mareagirls

[mareagirls]

guys i’m turning 20 tomorrow i can’t believe ill never be a teenager again

#reposting here bc W T F

[mareagirls]

He smiles softly, and you close your eyes again, satisfied. “Then you see what I’m getting at,” he says. “I love you like this, just the same as when your skin looked a bit different.” His touch arcs over your eyebrow. “And everyone else loves you just the same, too.” 

respectfully , what! the! freak! this was so lovely and tender and kind and i loved loved loved it, ur writing is so pretty it hurts 🥲🥺 thank you for writing my request

hey lovely! if you’re up to it, would you be able to write something w james or remus with comforting a reader who’s insecure about her skin/having broken out? i’m totally not projecting (i get chronic rashes on my face and one broke out recently and it’s making me sooo self conscious because my birthday is soon and i wanted to feel pretty 😖)

thank you!! mwah!!!

xoxo @mareagirls

Hi Rosa my love! Thank you for requesting and happy early birthday!!

cw: reader is insecure about her skin

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 750 words

You scrub at your skin with your fingertips, pads pressing harshly as you distribute the cleanser over your face. Then turn the tap as cold as it can go, splashing water and scrubbing again to make sure the product is all gone. 

“Alright, enough of that,” says Remus as you towel your face dry. You look up to see your boyfriend watching you in the mirror from the bedroom. He tents his book beside him on the bed, beckoning you over. “Come here, bring your stuff.” 

You turn around to look at him. “Why?” 

You can see Remus intentionally smoothing the pique from his expression, gentling it into something kinder. “Just come sit with me, please.” 

You gather your things off the bathroom counter, carrying them into the bedroom and plopping down in front of him on the bed. Remus knows your routine. He takes a washcloth from you wordlessly, wetting it with product. 

“Close your eyes.” 

You do, and he starts swiping the product gently over your skin, starting at your jawline and working his way slowly upwards, following the planes of your face. His free hand is wrapped loosely around the side of your neck to steady the both of you. 

“Why are you doing this?” you murmur, trying not to move your face as you speak. 

“Couldn’t stand seeing you look so angry with yourself,” Remus replies, matching your volume. His voice is low and raspy, inlaid still with traces of frustration. You hadn’t realized you had been looking like that. “S��like you’ve no idea how pretty you are.” 

There’s a thick pause. The washcloth shushes over the skin of your forehead, and you can feel Remus’ gaze boring into your shuttered lids. 

“I know you think I just say that,” he says, setting the washcloth down on your leg. You open your eyes, and he’s squirting moisturizer onto the pad of his index finger. His eyes flit up to yours, the color of honey or perfectly steeped tea. You look away. “I don’t. I wouldn’t bother saying anything if you weren’t as lovely as you are, and it’s insane that you don’t know it yourself. I mean, we’re looking at the same face, aren’t we?” 

Your lips twist upwards as you close your eyes and Remus sets his hands to your face again. He smooths the moisturizer into your skin with thorough, loving strokes. 

“I do feel pretty, sometimes,” you admit. “Just not so much when my skin is acting up like this.” 

“Not sure how that changes anything.” His voice is gruff, audibly judgemental in the way you’re sure only he can manage. It coaxes a soft laugh from you, and Remus’ thumb swipes extra affectionately over your cheekbone, approving. His tone lightens. “Really, dove, it’s not like the rest of you just disappears because you’ve broken out. You’re just as lovely. I’m not sure anything could change that, short of reconstructive surgery I suppose.” 

You roll your eyes. They’re still closed, but you hope he sees the motion anyway. “You’re being too nice to me. I know it’ll go away eventually, but it’s still not the same as when my skin is clear.” 

“It’s not,” Remus allows. “Of course it’s not the same. But that’s like saying I’m not the same with my scars as I was without them. And I still managed to snag you all mangled-looking.” 

You open your eyes, despite his hands still moving over your face. “You’re not mangled-looking,” you say. You know Remus knows this, but it feels important to tell him anyway. “I love you with your scars.” 

He smiles softly, and you close your eyes again, satisfied. “Then you see what I’m getting at,” he says. “I love you like this, just the same as when your skin looked a bit different.” His touch arcs over your eyebrow. “And everyone else loves you just the same, too.” 

You hum, a pleased sort of capitulation. “You’re such a sweet talker.” 

“Doesn’t take much imagination to tell the truth.” You can hear Remus’ smile. “You’re always lovely, dove, but I like you best when you look like you feel lovely, too.”

“I’ll try,” you say. He hums satisfiedly, thumbs brushing twin paths across your cheeks. “Is there really still product to rub in?” 

“Mm, not strictly speaking.” Remus’ lips press, soft and sweet, to your freshly moisturized cheek. He doesn’t seem to mind the bumps. “But I think I’d better do this a while longer just to be sure.” 

#fic recs

[mareagirls]

overalls or dresses? garden or meadow? fruit juice or smoothies? rainbows or gentle rain? roses or sunflowers? chilly sunrise or warm sunset? platonic kisses or hugging? 80s pop or 70s funk? paris or thailand? ocean waves or active rivers? peaches or blueberries? hiking or skiing? amusement parks or thrift shopping? black cats or golden retrievers? late fall or early spring? neon signs or city lights? nature or space? tea or iced coffee? bold lipstick or clear lipgloss? laughing joyfully or smiling softly?

#both! #meadow #smoothies #rainbows #sunflowers #warm sunset #hugging #80s pop #either #ocean waves #blueberries #hiking #thrift shopping #golden retriever #early spring #city lights #nature #iced coffee #clear lipgloss #laughing joyfully

[mareagirls]

me 🤝 letting this become a fic rec blog because i have no time to write but i always make time to read

#i hope u guys don’t mind #i’m joking kind of #i will write again #i PROMISE #it’s just taking a while #and i have loads of deadlines #mareagirls musings

[mareagirls]

hiiii sorry I feel like I request so much I just love your stories!!!! could you do an EMT poly!marauders where the reader is coming home from an injury or surgery or something and they’re just being all sweet and overprotective of her

Don't be sorry sweetheart, thank you for requesting!! <3

cw: mentions of hospital, surgery (no details), nausea

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 930 words

“Careful of the step,” Remus warns as he unlocks the front door. 

James makes a disgruntled little sound as he passes over it with you in his arms, angling you sideways to get you both through the front door. 

“I know where the step is,” he says. “I’ve lived here exactly as long as you.” 

“I just wanted to make sure.” Remus heads straight for the bathroom. “Do you want to have some more ibuprofen, dove? It’s been long enough now.” 

“Yes, please,” you call after him. James sets you down on the couch, a divot forming between his brows at the thick quality to your voice. 

“Siri has your bag,” he reminds you. “You want it, just to be safe?” 

You nod, swallowing. 

Sirius hustles over, crouching in front of you and holding the plastic bag under your mouth. “Oh, baby,” he coos, setting a hand on the back of your neck while you shudder and cough unproductively over the bag. “I know, I’m sorry. Better make it aspirin, Rem,” he calls down the hall. “She’s still got a fever.” 

“How bad?” 

“I’ll check in a bit.” He presses his lips to your hairline, murmuring softly. “She’s under duress at the moment, aren’t you, poor girl?” 

You want to cry for the sweetness in his tone, not one ounce of teasing. It can be hard to tell with Sirius, sometimes, but when you’re not feeling well he goes gooey-soft and saccharine as honey, all pet names and gentle touches. His thumb strokes the baby hairs at your nape. 

Remus sighs as he comes back. “I knew we shouldn’t have checked her out.” 

“I didn’t want to stay there,” you say into the bag, and James splays a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles. 

“We know, sweetheart.” He gives his fretful boyfriend a reassuring smile. Remus returns it wearily. “We can take care of you just fine from here, don’t worry.” 

Within an hour of waking up from your surgery feeling nauseous and pathetic, you’d been begging anyone who would listen to let you go home. The hospital had wanted to monitor you for a couple more hours, but after that your boyfriends had been able to exercise some sort of paramedic privilege and take you home early despite the normal two-to-three-day inpatient protocol. Your troubles hadn’t evaporated the way you’d expected upon getting out from under all that fluorescent lighting, but you do feel much better being miserable on your own couch. 

You cough into the bag a few more times before relinquishing yourself to the idea that you’re stuck with this nausea for the foreseeable future. “I don’t like this,” you decide, lowering the bag from your face. 

Remus tosses a thermometer to Sirius, who catches it with a good-natured eye-roll and sets it in your ear compliantly. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” James says, his hand migrating to your shoulder as you lean back against the couch cushions. “I know it’s rough right now.” 

The thermometer beeps, and Sirius reads the number aloud as he takes it out. You frown. 

“Oh, thank god,” Remus exhales. James chuckles at him. 

“It’s okay?” you check. 

“Perfectly okay.” Sirius kisses your temple. “That’s completely normal for the first twenty-four hours. You’re all good, sweetness.” 

Pathetically, you feel a bit invalidated. To feel as gross as you do, surely your brain would have to be fully boiling in there. James must see some of this on your face, because he scoots closer to you on the couch, leaning you against his side. 

“Sorry,” you say quietly. 

You can feel Sirius gaze boring into the side of your head as he perches on the armrest. “Not sure why you would be,” he mutters, worming his cold feet underneath your thigh, “but do go on.” 

“I made you all take me home and now I’m being difficult.” 

You’re not quite looking at any of them, but you could swear a collective sigh goes up from your boyfriends. 

“Dove,” says Remus, “look at me.” 

You do, shifting ever so slightly closer to James' side for comfort. A quiet chuckle rumbles through him, his thumb sweeping back and forth over your shoulder. 

Remus’ gaze is steady and kind, his usual remonstrance curbed for your sorry state. “You’re not being difficult,” he tells you. “You’re tired and not feeling well, and that’s to be expected after a procedure like this. I didn’t mean I regret us taking you home, I’m only nervous that you’d have been better taken care of in the hospital.” 

“Impossible,” Sirius remarks. Remus nods in grudging acknowledgement. 

“I’m glad I’m home,” you say, and despite your best intentions your voice teeters on the edge of a whimper. “I’d rather be with just you guys, you know?” 

“We know,” Remus says gently. “I’m glad you’re here, too.” 

James makes a soft sound, rubbing your shoulder more firmly. “Are you feeling tired, angel? We could have a nap.” 

“We?” you ask.

“What, you think you’re the only one who deserves a rest?” Sirius wiggles his toes underneath your thigh. “You got to sleep just this morning. We’ve been worrying all day long.” 

You smile. He looks thrilled to see it, and James stamps a kiss of approval on your cheek. “Right, my bad. A nap sounds good.” 

“Perfect,” Remus agrees, standing. James needles his arms underneath you to pick you up again. 

“Fairly sure they said I could walk on my own,” you say. 

James only shrugs, carrying you towards the bedroom. “Not sure I heard that part. Better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

#so so lovely #i need them to look after me when i’m poorly #PLEASEEEE #i love ur characterisations of them also #like they’re so distinct but so in sync with eachother #it’s so nice honestly #lovely blurb!

[mareagirls]

this was stupidly lovely 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽 i love ur doctor remus !!

hey if you don’t mind, I’ve been struggling with a lot of anxiety and it makes my chest hurt a bunch so maybe you could rwrite something like that with anyone you’d like, ofc if you’d rather not that’s totally.

have a wonderful day dearie

Thanks for requesting baby, I'm really sorry you're dealing with that! I hope maybe you're feeling a bit better by now.

cw: anxiety, chest pain

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Remus knows you mainly watch this show because he likes it, and yet he’s dozing off. After a long shift at the hospital, the clashing of swords sounds about as lulling as a thunderstorm outside the bedroom window to his tired ears, and his head slowly slumps backwards against the couch cushion. When snuggle closer to his side, head needling its way almost into his armpit, he thinks you’re trying to get him to wake up. 

“Sorry.” His voice comes out raspy, drowsiness clinging to his vocal chords like a paste. 

You pull away, looking up at him. “Oh no,” you murmur, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

The guilt in your voice has him responding instinctively, “It’s okay.” Remus drapes an arm across your shoulders, encouraging you back to where you were. “I was only resting my eyes.” It’s a flimsy excuse and you both know it, so he moves on quickly. “What’s up, hm?” 

“I was wondering if I could have a hug,” you say quietly, tentatively, your eyes not quite on his, “if that’s okay.” 

Remus checks himself before he can look too surprised. “Of course it’s okay,” he says, tightening his grip on you. 

Granted permission, you go all out. You turn your body into his, both arms wrapping tight around his midsection and face burrowing in the soft material of his sweater. Remus adjusts his hold to get a better grip on you. He brings his other hand to your head, cupping the back firmly. 

Asking for affection like this, so explicitly, is unexpected from you. It makes Remus feel like he’s just had a cup of tea, spreading warmth through his insides and leaving a pleasant aftertaste on his tongue. You hate to need him, but he loves to let you. He’ll take any chance to take care of you. He likes to think a secretive little part of you likes to be cared for, too. 

The exhaustion in his bones melts into something heavy and fond as he pets the back of your head. “Everything alright, sweetheart?” 

You hum into his armpit. “Just felt like I needed this, for some reason.” 

“Any reason’s good enough for me,” Remus half-jokes, dropping a kiss onto the crown of your head. “Did you have a long day, too?” 

“Not really.” Your voice dips into a lower register, disgruntled and bemused. You turn your face up so you can see him but don’t pull away, scooting closer to tighten your hold. “Nothing’s happened, I just feel a bit off, I guess. My chest hasn’t stopped hurting all afternoon.” 

He can see the regret in your expression when his eyebrows go up, and Remus laughs. 

“Oi, what’s that look about?” 

“I’m not trying to put you on the clock.” 

“No,” he says, smiling as he kisses your hairline, “You’re not, honey.” But he does reach for the remote, pausing the TV and silencing your background noise. 

Your eyes narrow. “You’ve got that serious look, though.” 

“That’s just my face, I can’t really help it.” Admittedly, chest pain worries him. Remus is prone to worrying about anything that ails you; it's where his job and his boyfriend duties collide. Still, he doubts you’ve been having a heart attack for the entire afternoon, so he’s not going to frighten you by telling you about the vast number of things chest pain can point to. “Where does it hurt? Can you show me?” 

You sigh and lean back, putting space between your chest and Remus’ side. “Sort of here,” you say, flattening your palm over your sternum. 

“Is it a concentrated pain,” he asks, “or more of an ache?” 

“More like an ache,” you admit. “It’s sort of, like, burning? But that sounds more dramatic than it really is.” 

He ignores the last part of your statement, setting his hand on your chest and pushing down gently. “Does that make it worse?” 

You shake your head, and Remus hums. You haven’t been coughing; he would have noticed. He works two fingers under your jaw. 

“What else feels weird, sweetheart?” 

“I’m not sure,” you tell him, starting to sound a bit raw. “I just feel…not right, you know? Is that bad?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” he says, letting his fingers drop from your pulse point. ”I think you’re mostly okay.” He uses both hands to pull you into his lap. “C’mere, baby dove.” 

You seem far from unhappy at being moved, pushing your face into Remus’ neck and letting him rest his chin atop your head. “What?” you ask. 

“Did you have coffee this afternoon?” 

“Yeah.” You sound cautious. “Why?” 

“And did you eat before?” 

“Remus.” Your warning tone is undercut by unease. 

He kisses your head in apology. “I think your chest hurts because you’re anxious, honey,” he says. “The caffeine probably made it worse.” 

You go quiet for a minute. Remus rubs your back, sorry for the invisibility of your hurt but relieved that its cause isn’t something more sinister. When you pull away, you’re frowning. 

“I don’t think it’s that,” you say. “It’s never felt like this before.” 

Remus feels his mouth slant in sympathy. “I think coffee without eating is already a bad idea, but then if you got anxious and we started watching a stressful show,” he tries to convey some apology in his expression, “it might have made your nerves feel worse than you’re used to.” 

“I think I’m only nervous because my chest hurts.” You blow out a breath. “It’s kind of a chicken and egg thing, yeah?” 

Remus hums, running his hand up the length of your spine. He can feel your heart beating beneath his palm. “Humor me for a minute?” 

You sigh again. It looks strenuous. “Sure.” 

“Breathe with me,” he instructs, folding you back towards his front. You go willingly, though you seem tenser now than before, your hands nearly rigid on his back. “In for eight.” 

He listens to be sure you’re doing it with him, feeling your chest expand against his own. He lets his palm lie still beneath your shoulder blades, sneaking a gauge of your heart rate. 

“Hold for eight.” 

Remus feels your nose press into his collar. He turns his lips into your forehead, holding his lungs at their full capacity and knowing that if it’s difficult for him, it has to be considerably worse for you. 

By the time you’re finished breathing out it's a relief for you both, and you turn your face up to his with a bit less skepticism. 

“That was hard,” you admit. 

Remus bites back an I-told-you-so, but he knows his smile must say enough of it when you roll your eyes good-naturedly. 

“Why don’t I change it to something a bit lighter,” he says, nodding towards the TV. “We can do more breathing during the commercial breaks, yeah?” 

You appear to consider this. “And we can keep cuddling?” 

Remus’ chuckle lures a smile out of you. He’s exceedingly gratified to see it. “That was never up for debate.” 

[mareagirls]

this part is so lovely! you write him so tenderly!! loved it!

i sent the marauders question, tysm for answering :) could i request reader being embarrassed about her stutter and getting reassurance or maybe ordering at a restaurant? your writing always makes my day - thank you for doing it!

Thank you for requesting lovely!! I based the way I wrote this on a friend I had with a stutter, but that was some years ago so if it's inaccurate please let me know <3

cw: reader experiences anxiety/insecurity around stuttering

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 817 words

Remus can feel the tension radiating from you before the waitress even stops at your table. Your knee starts bouncing lightly. 

“Hi, are we ready to order?” She glances between you, and Remus lets you nod for the both of them. “Perfect!”

Her eyes go to you, but you turn to Remus, a desperate look in your eyes. He clears his throat. 

“Um, may I have the chocolate crepe?” he asks. The waitress blinks, refocusing on him. 

“Sure, with bacon or sausages?” 

“Sausages, please.” 

“Alright. And for you, love?” 

Your jaw is already tight, an anticipatory act Remus recognizes. He sets a hand on your knee under the table. You stop jiggling it, taking in a subtle breath. 

“May I please have the b…blueberry p…p…” Remus glances at the waitress. There’s new awareness in her expression, but otherwise it reads of nothing but patience. He rubs the side of your leg, and you try again. “Can I have the blueberry p…” 

Your hands have started to shake. Remus gives your knee an encouraging squeeze, but it’s no use. You look to him, a silent plea in your eyes. 

“The blueberry pancakes,” he says to your waitress. 

“Sounds good,” she says easily. “Short or tall stack?” 

Remus looks at you, but you’ve turned your head down towards your menu. 

“Tall,” he says. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” She gathers up your menus. You don’t look up. “Let me know if you need anything else.” 

He waits until she’s well out of earshot to take your hand in his. It’s still trembling gently, like a butterfly flittering against his palm. 

“Sweetheart,” he says softly. “Hey, you’re okay.” 

You shake your head, angling your body towards his and away from the rest of the restaurant. He’s glad when you look at him, though the shame in your expression has spiderweb cracks spreading across his heart. 

“I’m s…so emb…b—” Your eyes pinch shut, and you blow out a harsh breath. 

Remus hates when you do this. When your tongue gets stuck and you let it lie. There’s so much defeat about you afterwards, it floats over your head like a gray cloud. But he knows this isn’t the time to push you. 

“You don’t need to be,” he tells you honestly. “You were doing great. Really, you know I don’t mind stepping in for you, but you could have handled it on your own.” 

You press your lips together and try to pull your hand from his, but Remus interlaces your fingers. He can feel your pulse pounding against the butt of his palm when he presses down. 

“Relax, dove.” 

You take a breath. Swallow. “She was annoyed with me,” you say.

He shakes his head. “She didn’t care.” 

“I was using up t…too much time.”

“How do you figure?” 

“She has other tables.” 

Remus smiles slightly, stroking his thumb up the length of yours. “Look around, sweetheart. This place isn’t packed. I don’t think she was in any rush.” 

A flicker of uncertainty crosses your expression. Your knee starts to bounce again, but this time Remus only setting his thigh against yours gets it to stop. 

“I think,” he says quietly, “that you have a tendency to assume you’re bothering people when you’re not.” Your gaze flits away from his eyes, then back, and Remus holds it there. He hopes you can see all the sincerity he feels in them. “She didn’t give a shit how you were speaking. She wasn’t annoyed with you, she was probably just thinking about the next question she’d have to ask. Anyway, everyone likes pretty girls. That’s just basic psychology.” 

You snort. “If you want me to really start stuttering, keep flirting with me in public,” you say. But something about you has loosened, and Remus feels himself relaxing in response. 

“If you want to keep me from it,” he replies, “you’re going to have to come up with a legitimately troublesome consequence.” 

You turn away from him, but not before he sees the edge of the smile you’re trying to hide. He gives your hand a little tug. 

“I have a question for you, darling.” 

“No, I think you’re d…done.” 

“Come on,” he urges, “it’s a serious question.” 

When you turn back around, you’ve stowed away your amusement but it’s poorly concealed, shining through your eyes. “Hm?” 

“Are you going to be able to enjoy your pancakes here,” he asks sincerely, “or would you rather I get us boxes so we can eat at home?” 

You think on it for a minute, your gaze wandering about the restaurant. Remus can speculate what you’re looking for: gawping tables, kids turned around in their booths to listen, your waitress whispering furtively by the host’s station. You don’t find any of it. 

“I think I’ll b…be okay eating here,” you tell him, turning your eyes up to his almost sheepishly, “thanks.” 

Remus gives your hand a squeeze. “Attagirl.” 

#fic recs

[mareagirls]

Hey bestie!! I broke my neck yesterday so I was wondering if you could do something with EMT!marauders where reader falls or something and so they have to put a cervical collar on her and just a lot of comfort? I completely understand if not and I hope you have a wonderful day!!!

Hi lovely, hope you're doing okay!! That sounds so scary, wishing you the best and thank you for requesting <3

cw: injury, restrained movement (reader has some anxiety around feeling trapped)

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

You wake with hands on your face. 

“Easy—no, don’t move, please. My name’s James, I’m with NHS.” You take a breath, and the head attached to the hands nods encouragingly. He keeps you pressed firmly to the headrest of your seat. “That’s good, just breathe. I’m gonna pass you off to my partner behind you, okay? This is Remus.” 

Another set of gloved hands plants itself on either side of your face, fingers splayed along your jaw. You swallow, and James gives you a smile. You can’t fathom how it reaches his eyes, deep brown and magnified by a set of glasses with thick lenses. You’ve only just woken up and you already feel like you could cry.

“He’s just going to keep your head still for us. Don’t try to move, yeah?” 

You think to nod, but Remus’ grip is tight, and the mere activation of the muscles sends shooting pains down your neck. You gasp. 

“Yeah, don’t do that,” James says. He takes your hands in his. “Can you squeeze my fingers, sweetheart?” You do. “Good. Wiggle your fingers?” You do, but it feels weird. “Good.” James gives your hands a squeeze of his own. His gentleness makes something hot and panicky press at the back of your throat. 

“Alright, this is my partner Sirius.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see another man climbing in the passenger door. He grins at you, flashing canines. “He’s gonna help me put you in a brace to hold your head still.”

“Okay,” you say. Your voice comes out quiet and squeaky, but still James smiles as he opens up the plastic collar. 

“Hey, there she is. Can you tell us what’s hurting you, sweetheart?” 

“My neck.” You try to take a breath. It shakes going out. “And my hands feel tingly.” 

“Alright, that’s alright,” Remus says from behind you. His voice is low and soothing, a bit of rasp to it. “Anything else?” 

“No.” 

He adjusts his grip to let the other two put the collar around your neck, but then his touch is back. It’s starting to feel less constraining than grounding. 

“That’s not bad, all things considered. We’ll have to get you some scans to know for sure, though.” 

“Hold on, is that optimism from you, Remus?” Sirius grins, securing the velcro on one side of your neck. “He must really like you, doll.” 

“Sirius,” Remus says warningly. 

“Just making an observation. Jamesie, can you bring us the backboard?” 

“Yup.” James gives your knee a little pat and disappears from your vision. Oddly, you’re a bit nervous to be without him. 

“I’m gonna get your pulse here,” Sirius says, taking your wrist in hand. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.” 

“He means don’t move,” Remus clarifies. “You’re really doing quite well.” 

The pressure of Sirius’ gloved fingers on the inside of your wrist feels more intimate and vulnerable than it has any right to. You’re suddenly aware that you’re trembling. 

“Thanks,” you manage. “It’s not a hard job.” 

Remus chuckles behind your ear, and Sirius lets out a sharp laugh, looking up at you in surprise. 

“We don’t usually get comedians on these sort of runs,” he tells you, eyes studying your face with something between bemusement and admiration. “Remus is understating things, gorgeous. As far as horrific car accidents go, you’re killing this.” He sets your wrist back in your lap. “You’re definitely in shock, though. Are you afraid of needles?” 

“Um, not very. Why?” 

“No reason.” 

Sirius looks past you, and then James is back on your other side. 

“Hi, sweetheart. Miss me?” 

What’s humiliating is you almost had. You keep your mouth shut, smiling tersely. 

He blazes right past the joke, fiddling with things out of your view until there’s something hard poking into your thigh. “Okay, on Remus’ count Sirius and I are going to lift you so I can slide this backboard under you. Your only job is to keep being good and still for us, yeah?” 

You don’t get to respond before Sirius and James are wrapping their hands around your thighs. And then you’re not sure you can respond. Your breath freezes with the rest of you, caught in your throat, you can feel fingers digging into the soft undersides of your thighs even through your jeans. Remus counts down from three, and their grips tighten as they lift. You hiss as the muscles in your neck and back tighten instinctively, but James quickly slides the plastic board underneath you and they set you down again. 

“That’s it, well done,” Sirius murmurs as James settles his hands carefully on either side of your face. Remus lets go. 

“You doing okay?” James asks you, ducking his head a bit to see your eyes. You hope you don’t look quite so petrified as you feel. 

“Yeah,” you say. 

James’ expression doesn’t change, but his thumb makes a couple of quick, soothing strokes at your temple. “Alright, sweetheart,” he replies. “After this is the easy part, we’re just gonna get you lying down.” Remus gets out of your backseat, squeezing in your passenger door with James to grab hold of your shoulders. James looks to him and Sirius before counting down, “Three, two, one,” and they’re turning you. 

Your neck blazes with a pain that’s so sudden and acute you nearly choke on it, a strangled whimpering sound escaping you as they lower you backwards. Your back meets hard plastic. Soft shushing sounds are falling from Remus’ lips, his grip on your shoulders easing now that you’re in a more secure position. 

“We’ve got you,” he murmurs gently, the way one might to a stray kitten. “You’re alright, love, you did so well.” 

If you talk now you’ll cry. You’re sure of it. So you settle for giving him a watery smile you know isn’t believable, and he returns it nonetheless. 

You hear the ripping of velcro, and then Sirius is standing over you, passing the other end of a strap to Remus. James is still grasping your head. They start placing the straps over your chest, careful, businesslike hands lifting your arms and pulling the material taut against your sides. Your hands are lying awkwardly at your sides, and Sirius pauses to take them, placing them atop your stomach with one folded over the other. Soon your upper half is strapped down. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears.

“What are they doing?” you ask James quietly. 

“They’re just restricting your spinal movement,” he explains. “We have to make sure you don’t hurt yourself by moving, and once they’re done I can let go of your head.” 

“Oh.” You take a breath. “Okay.” 

You know they’re really helping you, just doing their jobs, but even still every tug of the straps feels like it’s restricting your airflow. You feel tight and tense. Trapped. You try to fill your lungs, but it’s useless. 

“Hey.” James’ voice is tender, and you don’t want to look at him but you don’t have much choice when he leans over you like that. You feel like a child, breathing through your mouth to try and keep tears from spilling. “Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. What’s going on? Does something hurt?” 

You want to shake your head but you can’t, and that makes you cry harder. “No,” you squeak out. 

“Just scared?” You press your lips together, inhaling deeply to try and suppress the next sob that’s trying to break free from you. Down by your legs, you can feel Sirius and Remus moving faster to finish up. “I could certainly understand why. This is a lot, you know? But really, you’re being so great about it. We’re almost done here.” 

You close your eyes embarrassedly, you feel a strap tighten snugly around your ankles, and then James is letting your head go, wiping your tears with careful fingers. Another hand lands on your shin, rubbing soothingly. 

“We’ve gotta keep moving,” James says quietly, “to get you to the hospital, but if you need anything from us you can ask, alright?” 

You hum brokenly. 

“Alright.” He brushes a finger under your eye. You open it, and he gives you a reassuring little smile before looking to Remus and Sirius. “Ready?” 

“Yup.” Sirius’ voice is teeming with faux pep as they snap up the handles of the cot, starting to wheel you towards the ambulance. 

They lift you and all the equipment like it’s nothing, and then the sky is gone and you’re looking up at a plain gray ceiling. You’re working to steady your breathing now, counting both ways. You start to feel better. 

“There we are.” Remus sits down on a bench beside your head, stroking a knuckle over the teartracks his partner didn’t get. Sirius climbs in behind him and starts to mess with something on your other side while James swings the doors shut. “Just keep breathing like that, love. You can relax, alright? We’ve got you.” 

#so so lovely #i’m obsessed with the way you write them

[mareagirls]

Being inclusive with your reader insert fic is a kindness. It tells people of color (poc) that you are considering someone who does not look like you in your fic. It shows love and dedication to our craft. It tells poc that they belong here too and they can see themselves in your story.

Poc aren’t look for activism in fic, we know fandom isn’t that serious, but we should be able to have that same level of escapism when we turn to fic and fandom. We belong here too. This space is for everyone, not just one group of people.

Just to give a few examples of how simple it can be: say “skin warmed” instead of blushed, say “cradled your head” instead of running fingers through hair, say “angles yourself to kiss” instead of standing on tiptoes, use italics to indicate Spanish to take out a throwaway line of “you didn’t understand Spanish” things like that. Small changes that do not impact the fic at all but make a world of difference in inclusivity!

And for anything you can’t/don’t want to change, simply add warning in the beginning. Things like hair descriptors, anything reader might wear, some backstory for reader (especially involving family or where the story is set), readers job, things like that. A lot of times just having that heads up before the fic makes a world of difference!

And one example of kindness we as writers always worked to change: until recently (just a couple years ago) it wasn’t common to label the gender of the reader. But those who aren’t female asked writers to label it so they know which to read and which to avoid, and now it’s common to label the gender/pronouns of the reader. So it is possible! It just takes effort! And I’m a writer myself so I know it can be done!

We can pretend to be a bartender or a bounty hunter or an actress or anything else. But we shouldn’t have to imagine we’re a white one.

[mareagirls]

I was rereading your peter p fics and they are SO good u are such an amazing writer!! <3

u are so lovely, thank you 🩷🩷

[mareagirls]

Hi. Saw your post about Remus x shy!reader and wanted to request them going on a date (like maybe a bookstore and a coffee shop. that would be so cute) even though they’ve been dating for a while and Remus has to order for her and she’s still so nervous around him it’s crazy. Thanksss

If not that’s alright. xoxo

thank you for requesting!

"Hi, honey," Remus greeted you, arm reaching out to give you a hug.

You breathed in his cozy sweater, a sigh escaping your mouth. "Hi," you murmured, pulling away from him slightly so he could give you a kiss. "I missed you," you whispered, a soft confession, and then hid your face away from him in the safe spot that was his chest.

Remus smiled, propping his chin up on your head. "I missed you too," he said, and you felt warmth flow into you.

You reluctantly let go of him and he immediately interlocked your hands together. You smiled at the touch, giving him a grin that made Remus's heart swell in his chest. He was so happy to know that you were finally getting comfortable around him, that you felt like you could trust him.

He pushed the coffee shop door open with his spare hand, the other firmly locked in yours. He began to talk to the waitress, asking for a table for two.

Remus, always the gentleman, pulled out your chair for you, and you gave him a smile of appreciation.

The two of you looked at the menu, even though you already knew exactly what you wanted. You had come here countless times, because the bookshop across the street was your favourite. But you had never been here with Remus.

"What would you two like?" the waitress asked politely, pen and paper in hand. You blinked away from your thoughts and looked at Remus.

"I'll have the iced coffee," he said, turning his gaze away from the waitress to you, where you were tapping your fingers against the table.

He and the waitress both stared at you, as you hesitantly looked back and forth between the two of them. You knew exactly what you wanted, but not how to voice it, and Remus noticed, flashing you an apologetic look before turning back to the waitress. "That's it for now," he said, and she left.

It was so embarrassing. Why couldn't you just say it? It wasn't that difficult, you thought. Ordering a cup of coffee should not be that difficult. It certainly wasn't for Remus, so why should it be for you?

"Hey," Remus said, pulling you out of your thoughts. He reached for your hand across the table and squeezed it. "Honey," he murmured, voice soft, as if he was speaking to a baby bird, "you know you could've just asked me to order for you, right?"

You nodded, trying to will the tears away. But Remus noticed. He always noticed. He made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat, then pulled your chair closer to his.

"Oh, sweetheart," he cooed quietly, heart breaking for you. "It's alright," he said, his voice deep and comforting as you pressed your face into his sweater, almost to hide, even though the coffee shop was almost empty and no one was paying the two of you any mind.

"I'm sorry," you finally whispered, pulling away from him to fiddle with the straps of your sundress instead.

"Sorry?" he said, incredulous. "Honey, you did nothing wrong," he added, cupping your face in his palms. "I know it's scary sometimes, and that's perfectly okay. Just ask me next time you're feeling shy, alright?"

"Okay," you murmured, the beginnings of a smile already forming on your face.

"So," he said, smushing your cheeks together, "what did you want to order, sweetheart?"

#very lovely #loved it!!! 😚😚

[mareagirls]

i know u guys didn't sign up for covers but they're all i have rn to share so enjoy this snippet :')

here is a snippet from a cover of can't catch me now that i recorded with my friend a few weeks ago!! <3

[mareagirls]

me 🤝 recording tbosas covers when i should be working on assignments :')

#i have been working on some requests guys #not to fret #but as u know if you’ve been here long enough my turnaround time is abysmal #so enjoy a little singing audio instead as reparations #i feel like i only ever talk about writing here 😭 #but i love to sing #so there’s a fun fact #anyway #i will have the requests done #!!!

[mareagirls]

genuinely so excited that you (one of my fav writers on tumblr) reblogged one of my fics <33 made my day fr

awe, of course my lovely! i thought it was such a cute drabble :)

[mareagirls]

peter parker and reader with really bad social anxiety

i love this fic so much

going out with your friends shouldn't be so hard. but for you, it really was. it wasn't that you didn't like them, or that you thought they didn't like you. it was the constant overthinking, the feeling that you weren't good enough to hang out with them, the worrying about having to speak up in large groups of people.

ultimately, the anxiety started from the idea of being judged by others. and you knew that peter and your friends wouldn't do that to you, but it was constantly in the back of your mind.

tonight, you just wanted to be with your boyfriend, watching movies and cuddling on the sofa. you knew peter would be absolutely fine with doing whatever you wanted, but your friends had insisted the two of you should come, saying that it would be so much fun.

"baby?" peter's soft voice pulled you out of your thoughts. "you sure you wanna go? we don't have to if you don't feel like it tonight."

you shook your head. "i'm okay, don't worry." your words didn't exactly soothe him; he'd always worry about you.

you turned your head towards the window, watching as the buildings rushed past in the moving car. peter reached for your hand, and gave it a squeeze. it was a soft reassurance, but it still somewhat made you feel a little guilty. because why couldn't you just let peter enjoy the party for one night?

once you reached your friend's house, you felt the anxiety bubble up again. you glanced at peter, and his gaze was already focused on you, concern still lingering in his eyes. you gave him the best smile you could muster, and whispered, "let's go in."

entering the party was the worst part. the music was blaring, so loud you felt claustrophobic, there were cups filled with god knows what inside of them, loud laughter and the sound of someone throwing up in the bathroom that you wish you hadn't heard.

your friend, meghan, greeted you. "let's get you a drink!" meghan called, pulling you away from peter and ned, who'd also just arrived. you looked back at him but it was too crowded, people filling up every corner of meghan's living room.

"take this," she shouted, handing you a red paper cup. at your hesitation, she added, "it's just soda, don't worry!"

you nodded, plastering a smile onto your face. she dragged you to sit with some of your friends, but mostly it was a group of people you'd never spoken to before. the idea of speaking in front of all of them made you want to throw up. meghan introduced you to them, and they were polite enough, but sometimes you felt like they were exchanging glances and whispering about you, even though you knew they really weren't.

you felt trapped, like you couldn't breathe. by the time meghan asked you a question, the entire group was staring at you, just waiting for your answer. your hands were shaking, and you put the cup down on the table. "sorry, what did you say?" you asked, voice wavering.

some of them laughed, and you felt the dread build up until you couldn't take it anymore. you stood up, murmuring something about needing to use the bathroom, and you went out into the balcony where peter was.

your heart was racing, too fast to be considered normal, and as soon as you saw him, you almost burst into tears.

"hey, sweetheart!" peter called you over. "we were just-" he down at you, at the tears pooling under your waterline. "what's wrong?"

you shook your head and closed your eyes, and you heard him tell ned to give him a second.

"baby," he cooed lightly. "eyes up here, please." you did as he said, mascara already ruined as the first of many tears slid down your cheeks. "oh, sweetheart. come here."

he wrapped you in his arms, into the only place where you always felt safe; no matter what. with one hand, he stroked your hair absently, and with the other, he rubbed soothing circles onto your back.

"shhh," he murmured, his voice soft and comforting. "it's okay. you're okay." he felt a pang in his chest as you continued to cry into his sweatshirt. he needed to take care of you, to make sure you were okay. you were his girl, and you not being happy meant he wouldn't be happy either.

you leaned back to look at him and whisper a "i'm so-"

"don't you dare," your boyfriend interrupted. you giggled as he reached up to thumb the tears away from your face. "you did nothing worth apologising for." after a short pause, peter pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "now can we go home?"

"please."

#this is so lovely!!

[mareagirls]

hello i’ve just seen that i’ve reached another follower milestone so thank u guys for hanging around even when i don’t post anything apart from fic recs :’) i am opening up my requests because i’d like to do something celly-adjacent (but far far more low-key) so if u guys have any requests you’d like to see pls lmk!

#mareagirls musings

[mareagirls]

hii!!

congrats on 6k pretty sure i binged ur entire blog like yesterday

id like tasm!peterparker and candycane 35 (from the second list)

thank you!

join the celebration!

prompt: sender  curls  up  against  receiver  in  their  sleep

tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

Peter’s very lucky you’re not awake when he gets home, because he’d definitely be scolded (lovingly, of course, but scolded all the same) for being back so late. He can imagine the pinch between your eyebrows, the downturn of your mouth, how you’d frown at him and say, baby, you need to stop staying out so late. I get so worried. But then you’d kiss him and help him clean up like he deserves it.

You don’t do any of those things. Rather, you’re fast asleep in his bed, achingly peaceful in your slumber. Peter’s heart does something funny when he climbs in through the window and finds you knocked out cold in his clothes, a big t-shirt with a Star Wars graphic plastered over the front, and a pair of his checkered boxers. Your face is smushed adorably into his pillow.

Peter bites his glove off and tosses it to the side to stroke your warm cheek with the back of his hand, fingers gentle where they brush hair from your sleeping face. You preen at his touch, leaning up into his hand, as if you know it’s him even in your sleep. Peter’s chest feels so heavy with fondness it almost hurts.

He moves away before he can get too distracted — he could watch you sleep all night if he could, but he’s super tired and wants nothing more than to get in bed with you. He showers at lightning speed, forgoes patching up the mild cut over his eyebrow (he’s sure he’ll get an earful about it in the morning, but he doesn’t really care right now) and slides into bed next to you, careful not to jostle you too much.

Still, you stir. “Pete?” You mumble, barely a word, mostly a slurred sound rather than his name. You tilt your chin up towards him in the dark. Peter can’t see your eyes but he guesses you’re awake, if the way you’re curving towards him is anything to go off of.

“Hey, angel,” he whispers. He presses his hand to your shoulder, his thumb rubbing at your collarbone. “Go back to sleep. Sorry for waking you.”

But it looks like you’re already fast asleep. Peter’s gets a closer look at you and realises you hadn’t actually been awake at all. You’re still very much asleep, your chest heaving with slow and steady breaths. You nuzzle your face into his hand and bring your knees up into his side, curling up against him in your sleep. Peter feels something akin to an explosion in his chest, totally flattered at the idea that even in your sleep, you’re searching for him. He’d kiss you silly right now if you weren’t peacefully asleep. It’ll have to wait until morning.

He gets an arm around you and pulls you closer to his chest, lethargic with fondness.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs to you. He presses his mouth to your hairline in a long, slow kiss, speaking against your skin when he says, “I love you.”

You make a sound in your sleep like you’ve heard him. Peter falls asleep with his heart full.

#this was very lovely indeed #like u know that feeling when u read something and it’s so comforting that you physically feel it in your chest? #i got that