remushrts

[remushrts]

i need to update my masterlist so bad

[remushrts]

— pairing: james potter x reader

as someone who gets horrible headaches all the time, i will be writing little comfort snippets everytime for my own indulgence, and there's no stopping me!!! hope you enjoy this one too, i love soft james <33

To all of his credit, James' voice comes softly. Just barely above a whisper, and so gentle too. You don't know what you have done to deserve it. But maybe you didn't, James was just like that sometimes.

"Hey, my love. What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, leaning against your doorframe. You didn't even hear it open.

You give him a weak smile, chuckling softly at the irony, you felt everything but pretty right now. But the way in which he says it, the softness that wraps around the syllabes, "my love". It all makes you soften, melt, and James' smile back tells you that he's pretty aware of it too. The act is deliberate, intentional, as much as it is his second nature. He'd find a way to invert gravity just to turn your frown upside down.

"Besides the headache, you mean?" You say, pouting your lips. You know it's not very convincing, but you're hoping the pout will earn you some sympathy. Your head has been killing you these days, both metaphorically and now literally, it's worse after a long day like this.

"Besides the headache." He hums in response, glancing at the clock on your nightstand. You know he's trying to take a guess to see if you're good to take another pill again, a big glass of ice cold water in his hand. "How long ago did you take them, angel?"

"I'm already maxed out." You answer for him, though you seem very tempted to try and take another, James knows best. He makes a cooing, pitying sound at the back of his throat, moves to wrap his arms around your waist.

"Maybe some tea?" He whispers into the crook of your neck, the warmth of his breath causing shivers. "We can try that essential oil too, hum?"

"That'd be nice. Chamomile would be lovely too, if we still have it."

James nods, pressing a kiss just under your ear. "Yeah, just picked it at the store earlier. That fancy brand you like."

You tsk, or attempt to. The sound of it, the gesture, it just feels too nice to frown to, and in your state, you're not turning niceties away, however small. "Thanks, Jamie."

"Anything for you, love. Get go bed."

[remushrts]

idk if i should write for james or sirius rn, i have wips for both!!!

[remushrts]

poly!marauders

make a (boy)friend out of you (stablished! prongsfoot x reader)

dreams of tomato soup (poly!marauders x reader)

baked goods (poly!marauders x reader)

we'll make this place your home (poly!marauders x reader)

[remushrts]

OMG IDEA....

Fwb doctor! Remus- so reader ends up at his work sick and then he ends up being the one to treat them like 'why didn't you tell me' and they're like 'well you're not my boyfriend so I didn't-' and whatever else but basically that prompts them to have the awkward convo that goes from fwb to dating

Thanks!

cw: mention of nausea, allusion to past sex but no sex takes place in this

fwb!doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

“Oh.” Remus falters halfway through the door. You look up from your phone, clearly as surprised to see him as he is to see you. You blink a couple of times as though clearing a film, your lips parting on a breath. Remus wishes his first thought were something more practical, something other than that it’s absurdly attractive. He may be developing a sort of Pavlovian response to you. “Hello.” 

“Hi,” you say, as shy as if this is the first time you’ve met. “What are you…” Your eyes move down to his coat, to the clipboard in his hands. “Do you work here?” 

“Yeah.” His voice sounds a tad softer than usual, and it’s the strangeness of that—him acting so out of place in an environment where he’s supposed to be an authority—that helps Remus remember himself. He steps the rest of the way into the exam room, closing the door behind him. “I take it you’re not here to see me.” 

A tiny smile graces your lips. “I might’ve been, if I’d known.” 

“Maybe next time.” Remus sets down his clipboard, opting to get his answers from you instead as he leans against the desk across from you. “What brings you in?” 

“I’ve, um…well, it feels weird talking about my problems now that it’s you.” 

Remus ignores how that stings. “It doesn’t need to. This is my job; I promise I can take care of you just the same as anyone else. Of course,” he forces himself to tack on, “if you’d be more comfortable with someone else, I can arrange that. You may just have to wait a while longer.” 

“That’s okay,” you say. “I’m fine with you. Sorry, it’s just different, you know?” 

Remus softens. He does know, to some extent. If he imagines himself going to get a cup of coffee, or boarding an airplane, or calling maintenance to his apartment and then finding out that you work there (He actually has no clue what you do, either, he realizes now. That’ll have to be remedied.), it would probably be a bit of an adjustment for him as well. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he assures you. “We can go about this however you’re comfortable. Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” 

“Right, yeah.” You’re playing with your fingers, not quite looking at him. You’re acting shy, in a way Remus had almost forgotten you could be. It’s fucking adorable, honestly. He assumes it’s because of this new environment and the shift in the dynamic between you, but it amuses him to think of you being more self-conscious in clothes than out of them. He wants to tease you, but he has a new role to play, too. “I’ve not been able to eat very much lately?” 

Remus feels his brows come down. 

“I’ve just been feeling rather nauseous,” you say, picking at your nail. “I thought maybe I was nauseous because I wasn’t eating, but eating didn’t seem to help either, so.” 

“How long has this been going on?” he asks. 

“A few days. Almost a week.” 

You know what he’s going to say. Remus knows you know, because your eyes flicker up to his for just a moment, sheepish. 

He was with you two nights ago. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, quietly. “I know I should have, but I really didn’t think it was contagious.” 

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Remus feels his body gravitating towards you. Wanting to touch you, hold you, envelop you. He keeps it where it is. “It’s just that we spent all that time together, and you didn’t mention once that you weren’t feeling well.” 

“Well, I didn’t know that you did—” you gesture vaguely about the room “—this at the time.” 

“Even so.” 

You shrug, looking heartachingly unsure of yourself. “I don’t know. I didn’t think it was relevant. It’s not the sort of thing we usually talk about, is it? I mean, you’re not, like…” 

Remus can fill in the blanks. It hurts to do it. He’s not your boyfriend. He’s not someone you open up to about the everyday things in life. For fuck’s sake, you haven’t even asked each other what you do for work. 

But you are something to each other, aren’t you? Aren’t you at least friends? It’s not like all the time you spend together is taken up by wordless, impersonal, utilitarian sex. Remus tries to spend time with you before or after. At first it was just to make himself feel better about the transactional aspect of your relationship, but it wasn’t long until he was just doing it because he wanted to. He’s bought you coffee, and dinners, and pastries. He’s fixed the squeaky leg on your bed. You’ve sat on the roof of your building together and made up stories for passersby on the sidewalk below. He’s made you eggy toast in his kitchen. Your clothes have been in his dryer, for Christ’s sake; what could be more intimate than that?

“I’m your friend,” he says, because he won’t be leaving any room for argument, not on this. “You can tell me these things. You can tell me anything you like.” 

“Oh,” you say softly. You have that same look as when Remus first came in, like you’re seeing him entirely differently. “Okay. I didn’t know.” 

He feels his lips twitch. “Well, now you know.” 

“Okay,” you say again. Blinking. 

Remus puts you out of your misery. “Have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary?” 

You start listing symptoms, tentative, unsure. Remus forces himself to stay right where he is and listen rather than step forward to take your temperature, or get your blood pressure, or any of the other things that would help him get to the bottom of this more quickly. He doesn’t usually have to hold himself back, with other patients. It’s just that you…well, while Remus always cares about making things better for his patients as soon as he can, it’s possible that he cares just a little bit more in this case. It’s also possible that there’s still an instinctive part of him just dying to get closer to you. He wants to feel you beneath his hands and know that you’re okay. 

“Alright,” he says once you’re done, taking his stethoscope from around his neck, “I need to check a few things to be sure, but I think I know what we’re dealing with.” 

“Really?” Your expression glows with relief. A flicker of humor warms your eyes. “How did I know you’d be good at your job?” 

Remus hums, pleased beyond reason at your assessment of him. “You’ll need a prescription. You’re my last appointment of the day, so, if you’ll let me, I can take you to pick it up and get you set up at home afterwards.” 

“Oh, Remus…” You look up at him as the bell of his stethoscope settles over your heart. He ignores the drumbeat to hear you. “You don’t have to. I know we’re friends now, but that’s too much. You’re not obligated to do those sorts of things for me.” 

“I’d like to do those sorts of things for you,” he responds unflinchingly. “It wouldn’t be out of obligation, it’d be because I want to.” 

Your heartbeat ratchets up. “I don’t want to feel like a job for you.” 

“Sweetheart” —there it is again, that soft tone. Entirely unprofessional— “you could never be a job. I love spending time with you, alright? I’d love to look after you, if you’d be okay with it.” 

“I love spending time with you, too,” you murmur, so sweet Remus could kiss you if that wouldn’t truly put him at risk of getting fired. And yet he’s still thinking about it. “Of course you’re welcome to come over if you want to. I just…I don’t know how to…” 

It’s clear by now that Remus is a weaker man than he thought himself to be. He gives in, covering your lips with his. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he promises you.

[remushrts]

we'll make this place your home

— pairing: poly!marauders x gn!reader

— summary: a very bad family meeting has you coming home angry, but lucky for you, the marauders know just how to handle your wrath

— a/n: this is 100% self indulgent fluff and comfort because it is what i need right now, deal with it

You're huffing before you even cross the door, and whatever was happening before that is just clearly lost. In your defense, you never meant for Remus to hear it, for any of them to hear it. It just escapes, as you kick your boots halfway past the entrance like they were the problem, as you hang your coat as if you could be angry at it.

They all hear you, it's clear, if the eerie silence that falls on the flat could be an indicator of anything, but you think Remus is who hears it first. Or best, you could never tell. You just know that, as soon as you click the door closed and lock it, you're met with your roommate's warm eyes.

He pauses for a minute, mouth hanging open like he was still unprepared for your wrath, and it's a little funny to see Remus in a lack of words for once. It happened to Sirius or James most frequently, you're almost endeared that it got to Remus this time. Your lips curl up in a tense, tight, hint-of-shame smile, and you can see as Sirius slowly puts down the remote after pausing whatever was playing, as if you could annihilate him with a look.

"Dove," He calls, soft as he always starts, before smiling back himself. Simple, warm. Just the dearest, he doesn't back down at your fury. He knows it's not directed at him this time. "What's going on?"

You can almost feel bad about the way he asks it, not like you're being unreasonable — never that —, but as you need to be handled rationally now. Remus is the head from all of you, Sirius always said.

You force yourself to take a deep breath in, and out, like you could physically expel whatever is making you angry right now. Remus can tell by the crease of your brows that it doesn't work a great deal, his palm holding out for you far gentler now.

"Purse?" He asks when you raise him a brow, and you give it to him hesitantly, but he just hangs it at their doorway along with a few of Sirius' and other oddities. "Can you tell us what's been bothering your mind, dove?"

Your look at him is almost apologetic, it would be, if he didn't give you shit for it. "My family." You choose the short answer, the answer that tells them all they need to know, the so called safest option to not owning them further explanation.

"Family." Sirius finally moves from his place over the couch, scoffing as he wraps an arm around your shoulder. "Bunch of idiots, are they? I could tell them to sod off for you, sweetheart, if you'd like. Please say yes."

"Please, don't." You hear James' voice call from the kitchen, and the low noise of the stove turning back on. Whatever he's cooking smells delicious. You try to walk over to him, but Sirius holds you close in place.

"Don't even think about it, trouble. James can handle the kitchen, you can stay exactly where you are and relax your pretty head." He places a kiss to your temple like he's making the point, before pulling you back to the couch. "I'm so sorry they were awful to you, my baby, how do they dare-"

You can tell he's being mostly dramatic, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, but you appreciate the sentiment nevertheless. "I haven't even told you what it is."

"Uhm, don't need to." He counters, and it's hard for you to argue when he's pressing a kiss to your neck like it's a promise.

"Do you want tea, or would that spoil dinner?" Remus asks, leaning against the cushions to reach for your hand. You let him take it.

"No tea, give me five minutes and come to the bloody kitchen to help me, Moony!" You hear James shout, enough to make you frown. You look at Sirius, like you're mentally debating for it.

"They'll survive a few minutes without us." Sirius says, trying his best to sound persuasive.

"I just feel bad. I was out all day and I couldn't help you." You try, it's true, but it's also a weak argument. You knew that you all had your own appointments, meetings and reunions to attend.

"Sirius and Remus got here not even an hour ago, lovely, don't be harsh on yourself." James says, placing a greeting kiss to your lips as he leans down to give you a plate. "To my favourite person." He says, sitting besides you with a plate of his own and kissing your cheek again.

Your thanking gets drowned as Sirius raises an indignant brow. "Oh, so they're the favourite now? Funny how you didn't seem to think so an hour ago..."

James lets our a warm, loud laugh, his cheeks flustered in the warm light of the living room. "Shut it, Pads. Yes, they're the favourite, most loveliest person, and I argue that their day was arguably the worst here."

You hum, not exactly like an agreement, but it's a lovely sound to hear to James anyway. You smile to Sirius. "Don't listen to him, he loves to please." You say, resting your head on his shoulder for a second.

"Only because you enable him." Remus cuts you, taking a place on the floor with a plate of his own, and leaving another for Sirius at the coffee table. Before any of you could move to give him space, he shushes it. "Tell us how was your day?" He looks at you.

"Uhm, it was nice... Kinda." You begin to recall a couple of highlights from your day. It's the small things, how there's a new movie you'd like to see in theaters, how a child smiled at you, how your coffee was just right and the barista liked your bag. With each thing you tell them, you feel yourself get lighter, as if it's lifting a weight off your shoulders. You purposely avoid the family meeting you flew from, and all of the boys have the decency to not touch the topic.

As you finish, James squeezes your knee. He might not have heard your conversation on the hall, but he knows you enough to know something is wrong. Still, he doesn't dare to say it. He's just, sort of there. And it's all kinds of nice when he pulls you into his arms, despite the warning from Remus to not spill your plates over the couch.

Sirius joins soon enough too, after kindly taking your dishes to the sink and initiating the dishwasher for you. He lays on your free-ish side, and you get the cushions out of the way for him. Remus comes last, crowding the couch completely but for once, you've never felt happier to be squeezed with all of them.

"You know you've got us, right? Who needs anyone else?" Sirius says, giving you as much as tight of a hug as he can in the limited moving space you have available. But it's nice nevertheless, and you know it's what helps him when he's feeling down.

"Who needs everyone else?" You echo with a smile, and in that moment, all smashed in a too-small couch in between them after just having a great dinner, you actually begin to believe in it.

[remushrts]

thinking about rockstar!barty x manager!reader . . .

they are MESSY, as much a situationship can get when both parts have slight commitment issues AND they're coworkers who get on each other's last nerve, so much teasing, sound check before a venue is so tense (and everybody knows and they're sick of it), but barty's whipped by you

more, xx

[remushrts]

why'd you only call me when you're high?

— pairing: ex!lead singer!barty crouch jr x pr manager! reader

— summary: being in this business for years, you had one simple rule. don't take clients personal, and don't take them to bed. but then, cue barty crouch junior, lead guitarist of the band you've just gotten assigned to. you've found yourself going through more lines than you should ever have dared to cross.

— a/n: i loved writing this, i might turn this into a series ? lmk what you think though!!

You are starting to think that your ability to get on extraordinarily dumb situations might be undefeated. They should make a championship for that, you'd win, for sure — for large difference.

It's three in the morning and your phone is ringing. That's not the extraordinary part. As a manager, you're used to clients calling in the most odd hours of the day. You're used to emergency meeting and PR crisis and a diverse line of A-list stars whining while on speaker as you pack your bag to rush out the door.

No, that's not the extraordinary part. The extraordinary part is that the number the caller ID shows is one that absolutely should not be calling. One that you swore that you had deleted many weeks ago, when shit went down. But despite it, god despite it, you still know his number like the back of your hand, like it's engraved in your heart.

Calling your very much personal phone is famous lead singer slash guitarist of The Viper's Nest band, Barty Crouch Junior.

You're considering smashing your phone against the wall.

You let it ring. You should let it ring. You should ignore him for all the stuff he has put you through and through on the last few months.

Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Five.

"Hello?" You sigh, already regretting the decision as Barty's voice comes slurred on the other side, like he's gotten his phone so close that the speaker is inside his mouth. You don't rule that out as a possibility.

"Hey, treasure. I just came back from-" Barty hiccups, and you suddenly understand. He always hiccups when he's beyond drunk, past where most people would blackout. He doesn't blackout. Instead, he pulls shit like this. "-Atlanta. This wild show, and it was so nice, and..."

"What do you want, Crouch?" You so much hiss out of the phone, cutting him off. "I told you to delete this number."

"You still know my number." He says, and god helps you if you can't hear the smug on his face. It drives you crazy.

"You have three seconds before I turn off the phone and block you for good, Crouch. Don't make me ask again." You threaten, putting your phone on speaker on the counter as you finally begin to take out your coat and put away the groceries you've brought.

"Ouch, you would me, m'treasure..." He whines, but this part of his drama you have figured out. What comes next is what surprises you. "You should be here now."

"We broke up, Barty." You say, as if you need to remind him. As if he could forget.

"Did we?" He asks, and you can almost picture the worry of his eyebrows. You could swear, for a second, his voice felt like regret. "I didn't know what I was thinking, tres', it wasn't me."

"We did. You said that you'd be better off anyway." You try your best to sound professional, even if there was no need to. He called your personal phone, he know what he was after. You're just too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. "Then you went on tour. No goodbye."

"No goodbye? Ugh, god, what was I thinking? I'm so dumb, tres', you have to believe me." You can't tell if he's being dramatic on yearning, you go with the first. Your gut feeling protests, but you've had enough of being made a fool of for the rest of your life, at least.

"I believe you, Barty, you're plenty stupid." You bite back. It's a bit true though, not only your hurt talking. You can't count the times he's gotten into trouble since you've began to manage them, and that's only one year. Scandals with the paparazzi, rumors of sleeping with fans on tour, getting physical with a bouncer at a bar, once, stopped by the police in three different states. Honestly, it's like he can't get enough. If your paycheck had a raise every time Barty fucked up, you would never have to work another day of your life.

"Have me back." He urges, ever the dramatic. "Please, treasure, I'll beg you, I'll get on my knees on your door as soon as this is over, I need you back. You seen the show I played? Total shit. It doesn't work without you, dear... I need my muse."

You would hate to admit that, for a second, maybe, you consider it. Although you would never give Barty the ego boost, your silence seems to do it anyway.

"I'll see you after the last show." He seems to be decided, you sigh on the other side. "I'll book the flight and all."

"No, you won't." You say, Barty doesn't seem to hear you. Chooses not to, important distinction. "I won't have you."

"I'll camp on your doorstep."

"I'll turn on the sprinklers."

"Oh, I'll just soak, treasure."

"I'll call the cops on you." You threaten. "And I won't bail you out this time.

You can hear that stupid grin over the phone. "Whatever you need to tell y'self, treasure."

He hangs up. You should've smash the phone earlier.

[remushrts]

why'd you only call me when you're high?

— pairing: ex!lead singer!barty crouch jr x pr manager! reader

— summary: being in this business for years, you had one simple rule. don't take clients personal, and don't take them to bed. but then, cue barty crouch junior, lead guitarist of the band you've just gotten assigned to. you've found yourself going through more lines than you should ever have dared to cross.

— a/n: i loved writing this, i might turn this into a series ? lmk what you think though!!

You are starting to think that your ability to get on extraordinarily dumb situations might be undefeated. They should make a championship for that, you'd win, for sure — for large difference.

It's three in the morning and your phone is ringing. That's not the extraordinary part. As a manager, you're used to clients calling in the most odd hours of the day. You're used to emergency meeting and PR crisis and a diverse line of A-list stars whining while on speaker as you pack your bag to rush out the door.

No, that's not the extraordinary part. The extraordinary part is that the number the caller ID shows is one that absolutely should not be calling. One that you swore that you had deleted many weeks ago, when shit went down. But despite it, god despite it, you still know his number like the back of your hand, like it's engraved in your heart.

Calling your very much personal phone is famous lead singer slash guitarist of The Viper's Nest band, Barty Crouch Junior.

You're considering smashing your phone against the wall.

You let it ring. You should let it ring. You should ignore him for all the stuff he has put you through and through on the last few months.

Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Five.

"Hello?" You sigh, already regretting the decision as Barty's voice comes slurred on the other side, like he's gotten his phone so close that the speaker is inside his mouth. You don't rule that out as a possibility.

"Hey, treasure. I just came back from-" Barty hiccups, and you suddenly understand. He always hiccups when he's beyond drunk, past where most people would blackout. He doesn't blackout. Instead, he pulls shit like this. "-Atlanta. This wild show, and it was so nice, and..."

"What do you want, Crouch?" You so much hiss out of the phone, cutting him off. "I told you to delete this number."

"You still know my number." He says, and god helps you if you can't hear the smug on his face. It drives you crazy.

"You have three seconds before I turn off the phone and block you for good, Crouch. Don't make me ask again." You threaten, putting your phone on speaker on the counter as you finally begin to take out your coat and put away the groceries you've brought.

"Ouch, you would me, m'treasure..." He whines, but this part of his drama you have figured out. What comes next is what surprises you. "You should be here now."

"We broke up, Barty." You say, as if you need to remind him. As if he could forget.

"Did we?" He asks, and you can almost picture the worry of his eyebrows. You could swear, for a second, his voice felt like regret. "I didn't know what I was thinking, tres', it wasn't me."

"We did. You said that you'd be better off anyway." You try your best to sound professional, even if there was no need to. He called your personal phone, he know what he was after. You're just too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. "Then you went on tour. No goodbye."

"No goodbye? Ugh, god, what was I thinking? I'm so dumb, tres', you have to believe me." You can't tell if he's being dramatic on yearning, you go with the first. Your gut feeling protests, but you've had enough of being made a fool of for the rest of your life, at least.

"I believe you, Barty, you're plenty stupid." You bite back. It's a bit true though, not only your hurt talking. You can't count the times he's gotten into trouble since you've began to manage them, and that's only one year. Scandals with the paparazzi, rumors of sleeping with fans on tour, getting physical with a bouncer at a bar, once, stopped by the police in three different states. Honestly, it's like he can't get enough. If your paycheck had a raise every time Barty fucked up, you would never have to work another day of your life.

"Have me back." He urges, ever the dramatic. "Please, treasure, I'll beg you, I'll get on my knees on your door as soon as this is over, I need you back. You seen the show I played? Total shit. It doesn't work without you, dear... I need my muse."

You would hate to admit that, for a second, maybe, you consider it. Although you would never give Barty the ego boost, your silence seems to do it anyway.

"I'll see you after the last show." He seems to be decided, you sigh on the other side. "I'll book the flight and all."

"No, you won't." You say, Barty doesn't seem to hear you. Chooses not to, important distinction. "I won't have you."

"I'll camp on your doorstep."

"I'll turn on the sprinklers."

"Oh, I'll just soak, treasure."

"I'll call the cops on you." You threaten. "And I won't bail you out this time.

You can hear that stupid grin over the phone. "Whatever you need to tell y'self, treasure."

He hangs up. You should've smash the phone earlier.

[remushrts]

yours to keep (pt 2)

— pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

— a/n: part two for this ask!! more remus on a comforting mission with reader, i truly wish everybody had their own personal remus right now <3 take care babes

— warnings: mention of throwing up, overall angst but there's a lot of comfort to make up for it, reader is kind of numb

You feel like there's a ringing in your ears that just won't go away. It's this small thing, insistent, driving you insane. It's what you imagine would happen if a bomb dropped on the apartment complex right now, the world goes silent for a minute, and everything is out of focus. The words echo inside you over and over, and you don't know if you feel real right now. It can't be real, it can't be happening, it's all you can think of right now. You want it to stop, the entire world, but you know that, outside this apartment, things keep happening. It feels unfair that the universe keeps moving unaffected.

You're holding your head on your hands when you hear the door click softly, your breath shallow as you raise your eyes. Soft hazel ones meet them, but Remus doesn't say anything this time. He sits by your side, his leg barely brushing on yours, and lets you decide. Slowly, you melt on top of him like mush.

"Dove?" He calls you, still as a rock but comfortable as your favourite pillow. You think it's kind of amazing how he can be both at once, just when you need him to. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your back. He doesn't even comment that you're wearing his sweater, over the same clothes you've had the day before. "Have you eaten, my love?"

Remus doesn't call you that very often, only when you're not feeling your best and he knows you're not with your head in the right place to really listen. You shake your head, you tried to, at least, but if you couldn't stomach two pieces of plain toast, you gave up on anything else. Strangely, you don't feel hungry, just empty.

"Okay, I'm going to make you something." Remus says, and you cling into him, your arms wrapping around his neck to hold on tight. It's more than you've moved the entire day, you think, but he just feels so nice to let go of now. He seems to catch it too, wrapping an arm around your middle to press you even closer. "Wanna come with, lovely girl? You can watch me cook."

You open a soft smile, not more than the corners of your lips curling up half an inch. His offer is good-natured, but you don't think you can, a thick layer of sadness growing into you like moss. You've been simmering in it the whole day. "I'm okay here, Rem." Your voice is small as you talk, and you think that's what you feel like now too. Small, like a child that can't understand what is going on.

He tilts his head, not fully believing you. You don't know if you can blame him either. He gets up, pressing a kiss against your forehead and murmuring the words against your skin. "I'll be back soon." He offers, softness overflowing in his voice.

He does keep his promise, and the smell that comes from the kitchen is familiar, earthy and rich. Remus holds a hot bowl of soup in his hands, a spoon for you in the other.

"You told Hope." You say immediately, but there's no accusation to your tone as you make grabby hands at the bowl.

"Guilty as charged." He smiles softly, pulling you back into his embrace. How could he not? Hope adored you from the moment he walked you past their cottage's door, and she was wiser than he'd ever be. So yes, he talked to her in the phone and swang by to get a pot of soup and some advice, hoping one or the other could soothe your aches right now. He presses his nose into your hair as you eat, his lips barely brushing against your ear. "Talk to me, dove, please?"

His words are never an imposition, but you bite your lip. You don't mean to cry, get your tears mixed up with soup, but you don't think you can hold anymore. Remus carefully picks the bowl from your hands and sets it down on the coffee table. "I'm so sorry..." You sob quietly, your hands are shaking before you know it, but then they're over Remus', and he's coaxing you into his lap. "Remmy, I don't want any of this to be happening anymore, I'm so tired..." You mumble, not even sure he can hear you.

He can, his touch tightens on you lightly, a much proper hug now. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping your tears. You feel the scar that traces the side of his hand. "I know you don't, baby..." He whispers, stroking your hair.

"I shouldn't be crying now..." You say, trying to pull away from him, but he knows you too well, his arms keep you right in place. He knows what you mean, it's been a couple days since you last visited home and heard the news, but you couldn't feel anything back then. It feels like you're only coming to your senses today. "I'm sorry..."

"Shhh, what are you apologising for, uhm?" His hand cups your chin lovingly, driving your gaze back to his, your eyes shining with tears he wishes he can take all away. You're the bravest person he knows, loveliest too. You, from all people, didn't deserve to be going through this. He kisses your wet cheek. "You can cry if you feel like it, dove, it's not a crime."

You hiccup a laugh, barely a sound, but the smile through your tears is unmistakable. "You swear it's not?" You joke back, he kissed the tip of your nose.

"Absolutely, my love. And if it is, they'll have to go through me." The promise is soft, tender as he presses his forehead against yours. Nothing feels too close right now, nothing feels overwhelming or too terrible. It just feels like Remus.

[remushrts]

i just thought i'd add a note to this as an author who's first language is not english, sometimes i am VERY guilty of using metaphors or odd phrase construction to my writing and they don't always add up in english, but they make sense in my native language i swear!!!

making a list of writers on tumblr who blatantly use AI, if anyone has suspicions please DM me the blog and I will have a read through

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fanfic so good it put me on the source material

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baked goods

— pairing: poly!marauders x reader

— a/n: i did get carried away with this one but it was so fun to write!! i do not mean to set a precedent on poly!marauders and culinary tales, i just love the chaotic dynamic of them in the kitchen i fear

— summary: based on the prompt: ♡ the character realizes how head over heels in love they are when their s/o took over their whole kitchen in a panic bake.

Sirius swears he's trying to be nice. Keyword, trying.

But can he really blame himself when he came home late from another horrible, horrible meeting, more than exhausted, to find your whole house smelling like muffins? And not only a batch or two, he swore the house was to be stacked with piles upon piles of baked goods at this point.

Was he really, really to blame, that he swoon the moment he saw you cursing under your breath as you spilled vanilla essence all over the counter?

"Hi, sweetie." Sirius grins deliberately, placing a kiss on your cheek. He swears you even taste sweet. "What's with the psycho cooking spree at midnight? Not that I'm one to complain." He added, running his finger along the edge of your bowl and taking it to his lips to taste the batter.

You sigh before answering, and Sirius thinks you're even more adorable, if that's even possible. "Your cousin called, Nymphadora has one of those school events tomorrow. We're helping her up a bit."

"Well, are you trying to feed the entire school?" He gestures to the three batches cooling on the counter, plus the one in the oven. "And who's we, darling? Have you started to hallucinate? Should we run with you to the ER?"

You let out a dry laugh in response, shoving his arm playfully. Sirius doesn't budge, if anything, he locks his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. "I am not trying to feed the entire school, some of these are ours. Orange cinnamon for Jamie, double chocolate for Remus, peanut butter for you, and raspberry for Andy and Ted, but..." You don't have time to finish your sentence as the timer of your oven goes off, and Sirius smacks a kiss against your cheek before you can move.

"Let me get those." He offers, placing another kiss on the corner of your lips before he lets you go and picks up a pair of oven gloves disposed on the counter. He picks them up carefully, more than you would have given him credit for. "And where are those animals, huh? Letting my sweetheart do the entire job alone."

You roll your eyes, picking one of the muffin tins — though to Sirius, god knows how you can keep track of which one of them is still burning hot, and which is just warm to touch without burning your fingers off — and taking the perfectly shaped muffins out of it. He watches as you line up new paper cups and pour the new batter he hadn't even seen before, although he can assume they are the orange ones from the heavenly smell.

"You didn't let me finish, you sod." You say, but your tone packs none of the bite, his grin grows wider across his face.

"Sorry, sweetie, please finish." He offers you, trying to pick one of the freshly baked muffins. You swatch his hand away.

"Don't eat those, you'll burn your tongue. And, to your knowledge, Remus went to buy more paper cups and blueberries because certain someones keep trying to catch them in the air everytime we have them." You explain.

"Oi! That's unfair, we did went to get them, you know?" You hear James' voice echo around the house just a second later the front door clicks open. You kind of pity your neighbours for the noise he's making, but a little less as he greets you with a kiss on the lips. "Hi, my love. Has this gentleman been troubling you?"

You see Sirius feigns offense at the corner of your eyes, pressing your lips to suppress a smile. "Yeah, yeah, your sins are atoned for, Jamie. But his are not." You point out to your other boyfriend.

"Oh, I think I've atoned for my sins just fine!" Sirius tries to defend himself, an exasperated glance at you and James. "Moony, I'm being set up here!"

His gaze only seems to soften as Remus enters the room, you turn to see another two dozens of star-lined paper cups on his hands. You know James had made him park at the store by the look on his face, despite the small errand not meaning to take more than ten minutes, tops. The frown that creases your boyfriend's eyebrows don't make him any less handsome.

"What has he done now?" Remus inquiries with a raised brown.

"Nothing!"

"Eaten all the blueberries." You and James answer at the same time. "Sorry, eaten half the blueberries. The other half was dropped to the floor." You correct.

"Sacrificed!" Sirius corrects once again. "And I could eat them off the floor if Moony wasn't such a goody two-shoes."

"Court finds you guilty, sorry. And you're not eating off the floor, Pads." Remus interrupts before any of you can. James seems rather amused at the situation, watching you bicker and discreetly eating off the bag of frozen mixed berries when none of you are looking. You catch him by the corner of your eye, resting your back at the counter at slowly reaching for one too.

Sirius is, to say the least, scandalised. "So they get to eat them?"

Remus only shrugs, you pick a couple berries in a hand and offers him too. James gives him a complicit look, but he doesn't look half as guilty, lips tinted by the blackberries as are the tips of his fingers. He leans to kiss Sirius.

"Désolé, amor." He says, pressing the words sweetly against his lips. Sirius maybe, just maybe, swoons again at the way his accent carries the vowels with such flowy grace. It's unfair of James, and the smile that comes after tells him that he knows it.

"Désolé my fucking ass! Bloody traitor!" He pretends to push James away towards you, but he spins on his heels like a fucking pro, locking you between his body and the counter with a smug grin. You have none of it, clapping your hands loudly and making a cloud of flour dust the room, and your boyfriend's poor lovely face.

"Alright, everybody out of my kitchen unless you're helping!" You say loudly, all the pompous of a professional chef in one of those reality shows you always watch with the boys.

"Yes, chef!" James answers, smile turning enthusiastic as his lips curl up.

"Yes, chef..." Remus follows, already putting himself at work and opening the paper cups on the counter. You look at Sirius, maybe too cocky to expect an answer, but you let yourself have the small power trip.

Sirius smiles widely, the genuine amusement that makes one lovely dimple appear at his cheeks. "Oui, chef."

It's good enough for you. You swoon for him too.

[remushrts]

god I would be UNSTOPPABLE if I was capable of consistently initiating tasks. just you wait. you'll be waiting a while but just you wait

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new theme!! 🍎🍂

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this is not the fic idea i mentioned in the poll, just a small something i wanted to post to slowly go back to writing <33

"Oh, no, wait," James stops you. You'd like to know why. "I'll definitely have a heart attack if you wear that."

That being his jersey, with his last name on the back, you are throughly amused by this new attitude. His pretty eyes are wide open, naked chest on display and he looks messed up in the best way possible. You just want to see how the jersey looks on you.

"You're being dramatic, Jamie." you say. James scoffs and oh- he has the audacity to fake pout.

"You don't know what that means, angel," he points a finger to the jersey. "If you ever put that on, I'm gonna be yours forever."

"Oh, really?" you put on your nicest smile. "I'm definitely wearing it now."

"If something happens to my heart, you're gonna be the one explaining this to my coach. You should take the responsibility of your reckless actions."

Reckless actions, he says, as if he's not the one talking without his shirt on. You curve your lips into a snarky smile, taking off your tank top quicker than ever with playful fingers, and it feels so funny. He watches the entire scene without a word, and you can almost hear his heartbeat. Maybe he was being serious.

"It feels so nice," you comment. "I like the fabric."

"Will you marry me?"

"I'm sure you can do better than this," you laugh. "But for future reference, yes. Just close your mouth now, please."

He kisses your cheek before pulling you closer to his chest. It's a perfect hug, he traces the letters on your back with shaky fingers. You kiss his collarbone, he can smell your perfume. The scent will have to stay on this jersey forever.

"I love you," you whisper. "Even though you're being too dramatic over this."

He presses you harder to his chest like it's possible.

[remushrts]

waking up with james . . .

— pairing: james potter x reader

— summary: james is the softest loverboy, domestic fluffy mornings

— a/n: no pronouns used for the reader, just a short drabble to get me back into writing <3 (requests are open)

You think you might be late when you wake up and James isn't there. Your head is still fuzzy, eyelids heavy with sleep as you reach for a body that's not there, fist closing around air. You roll to your back, hands still spread, as you begrudgingly push your body up. The sheets are already cold, but the smell of him lingers, it always does. You're about to call when you notice the small pink post-it note sitting perfectly on top of your pillow. It reads:

"Hi, my love :)

Went for an early run, be back soon!

Love, James."

You can't help the small smile that curls up your lips, James scribbled a small doodle of himself along the smiley face, and a heart in your favourite colour. The fact he wrote love twice makes your heart flutters on your chest. It doesn't take much for him to win you over again and again these days, he does it so sweetly.

You go about your normal routine, checking your clock for some peace of mind. You're not late, thankfully, James just loves to wake up on ungodly hours, you're still trying to figure out how he does it.

You stand most thankfully for the silence that settles around the house. James wasn't purposely loud, you knew, but he just woke up always so happy, up with the sun every single day with no fault, a smile just as bright as. It's nice to have a quiet house for a change, but you miss his presence.

You're checking your email as you hear the front door opening, a sweaty version of James coming in with two bags in one of his hands and a cup holder with two cups in it. You can smell the fresh pastries inside as he sets everything on the table, the logo of your favourite bakery in his part of town on the side of both cups.

"Hi, lovely. Brought your favourites." He says, leaning down to place a kiss on top of your head and press you against his sweaty side. You frown your nose, but don't move away either. He's earned it, you think, you know the bakery is a bit far from his usual path.

"Thanks, Jamie." You smile, looking away from your boring task to him. James smiles back, taking advantage of the moment to press a soft peck against your lips.

"You're very welcome, my dear." He offers, sitting down and taking one of the cups and pushing the other towards you. As he does so, you notice there is another drawing on the side of it, your heart melts all over. "Don't you have to leave in ten?"

You glance at your clock again. You probably do, but James is being so nice to you, and it would be a shame to let those pastries go stale. For his, and maybe your own sake, you think you can stay a bit longer.