thewriterghost

[thewriterghost]

Me trying to choose one of my fictional crushes for my fake scenarios before falling asleep

[thewriterghost]

if it’s not too similar to your recent fic could i request either carmy, peter, or any of the marauders with a reader who’s really scared of needles and maybe has to get blood drawn or something and just gets comforted that it’s gonna be fine either beforehand or in the moment or both?

no matter how much i mentally prepare beforehand i always end up acting like a literal child when the time comes and i always feel bad for the nice nurse that’s just trying to do their job😓

again, have a lovely day/week❤️

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: doctor's office, reader is afraid of needles (they're not in the scene but are mentioned)

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 875 words

Peter’s not always the most emotionally attuned. Sue him, okay, he’s a little busy being attuned to literally everything else—you try spending a week listening to ants walk and see how you feel. His instincts aren’t totally shot, though. He may not always be paying enough attention to catch a miniscule shift in tone or an irritated glance, but what he misses his body seems to know to react to anyway. Which is basically to say, Peter doesn’t so much notice you becoming upset as he notices his own abrupt desire to get you into his lap. 

Seeing as you’re a bit too shy to allow this in a doctor’s office, he tries the next best thing. An innocuous arm around your shoulders, a few passes up and down your arm; you succumb to it with unexpected complaisance, leaning into Peter’s side. “What’s going through your head?” he asks lightly. 

You make a quiet, demurring sound. You’re hesitant to broach the quiet of the waiting room, even though this early in the day there’s only a mother and her son sitting on the clear opposite side. Your visit is already nearly done; you’ve only been relegated back to the waiting room so the doctor could see other patients while you wait your turn to get your labs done. 

“Just ready to go home,” you murmur, pushing the side of your face into his chest. 

Peter frowns to himself as he kisses your head. You’re obviously craving the comfort. “Soon,” he promises. “They can’t keep us in here all day, right?” When you don’t laugh at his lame joke (you usually laugh at all of them, the lame ones especially), he checks in again. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumble. 

“I can hear your heartbeat, you know,” Peter reminds you. 

You go quiet, stuck like glue to his side, your heart bumping steadily quicker. Peter doesn’t like it. “Hey, what’s eating you?” 

“Sorry.” Now he can’t tell the difference between quiet and tight in your voice. You sound like you’re cutting off your own air. “I’m trying to chill out.” 

“What is it?” He tries to gentle his tone. There’s no existential threat here—he’d know if there was—but shit, the anxiety rolling off you has his instincts going haywire. Peter gives your shoulder a rub in hopes of reminding both of you that you’re safe. “Let me help.” 

“It’s not…” You lose a breath, the resigned sort. Untuck your face from his chest to glance over at the mother and son. Softly, sheepishly, you say, “I just don’t love this next part.” 

“Which part?” Peter is so focussed on his scan for dangers that it takes him a moment to put it together. “The blood draw?” 

The pained twinge in your expression confirms it. 

“Oh, hey.” He stoops a little, trying to catch your eye. Your heart’s beating so loud he’d bet you can feel it in your face. “It’s gonna be okay. The needles they use aren’t even that—” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you cut him off. Stiff, if not unkind. 

Peter only softens worse in response. Shit, at this rate he’ll be a pile of slop you’ll have to mop up to take with you when you leave. Wordlessly, he curls his arm tighter around you, halfway to fulfilling his wish of having you in his lap when you scoot closer to soak up the touch. Your fingers bunch in the hem of his shirt. Fuck, his poor girl. You really are freaked. 

“Why’re you embarrassed?” he mumbles against the top of your head. Low enough that your waiting room companions couldn’t overhear even if they were trying. 

Your reply is even lower. “It’s embarrassing. It’s something kids are afraid of.” 

“Baby,” Peter whispers, “you saw me lose my shit over a wasp last week.” (For the record, it was more than one wasp, and wasps do some pretty fucked up things to spiders, so Peter thinks his reaction was biologically valid. But he’ll simplify the matter for your sake.) You make a sound almost like a laugh at the memory. Peter hides his grin in your hair.  “I think we’re past the point of being embarrassed about that stuff.” 

“Yours was funny,” you argue, warmly. 

“Lucky for you, I’m nicer than you are, so I won’t laugh.” 

You tense when a nurse comes to the door, but it’s not for you. Even after the boy and his mother go back and the door closes behind them all, you don’t relax all the way. 

“I’m glad you told me,” Peter says conversationally. “I can at least come back with you and hold your hand.” 

“Do you think they’ll let you come?” You look up at him, unsure. Peter wants to put you in the pocket of his hoodie and keep you warm and safe and close forever. 

“Sure,” he says instead. “We’ll just tell them you need a little emotional support.” 

You groan, burying your face again in his front. Peter doesn’t mind probably as much as he should. “So embarrassing,” you mumble. “You’ll be fine.” He squeezes your middle lightly. “We’ll say I need the emotional support, if it makes you feel better. But you’ll be fine, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

[thewriterghost]

Hi luv, can I request something?

I was thinking about a poly!wolfstar x fem!reader where reader is feeling down because of her period but don’t wanna tell the boys bc she’s embarrassed. But she ends up acting all sad and the boys are really worried, thinking they did something wrong, and when they finally find out the truth they try to comfort her? A little angst with fluff ending, lots of cuddles. Only if you feel comfortable writing it, of course!

I love your writing, btw

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: period sadness

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 971 words

“She’s moping,” Sirius whispers, arms crossed and dark brows bunched. He’s leaning back against the counter, having followed Remus into the kitchen to ‘help make the popcorn’. Two fingers tap restlessly on his bicep. 

Remus watches the movement, pensive. “She might’ve just had a rough day,” he says back. The sound of popcorn in the microwave works to cover his voice. “I think she’d tell us if we’d done something to upset her.”

He gets where Sirius is coming from. You’ve seemed a tad dimmer than usual, mumbly and perhaps a bit tired. But Sirius is quick to worry, and he has a nose for tension that occasionally sniffs it out when it’s not really there. 

“She might not.” Sirius is doing that thing where he looks and sounds angry when really he’s worried. Remus leans over to kiss his hair. 

“She’s better than us,” he reassures him, taking the popcorn from the microwave and leading the way back into the living room. 

You’re huddled up in one corner of the couch, blanket pulled tight around you and eyes looking to nowhere. You perk up a little when Remus shakes some of the popcorn into a bowl and sets it in your lap. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

“Course. Did you pick a film?” 

“I started to, but…” You shrug, passing the remote to Sirius as he sits down next to you. “You guys can pick, I don’t really care what we watch.” 

Sirius sends Remus a look. See? Remus frowns. He’s still not convinced you’re upset with them, specifically, but your upset in general is hard to deny. 

It’s unsettling to have you glum like this. He and Sirius have always been prone to their moods, but you’re…not, so much. It’s not that you never have a bad day, of course, they try to leave room for you to feel whatever you like. They’ve just not seen you like this before, obviously upset but seemingly with no cause. 

Sirius picks one of your favorite films anyway. The intro credits start, and ordinarily, this would be the part where you lean onto your other side and cozy up to him, but you don’t. You stay curled up in your corner, eyes at half-mast and pretty face impassive. 

The sweet bit of skin between Sirius’ brows is marred by a dent. 

Remus is sitting in the armchair adjacent to your side of the couch. He reaches across the space for your hand. With so overt a request, you give it to him, looking a touch bemused. He holds your gaze, sweeping his thumb over your knuckles. 

“Are you alright?” 

You blink. “Me?” When Remus doesn’t look away, you shrink slightly, shoulders pulling up towards your ears. “I’m fine, yeah. Are you?” 

“Oh, how crafty,” Sirius drawls. “Redirect the question, we’ll never see through that.” 

You smile cautiously. “Way to make me asking my boyfriend how he is seem nefarious.” 

Sirius’ answering grin is sharp, but Remus can see the anxiety beneath it. “You’re not as subtle as you think, babe. Why don’t you tell us what’s got you so twisted up, huh?” 

Just like that, you shut down again. You pull your hand from Remus’, fixing your eyes on the TV. “I’m not twisted up,” you say. 

“Dovey,” Remus says softly. When you look at him, your expression is controlled but your gaze is tentative. “Have we done something to upset you?” 

“What?” A line forms between your brows, a companion for Sirius’. “No, you’ve—you’re perfect.” 

“Well, I like to think so,” Sirius agrees breezily, “but you’re obviously not happy with us. It’d help if you’d just say what it is, so apologies and amends can commence. Unless it’s that I left the toilet paper roll empty again, in which case I can only say that you knew what you were getting into when you moved in.” 

His feeble attempt at levity doesn’t make much of a dent in your creased expression, though you do tilt up one side of your mouth as though to commend him for his effort. 

“I’m not upset with either of you,” you say slowly. Your tone carries a hue of resignation. “I promise, if I was angry I would say.” 

Now it’s Remus’ turn to look at Sirius. See? But Sirius looks even more troubled, as though he can’t fathom what could be wrong in your life if it’s not him. 

“You are upset, though,” Remus says softly. “What’s wrong?” 

You sigh, the sound heavy with that unidentified melancholy, and Sirius seems to feel secure enough now to drop a kiss on your shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong,” you reply, defeated. “I’m just in a mood because of my period, sorry. I don’t mean to be a bother.” 

Remus coos, reaching across the gap again to pet your baby hairs. 

Sirius leans into your side. “You?” he asks, kissing your shoulder again. “Never. Why didn’t you say, lovebug?” 

You shrug. You seem to be slumping deeper into the couch with every affectionate touch, your body relaxing. “It’s a bit embarrassing. I don’t want to be acting all sad just because my hormones are going funny.” 

“You’re not just acting sad if you are actually sad,” Remus points out. “Is your stomach hurting you?” 

“Not really.” You shift your weight so you’re leaning into Sirius, too. He looks about as happy as he can be when someone he loves is hurting, bottom lip pushed out as he rubs your shoulder and smooshes his cheek into the top of your head. “Just sad.” 

“D’you wanna watch something happy, sweetheart?” Sirius asks, voice dripping with a syrupy sweetness. “Or something sad, to cry it out?” 

You shrug again. “Maybe just a little sad? Like The Perks of Being a Wallflower.” 

“That’s only a little sad to you? Shit, baby, you’re tough as nails.”

[thewriterghost]

pairing: azriel x reader

summary: you and azriel are the quietest people in the room

w/c: 1.7k / navigation / inbox / summer of series

a/n: another one. these men won't let me go.

You're not sulking or avoiding conversation, you just don't have anything meaningful to contribute. Not to these discussions- not to the way Rhysand and his Inner Circle are so used to talking. They're discussing relations with other kingdoms, saving unsavory things about the other High Lords, and you've never left the city of Velaris. Not that you'd want to: you love it here, and you've only recently become aware of the horrors outside of the city limits. Perks of getting close with the cousin of your High Lord, you suppose. Still, you have very little to say about the Autumn Court's High Lord when the furthest distance you've traveled was to work and back.

That's where you'd met Morrigan; she'd zipped into your cafe one night- past closing, you hadn’t been quite sure how she’d managed that one, though she explained herself later - begging to use you and the store as collateral.

“I’ve just cheated somebody very vengeful at cards,” She’d admitted, hair as wild as her eyes, her chest heaving, “-and she’s particularly bloodthirsty tonight, but if there’s an innocent bystander around, she won’t blow me up.”

Just then, a face had appeared at the door, expression terrifyingly devilish and looking very much like the type to blow you up regardless. But she’d snarled at the sight of you, a sound eerily audible from behind the glass, and she’d left without another word.

Her name was Amren, and she’s stil upset with you for harboring her fugitive. But she hasn’t blown you up, she just glares particularly viciously at you when you speak, move, or breathe.

You think she might like you, just a little bit.

Morrigan had been charmingly relatable that first night, but surrounded by nobility, she blends right in. They all do, and you do not- not with your work tunic and linen pants on, surrounded by leather and velvet.

They're not unkind to you by any means. Really, you're stunned that despite their luxury, they don't choose arrogance and cruelty even if they could. You're fully relaxed into one of Rhysand's plush velvet couches, Morrigan's feet crossed in your lap.

Mor, for all she's paying attention to the absolutely riveting conversation you have zero contributions to, is an especially observant devil as well. She nudges you in the gut with her toe, “Are you sleeping with your eyes open?”

“No,” You pipe up, your throat briefly raspy with thick disuse, “What?”

One of the men- Cassian, the broad-shouldered one, snickers.

“You haven't said a word all night. Are we boring you?"

She offers you a toothy grin that tells you she's not insulted by your quiet, but you feel the need to explain yourself regardless.

"No," You groan, glancing around at the people you're seated with, "I don't know, I just don't have much to say. I like listening."

"You're like Azriel." Rhysand notes, "Quietest people in the room."

"We should lock them in a closet somewhere and see how long it would take for someone to say something," Mor snickers, tossing her head back against the couch to stare at the ceiling, "Just- hours of dead silence."

The group shares a laugh, but Azriel's voice, deep and startling for how little you've heard it, undercuts their amusement.

"I talk sometimes. When it's worth it. And a discussion about how many shirts Cassian has ripped through by flexing his biceps isn't what I'd consider worth it."

You'd meant what you'd said about listening instead of speaking, but evidently that doesn't count for laughter, as yours rings out over the sitting room. At most you share a quick chuckle with someone seated beside you but Azriel's interjection makes you snort, an ugly, piggish sound that surprises you as much as everyone else.

"I've never heard you laugh before." Mor marvels, which is a complete lie, but you know she means like that- brash and gruff and rugged. She waves her hand dismissively at the shadowsinger, "Azriel, do it again. Say something funny."

"I've heard her laugh." Azriel notes, though his voice is humorless, his eyes flicking towards you before dropping back to the knife in his lap that he'd been inspecting for dulled edges or dirty markings. With the amount of times he looks after Truth-Teller in one day, you're surprised he hasn't sharpened it down to nothing.

"Okay, I've heard her laugh," Mor gushes, "Like- a giggle! A chuckle! Nothing like that! Do it again!"

"I'm not a stand-up comic." Azriel murmurs, his lithe fingers smoothing down Truth-Teller's blade, "But perhaps if any of you were funny once in a while..."

"A smile." Cassian accuses, like a dart flung at your head. He points viciously to where you're biting your lips to flatten out your expression, "Az, seriously! You've got the magic touch!"

"We should lock you in a room together," Rhysand observes, his expression thoughtful, "Perhaps it'd give you both a chance to be heard for once, over these buffoons."

At once Mor is dragging her feet out of your lap, tugging at your arm instead, "Do it! Go- I don't know, sit in the library and brood! Go take a walk through the courtyard and stare wistfully at the stars! Go do whatever quiet people do together!"

You're trying to fight her off but Azriel stands with one fluid, graceful motion, Truth-Teller sheathed back at his side. He twitches his wings- the chairs have been engineered to adapt to them, but he'd been sitting for an awfully long time. He adjusts them, spreading them out until they complement the shadows swirling behind him, "A walk sounds nice. Fresh air free from Cassian's B.O and some peace and quiet."

You assume he means alone, because you know him well enough to know he thrives that way. But evidently, Mor's gotten to his head, because his eyes flick towards you, stunning and awe-inspiring.

"Are you coming?"

To hesitate would be rude, but to agree too suddenly- you're sure there's a reason Mor had pitched locking you and Azriel in a closet. Perhaps you're endeared by the spymaster, perhaps you'd enjoy a small, dark space with the man.

You stand, cutting in front of Rhysand's chair to join Azriel by the balcony doors.

"Y/N," Rhysand grabs your hand, his violet eyes boring into your own as they dance with amusement, "Don't let him keep you up too late. He's a real party animal, he is."

"Right." You nod, watching Azriel shift on his feet by the door, legs and wings restless, "Because he's the one that needs escorting home from Rita's."

"Sometimes!" Cassian barks, "It's not always me!"

"It's always you." Amren shuts him down, giving you an extra glare for good measure, "Azriel broods, he doesn't party."

"Yes, and I'm late for tonight's brooding session," Azriel scoffs, stepping towards you to claim your opposite hand, tugging you out of Rhysand's grip, "Come, Y/N. If we walk down to the city's edge we might not be able to hear them anymore."

Rhysand lets your hand slip out of his own with a roguish grin, and Cassian tries booting Azriel in the ass before he reaches the door.

You're pulled gently into the night air by Azriel's scarred hand, and instead of dropping yours when he's got the chance, he raises your interlocked fingers and squeezes.

"Did you want to go down into the city?" He asks, his eyes shimmering brightly beneath the stars in a way that the overheads in the House of Wind rob him of, "I was teasing, of course, but we can go wherever you'd like."

"I don't think I'm fit for the city right now," You glance down at your casual dress, "This is what I wear to work."

Azriel's mouth curves into a tightly contained smile, "Mor says you run a cafe."

"I do. It's a bit of a library, too. People come and read and sew and paint and do all sorts of things while they have their coffee."

"Is it quiet there?" He asks, tilting his face down towards you beneath the moon.

"It's closed now." You nod, "But even during the day it's calm."

"Then that's where we'll go," He decides, spreading his wings into the night sky and holding his free hand out, "Bridal, or baby?"

"Pardon?" You ask, tilting your head at him with a frown.

"Am I flying you down bridal style," He slows his speech, unwavering eye contact making you feel unsteady on your legs, "Or against me like a baby?"

Oh.

Your cheeks blaze suddenly, and your brain clears instead of thinks. You can't come up with a coherent decision that doesn't reveal something you'd rather keep secret so you leave it up to him: "Whatever's easiest for you."

"Come here," He murmurs, his voice carried on the wind as he decides: bridal.

You're caught behind the back and knees, tipped into his embrace where you wind your arms around his neck. He glances down at you, the motion pudging his chin slightly, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," You hum faintly, clutching him tightly, "Just- go slow? If you can? I'm not really used to... flying."

He chuckles, low and deep in his chest, "Is this your first time?"

"One of." You nod, "Cassian's done it before, once or twice."

"No wonder." He sympathizes, stepping up towards the edge of the balcony with you draped across his arms, "He's a maniac. I'll be careful, I promise."

"I trust you," You hum, but you press your face into his shoulder regardless, eyes squeezed shut as you feel the balcony drop out from beneath you. You fall for only a second, barely enough for you to react, before you're gliding on a current, sailing smoothly towards the city at a gentle slope.

You chance a peek back at the House of Wind that's rapidly disappearing from view the further Azriel flies towards the city. Your cafe is on the outskirts of the village, seated neatly between forest and cobblestone, and one glance upwards reveals the stars the the city is so fondly named after.

They're shining, like the lights below you, and your fear evaporates as Azriel flies you gently down towards solid ground. This is nothing like flying with Cassian- his wings flap gracefully and elegantly, they're not beating against the air.

You find you quite enjoy this flight. As a matter of fact, you quite enjoy the man attached to this particular set of wings, and you let yourself relax into his grip as you head towards a night of peace, quiet, and Azriel.

[thewriterghost]

reblog and put in the tags a movie or show that was being hyped up so much that you thought “there’s no way it’s actually THAT good” but then after you watched it you realized it actually was that good

[thewriterghost]

Hello beautiful Mae!! I hope you’re doing well and having an amazing week 💖💖

I wanted to drop a little request here! Could I have just something sweet and soft and domestic? Maybe r just like to take care of her plants, cook and bake, write, read, whatever! With any of the boys 💖 just in the mood for something sickeningly sweet!

Love you 💖💖💖

Hey angel girl!! Sorry it took me a while to come up with something for this but thank you for your request <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You don’t hear Sirius coming up the steps, so it’s too late to hide your project when the front door opens. 

“Hello,” he declares, nearly shouting (a habit Remus swears he got from living with James). 

Your reply is a decibel softer and colored with guilt. “Hi.” 

“What, didn’t you miss me? What’s that tone for?” You hear the familiar thunking of his shoes being kicked into the corner, and then Sirius is leaning over the back of the couch for a kiss, peering into your lap. “Ooh.” He plants a sweet one on the corner of your lips. “How’s it coming?” 

“Not great.” You unfold the pair of blue jeans for your boyfriend to witness. They’re your old favorites, afflicted with holes that have grown larger and more scandalous over time. You’d thought to salvage them with a creative patch job, and Sirius offered you his sewing machine for the task, but you’re intimidated by it; your freehand efforts aren’t coming along as you’d hoped. 

Sirius is valiantly silent as he scrutinizes your misshapen fabric heart, though the tick of his mouth gives him away. “That’s not…it could be worse. Is that the first one you’ve done?” 

“No.” You turn the jeans around to show him the other side. 

“Oh, my love,” Sirius sighs. 

“They’re awful.” 

“Well, you can definitely tell you’ve done it yourself.” 

“Hey!” you laugh. “Only I’m allowed to be mean about them.” 

“I’m not being mean. DIY is very chic. At least there’ll be no misconceptions about you getting this at a store.” 

“You’re being mean,” you say conclusively. 

“Incapable of it.” He drops another kiss on your head, straightening. “Where’s your supervisor? I see more pinpricks on your fingers than should have been allowed.” 

You roll your eyes, taking up your needle and thread again. Your blue jeans may not be pretty, but you’re determined to at least make them whole. “He’s in the garden.” 

Sirius looses another sigh. It’s as though he goes grayer every day. “Getting dirt on his work trousers, no doubt.” 

You shrug, not about to tattle, though Remus is out in his work trousers and Sirius will see for himself soon enough. You listen to the back door open and shut. 

This is probably your favorite time of day in your home. Even when it’s quiet, when you all get back from work, the steady hum of love and contentment is still enough to make you giddy. Someone will start supper, and someone else will complain about who tracked dirt into the sitting room, and there’ll be teasing and griping and soft-spoken endearments with the evening’s glaze of gold varnish coating it all sweet as honey. It’s the sort of thing to make you sappy if you steep in it, the sort of thing to make you think quietly to yourself, I’m so lucky. 

You can hear the griping coming towards you as the back door opens again. 

“I’m going to get you the most hideous, embarrassing hat I can find,” Sirius says as he ushers Remus inside.  

Remus looks showily weary and secretly besotted. “I don’t want a hat.” 

“Too bad. Hold it—brush your trousers off before you come in. And try to consider us a tad, yeah? Everyone’s going to think we’re dating an older man.” 

You furrow your brow at this. “Sorry?” 

“I am not old,” says Remus. 

“You may not be,” Sirius assures him, “but your neck’s going to be seventy-five at least by the time the leaves turn. You’re going to wear a hat.” 

You suppress a smile as you understand. Remus tends to his garden nearly every day after work; this routine started in the spring, but as summer has worn on his kneeling outside has resulted in perpetual sunburn on the back of his neck. You’ve bought him sun lotion, but he doesn’t wear it. Sirius has dragged him inside countless times to apply aloe and lecture about cancer, but it doesn’t make a dent. This appears to be his newest threat. 

“Take your trousers off,” Sirius demands. Remus’ eyebrows raise, but your (these days rather noticeably) fairer boyfriend doesn’t budge. “I’m going to throw them in the wash before the stains set.” 

Slowly, holding Sirius’ stare in a show of defiance, Remus steps out of his trousers. You point your smile down at your sewing as Sirius snatches them up and stalks toward the washing machine. Remus comes to join you on the couch in his shirt and boxers. 

“He’s on one,” he huffs. 

“I don’t know,” you say. “I think he just wanted to see you without your trousers.” 

Remus may have colored some this summer, but not enough yet to hide his blush. He leans back against the couch cushions and goes for the diversion. “What do you feel like for supper?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Haven’t thought about it. Do I have to choose?” 

“Well, Sirius wanted pasta” —your ears perk despite Remus’ gruff tone— “but now he’s ticked me off, so.”  

“Pasta?” You turn your eyes up to his. Equal parts guilty and pleading. 

Your boyfriend sighs. “Really?” 

“I didn’t know I was craving it until I heard it.” 

Remus levels you with a long, heavy look. When you grin sheepishly, you pretend not to see the corner of his mouth tick. 

“Alright.” Sirius breezes back in, wielding the bottle of aloe vera you keep in your bathroom cabinet. “Put this on his neck for us, lovely? And I’ll do something for you.” 

“I don’t need to be bribed,” you say, in a tone that clearly says, Go on. 

Sirius passes you the bottle. “I’ll help you take out your stitches and show you how to redo them.” 

“Deal.” You squirt a bit of aloe onto your fingertip, motioning for Remus to turn around. Before he does, he grabs the back of Sirius’ neck, pulling Sirus none too gently downward until he’s leaning over the back of the couch again. 

Sirius looks startled by the kiss he finds down there. There’s an audible smack as Remus pulls away, looking on in smug vengeance at the flush spreading across Sirius’ cheeks. 

“Don’t think you’ll be getting any garlic bread,” Remus says. 

“I—what?” 

“It’s okay, love,” you tell him. Your cheeks are going to hurt from smiling soon. “Take a lap, clear your head. I don’t want you poking anything valuable when you come back to help me with my stitches.” 

[thewriterghost]

Yes, yes, of course I know what the letters stand for

Park, reverse, neutral, dom/sub 🙂‍↕️

[thewriterghost]

any chance of emt!marauders with any of the below ideas!

tube fed reader

reader has a seizure:(

reader overheats and gets pre-syncope

reader dislocating her knee/shoulder

okay that’s all I’ve got..

PRETTY PLEASE!!

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: dislocated shoulder, hospital mention

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 952 words

“I like your plants,” Sirius says. 

You make a wobbly hum of acknowledgement. 

“What are those,” James asks, following Sirius’ gaze to the pots cloistered along your windowsill, “philodendrons?” 

“Y-yeah.” 

James clicks his tongue ruefully. “I had a philodendron, once.” 

“Ah, Herschel.” Sirius appears to share in his remorse. “He was a fighter. None of the rest lasted that long.” You feel the moment his gaze lands back on you. It’s punctuated with a sigh. “You know, babe, you could at least do us the courtesy of pretending to be distracted.” 

You glance at him for perhaps a millisecond before your gaze returns to where Remus is holding your limp arm. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright, don’t let him pick on you.” James sends you an easy smile from above your head. “We’re only trying to make this easier on you, but it’s not your fault if it’s not working.” 

Perhaps the only thing more bizarre than making a call to emergency services and having paramedics knock politely on your front door is how comfortable they’ve made themselves once you let them in. After quick introductions and a rundown of how you knocked your shoulder out by way of an embarrassing fall in your own kitchen, James helped you lie down on your rug with your head practically in his lap, Remus stationed himself by your injured shoulder with the calm assertion that he was going to reset it, and Sirius went to your fridge to get both you and him something to drink. They’ve all three been trying to get you to relax, but seeing as Remus starts to move your shoulder each time you start to, it’s been a largely futile effort. 

“What happens if you can’t get it back in?” you ask fretfully. 

Every time your anxiety ratchets up, Remus’ patience seems to increase tenfold. “Then we’ll immobilize it so that you’re comfortable and have them do it at the hospital,” he explains. “Breathe. It’ll be alright either way.” 

“Do you want another sip of juice?” Sirius asks, offering you your own cranberry juice from where he’s gotten cozy on your couch. 

You gnaw your lip and eye Remus’ hand where it’s curled around your elbow. “No, thank you.” 

“Would you like to try one more time?” Remus asks you kindly. 

You breathe in through your nose, releasing your lip to let the air out your mouth before nodding. 

“That’s the spirit.” James gives your good shoulder a cheerful squeeze. “You’re alright, love, Remus has done this a thousand times. He’s brilliant.” 

Remus ignores this compliment, though you could almost mistake the way his eyes flutter back to your wrist for bashfulness. “It’s easy and painless if you’re able to relax,” he reminds you. “Lay back onto James for me, yeah? I’ve got your arm; you can let go.” 

You close your eyes, breathing in and out. 

“That’s it. Relax all the way.” 

James is there to catch you as you unspool bit by bit. It feels a bit like a trust fall, though you’re already on the floor and he doesn’t have to do much more than stay where he is. His thumb sweeps encouragingly over your good shoulder anyway. 

“Keep breathing,” Remus coaxes. You have a vague sense of him moving your arm, though you can’t feel it as you normally would. “Take a big breath in for me, alright? Good, as big as you can…” 

You crack an eyelid as your lungs fill. That’s probably why you feel it. First you notice Sirius peering over from his spot on the couch, then you notice what he’s watching so fascinatedly. It’s the sight of your arm, turned at an angle that looks like it should hurt, which makes you tense just as it eases back into place. Your mouth tips open on a silent gasp. 

“...and back out. That’s it.” Remus’ eyes meet yours. “You're done, it's in.” 

“Oh, that was brilliant.” Sirius slips off the couch, planting a kiss atop Remus’ head and then kneeling beside you to give your cheek an affectionate hold. Your suddenly very tingly cheek. “You fucking killed that, gorgeous.” 

You look to Remus in your panic, and he gives you a half-smile like when it comes to Sirius it’s best to simply let these things happen. 

“I helped, too,” James protests. 

Sirius grins. He leans over you, lips smacking against James’ cheek. You’re beginning to pick up on a dynamic you’d not noticed before. 

“Well done, you,” Sirius says indulgently. 

James smiles bright enough to rival the sun, and Sirius kisses again where a dimple forms, seemingly just because. 

“Still at work,” Remus reminds them mildly. You get the impression his chiding is half for show. 

“Right.” James appears to shake something off. “Sorry.” 

When you realize he’s apologizing to you, your reply comes out a shy mumble. “It’s fine.” 

“Is the distraction working yet?” Sirius jokes. 

“Sling,” says Remus, with clearly feigned exasperation, “please.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius stands with a wink, going over to the bag they brought in with them. 

“What happens now?” you ask. 

“The hard part should be over,” James assures you. “We’re just going to get you some x-rays to make sure everything is where it should be, and then someone will talk to you about recovery.” 

“So,” you look around uncertainly as Sirius tosses a sling to Remus, who begins carefully affixing it to your arm, “is there anything I need to do?” “Weren’t you listening?” Sirius raises an eyebrow at you. “We’ve been telling you this whole time that all you need to do is relax. Well, that and look pretty, but—” he flashes another flirtatious grin “—you’ve got that part down without any help, luckily.”

[thewriterghost]

Hi Mae! How are you doing? ♡

I wanted to tell you, that your stories with Sirius are one of my faves ♡ They're so freaking comforting 🥹

I've been really struggling with arthritis lately because of weather, my dance classes are getting more difficult for me because of it, which is taking a toll on my mental health. I feel really lonely, useless and like a prisoner in my own body.

Do you think you could write chronically ill girlfriend reader x Sirius in a comforting fic?

It's okay if you don't wanna, I don't want to pressure you ♡

Take care and thank you✨️

Hi angel, I’m sorry not being able to dance has been getting you so down! Thank you for requesting <3

cw: chronic pain, reader has a not-super-healthy attitude about pushing through, also I’m editing and posting this on mobile so apologies if it’s rough

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 530 words

Sirius is being very kind in not mentioning the shimmer in your eyes as he massages cool gel into the aching joints of your knee. Your legs are bent across his lap, and his hands are gentle and intentional, soothing away the pain as best he can. You’re already in your dance clothes.

“Do you want to try rating it?” he murmurs.

You shrug, defeated. “Six, I think.”

Sirius hums. He kisses one knee before moving onto the other. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, you know.”

“I do want to go.” Your voice comes out more ardent than you intend. You’re not sure who or what you’re arguing with, but it’s not your boyfriend. “I’m going to be disappointed if I skip it.”

“Okay,” he says. “But is it going to make you feel better or worse to go when you’re feeling like this, lovely?”

That’s the question. The last few weeks have been an experiment in dejection. Go to your dance classes, and you’ll be in pain; you’ll feel stiff, and slow, and embarrassing. Don’t go, and you’ll feel pathetic; not good enough to even try, still in pain but lazy on top of it, an art exhibit on the human phenomenon of succumbing.

“It’s going to be a hard day,” you admit, “but I think I’ll feel better if I try to go.”

You can feel Sirius watching you from the corner of his eye. “Don’t be too tough on yourself.”

“I won’t.”

Sirius nods. You get the sense that he doesn’t like your decision, but he understands that it’s yours. He straightens your knee out a hair to rub some gel on the underside, and you hiss.

“Shit, sorry—aw, baby.” Squinting your eyes in pain has caused a stray tear to tumble from one, spilling down your cheek. Sirius has to know it’s not his movement which truly caused it, but he acts like it was anyway, cooing as he kisses it away. “I’m sorry, lovely girl. I didn’t realize that one was still so stiff.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur. Your cheek is warm where his lips touched.

Sirius goes back to massaging your knee, even more carefully now. “Remember that if it gets to be too much at dance, you can always leave early. You can call me, too. Actually, call me no matter when you finish, I’ll pick you up.”

“Why would I need you to pick me up?” you ask him. Getting to and from your class isn’t usually the issue for you.

Sirius shrugs. “Just in case you’d like a hug with some urgency.” He flicks his gaze up to you, winking. “The hug can come to you. Maybe some kisses as well, if you’re very nice to me.”

You press your lips together as you look at him, overcome by a soul-splitting affection. It makes your heart feel too big for your chest.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Oh, it’s selfish, really.” He presses his fingers into the side of your knee, one eye on the clock so he doesn’t make you late. “The sooner you call me, the sooner I get to come kiss you. Everybody wins.”

[thewriterghost]

but its important

[thewriterghost]

it sucks that the backrooms and by extent liminal spaces turned out the way they did in popular culture. i love dreamy places not because they're full of Scary Screatures or whatever but because they're fun and interesting and cool and a perfect place for a girl like me to lay her eggs

[thewriterghost]

Hiii! i don’t normally request but i just have to because your writing is so amazing!!

can i have sirius x reader who, because of a past relationship, feels like sirius will get mad if she says no to sex? it’s totally okay if not, i understand this may be touchy for some

either way, thank you i live for your fics!!

Thank you for requesting gorgeous <3 I didn't really think until after that you may have meant she was saying no to sex forever and not just at the time but I hope this is okay!

cw: mature themes

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 628 words

You’ve been in the sun so long you’re seeing colors behind your eyes. Sirius’ boss leaving town for the weekend means you getting to use his pool, and you’re swishing your feet luxuriantly in it now, listening to the album Sirius has put on the record player inside and the sound of him swimming around. He thinks himself covert, but you can hear him moving closer. 

A hand closes around your ankle before soft lips kiss the inside of your knee. 

You smile without opening your eyes. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Sirius says back. He kisses you a few more times. “What, are you not going to pay me any attention?” 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” 

He squeezes the ticklish underside of your thigh so that you gasp out a laugh. When you sit up on your elbows, Sirius looks very pleased with himself. 

Looking up at you with eyes sultry blue and cheeks pinkened with sun, he’s unbearably handsome. The ends of his hair swirl like ink around his shoulders. “Come here, sweetness.” 

“Not if you keep looking at me like that,” you say. 

“Like what?” 

Sirius presses closer between your thighs, letting his fingers meander up and down your leg and leaving trails of wetness in their wake. His lashes are stuck together in little triangles when he looks at you from under them. 

You wrangle your smile under control. “Stop it.” 

“Hm. No, I don’t think I will.” He gives your knee a tug. 

“Sirius.” You try to sound stern, even as you let him push his hands under your thighs. “This is your boss’ pool.”

“He has it cleaned once a week.” You slide into the water with your legs already fitted on either side of Sirius’ waist, slotting into place nicely. He sets to kissing that spot you love under your ear. “He won’t use it before then.” 

“I’m going to get a UTI.” 

You feel him grin against your skin. “I’ll feed you cranberry juice through a twirly straw.” 

“I just…” You’re pliant in his arms already, head lolling to the side and half dizzy with sun. “What if we waited until later?” 

Sirius’ kisses slow. “Not feeling up to it?” 

“I don’t know.” Your voice has smalled without you realizing. You’re glad he’s not looking at you. “I’m just a little tired, is that okay?” 

“Yeah.” He presses one more kiss to the spot, then pulls away. “Of course it’s okay, baby.” 

“Okay. I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” Sirius is looking at you now. His frowny lips are a whisper away from yours. “It’s fine. We don’t have to later, either, if you’re not feeling it.” 

You hesitate, uneasy. “It’s not that I don’t still like you.” 

His eyebrows rise. “I didn’t think it was. Do you still like me?” 

“Yes,” you reassure him quickly. 

“You just don’t want to shag.” 

“Not…” You shrink a bit. “...right now.” 

“Okay,” Sirius says simply. He frowns a bit more, kissing you on your nose. “Relax, doll. I’m not worried what we have is ripping at the seams just because you don’t feel like shagging right this minute.” 

Something old and ugly which lives curled up against your spine releases its hold. You feel it happen, like taking off too-small shoes after a long day. “Thank you,” you murmur. 

“Oh, pssh.” Sirius scrunches his nose. “What’re you thanking me for? You, just—” He pecks you on the lips, quick and playful. “—you’re so silly sometimes, you know that? I’d like to keep kissing you, is that alright? Do you want that?” 

“Yeah.” You smile, giving him a peck as well. “Kissing is good.” “Well I don’t think there’s much to contest about that, babe. What I asked is if you want to. Come on, try to keep up.”

[thewriterghost]

What if oxygen is poisonous and it just takes 75-100 years to kill us?

[thewriterghost]

sees art with thick smooth line art: ah yes i want my art to look like that

sees art with sketchy thin line art: ah yes i want my art to look like that

sees lineless art: ah yes i want my art to

[thewriterghost]

The Never Ending Cycle

I'm going to try writing more

⇙ ⇖

oh no, life happened Have I....

and it's been 84 years lost my spark?

⇘ ⇗

I wrote something!!!!!

[thewriterghost]

hey! ik that you’ve written similar stories so feel free to not do it or change the plot however u may please loll! i feel like all of us anons are getting wisdom teeth surgery recently and i just joined the club. it doesn’t have to be the same surgery, but i had this idea where reader has to get it done and thinks she can handle it on her own even though she shouldn’t. and ofc somehow ex! james potter is contacted and being rlly sweet anyways while she’s delirious. maybe we have a lil confession of remaining feelings and out of all the things that could have startled james that’s it heh heh :) thank uuu

Hope you're doing well angel, thanks for requesting!

cw: modern au, anesthesia, memory loss, joke about sexual favors

ex!James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words

“Look, it’s James!” the nurse announces cheerily, escorting James into the room. 

It’s clearly an attempt to pacify you. Your eyes are red and nearly as puffy as the rest of your face, tears shining on your swollen cheeks. Despite his trepidations about being here, the sight of you so obviously out of it has James biting down on a smile. 

“James?” You look for him. 

“Hey, hi.” James steps out from behind the nurse. He gives you a little wave. “How are you feeling?” 

“James.” You tear up again, confessional. “They won’t let me drive home.” 

He gives a nervous chuckle. “I know, love. That’s why they’ve called me. I’ll get you home, don’t worry.” 

“But I can do it myself,” you whimper.

“Alright!” The nurse claps her hands, forcing pep into her voice. “Let’s get you up, then.” 

James steps forward to help her lift you out of the chair, all while you cry and protest that you really can do it yourself. He fights the urge to hush you with a kiss between your brows. This is incredibly, hilariously, typical of you. Even when you were together, you resisted James doing anything for you, from making you breakfast to lifting your heavy furniture when you moved. You have always been obstinately self-reliant. He’s never had you weepily grouse at him before that you’re not a baby, James, however. 

You’re so distraught at the prospect of leaving your car behind that James abandons his, wrestling you (very gently) into your own passenger seat and cramming himself behind the wheel. It feels strange, like being back in your life in small but intimate ways. The car smells like you. James knows where to find tissues when you ask to wipe your face, and he recognizes the station the radio is tuned to when he switches the ignition on. He’s taking you to your apartment next, which is sure to be even worse. 

You whine a bit as he adjusts the seat and mirrors about him ruining your car, but quiet when he reminds you that the alternative is riding in his car, which you seem to find indubitably worse. Then you collapse tearily onto James’ shoulder over him being so tall. He pats your head intermittently while he drives you home. 

James was right. It is worse at your apartment, even worse than he imagined, because you’ve changed things. There’s a new painting hanging on the wall of the sitting room. The plant you cared for all of the two years you were together has been replaced by another. (Did it die? James feels he has to know.) The corner where he always tossed his shoes is now occupied by an umbrella and a bin of recycling waiting to be taken to the curb. After he gets you settled in bed, James sets out to make you a smoothie but can’t find the blender, though that’s fine because he discovers applesauce in the fridge you seem to have stocked just for this purpose. (It’s not fine. James used to know exactly where to find your blender and he doesn’t understand how you could move it. What kind of sick joke is that?) 

You’re still awake when he goes back into your bedroom. Your body relaxes upon his entry, as though you’re relieved to see him. “Where’d you go?” you ask. 

“You said you were hungry,” James reminds you. “How about some applesauce?” 

Your mouth drops open in apparent delight at this reveal, but your mood changes fast when a piece of gauze falls out onto your lap. 

“Oh.” You look down at it in horror. Your eyes lift slowly up to James’, filling, for the hundredth time in an hour, with tears. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” He laughs a little, helplessly, setting the bowl of applesauce down on your nightstand to help you. He brushes his thumbs under your eyes. “Shh, it’s fine, lovely. Aren’t you sick of crying?” 

“I don’t know,” you whimper. “I don’t mean to. I never usually cry so much, I promise.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” James gives your shoulder a squeeze, indelibly fond. He’d really like to fold your head into his chest and keep you captive there while he kisses you from dusk into dawn; it’s a lucky thing that your condition prevents it. “I think it might actually be okay to take the gauze out now. Do you want me to get the other one?” 

You nod, sniffling, and you open your mouth again. James extracts the remaining gauze carefully, taking both pieces to dispose of them in the bathroom bin and reassuring you when you cry out pitifully at his leaving. For someone who refused to plan for any post-anesthesia assistance until the nurses at the clinic literally forced you to call someone, you turn needy fast. 

This doesn’t prevent you from wrinkling your nose when James tries to feed you applesauce. 

“I’m not a baby,” you tell him. 

James fights to keep his lips still. “You’ve said. But you’re not very coordinated right now, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself by accident.” 

You only continue to pout at him. Your brow creases as you plainly try to plot some way around this; it’s dreadfully cute. 

He lifts the spoon enticingly. “Aren’t you hungry?” 

“Can’t I…what if I drink it with a straw?” 

“You can’t use a straw right now,” James explains apologetically. “Sucking on things could hurt your mouth.” 

“I can’t suck on anything?” 

“No.” 

This seems to worsen your distress. You look at your lap, muttering, “I don’t know how I’m going to thank you, then.” 

What starts as a surprised cough turns into a stream of nervous laughter. James nearly fumbles your applesauce, trying desperately to quiet himself. Fucking hell. 

“James.” You look resentful. “It’s not funny.” 

“No, I’m sorry. Erm, that won’t be necessary.” James sets down your applesauce when he starts coughing again, putting a hand to his chest. “We don’t do that anymore.” He doesn’t add that you’ve never needed to return favors, via sexual means or otherwise. You’ll only argue with him. 

Your brow creases anew. “Why not?” 

“Well, it’d be a bit strange.” James eyes you, adding when your bemusement doesn’t let up, “...since we’re broken up.” 

The heartbreak that comes over your expression is enough to make the fissures in James’ own heart burn. “We are?” you ask. 

Oh. James did wonder, when he got the call from the dentist’s office, why you gave them his name of everyone’s in your phone contacts. This explains that. It also explains why you seem so intent on keeping him close, why you do things like hold James’ hand and lean on his shoulder without reservation. It’s not only that you’re feeling sweet and touchy as an effect of the anesthesia; it’s that you’ve forgotten you don’t do those things anymore. 

“Yeah, sweetheart.” James probably shouldn’t be calling you that after just having broken the news, for danger of confusing you, but it’s difficult not to when you look so sad. “For a while now.” 

“Wh…why?” Your eyes grow glossy again. While some of the other things you’ve cried over today James has found a bit silly, this he understands completely. 

“We just thought it was best,” he says softly. “It’s okay. It’s been a while since then, and we’re alright. You’re doing well.” This is something James has gleaned from run-ins with friends-of-friends. He can never resist asking after you, and he’s glad he has the information to supply you with now. “You're doing great, lovely. It’s okay.” 

You look up at him through wet lashes. “But don’t you love me?” 

James swallows. It’s not a question you’d ordinarily be cruel enough to ask, though he knows you’re not trying to be cruel now either. This is something he’s always been honest with you about. “Yeah, I do.” 

“Then why are we—why did we break up?” 

He struggles for words. “Because—” 

“I love you,” you insist, tearily. It’s a gut punch. Whatever words James was in the middle of finding evaporate from his tongue. Of all the things you could have said, he expected that the least. “So can’t we just get back together? Please?” 

“I…” His throat feels dry. “I know you might think that now, but—” 

“No, I know it.” Tears drip from your chin, your voice shattered. The broken pieces of it prick and stab at James’ guts. “I love you. I feel it so much, and I don’t understand. If I love you and you love me, why don’t we just keep doing that? I’m not going to stop. I can tell it won’t stop, James, please—” 

“Okay.” James leans forward, touching his forehead to yours and squeezing his eyes shut so they won’t burn so badly. “Okay, shh. It’s okay, sweetheart.” Your body shakes with tiny sobs underneath him. “I promise it’s okay.” 

“Please?” you ask, brokenly. 

“Sure. We’ll talk about it, okay?” 

“Now?” 

“No, not right now.” James kisses between your brows, partly to soften the blow and partly to give himself another moment to breathe. When he leans back, he tries on a small smile. “But later, alright? Once you’re feeling better. Don’t you want some applesauce for now?” 

You blink, looking a bit dazed. James can relate. “I forgot about applesauce,” you admit. 

“Yeah?” he laughs. “You ready for it?” 

You sit up a bit, sniffling, but level James with a stern look as he reaches for the bowl. “Don’t try to do airplanes or anything.” 

Despite the ache in his chest, James’ grin spreads from a genuine place. “Okay, I won’t.” 

[thewriterghost]

Best Boyfriend™

Pairing: poly!marauders x reader

Summary: Sirius is everyone's best boyfriend.

Note: It's just a small blurb this time, but hopefully something longer will show up soon. Eventually 😬. As always, thanks for reading!

The curtains fly gently with the summer breeze outside, carrying the voices of crickets inside your cozy living room. You make your way to the couch, sliding down your hair tie with a groan as Sirius looks at you behind his tea cup.

"Isn't it cold?" You ask, pointing to the cup between his hands with a head tilt.

"It's alright. James wasn't going to finish it any time sooner anyways." Sirius replies as he leans forward to put the cup down onto the coffee table.

"Come here." He gently leads your head onto his lap. His fingers find your scalp - right where it was aching all along. You let out a soft sigh. "Here?" You hear him murmur, as if your sigh wasn't a good enough indicator. You hum anyway.

The tv keeps making faint noises in the background as your eyes close but your attention is on his delicate fingers massaging your scalp, and the crickets outside the window of your living room.

"You've been tying it up for too long..." He murmurs gently. You hum again. Crickets chirp.

"Would you like me to cut it a bit shorter?" He suggests with that soft tone; the one that makes your knees go weak everytime.

"Maybe... If we can find a good style."

"It's not a question of 'if', my love. If you want one, I'll find you one." He says it like he is talking about a limited edition book instead of a hairstyle; which reminds you that he did find you a limited edition book before. Nothing is out of reach for Sirius Black, when his darlings want something. You smile, soft and a bit sleepy.

After you don't know how long, you hear James' whisper.

"Do you want me to carry her?"

You crack one eye open, just half-lidded, to see James look at you with his glasses crooked on the tip of his nose.

"I'm awake." You say quietly. "My head was just hurting a bit."

"Oh." James tilts his head to the side, just like a puppy. "Anything I can do, lovely?"

"No, but thank you, Jamie." The nickname makes him smile softly like it always does. "Siri massaged my head really good." You look up, and for a moment you can see Sirius' smile soften. But it turns smug in a heartbeat.

"Aren't I your best boyfriend?" He asks it like it's a fact that just needs to be reminded sometimes. Your eyes meet with James', and you can see the playful smile he tries to keep away. Sirius catches the shared look immediately.

"You can admit it. I'm their best boyfriend too." His empty hand points to James and to the slightly open bedroom door behind him.

You swear you can hear a faint chuckle from there, where Remus was supposed to be asleep.