being quiet. Doll, you’re projecting.” 

Get a drop of alcohol in Sirius, and he becomes the worst whisperer in the world. 

Remus can hear your attempts at shushing your boyfriend as he slips out of bed. James is dead to the world, but he stretches out an arm as Remus’ fingers unwind from his hair as though feeling for where he’s gone. Glancing at the clock on his nightstand, he’s gladder than ever that he and James had begged off this particular excursion. It’s past five. 

He goes toward the light they left on for you by the door, but you and Sirius have already migrated into the kitchen. Remus props himself up on the doorframe, wrapping his arms around his middle, and allows himself to just watch the two of you for a minute. 

“Water first,” you’re saying, voice hushed far more effectively than Sirius’. You grab two glasses with extreme care from the cabinet, setting them down slowly so as not to make any noise. 

“I think this makeup is going to be crusted onto me forever,” Sirius whines. “I’ll never be able to get it all off.” 

“I don’t know if I have the energy to try,” you admit. 

You do both have an awful lot of glitter on you. What was intentional and precise when you left that evening has now traveled down onto your cheeks, leaving you lustrous and disheveled-looking. When Sirius closes his eyes, tipping his head back as he leans against the countertop, the black makeup around his eyes makes them look like glittering chasms. Remus notes that your shoulder shimmers with a similar color, like he’d laid his head on it. 

You pass Sirius a glass and hoist yourself up onto the counter, the both of you falling quiet while you drink your water. You sigh at the end of it. 

Sirius hums in response, a tired sort of smile lifting his lips. He leans his head against the side of your arm and lets his eyes fall closed again. 

“Did you have fun?” he asks, softer now than he has been since you came inside. 

“Mhm.” You set your empty glass down, using that hand to comb strands of hair away from Sirius’ face. 

Remus' heart nearly turns to mush as he watches the two of you, each clearly exhausted and yet still trying to take care of the other. You, you’ve always been open with your tenderness, but Sirius has taken years to get to where he is now. It still surprises Remus sometimes to see it, his boyfriend’s caring out from under the shroud of insouciance and joking. 

“I have an idea,” you say. Your tone is warm and lulling, not unlike your boyfriend’s. “We could take the spicy crisps into the living room, and lay on the couch to eat them.” 

Eyes still closed, Sirius smiles. “What about bed?”

“Rem won’t let us eat them in the bed.” 

Remus suppresses a chuckle. 

“I know, sweetness. I thought you were tired.” 

You sigh, long and heavy. “I am. I think I’m so tired I almost don’t care if I go to sleep. I might die if I don’t have a spicy crisp, though.” 

Sirius seems to be contemplating this when James comes up behind Remus. His hair is askew and glasses falling down the bridge of his nose, and he has the glazed-over look of someone who themselves is not quite sure if they’re awake or dreaming. 

“How wasted are they?” he asks, voice weighted with drowsiness. 

“Not very,” Remus murmurs. 

That’s when Sirius notices them. He picks his head up, nudging your knee with his elbow so you look over. 

“Oh.” You shrink a bit, expression pinching. “Sorry.” 

You so thoroughly look it that Remus can’t even feign upset. “Come to bed,” he says fondly. 

Neither of you move but Sirius opens his arms, beseeching Remus to come to him. Remus, too tired to pretend at being any less in love than he is, goes. 

“I thought you’d be in earlier,” he says into Sirius’ hair. It smells like sweat and a little bit like smoke. 

“The cabs were busier than we expected,” Sirius replies, voice even sleepier now that his face is in Remus’ neck. “We walked a while and then caught a bus once they started running.” 

Remus makes a disgruntled sound, but it’s James who says, “You should’ve called.” His voice sounds muffled, and Remus looks over to find it’s buried in your chest. You’re smiling faintly with your face turned down into his curly mop, your hands on the back of his head and his holding your thighs. “We would’ve come and got you.” 

“I wanted to,” Sirius defends himself, removing his face from Remus’ neck to cut you a teasing look. “She wouldn’t let me.” 

James lifts his head to look up at you. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you say, voice soft as though still trying to accommodate the sleep he really should be getting. “You both have work in the morning.” 

James groans at the reminder, hiding his face in your chest again. Remus sets a hand on top of his head, scratching his scalp consolingly. 

“You should always call,” he tells you, just for the record, but really he’s in no mood to argue. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, slipping off the counter. 

James wraps his arms around your shoulders, forcing the both of you to walk with small, plodding footsteps, and Sirius also refuses to be out of Remus’ hold, clinging to his arm as you all start down the hallway. The bed is no sooner in sight that you let out a low whine. 

Sirius echoes it when you say, “We still have to take off our makeup.”

“What if,” James suggests, “you sleep now, and when Remus and I get up in an hour we can take it off for you while you stay in bed?” 

James hardly has time to let you go before Sirius is hanging off him, almost teary with gratitude. “God, I love you. That’s the best idea I ever heard.” 

[moonstruckme]

hey lovely! I was wondering if I could request a remus or poly! marauders where the boys (or just remus) are keeping his werewolf thing a secret from whimsical!reader bc remus is scared she’ll be scared of him, but she secretly already knows. I feel like she’d just KNOW(you know? lol) and one day hints that she does to Remus saying that it’s going to be a full moon soon as like a warning or something and he and the boys kinda look at her like….what does she mean by that? lol idk I hope that makes sense.

Thanks for requesting sweetheart <3

poly!marauders x whimsical!reader ♡ 1k words

They’re all always on edge as the full moon grows closer, but James thinks Sirius might be faring the worst. Two days out, he won’t let Remus so much as make his own tea, and when you’re still not home a couple of hours after you’re supposed to be, James has to talk him down from calling the police. 

Now, Remus is comforting him, though neither of them will admit it, the ailing boy’s arms banded securely around Sirius’ midsection where they lie on the couch. Every now and again, Sirius turns his head to kiss Remus’ chin as if to make up for it. James watches them both from the kitchen, wondering if he could get away with slipping some of the anti-anxiety tea you got Remus into Sirius’ brew. 

When they hear your key in the front door, he thinks he hears a relieved sigh go up from the couch. 

“Hi, angel.” James arrests you at the door, beckoning you into the kitchen. “Been missing you.” 

“Hey Jamie.” You set a couple of bags on the counter, letting him pull you in by the waist for a kiss. “Whatcha making?” 

“Lentil soup,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to keep you close. “Be extra nice to Sirius,” he whispers near your ear. “He’s been worrying himself crazy about you.” 

You pull back to look at him, lips parting bemusedly, but James just pecks you on the side of your head. “Go,” he urges. 

You do as he says, padding over to the couch. “Hi, Siri,” you say, kneeling by the couch. “How’s your—day been?” Your words become muffled halfway through when Sirius wraps his arms around you, pressing your face to his shoulder despite the awkward angle. 

“Where the hell have you been?” he asks, worry inlaid with fondness. Remus’ hand migrates to the dip of his waist, pacifying. “You didn’t leave a note or anything.” 

“Sorry,” you say, slipping free of his grip so you can see him. Your fingers find a piece of his hair, running the satiny tress through your fingers distractedly. “I didn’t expect to be so long, but I couldn’t find Remus’ chocolate anywhere. I think it must be the holiday.” 

Sirius pauses. 

“You were gone all that time getting the chocolate Rem likes?” James asks. He peers inside the bag you’ve left on the counter, and sure enough—bags and bags of it, enough to last for months. 

“Mhm, I had to go to six stores. I saw you were getting low,” you say, now to Remus, “and I thought you might be wanting it.” 

James lowers the heat on his soup, setting a lid on the pot so he can join you all in the living room. Remus’ expression is wavering somewhere between guilty and lovestruck. Sirius looks plainly besotted.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” Remus says, reaching over Sirius to stroke at your cheek. “Thanks, dove.” 

You lean into his touch, cheeks dimpling. “It’s no problem,” you promise. Sirius has a look on his face like he wants to eat you. James feels similarly. “Oh,” you say abruptly, “I set up my diffuser in the bedroom earlier, but since it looks like you’re going to be out here for a while, would you mind if I brought it out?”

Remus’ eyebrows twitch towards each other. “Course not. But what did you have it in my room for?” 

“I put some rosemary oil in it.” You get up, aiming for the bedroom. “I thought it might be good for your headaches.” 

When you return, Sirius apparently decides he can’t contain himself any longer. He sits up on the couch, opening his arms for a proper hug. You set up the diffuser hastily and go to them, letting him squeeze the life out of you without complaint. Your eyes slip closed. 

“Sorry I scared you,” you say softly. 

“You’re forgiven.” Sirius stamps a kiss on the side of your head, rubbing your back roughly. “You’re pretty hard to stay mad at, you know that?”

“That’s the goal,” you reply breezily. James laughs. 

“How’d you know I had a headache today?” Remus asks, watching you and Sirius amusedly. 

You hum into Sirius’ shoulder, not opening your eyes. “Well, it’s only two days until the full moon.” 

Remus goes shock still. So does Sirius, cutting a look James’ way over your shoulder. What the hell is that supposed to mean? 

James shakes his head, shrugging. He hasn’t let anything slip, though he does think it’d be easier if you knew. He and Sirius have tried to coax Remus into telling you a few times now, but the other boy is obstinate. He’s been spurned too much in his life to willingly open himself up to the possibility of it, even if they all know you could never be afraid of him. He’s just not ready yet. 

Still, James thinks sitting here in petrified silence is as likely to give him away as anything else. 

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” James asks you. 

“Mm, nothing,” you hum blissfully, seemingly too content in Sirius’ hold to think about much else. He thinks he can hear Remus’ breath shake a bit on the way out. 

“Right,” James says. “Would you mind helping me in the kitchen for a bit? I could use someone chopping while I stir, or the other way around.” 

“Sure.” You open your eyes, gently easing yourself from Sirius’ clutches. The raven-haired boy eyes you curiously as you go, quirking an eyebrow at James like What do you think she’s on about? James can only shrug again, putting a hand on the small of your back while he follows you into the kitchen. 

As he goes by, he looks again in the bags you’ve brought home. 

“Angel, why did you buy so many bandages?” 

You shrug, taking up a paring knife and beginning to chop celery with careful, even strokes. “We were running out of those, too. Usually you and Siri are more on top of this stuff, but I figured it’s time I started pitching in. I know it’s a difficult time of the month.” 

There’s a dull slapping sound from the couch, and James looks over to see Sirius with one hand covering his mouth, the other stroking soothingly at Remus’ hair. 

“Right.” James swallows. He glances back at you, but you’re just chopping celery, placid as can be. “Thanks for, uh, taking up the mantle.” 

You toss him an easy smile. “Anytime.”

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely!! if you're comfortable writing something like this, could I maybe request poly!marauders where reader who is normally very independent but gets submissive at times, but not in a sexual way? like she just gets overwhelmed and wants the boys to be in charge for a while, but maybe the relationship is still new and she feels too needy and can't bring herself to tell them and eventually they realize?

again, no worries if you're not comfortable writing this, just thought I'd ask <3

Thank you for requesting gorgeous !

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“This is deeply, atrociously unjust,” Sirius says as James sits down in front of you, him on the floor and you on the couch. He’s wet and fresh-smelling from the shower. “You never let me do your hair.” 

“Because you always act like you’re trying to tear it out as some sort of twisted revenge plot,” says James, passing you a brush and the curl cream you and Sirius had found for him. Normally, you adore this routine, the chance to run your fingers through James’ hair and the way his eyes close blissfully while you do it. You love to pamper him. But tonight you’re not really in the mood. You do it because he expects you to, coating his curls in product with your usual tenderness but wishing you were on the receiving end of it instead. “She’s got the touch of an angel.” 

Sirius crosses his arms. He’s leaned against the side of the couch, leering over you like a vulture. Remus is reading in the armchair, and though he’s pretending to ignore all of you, the corner of his mouth tilts up. 

“Beauty is pain,” Sirius grouses.

“We should start a hair train,” James decides. “She’ll do mine, you can do hers, Remus will do yours, and I’ll do his.” 

Sirius seems to be considering this. You lean down towards James’ ear. “You’re throwing me to the wolves,” you stage-whisper. 

“It’s you or me, sweetheart.” 

Actually, the idea of Sirius playing with your hair—even at the risk of losing a good amount of it—doesn’t sound so awful. 

“I can get in the shower right now,” you offer, only half joking. 

Sirius lets a grin slip loose, sitting next to you to plant a smacker on your cheek. “Thank you, darling, but that’s alright. You shouldn’t have to atone for his mistakes.” 

You return his smile, doing your best to bury your disappointment.

“I didn’t consent to the hair train either,” Remus says without looking up from his book. “There’s a reason James doesn’t do his own hair.” 

“Oi,” James objects. “I’ve got admirers fighting over the opportunity to do my hair, why would I do it myself?” 

Remus marks his page, flipping the book closed. “What are we having for dinner?” he asks. 

“I don’t know, but I’m famished.” James doesn’t miss a beat, latching onto the new topic eagerly. “We could order takeaway?” 

“Or just cut out the middleman and go out,” Sirius says. “Unless someone feels like cooking? Which I don’t.” 

“We know,” Remus teases. “I don’t either, not tonight.” 

“I could if I needed to,” James says, “but I’m alright with whatever gets food in me the fastest.” 

They all look to you. “I don’t much feel like cooking,” you add your piece. Your voice comes out quieter than you’d intended.

“Alright,” Remus says. “Then let’s not cook tonight. What do you want to do, love? Go out or stay in?” 

You comb the brush slowly through James’ hair, twisting to define his curls. “I don’t know,” you say. 

Sirius turns to you, frowning. “Come on, baby.” He bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “What do you feel like having?” 

“I don’t know.” You try not to sigh. “Um, can you pick?”

You don’t look up from the top of James’ head, but you can feel them exchanging looks. They’ve all been a little extra gentle with you lately. They know you’re dealing with a lot. Anytime you try to tally it all up and make sense of it in your head, you start feeling like you could cry. Your exhaustion has sunk so deeply within you that it’s seeped into your bloodstream. You think by now there’s got to be traces of it in the marrow of your bones. 

“Hey,” Sirius says softly. “Look at me.” 

You do, pausing with the brush held aloft over James’ head. He’s got his eyebrows drawn together like he’s trying to figure you out. “I’m sorry,” you say. It’s not your boyfriends’ faults that you’re feeling overwhelmed; you don’t mean to drag them down with you. 

“What for, sweetness?” He sets a hand on your thigh, rings biting into your skin as he gives the flesh a loving squeeze. “Just tell us what you need.” 

You try to give him a smile. You really do love him. “I want…I don’t know, I guess I’m just tired. I want to not think for a little while.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows come up a bit in the middle, and James turns around from below you. 

“Aw, sweetheart.” His tone is as gooey and sweet as raw honey. “Do you just want us to take care of you, angel?” He sets his hands on your knees, pushing himself up to kiss your chin. “You should’ve said something.” 

“We can stay in,” Remus suggests whilst James worms his way underneath you, getting you in his lap. “Order takeaway from that Thai place you like.” 

“That sounds nice,” you say meekly, face growing warm. James presses rapid-fire kisses to your cheek. One-two-three. 

“You wanna have a shower, baby?” Sirius asks you. He looks heart-wrenchingly concerned. It’s not like you to want to give away control like this. “I could do your hair when you get out.” 

“Don’t do it,” James cautions you. “He steals our hair to make tiny dolls of us, I’m sure of it.” 

Sirius sends him a withering look. “I’ll be gentle.” 

“I’d like that,” you tell Sirius, and he softens. 

“Yeah?” He brushes a piece of hair away from your face and presses his hand to your cheek. Squishy fond. “Okay, baby, we’ll pamper you to hell and back.” 

“I’m going to find the menu for takeaway,” Remus says, prying himself up from his chair. 

“James,” Sirius says, not particularly kindly, “you will have to let her go for her to shower.” 

“Never. Not on my life. Not at gunpoint.” You shrink as James makes his face at home in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nose nudging at a ticklish spot. “She’s my darling sweetheart angel.” 

“She’s our darling sweetheart angel,” Remus corrects him from the kitchen. You think your face could melt titanium. 

“James, please,” you complain. “I’m never telling you all anything again.” “Careful.” Sirius raises an eyebrow at you, mock stern. “That sounded dangerously close to a thought, and those won’t be allowed until at least tomorrow morning.”

[moonstruckme]

Poly!EMT!Marauders x reader where they are in an established relationship and she gets really hurt… I’m a slut for hurt/comfort and protective bfs

Thanks for requesting!

cw: bike accident, injuries, concussion

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k words

You don’t remember getting out your phone, but Remus answers on the second ring. 

“Hello?”

“I…um…”

The woman who’d stopped to help eases the phone out of your grasp, putting it to her ear. “Hello?” 

She starts to fill Remus in on what’s happened. A car moved into the bike lane, probably by mistake. They didn’t see you. You’d panicked, throwing yourself away from it and out of the road. You’d hit the ground hard. The car had kept going. You’re not sure you can move. 

Your body, the entire left side, is in agony, stinging and burning and throbbing all at once. The ground is cold, seeping through your clothes. Your head is warm, though. Fuzzy. 

“Dove?” There’s an insistent tapping at your cheek. “Dove, come on, lovely.” 

Your eyelids are impossibly heavy. Something pushes against a sore spot on your head, and a whine escapes you. 

“There you go, just open your eyes.” Remus’ face is in front of yours, his eyes flitting between your eyes and something else. “Good job. I need you to stay awake for me, okay?” 

You make a sound somewhere between a hum and a moan. 

“Do you know where you are?” 

You squint up at him. The sun filters through your boyfriend’s hair like a halo. “A car almost hit me.” 

Remus’ eyebrows draw further together. “I heard, honey. Can you tell me what day it is?” 

“Mhm.” 

He waits a second. “What day?” 

“What?” 

“It’s Tuesday,” the woman says helpfully. 

Her voice comes from over by the road. You try to turn your head to find her, to say thank you, but Remus stops you with a hand on your jaw. 

“Thank you,” he calls to her. “I’m just testing her for a concussion, though.” 

You think you see him roll his eyes when he turns back towards you. 

“Okay.” He sets a hand on top of your head, warm and weighty and reassuring. You close your eyes, savoring the touch. “Hey, eyes open.” There’s a gentle stroke at your cheek, then a hard tap. You look at him. “Sorry, love, you’ve gotta stay awake. James and Sirius are on their way, okay?” 

“They…” You feel your eyebrows pinch. “They’re at work.” 

“I know. They’re coming in the ambulance, to help.” 

You feel the beginnings of a groggy sort of terror. It chills your blood and clogs your airways. You don’t want to go to the hospital. You want Sirius and James, but you want them to take you home. You want the soft warmth of your bed, not needles and prodding and the harshness of all those sounds and lights.

“Hey,” Remus says. His thumb strokes at your temple. You hear a shrill wailing in the distance, coming towards you. “Hey, look at me—you’re safe, honey.” His eyebrows press close together as he looks into your eyes, imploring. “It’s going to be okay.” 

The ambulance gets there quicker than you can respond, or maybe you just sit in silence until it arrives. Time is moving oddly. Your breath seems to take ages to pass through your lungs, but in a blink Sirius is hopping out of the van, jogging to your side. 

“She’s got a concussion, definitely dislocated shoulder and likely broken wrist,” Remus calls as he approaches. 

“Got it.” Sirius crouches in front of you. “Hello, gorgeous. Rough morning?” 

“A little.” 

He grins, lopsided and a bit strained. “Looks like it. Well don’t worry, our first order of business is getting you on some pain meds.” 

“I don’t want a needle.” 

Sirius’ smile slips a bit. “Sure you do, dollface. Trust me, it’ll help.” 

“You’re going to be in so much less pain with an IV,” Remus reasons, still stroking your hairline. “You won’t even know it’s there.” 

“I don’t…” 

James comes over with a gurney. “How’s our girl doing?”

“Great.” Sirius takes the hand on your uninjured side, giving it a little squeeze. “We’re gonna need a splint and a sling, but she should be okay to move.” 

The boys don’t need much talking to coordinate, and a second later you’re being transferred onto the gurney. Remus and James hold your injured arm tight to your side, and still a muffled groan tears from between your teeth. 

“I know, sweetheart.” James kisses your forehead as they stand the gurney up. “I know, I’m sorry.” 

He’s holding something to your head. You try to look up at it, but you can’t. “What is that?” 

“This? It looks like, uh…a dish towel? Rem?” 

Remus shrugs, crawling up into the ambulance. “I knew she was bleeding, and I took what was on hand.” 

Bleeding. You had been bleeding, you remember. You wonder how much you’d lost. You feel a bit less foggy now, though still a bit dazed. 

“How bad is it?” you ask James quietly. 

“Not bad,” he tells you, looking at you as he says it so you’ll know he’s being honest. He helps Sirius lift you into the ambulance. “You’ll need a couple of stitches, but it won’t be horrid.” 

You must pale at the mention of stitches, because Remus gives you a sympathetic look, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. “Don’t worry about it right now, dove. I’ll be with you the whole time. I’m not on shift, so I can stay after the boys drop us off.” 

“Fuck that,” Sirius says, lifting the dish towel from your head to get a look at the cut. “I’m staying too.” 

“It’s been a slow day,” James agrees. “If they need us for anything, we’ll go back out.” 

Sirius huffs. “We’ll see.” He presses some gauze over your cut, taping it down. 

James goes to the window at the front, telling the paramedic driving that you’re good to go. You feel something cold on your arm, and look over to see Remus cleaning the crook of your elbow with a wipe just before Sirius blocks your view with his hand. He tilts your head back towards him. 

“Look at me,” he instructs. “You’re okay, baby.” 

You try to look back towards Remus, but Sirius’ hand is firm, keeping you still. 

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen,” he offers. “We’re going to give the pain meds a few minutes to kick in, then put your wrist in a brace. Our best bet for your shoulder is just to keep it still until” —You hiss as you feel the small needle pierce your skin, and Sirius’ brows twitch together commiseratingly—  “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’ll keep your shoulder still until we get to the hospital, and there, they’ll set that, stitch your head up, and give you a cast for your wrist. Sound okay, doll?” 

“Yeah,” you manage. 

He presses his lips to your forehead, letting them sit there for a second before pulling away. When he moves his hand, Remus has just finished taping down the IV. 

He runs his thumb over the delicate skin of your forearm fondly. “You’re doing so well, dove.”

“Thanks,” you squeak, and your vision blurs frustratingly. You press your lips together. 

“Hey, what’s up?” James’ tone is light, but you can hear the worry behind it. “Is it the pain?”

You shake your head, closing your eyes as tears slip down your face. You’ve got no good hands to wipe them with, an IV in one arm and the other limp and useless. 

“You’re alright.” Remus rubs your good shoulder. His voice is low and tranquilizing. “Take a breath.” 

“I—I can’t stop.” Your breath comes in embarrassing, ragged gasps. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry for anything, angel,” James says. “Just breathe.”

You try, filling your lungs as best you can with your eyes still squeezed shut. The hot tears remind you of the feeling of warm blood on your face, and that only makes you cry harder. Remus rubs your shoulder, murmuring quiet assurances. 

After a while, Sirius speaks tentatively. “The meds should be working by now,” he says. “Do you feel any better?” 

You sniff. You hadn’t even noticed the pain fading. “Yeah, I—I think so.” 

“Okay.” He thumbs at your tears almost apologetically. “We’re gonna use this blow-up thingy to stabilize your wrist.” 

“It shouldn’t hurt too badly,” James says, taking your hand in his, “but if it does, just give me a squeeze, okay?” He smiles. “You can break my hand a little if you need to. Then we’ll really be in this together.” 

You do your best to smile back at him. He looks like he appreciates it. 

“Deep breaths,” Remus reminds you as they pump up the splint. 

You tear up again and squeeze the ever-loving shit out of James’ hand, but it’s over quicker than you expected. Sirius kisses your hairline. 

“Now we’re just waiting,” he reassures you. “We can’t do anything else until we get there.” 

You’re relieved. “Hey, what happened to that lady?” 

“Who?” 

“The lady who was…she was there.” 

“The woman who helped you call me?” Remus asks. “She left.” 

“She did?” 

“Yeah, honey. Just before James and Sirius got to us. You don’t remember?” 

“Wait, was that the driver?” Sirius asks. “She didn’t stay?” 

“No.” Remus’ tone turns sour. “The driver didn’t stop.” 

You don’t have to look at Sirius to feel his ire. It comes off him like waves of heat. “Fucker,” he seethes. 

“Sirius,” James says warningly. 

“I think it was an accident,” you say, trying to calm him. 

“Hitting a biker is an accident.” Sirius’ voice is low and dangerous. “A careless, idiotic accident, but leaving them, without even knowing what happened, is fucking—”

“Sirius,” Remus says sternly. “Not the time, love.” 

Sirius looks at you, softening. “Sorry, doll, you know I’d never leave you. But after we’re done here, I’m quitting my job to hunt that prick down.” 

“Full time?” James asks curiously. “Like what, Liam Neeson or something?” 

“Exactly like that.” 

“Doesn’t seem like a great way to make money.” 

“You won’t cover my portion of the rent for a couple months while I avenge our cruelly maimed sweetheart?” Sirius is aghast. “Have you no sense of justice?” 

“Am I maimed?” you ask, part joking but part genuinely alarmed. 

“Of course not, love,” Remus assures you quickly. He shoots Sirius a vexed look. “Maiming implies a permanency that doesn’t apply here. You’ll be fine.” 

“I was really just talking about the injustice part of it,” Sirius admits. 

“I’d rather not be avenged,” you tell him. “I think I’d prefer it if we got to keep you, and you didn’t hunt anyone down or get thrown in prison or anything.” 

“Mmm, I’ll consider it.” He kisses just above your eyebrow. “Say I abandon my vigilante life, what could I do instead that would make you feel better?” 

“A hug?” 

“Let me see what I can do.” 

[moonstruckme]

I’m not quite sure if this is too explicit so if it is please feel free to decline, but I was wondering if you could do a poly!marauders x reader who has a past with sexual assault so is kind of iffy and stand offish about sexual inter course? Again, all good if you can’t because it is a touchy subject ! I hope you’re having a lovely day/night !! (p.s. I love your writing so much :3)

Thank you gorgeous, love you <3

cw: trauma response, mention of past sexual assault

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Sometimes you can feel left out. Of the easy way the boys touch each other, the knowingness they have of the other’s bodies, the in-jokes about intimate aspects of their relationship that aren’t secret from you but you’re not a part of. And you know in your bones, in that thrumming, impossible-to-ignore beat inside your ribcage, that you’re not ready to be a part of them, but it still hurts to have something about your boys that’s separate from you. Some part of them you can’t access, and it’s only because you won’t allow them access to you in return. 

And sometimes, like now, things go astonishingly well. Sometimes you can let them touch you while feeling nothing but the pleasant warmth of love and lust brewing like a potion in your core. Sometimes you can let yourself tug Sirius closer as he kisses you, can swallow the soft sounds he makes into your mouth without your mind taking you anywhere other than this bed, this boy. 

Sometimes you can get so lost in them it feels like the fear can’t find you. 

“Okay?” Sirius’ breathes, setting a tentative hand on the small of your back. He tastes like coca cola, and his lips are a manifestation of every soft and earnest part of him he never shows. “This okay, sweetness?” 

You nod fervently, trying very hard not to think as you tunnel your fingers into the featherdown silkiness of the hair behind his ear. 

“Yeah?” You’re growing quite sick of all his talking, persistent in your kisses even when Sirius breaks them. His mouth curves against yours, sensing this, and his hand settles more comfortably into the curve of your spine. “Alright, you’re in charge. Just let me know if anything’s too much.” 

You make a muffled sound of acknowledgement. Truly, logically, you feel safe with Sirius, the same as you would with Remus or James. It was his idea that you be on top, after Remus figured out that you feel most comfortable when you don’t feel trapped, after James was the one to initiate the conversation on how they can make you feel good while respecting your (admittedly, nebulous and often fickle) boundaries. You haven’t worked up the courage to do anything beyond kissing, and none of them have pushed you. Really, you’ve been the one doing the pushing, wanting more and more from the kissing until it’s turned into this, you and Sirius hiding from dishwashing duty with you on top of him and sucking his face like a dementor.

You grind your hips down into his, and Sirius’ chuckle rumbles through the both of you as he grabs a greedy handful of your ass. 

Your breath stills in your lungs. 

You still completely, actually, every inch of you rigid, from your bum under Sirius’ hand to your eyes, stuck closed tight. The only part of you that seems to get that you’re still alive is your heart, thrashing wildly inside the bars of your ribcage like it wants to escape when you can’t. 

“Shit.” Sirius’ hand flees upward, skimming up your back to safer territory below your shoulder blades. “Shit, sorry, baby. You okay?” 

You want to tell him yes, in every physical, objective, important way you’re just fine. But your breath is frozen solid somewhere between your throat and your lungs, and it won’t let you speak. 

“Sweetheart.” Sirius is starting to sound desperate, though he’s clearly trying to stay calm for your sake. He sets gentle hands at your waist, sitting you up while he eases out from under you. You expect you’ll move like a statue, but your arms move of their own mind once freed, wrapping tight around your middle. “You’re okay, baby, you’re safe. I’m so sorry, I was—I should have asked. I moved too fast, I didn’t mean to scare you. Can you talk to me, please?” 

“Sorry,” you manage. Something comes loose inside you. The air comes back to your lungs, you pull your legs up onto the bed, and laughter unspools from inside you like wire long coiled tight. 

Sirius doesn’t smile. “Don’t be sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you like that. Are you okay?”

It’s now that James and Remus decide to come and see what you’re up to. At the sound of Sirius’ panic-tight voice, their footsteps hasten down the hallway. James taps on the doorframe and you turn to him so fast your neck clicks. His face is melded by a soft worry. 

“Everything alright?” he asks. 

You nod, but Sirius must signal something different from your other side, because James and Remus advance forward the way one might approach a feral kitten. 

“Are you okay?” Sirius asks again, voice cracking now that the other two are here. 

“Hey, it’s alright, love,” Remus says gently. “Maybe stop touching her for a bit.” You hadn’t even noticed Sirius’ hand gripping your leg, but its removal feels like you’ve lost a thousand pounds. You fight back a shiver. “She’s okay. Aren’t you, darling?” 

To hear worry in even Remus’ voice is significant, and you try to make yours even to counter it. “Yeah,” you agree. “Yeah, sorry, I’m fine.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry,” James promises, crouching in front of you and Sirius. You’ve nowhere to hide from his melty-soft gaze. “What happened?” 

“I went too far.” Sirius’ voice sounds like it hurts, scraping its way out of him. Your heart throbs in response. 

You shake your head, insistent and perhaps a touch too fast. “No, it wasn’t your fault. I was—I—I escalated things, and then it just—”

“Take a deep breath,” Remus instructs. 

“I’m fine,” you say again. 

“Please, sweetheart. Just try.” 

You do, for his sake, pushing air in and out of your lungs like you’re trying to inflate a balloon. They won’t get as full as you want them too, but it’s not until you try that your body seems to catch up to what’s been happening. You start trembling all over. 

“Shit.” Your voice thickens, tears threatening. “Sorry, this is so uncalled for.” 

“It’s not,” James says. “Can I—can I hold your hand, or are you not ready for that yet?” 

“Please,” you squeak out. 

He grasps your hand, and you squeeze tightly, breathing until the tears don’t press at your eyes so insistently. You hate that the ugly thing of your past is touching something this good. That it’s hurting people who aren’t you, like it’s a virus you caught and now you’re spreading it.

“It’s really not your fault,” you tell Sirius, turning to him. “I thought I could handle it.” 

“I shouldn’t have moved without checking,” he replies in a similar tone. “I’m so sorry, sweetness, I never want to scare you like that.” 

You shake your head. “You don’t.” 

A dense silence lapses, not uncomfortable but full of things unsaid. James’ hand is warm in yours. 

“Hug?” you ask Sirius. 

He looks surprised. “Are you sure?” 

You nod, extricating your hand from James’ to wrap your arms around his middle. Sirius is tentative at first, palms placed lightly on the high and low points of your back, but when you hold him tighter he reciprocates. You hear Remus whisper something to James. Sirius’ fingers press into your back, the tip of his nose cold where it squishes into your neck. 

Sometimes, they make you feel completely safe.