remmyj-ohnloops

[remmyj-ohnloops]

Bubble Bath

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: Remus surprises you with a bubble bath after a long day at work.

Note: I plan on making a couple versions of this prompt using different characters. So far I’m working on Severus and Sirius but I’m open to other suggestions.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:

The moment you stepped into your shared home, exhaustion weighed on you like a heavy cloak. Being an Auror was rewarding, but after today’s particularly grueling case, all you wanted to do was collapse into bed and forget about the world.

It had been a long day—one of those days where nothing seemed to go right, where your patience had been tested to its very limit. Every muscle in your body ached, and all you wanted to do was collapse face-first onto the nearest soft surface.

You barely managed to kick off your shoes before a warm, familiar voice called from down the hall.

“Love? Is that you?”

Remus.

Just hearing his voice was enough to make your shoulders sag with relief. He always had that effect on you—calm, steady, grounding. You followed the sound of his voice, noticing the flicker of soft light coming from the bathroom. When you stepped inside, your breath hitched.

The room had been transformed. Candles flickered from every surface, casting a golden glow across the walls. The scent of lavender and vanilla filled the air, curling around you like a warm embrace. The bathtub—large and inviting—was filled to the brim with bubbles, the water shimmering in the candlelight. A fluffy towel sat neatly on the counter, along with one of Remus’s oversized sweaters, which you loved to steal.

Your heart swelled. “Remus… did you do all this?”

He stood by the tub, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I had a feeling you might need it,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You looked absolutely wrecked when you left this morning.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “That obvious, huh?”

He stepped closer, his hands finding your waist, thumbs tracing soft circles over your hips. “I could hear it in your voice before you even left the bed.” His forehead dipped to rest against yours, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “You give so much to everyone else. I thought maybe you could use someone taking care of you for a change.”

Your chest tightened, the day’s stress unraveling at his touch, at the warmth in his voice. You reached up, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over the faint scar just beneath his eye. “You’re too good to me.”

He smirked, kissing the tip of your nose. “I’ll let you get in before the water gets cold.”

With careful hands, he helped you out of your clothes, his fingers trailing over your skin as if memorizing every curve, every inch of you. But there was nothing rushed or heated about it—just quiet reverence, an unspoken promise in every touch.

As you sank into the water, a sigh of pure bliss escaped your lips. The warmth seeped into your tired muscles, and the scent of lavender wrapped around you like a blanket. Remus crouched beside the tub, resting his chin on his folded arms atop the rim, watching you with nothing but fondness.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he teased, reaching out to swirl his fingers through the bubbles.

You hummed in agreement, sinking deeper. “I might never get out.”

His lips twitched. “I suppose I could bring you meals in here, then. Keep you hydrated, read to you…”

You chuckled. “Are you saying you’d take care of me forever if I refused to leave this bath?”

His expression softened. “You never have to ask.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest, and you reached out, fingers brushing through his hair. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your palm.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” he asked after a moment, voice quiet.

You blinked in surprise, then nodded. “That sounds perfect.”

Remus rolled up his sleeves further and reached for the pitcher sitting on the edge of the tub. With gentle hands, he tilted your head back, carefully pouring the warm water over your hair. His fingers worked through the strands, massaging your scalp with a tenderness that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Merlin, how did you get so lucky?

“Mm,” you sighed, eyes slipping shut. “If you keep this up, I really won’t ever leave the bath.”

He chuckled, his fingers still carding through your hair. “Well, I certainly don’t mind spoiling you.”

You cracked one eye open. “What’s the occasion?”

His hand stilled for a moment before he leaned in, brushing his lips against your temple. “You don’t need an occasion,” he murmured. “I just love you.”

Your heart nearly melted into the water.

The rest of the bath was spent in quiet conversation—soft laughter, gentle teasing, the occasional splash of bubbles when Remus got too smug about something. He stayed with you the entire time, never once growing impatient, never once making you feel like he had anywhere else to be.

And when you were finally ready to get out, he wrapped you in the fluffiest towel and pulled you against his chest, pressing lingering kisses to the top of your damp hair.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, his voice laced with affection. “I think a certain someone deserves a foot massage next.”

You laughed into his sweater. “You’re making it very hard to believe you’re not a saint, you know that?”

He smirked, tilting your chin up to steal one last kiss. “Ah, well. Don’t tell anyone. I do have a reputation to maintain.”

And with that, he scooped you up in his arms—laughing at your surprised squeak—and carried you off to bed, where the night would end the same way it always did.

Wrapped in his warmth. Safe. Loved.

Exactly where you belonged.

[remmyj-ohnloops]

moony versus the moon

'between certainties and doubts' installment part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader) wc: 1.1k a/n: no warnings, yall make out? some allusion to more. whipped this up so quick go make out with him under the stars for me while i do homework

—

“The moon and I have a special relationship,” you muse, taking a sidelong glance at the boy who’s gone quiet beside you. With your hair sprawled across his bicep, you realize you’ve been resting upon his arm for a while now and you wonder if he’s gotten pins and needles yet. For a moment, you think he’s fallen asleep—chest rising and falling slowly underneath your palm. When you go to move away, Remus pulls you right back into him despite the static sparks that travel all the way down to his fingertips.

“Mm? Is that right?” 

His voice is thick with exhaustion as you both watch the clouds crawl across the night sky. It’s well past curfew now, and instead of being under the covers in the girls dormitory, he’s caught you laid out on the training grounds with a quilt spread out on the grass to catch him after his Prefect shift. Remus greeted you with a chain of kisses on your neck and a crumpled up detention slip that’s blown away in the wind. 

“You don’t believe me?”

He can’t tell if you’re teasing again so he turns to face you, eyes crossing in their concentration as he pulls a face. You giggle; it’s music to his ears. You’re always laughing when he’s around, and he plans to keep it that way. Makes him feel like he’s on top of the world, to have your attention all on him like this.

“Should I be jealous of the moon? What you’ve got with him, s’it better than ours?”

Relationship.

You’ve never heard him say the word, or use it in the context of the time you two spend together—it makes you smirk at the disgruntled look that rises to his face despite the fluttery feeling in your belly. One of his eyes is closed in a wink, the other peering at the half moon overhead like it’s deeply offended him somehow. 

“It’s a her, I think. Be nice, will you?”

Remus buries his nose into the crook of your neck, wrapping a gangly leg around your waist as you both sink further into the soft grass, “M’always nice.”

You don’t respond. 

“Sometimes I think the moon just understands me, y’know? Sees me for who I am.”

He’s stroking your hair now, brushing it away from your forehead as he takes you in. His fuzzy sock has a hole in it—the cool air is getting in, but even the sliver of his pinky toe that peeks out searches for your skin until it finds respite against your bare ankle.

“Think you need sleep, lovely,” he chuckles softly, almost hesitantly. Without looking at him, you know he’s insecure. The sound rumbles against the soft of your neck, like a megaphone straight to the core of you. Remus does this a lot—one of his favorite spots for his mouth is against your pulsepoint. Sometimes you think he likes to hold you by the maw of your throat, and whether it be to harm you or confirm that you’re real, you’re still not sure. He waits for you to say something. Instead, you grab his hand and interlace your fingers with his own.

“Do you think I don’t see you?” he mutters. Remus is searching for something that neither of you can put the words to. Instead, the two of you will talk each other in circles until it’s time for bed, a cyclical routine the both of you have become accustomed to—until the words resemble something of a temporary fill until the hunger needs to be satiated again.

“Sometimes I think you don’t understand me.”

Evergreen eyes flicker from your eyes and down to your lips. He usually kisses your worries away, kisses away the questions he can’t answer. You can see he’s holding back the urge to—chewing on his lip until it bleeds and you tut, blotting it with the sleeve of your night robe. Remus is vulnerable too, under the light of the moon, under the weight of your stare, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“You have such an innate awareness of yourself, Remus Lupin,” you say like one talks in a dream—disembodied, and he feels like he’s floating, out of control of his own body. “But you’re not that aware of how other people around you feel, hmm?” Your index finger grazes the slope of his nose, poking the tip lightly. 

He could say the opposite for you. The ability you have to make everyone around you smile is something he thinks Muggles would consider a miracle. You’re a miracle in this wretched life of his—and his living proof that he can be desirable, normal, like any other wizard that attends Hogwarts, no matter if he knows he can’t give you what you want. You’d never let someone like him be what you want anyway, he thinks. So no matter how good you are at reading him like a book, his furry little problem will stay his own.

“I know how you feel,” he mumbles, his lips pressing against your own ever so softly. He kisses you through his words, placating the truth and pushing it back against your mouth.

“Oh yeah?” you scoff, going dizzy when he rolls on top of you and all you see is him, "Prove it." Remus’ knee is nudged between your thighs and his arms encircle you from above as he falls into you until you’re dripping with the words he can’t verbalize, the feeling of lust spilling onto that quilt turning into another L-word that he doesn’t really believe in. 

You can’t see the moon anymore and the longer you lay there, he’s glad he knows you’re a witch because your lips are quite plainly magic. 

Remus might be turning into a believer, if only he’d admit it to himself that he could deserve someone like you. But even if that was true—he’s sure that nothing you do in this life can deem you deserving of a monster like him. 

When you say goodnight, well into the early hours of the morning, Remus can feel the eyebags digging deeper into his cheekbones, and he still sends you off with a cheeky swat on the bum as you walk up the stairs to your dorm. He catches you rolling your eyes; they flicker to the moon through the window as if to say, “Here he goes again…” And he swallows, wringing his hands in his school robes the whole way back to his room, wondering if the moon will agree. 

His own relationship with it is as complicated as the one you share with him, anyway.

—

i don't do taglists anymore! follow @ma1dita-mail & turn on post notifs 🤍

[remmyj-ohnloops]

This is my first time requesting so ignore this if it doesn’t make sense but I was wondering if I could request a tired reader just wanting to be babied a bit and Remus just being the most gentle and loving with her ? (Just something super lovey dovey 🫠)

Thanks for requesting!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 407 words

Once you’ve begun yawning, you can’t stop. Tears well in your eyes and squish out into your lashes. Remus pretends to be vexed with you for getting him started too, but really he’s only horrifically in love with you. 

“Alright, e…enough,” he says around a deep yawn. “Clearly it’s time for bed.” 

You make a low, unwilling sound as your eyes close and your head drops to the pillow propped up against the arm of the sofa. Remus smiles, brushing a finger under your lashes to collect the moisture there. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.” 

You mumble something. 

“Hm?” 

“Carry me?” Your eyes open, pleading. 

Remus is sure he looks just as lovesick as he feels. He’s well aware that you’re likely doing this on purpose—dialing up your usual sweetness to eleven—but it’s working. He thinks you’re the most precious thing in the world. He wants to carry you everywhere you ask, to cuddle you and cosset you and snog you into oblivion. 

“I would,” he says, fondness heavy on his tongue, “but I can’t carry you and wash your face at the same time.” 

You make another small sound. Similar to the first, but more resigned. 

“I know,” Remus chuckles, getting an arm under your middle to help encourage you up. “I’m sorry.” 

You walk like you really are half asleep already, zig-zagging and leaning heavily against Remus’ side all the way to the bathroom. You groan and shut your eyes when he turns on the light. He sits you up on the counter to smooth product into your skin with soft, lulling touches. 

You make an appreciative humming sound when he wets a flannel to clean it off with rather than splashing your face the way you normally would. 

“Thank you,” you say, nearly slurring. 

Remus smiles to himself. “Of course.” 

You’re soft as butter in his hands. Your face is relaxed, cheek smushing to the side when he wipes with the cloth. He indulges himself in pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips when he’s done, and they curve in a somnolent smile. 

“Love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

“Rem?” 

“Hm?” 

“I really think you’re gonna have to carry me to bed.” You let yourself slump forward, face hiding in his neck. “I can’t walk.” 

Remus lets out a put upon sigh, though he’s sure you can hear the way his heart swells by the beating of his pulse. 

“Fine. Just this once.”

[remmyj-ohnloops]

hi mae!! love your writing, its so comforting to me <3 if it takes your fancy, would you consider writing a little something for james or sirius w a reader who has a hand tremor? i have one in my left hand and its been frustrating me a lot lately!! no worries if this doesnt interest you, sending love!

Sending love back sweetheart !

cw: reader shaves her legs

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 756 words

You’ve taken to shaving sitting atop the bathroom counter. You go slowly, using the sink to rinse your razor. With the amount of time it takes you lately, you started to feel guilty about the amount of water you were wasting doing it in the shower. 

Sirius has taken to sitting on the toilet and chatting with you while you do it. 

“I liked it,” he says, fingers drumming absently on the toilet lid. He’s got his legs spread and his arms resting between them, devastatingly handsome even when he’s not trying to be. He’s telling you about the film he went to see with his friends at the cinema today. “It was funny. Remus said it was sort of idiotic, but he’s in one of his pretentious moods. James thought it was funny, too, so.” 

“I’ll have to see it and pass judgement,” you say, concentrating on the line of foamy cream on your leg as you drag your razor up it. Your hand trembles, but the line stays mostly straight.

Sirius grins. “I’d go again, if you wanted to. You’d like it, there’s this one part where—” 

He cuts off when you hiss, hissing with you in sympathy. A bead of blood forms near your knee. 

“Hey, be careful.” 

You give him a sideways look, wiping the blood away and reaching for the tap to rinse your razor again. “Do you think I’m not?” 

Sirius frowns. He shakes his head. “No. Sorry, that came out wrong.” He pushes himself up, coming over to you. “Why don’t you let me do that?” 

You look at him for a moment, deliberating. There are lots of things that Sirius does for you. He writes letters if you ask him to, buttons your work shirts in the morning, does your eyeliner when you want to feel pretty and put together. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to let him do this for you, too. 

At your hesitance, he says, “You know I don’t care if you shave anything. Right?” 

It’s a conversation you’ve had before. Sirius is anticipating your answer. 

“I know, but I want to.” He nods, accepting. “And I don’t want to stop just because I can’t make my hand—”

“Easy.” He uses a warning tone, playfulness hidden beneath. “Don’t start insulting my favorite girl. You don’t have to stop, sweetness. Let me, okay?” 

You relent, passing your razor to him. Your hand quivers obviously during the transfer. Sirius closes his over it, giving your fist a loving squeeze before extricating the razor from its grasp. 

“Don’t cut me,” you say. 

Sirius tsks. “Are you kidding me? I’d sooner go to Remus’ and sit through whatever he thinks a good film is.” He wants you to smile. Kisses you when you do. “Don’t worry. I shave my face all the time, I’m not going to cut you.” 

You know he does. You like to watch him do that too, often teasing in lamenting tones about how roguish he’d look if he let his facial hair grow out just a little. Sirius will threaten to leave just a thin mustache, and that always shuts you right up. 

“It’s different than shaving your face,” you say. 

“Well, I think I’ll get the hang of it.” 

He really is rather good at it. This likely has something to do with how exceedingly gentle Sirius is being with you. He steadies you with one hand on the already shaven part of your calf, his brows lowered in concentration as he draws the razor up your leg hardly faster than you had. The touch of the blades is so ghostlike you’re slightly concerned he’s not getting any hair off at all. 

Your throat aches. You bite down on your lip to keep from crying. You feel so lucky, to have someone who would do this for you. Sometimes you resent that you can’t do it for yourself, or that you can’t do it better, but Sirius being so willing to step in when you falter makes it a thousand times better. He really seems happy to do it. It’s overwhelming. 

You don’t make any sound, Sirius doesn’t look up, but he’s skilled at sensing moods. 

“Alright, lovely?” 

“Yeah,” you reply in a soft voice. “Tell me about the film.” 

“Oh, I think you’re going to like it. It’s a bit stupid, but in a silly way, you know? Actually, are you busy after work tomorrow? We could do the thing where we get one drink and two straws; it’ll be romantic.” 

[remmyj-ohnloops]

Mourning A Love Changed

Word Count: 647

Pairing: Sirius x afab!Reader

Summery: Hair holds memory; unfortunately so does the heart. Sirius helps ease the pain from it all

Warnings: allusion to trans Regulus, brief mention of not having a good relationship with mothers. Sirius trauma on top of reader trauma. (header images aren't meant for depiction of reader, just to help with vibes)

Authors note: this is very much a self indulgence piece. I have a rocky relationship with my own mother and realized the other day that teaching yourself how to French braid your own hair is hard. I'm just chasing the feeling of childhood love.

It's just a hairstyle, you shouldn't be crying this hard. 

But it's a hairstyle your mom used to do for you, sat crisscross on the floor in the living room of your childhood home. 

Back when you were too young to know that her love was conditional; when all you knew was the love that radiated toward you cause you were too young to disappoint her. 

It's unfair how difficult it is to french-braid your own hair. It shouldn't be this difficult to move nimble fingers through overly frizzy hair; it shouldn't be this difficult to catch the mistakes before they happen. 

Though perhaps the tears welling up and blurring your eyesight can be blamed for that. 

It's been months since you spoke with her properly, so why is this affecting you so much?

It's unfair - cruel, even - for this feeling to spill over now, simply over something as small as wanting to french braid your own hair. 

And this is how Sirius finds you.

Again. 

The third attempt this week to work your hair into the tight twists, only to fall short; frustrated and grieving as you slide onto the bathroom floor and wallow in your sorrow. 

"Oh, Lovie" Sirius coos softly, stepping over to crouch at your side. 

"Here," Sirius murmurs as he steps over you, perching on the edge of the tub behind your crying form on the ground.

He hardly gives you a moment to respond before he’s gently tilting your hed back and reaching over to grab the brush from the sink.

"...what are you doing?" You finally manage to ask. 

"Braiding your hair, I know it's not the same. But-" his voice trails off as he gently rakes the comb down the middle of your scalp, making sure everything is even. 

"I didn't know you knew how," Now that his lithe fingers are working your hair the tears have seemingly stopped; red puffy eyes and sniffling left in its wake

Sirius hums softly, thinking for a moment before he speaks. "Used to do Reggie's hair all the time when we were little." 

Your gentle hum is your only reply before falling into the comfortable silence that seems to come so naturally when around him; your solace. 

It’s not until Sirius is almost done with your second braid that you pipe up again. Voice soft, almost timid in your questioning. “Did you go through this kind of thing when you ran away to James’?” 

For a small moment it felt like the question just hangs in the air, but after a beat Sirius answers. 

“Before hogwarts…it’s possible. But by the time I ran to my real family, I had long since come to terms with the fact that my mother never loved me. She loved the status my life gave her.” He finishes the braids off with an elastic matching the plait on the other side almost perfectly, despite the years without practice. He leans forward to place a gentle kiss at the crown of your head. 

“It’s different, I think, when you think your mother loves you for most of your life. I wish I could help more, Doll.” He murmurs softly before helping you up and guiding you to the mirror to inspect his work. 

Once again, silence befalls the both of you, each too caught up in examining Sirius’ handiwork. Though, Sirius is quick to placate you when he sees your eyes well with tears again.

“I know it’s not great but-”

You're quick to cut him off, turning and diving into his arm to bury your face into his chest, hands clinging to his shirt. The tears fall quickly, dampening the fabric beneath you. 

“They’re perfect,” You offer, Sirius’ form relaxing under your words. “You make my inner-child so happy” 

At this, Sirius finds his own tears blurring his vision. Holding you just as tightly. “She’s safe here” 

[remmyj-ohnloops]

Off limits pt.3 - remus lupin

summary: when sirius sees you kissing his best friend, he decides to have his first real conversation with you in two years, and you finally reveal what life has been like for you and regulus after he left. wc: 1.1k+ pt.1 \\ pt.2

No matter how much you increased your pace, the volume of Sirius’s footsteps never subsided, hinting that your brother was right on your tail. A harsh call of your name had you wincing, finally stopping in your tracks. There was no pretending you hadn’t heard his angry call of your name. Spinning around with an unimpressed expression on your face, you crossed your arms over your chest as Sirius continued stepping towards you, even when you deemed him too close. His hand wrapped around your bicep, and he tugged you along with him to a dark, secluded area, underneath a spiralling staircase.

Now you were scared.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a tall, scar-faced boy round the corner into the corridor, following you and Sirius. Sirius let go of your bicep with a push that had you stumbling back a couple of steps, feeling your back grazing the wall behind you.

“I fucking understand if you want to fuck with me, or make my life miserable, but keep my friends out of it!” You scoffed at Sirius’s words, nodding slowly at him. “Of course you think it’s all about you. Sirius, I don’t. Fucking. Care. About you.” Your brother laughed loudly, gesturing to the invisible audience, and the one boy he didn’t know was listening from behind the staircase. “You don’t fucking care about me. Then why the fuck are you playing around with Remus’s feelings?”

“I’m not playing with Remus’s feelings! I like him! I fucking like him so much, you dumbass!” Sirius took a step back at your sudden outburst, watching with wide eyes as a shiny layer of fresh tears appeared over your eyes. “You’re the reason I haven’t made a move on him sooner! Because I know you hate me! I know you don’t want me near you or your friends!” You inhaled deeply, ignoring the angry tears that silently rolled down your cheeks, wiping them off your face aggressively.

“You-you actually like him?” Sirius spoke in almost a whisper, guilt immediately painting his features. You nodded wordlessly. “I know you want nothing to do with me and Regulus. We’ve known that since you left us. But fuck Sirius, we don’t hate you for it. We hate you for the way you treat us. As though we agree with mum and dad. As though we’ve shown you that we’ve hated you all our lives. Your bullshit behaviour towards us has all been under some delusion that we are happy you’re gone.”

Sirius was silent, spluttering as he took in your words. You’d spoken as though you had a confession, afraid to tell him he was being delusional before. Suddenly, Sirius felt bad. For how he yelled at you now, for how he’s treated you and Regulus for the past two years. He was supposed to be your big brother, your protector. He’d been everything but that.

“Regulus and I aren’t brave like you Sirius. But we also aren’t as treacherous. I would never leave Regulus on his own, even if that meant sacrificing what was left of our relationship. But just because we don’t have a relationship now, doesn’t mean I cannot be involved with people you know. Remus likes me and I like him. And I’m going to go out with him whether you like it or not. If you’re so insecure about your friendship with him, maybe you should speak to him, not me.”

Remus rubbed his eyes from where he hid behind the staircase, not expecting for this confrontation to get so emotional. He dragged his feet over to where you and Sirius stood underneath the staircase, crossing both his arms over his chest. “Oh my god.” You gasped, turning away from Remus to wipe away at your wet cheeks. You glanced at your reflection in the glass window, wiping smudged mascara away from underneath your lower lashes.

You turned back around to find your brother and his best friend stood in the exact same position, neither of them moving, just staring at each other. “We’ve been sitting next to each other in potions all year. That’s how - no one went behind your back, Sirius.” Remus finally spoke, a disappointed look in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I only asked about a hundred times!” You gulped as the volume of Sirius’s voice increased again, betrayal evident in his voice.

Remus scoffed in amusement, gesturing an arm between the two of you. “Sirius, do you remember what you said to me at Hogsmeade? Don’t fall for her tricks, she’s just trying to get to me! Why would I tell you, when the entire time you were so convinced she was doing it for you?”

Sirius immediately seemed sheepish, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “I seem to have misjudged the situation.” He admitted, looking between you and Remus, but you weren’t looking at him. Why was it so easy for him to admit his mistake to Remus, but he had to be stubborn when it came to you? Sirius called your name, the soft tone of voice sounding alien to you. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t realise I hurt you and Regulus so much.”

No response.

He sighed. A part of him was still angry at you, his thoughts clouded by his own defensive judgements. But you had the right to be mad at him, furious even. He knew he would be too. Sirius decided he would give you time to deal with your feelings, trying to regain your trust through his actions. But for now? Well, he decided to leave you with someone you actually trusted.

Sirius walked away, letting Remus take a few steps towards you, cupping your cheeks softly. “Hey, look at me.” You followed his instruction, meeting his worried eyes. “Are you okay?” You nodded, sniffling softly as your eyes filled with tears once more. “I wasn’t planning on letting you seeing me cry, like, ever.” You muttered, deciding to opt out of ‘so we’re going to have to get married then’.

He laughed softly, his thumb caressing your cheek. “It’s good to start a relationship with trust, isn’t it?” Humming softly, you brought your hands up to grip the bottom of his jumper. Remus leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. You sighed in satisfaction, pressing yourself on your tippy toes as your eyes fluttered shut. One of Remus’s arms wrapped around your waist to steady you and you brought a hand to the back of his neck. His lips parted from yours for a short moment to admire at you fondly.

“I don’t want this relationship to involve my brother, please.” You said, voice quiet. Remus chuckled half-heartedly as an uncomfortable image formed in his mind.

“Yeah, I really don’t want this relationship to involve your brother either. You know, I’m expecting us to be the only two people on our dates.”

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[remmyj-ohnloops]

Sirius black x reader

Set a year after graduation.

You’d known James Potter since you were six years old. Your families had been friends for ages, and from the moment you met, he decided you were his honorary sibling. It didn’t matter that you weren’t actually related—James treated you as fiercely as he did his own mother.

And with James came the Marauders. You’d practically grown up with them too, spending your Hogwarts years causing trouble and keeping them (mostly) out of it. But one Marauder had always stood out—Sirius Black.

He’d been in love with you since he was thirteen. Not that you ever noticed.

But now, a year after Hogwarts, something had shifted. You weren’t sure when exactly it happened—maybe it was the way he looked at you like you were something precious, or how he always managed to make you laugh even on your worst days. Or maybe it was just the fact that, for the first time, you let yourself really see him.

And Merlin, was he something to see.

“I swear, you get prettier every time I see you,” Sirius murmured against her lips, his voice laced with that effortless charm that never failed to make her heart race.

“You saw me an hour ago,” she teased, though her hands found their way into his dark hair, tugging lightly.

“Exactly my point.”She laughed softly before he swallowed the sound with another kiss.

It was easy to get lost in Sirius Black. Too easy.

Here you were, pressed up against Sirius in the dimly lit sitting room of the Potter house, snogging him like your life depended on it. His hands were in your hair, your fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, and you were so caught up in him—his warmth, his scent, the way he kissed you like he’d been starving for years—that you didn’t hear the door swing open.

“Oh, finally!”

You jumped, pulling away from Sirius so fast you nearly toppled off the couch. He caught you, arm firm around your waist, as you turned to see James, Remus, Lily, and Peter standing in the doorway, all wearing varying expressions of amusement and delight.

James looked absolutely thrilled. “I knew it! I bloody knew it!” He turned to Remus, who was shaking his head with a smirk. “Didn’t I say this would happen? Ages ago, I said this would happen!”

Lily rolled her eyes but was smiling. “Yes, James, we know. You’ve been talking about it since sixth year.”

Peter grinned. “Took you two long enough.”

You groaned, burying your face in Sirius’s shoulder, and he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Well,” he said, voice full of laughter, “at least now we don’t have to keep it a secret.”

James clapped his hands together. “Exactly! This is brilliant! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? I always said my best mate and my honorary sister would end up together, and now here we are!”

“Alright, alright,” you said, shaking your head. “Yes, we’re together. Yes, it took a while. Can we move on now?”

James grinned. “Absolutely not.”

Sirius just laughed, pulling you back into his arms. “Let them have their fun, love,” he murmured, voice low enough for only you to hear. “They’ll get over it soon enough.”

You sighed, but you couldn’t help smiling. Because, honestly? You weren’t sure you wanted them to get over it. Because this—being here, with Sirius and your friends, laughing and teasing—felt right. Like it was always meant to be

[remmyj-ohnloops]

i don’t know if this makes sense but:

gigi’s telemachus is regulus

and duvetbox’s telemachus is sirius

[remmyj-ohnloops]

how did it begin again?

Remus lupin x fem!reader who have their first date after their reconciliation ✩ 1.3k words

this is technically a part two to this story but can be read as a stand-alone.

cw: exes to lovers, fluff, reader is overwhelmed, Remus is a sweetheart

an: wrote this purely because I love a happy ending.

The past few weeks have been the warmest you’ve felt in a long time. You’ve got your friends back, an effervescent group of the loveliest people you’ve ever known, and the world no longer feels as lonely as it did just a month ago.

And, of course, there’s Remus. Slowly, both of you have been chipping away at the lingering frost that still clung to your relationship, even after agreeing to give things another shot. You’re at a point now where being together in a group feels completely natural again—where the two of you no longer feel like a delicate subject that everyone else has to tiptoe around.

It’s strange, getting to know someone all over again, especially someone you used to know like the back of your hand. But it also feels like coming home—like the valleys and pathways are familiar, even though they’ve shifted slightly in your time apart. He’s still the Remus you remember—kind, caring, fiercely loyal—but now there’s something new about him. Fresh mannerisms, unexpected interests that intrigue you in ways you didn’t expect. And as you notice these changes, a quiet thought lingers in your mind, a hope that he’s just as captivated by the new version of you as you are by him.

You’re brought out of your thoughts with a knock on the door. You’ve no doubt that it's Remus, punctual as ever for your date. The first since your reconciliation. You give yourself a once over in the mirror, to check everything is in its place, before giving a nod to your own reflection. 

The walk to the door of your small flat feels immeasurably long, and your nerves seem to peak just as your hand touches the door hand. A deep breath, and you pull the door open. 

There he is. Remus, standing there with one arm folded behind his back, dressed in a green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, paired with a simple pair of slacks. You can’t help but admire him. His smile widens when he sees you, eyes lighting up as if you're the only person in the world.

"Hello, gorgeous," he says, stepping forward and leaning down to place a soft, respectful kiss on your cheek. "You look stunning, dove."

You flush, a smile tugging at your lips as you respond, "Thank you, and you look very lovely yourself."

His arm shifts from behind his back, and with a subtle flourish, he presents a bouquet of flowers. You don’t even look at them right away, too absorbed in the warmth of his gaze. Instead, you simply meet his eyes, your face breaking into a wide smile full of affection as you take the flowers from him.

"Would you like to come in while I put these in water?" you ask, moving to avoid his gaze, already turning toward the kitchen, pulling a vase from under the sink.

Remus doesn’t answer right away. He simply follows you, leaning casually against the counter, a soft smile still dancing on his lips as he watches you. His eyes never leave you, and that smile never fades.

It’s then that you finally allow yourself to look at the flowers properly—not just a blur of color in your peripheral vision, but the delicate petals in full view. They stop you in your tracks. They’re your favorite. He remembered. After all this time.

A sudden, embarrassing pressure rises in your sinuses, a sting behind your eyes, and you feel his gaze searing into the side of your face.

“You remembered?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling just a bit as you fight to keep the tears from spilling over.

“Of course I did,” he replies, his voice steady and simple, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like knowing you, learning about you, and holding onto those little details is the easiest and most treasured privilege he’s ever known.

A sob tears through you then, and you flush with shame. It’s not sadness that overwhelms you, but the enormity of Remus—the weight of him, of how much he means, of how much you’ve truly missed him, beyond all the hurt.

Remus looks visibly panicked now, moving toward you, his hand hovering in the air as if unsure whether to reach out to you. Unsure whether he’s allowed to touch you now, as the foundations of your relationship are being slowly rebuilt.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” he rushes, his words tumbling out so fast it’s as though he can’t apologize quickly enough. “I never would’ve gotten them if I knew they’d make you cry.”

You shake your head, quickly wiping your face with the back of your hand, trying to steady your breath. "No, Remus, it’s not... I’m not upset, it’s just... it's just that you remembered. It’s—" You swallow hard, trying to find the words. “It's a lot, y’know.”

You step closer to him then, taking the initiative to wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him into a warm embrace. He follows suit immediately, arms wrapping around you. 

The softness of his touch grounds you, and the scent of him—something familiar, comforting, like the gentle blend of books and rain—soothes the overwhelming rush of emotions. You hold him tighter, allowing the tension in your body to melt into the safety of his presence. He lets you take the lead, his hands resting gently on your back, his thumb stroking soothing circles.

“Thank you, for the flowers, Rem.” you murmur.

“Anytime, lovely girl.” 

You pull back just slightly, looking up at him. For a moment, you both stand there, silent in the quiet of the kitchen, until Remus can’t stand it any longer.

“Please... can I kiss you?” His voice is thick with need, desperate, like a man starving, asking for the one thing he craves more than anything.

You swallow, the question hanging in the air between you, thick and heavy. It feels like both an invitation and a promise.

Your breath hitches as you meet his gaze, the warmth in his eyes both comforting and thrilling. You want this—want him. You don’t have to think twice about it.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

And then his lips are on yours. It’s slow at first, tentative, as if he’s giving you the space to decide whether you really want this, whether you want him again. His hand rests on your cheek, thumb brushing over the skin there, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The kiss deepens, though, slowly, as both of you realize the other isn’t pulling away, that this isn’t a mistake. It’s exactly what you both need.

The kiss is everything you’ve missed and more—familiar and new, soft yet demanding, as though he’s kissing away the distance between you, erasing the gaps of time that once felt so painful.

When he pulls back, just a fraction, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing a little uneven, a contented smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hand lingers on your cheek, brushing the stray hairs away.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper, as though he’s afraid to disturb the delicate moment between you.

You nod, unable to speak just yet, still caught in the softness of the kiss, the warmth of his presence. The world outside seems to fade into nothing, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel truly, completely at home.

“I’ve missed this,” you finally murmur, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“Me too,” Remus replies, his voice thick with emotion. “More than you know.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! <3 i appreciate all feedback

[remmyj-ohnloops]

Hello Mae! I hope you’re having a wonderful week so far. I have never requested before but I saw your requests were open and I felt inspired! (Forgive me if I do or say something wrong!) I saw that you write for stranger things but I’ve never seen a poly!steddie before! If it inspires you, I thought a little hurt/comfort with some angst could be fun with the boys. Maybe a miscommunication between them when they’re first figuring out the dynamic and one of the boys says something hurtful to writer by accident (we know those silly boys have no brain to mouth filter). Thank you for sharing your writing and working so hard for us, you’re so appreciated and loved! ❤️❤️

Thank you angel <33

poly!steddie x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

“God, it’s worse than I thought.” Eddie rolls onto his stomach on Steve’s bed, dragging the chord of your headphones with him. “How many of these do you have on here?” 

“It’s the whole album,” you say. You’re watching your boyfriends all tangled up on top of the covers, half tempted to join them but too shy to do it. The carpeting on Steve’s bedroom floor is soft enough anyway. 

“Eugh, your poor ears!” 

“You’re such a snob.” Steve gives Eddie’s ankles a halfhearted shove where they’ve fallen over his lap, but really you know he doesn’t mind the contact. 

“No, a snob would tell her to listen to fucking strings music or something,” says Eddie. “I just have taste.” 

“What’s wrong with U2?” you ask. 

Really, you knew better than to think you’d actually get any studying done with your boyfriends. You knew it since Steve invited you over, but that didn’t stop you from going, pep in your step and textbook like a prop in your bag. You were barely ten minutes in when Eddie had plucked your headphones up from your head, taking a listen. He declared your taste in music “laughable.” 

“What’s wrong with U2?” Eddie repeats incredulously. “Baby, where do I start? I didn’t know I had a pop princess on my hands here.” 

You recognize the teasing in his tone, but the jabs at your music selection still taste sour in your mouth. “Oh, because Metallica is so underground.” 

“See, that’s part of it. At least Metallica is real rock. U2 is just—like—I don’t even know what to call them. They say they’re a rock band, but listen to this shit!” He sits up and tries to put the headphones on Steve, who wards him off with a hand. “This is not rock.” 

“You’re a total snob,” Steve repeats, laughing when Eddie only fights harder. 

“No, seriously! This isn’t rock. Plus, have you ever seen Bono perform? It’s totally overdone.” 

“I went to one of their shows,” you say. “Last summer.” 

“Fuck.” Eddie blows out a breath as he gives up on trying to get your headphones on Steve. He collapses against your boyfriend’s side, grinning. “My condolences, then.” 

“I liked it.” 

“Awe. That’s probably because you haven’t been to a real concert yet, huh? Don’t worry, gorgeous, we’ll get you to a good one eventually. Your ears will be relieved.” 

“Yeah, okay.” You roll your eyes. Neither of your boyfriends seem to have notice how you’ve gone quiet, both too absorbed in each other as Eddie lands aggressive kisses on Steve’s cheek and Steve grins and pretends not to like it. For the first time since you started dating, you feel bitterly alone. 

Part of you thinks you might be overreacting. You don’t usually care what people think of your music tastes—they don’t usually fixate on them so intensely, but you generally tend to believe that art is subjective and everyone is entitled to their own preferences. The thing is, you know music is really important to Eddie. He’s made it his life. He plays in a band; half his shirts are band tees; there’s a guitar mounted on his wall that he talks to more sweetly than either you or Steve. So if he thinks your taste in music is garbage, what does that say about what he thinks of you?

“Hey.” Steve nudges you with a foot. You’ve been looking morose without meaning to, not realizing anyone was watching. “You know he’s just kidding, right?” 

“Oh, no,” Eddie says, still grinning, “I don’t kid about concerts. We’re fucking going.” 

You start putting your textbook away. “I think I’m going to finish studying at home.” 

“No, hey,” says Steve, frowning now. “Come on.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows rise as he catches on. “Wait, are you seriously mad?” 

“I’m not mad,” you lie. “I’m just going to go listen to my awful music back at my place, where I can actually study.” 

“Please, you knew what you were getting into, babe. We were never going to study.” Eddie’s trying to joke with you again, but his tone turns serious when you stand up to leave. “Hey, hold on. I’m just messing around. Stay.” 

You turn around, unsure what to say and not really wanting to look at either of them, either. 

“I didn’t know you liked U2 that much,” he says in a softer voice.

“It’s not that I—” You sigh, crossing your arms. “I’m not, like, obsessed with them. I just don’t get why you have to rag on what I like so much.” 

“I was just playing, baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you cared, just—c’mere.” 

Eddie wraps a hand around your elbow, tugging you onto the bed with him and Steve. Your arms uncross by the nature of the movement. He gets you between them, kissing the side of your head. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, words all mushed up. Not teasing anymore. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I did, didn’t I?” 

“No,” you say, partially because you don’t want to seem dramatic and partially because it really is difficult to blame someone who’s pressing their lips to your cheek like they plan to leech on and never let go. “Just, I at least pretend to like the things that you like.” 

“Pretend?” Eddie pulls away, looking wounded. 

“Try not to take it personally,” Steve tells you. His hand has found your neck, thumb rubbing at the tense muscles near your shoulders. “He really is a snob. He called me a philistine for listening to Tears for Fears.” 

“Well,” Eddie cuts in, “you are a philistine.” 

“But,” Steve goes on with a narrow-eyed look, “he doesn’t have to be such a dick about it.” 

“Right. Right, yeah, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Eddie devotes himself to you again, hugging his arms around your waist. “Really. I was just messing with you, I thought we were joking around. We can listen to U2 if you want. We can even—if you want us to, we can go to a concert.” 

He sounds so pained as he says it that it coaxes a small smile out of you. Steve, seeing, squeezes your shoulder encouragingly. 

“I know you had to fight a gag reflex to say that,” you tell Eddie. 

He grimaces. “I may need a vomit bag when we go. But if it’s important to you…” 

“That’s okay.” 

The sigh Eddie lets out is gargantuan. He sinks against your side. “Thank you.” He kisses underneath your jaw. It tickles, but he only latches on tighter when you try to get away. “I knew you loved me. I’ll never make fun of you again.” 

“You can still make some fun of me,” you allow. 

Steve makes a dissenting noise. “Not in an asshole way, though.” 

“No, that’s it. I’m swearing off teasing for the rest of my life. The stakes are too high.” 

“Right, sure.” Steve reaches around you to tug on one of Eddie’s curl gently. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

[remmyj-ohnloops]

Hi lovely. I just had the scariest night last night and it ended with me in the ER for almost 7 hours. Basically I let a UTI go on too long and it traveled to my kidneys. But I was in the bathroom about to shower and I got super sick and dizzy and lightheaded, my hands and feet were tingling to the point of pain, I was DRENCHED in sweat. It was so so scary. I ended up passing out on the toilet (so embarrassing). I had to get my mom to come in and she took me to the ER and it was very rough there too because I was so dehydrated they couldn’t get a vein to give me fluids. So 6 times they tried, digging in my arm and all that before they finally got one. Later it ended up bursting which hurt a fuck ton. But all in all I feel like absolute shit.

If you can, could you write an EMT!marauders fic where something like that happens? Just the scary stuff in the beginning or whatever tickles your fancy. If not, no worries. I will just be reading and rereading all my faves of yours for the next few days while I try to get better 🥲

That sounds so awful, I'm sorry that happened to you!! Hope you're feeling much better by now lovely <3

cw: nonsexual nudity, dizziness, nausea, one sexual joke at the end

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 965 words

A knock on the bathroom door rouses you. Steam heavies the air, the porcelain of the bathtub slippery underneath your backside. You feel sick. 

“Hey.” It’s James’ voice, light as though he’s not really concerned. “Alright in there?” 

You look down blearily. A bottle of shampoo rests against your hip. You must have knocked it from the lip of the tub when you passed out, and James must have heard the sound. When did you pass out? For how long?

“James?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I need…can you come in here?” 

You hear the door open. Half the steam seems sucked from the room, cool air coming in. “Everything okay?” James asks. 

He tries to open the shower curtain, but you’re lying half on top of it and it doesn’t make it far. You lift up on one side to free it. Your entire body trembles with the effort. 

“Hey.” James definitely sounds concerned now, kneeling at your side. He puts a hand under your neck. “What happened? Did you fall?” 

“I don’t feel well.” 

“I can see that, sweetheart.” He shouts for the other boys. “Does anything hurt? Did you fall over?” 

“No,” you say. Footsteps sound outside, nearing you. “No, I sat down. But I think I passed out.” 

James frowns, taking your wrist to get your pulse. “What do you mean when you say you aren’t feeling well?” 

You don’t get a chance to answer before Sirius is pulling the curtain open further. “Baby, what the fuck?” He crouches beside James. It’s now that you realize how painfully naked you are, lying limply on the floor of the tub with hot water from the showerhead beating down on your lower half. “Did you slip?” 

“She passed out,” James answers for you, brows set in concentration as he feels your pulse. “But she sat down first.” 

“Oh, good girl.” 

Remus shuts off the water. You feel its absence immediately, your body at once lighter and colder. 

“Can I have a towel?” you ask. 

Sirius blinks as though he’s only just realizing your nakedness as well. He stands. “Right, I’ve got it.” 

“Why do you think you passed out?” Remus asks you. 

“I don’t know.” You want to give him a better answer, but it’s all you have. “I just got really lightheaded. I still feel sick.” 

“Sick like you’re going to throw up?” James presses. He lets go of your wrist, giving Remus a look you can’t interpret. 

“Yeah.” 

Sirius tsks, returning with a stack of towels and a fluffy robe. “Okay, well don’t worry too much about that. If you throw up you throw up, we just want to know what’s made you sick in the first place.” 

Between all three of them, they haul you out of the tub. The option of you trying to climb out on your own doesn’t seem to cross anyone’s mind. You land in Sirius’ lap, where you’re hastily wrapped in one towel and your hair in another, James drying your arms and legs with a third. 

“What else are you feeling?” Remus asks you. When you hesitate, “Anything at all, it could help us to know.” 

You try to take stock of yourself, shivering a bit as you do. 

“Cold?” Sirius deduces.

You hum. “And my stomach hurts.” 

He frowns. His hand covers your stomach over the towel protectively. “Yeah? Where does it hurt?” 

“Sort of…” You shift a bit, trying to show him. “On the side.” 

Sirius finds the spot like he knows just where you mean. “Around here?” 

“Yeah.” Panic makes your voice tight. “Don’t touch it, please.” 

“Okay. I won’t, sweetheart.” He moves hand away from your side, kissing your temple. “Have you noticed yourself feeling like you need to pee more often lately?” 

You give him a funny look. “I have a UTI, but this doesn’t feel like the same thing.” 

Remus groans. “Dove, really? You knew?” 

“I knew I had a UTI,” you say, confused. Wary, without really knowing why. “It’s not…this feels different.” 

“Why wouldn’t you treat it?” 

“I was going to.” 

“But when you wait like this and don’t tell us, you—” 

“Alright, alright,” James says in a peacemaking tone. He rubs the towel down your calf. “I think she’s got it, love. She’s clearly not enjoying this.” 

Remus closes his eyes, sighing. When he looks at you again, it’s with a softer gaze. “If you don’t treat a UTI,” he says patiently, “it can cause a kidney infection. I think that’s what you’re dealing with now, love.” 

“Oh.” Your voice smalls. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, that’s okay.” Sirius kisses your face again, his hold tightening when another shiver passes through you. “Why’re you apologizing to us, huh? You’re the one dealing with it. Passing out in showers and the like.” 

“I know you didn’t want this,” Remus promises you, his expression gentler now. James begins encouraging your arm into your robe. “We’ll get you to A&E, and they’ll give you antibiotics to take care of this, alright?” 

“Okay,” you say meekly. 

Slowly, they get you dried up, clothed, and upright. Sirius teases you about the dangers of not peeing after sex. Remus makes worried faces whenever your expression changes and offers to bring a bag along on the drive in case you’re sick. When you try to walk out of the bathroom and wobble, James is quick with an arm around your back. 

“C’mere, lovie.” He lifts you up into his arms. Clearly he’s trying to be gentle, but you moan anyway, pressing your forehead to his shoulder against a bout of dizziness. 

“Oh, I know,” Sirius coos. “You’re alright, baby. We’ll get you feeling better soon.” 

“I’m never letting any of you put it in me again,” you joke weakly. 

To your surprise, it’s Remus who laughs the loudest.

[remmyj-ohnloops]

bloodmoon

remus lupin x vampire!reader ⊹ 11.7k

For whatever reason, Remus couldn’t bear the idea of even being in the same room as you. His body had been telling him why, but clearly he needed it spelt out for him.

cw ⟢ hurt/comfort, slowish burn, swearing, self-loathing, meanish!remus, vampire!reader, blood

a/n: for this request! im sorry it took a while, i got a bit ahead of myself, hence the wordcount. enjoy x not proofread

Truly enticing—comparable to a siren—you carried an alluring presence that was impossible to ignore. With skin of a dazzling, pearlescent almost porcealine like quality—captivating eyes and a honeyed voice.

You were a creature to behold.

It wasn’t suprising in the slightest though, it seemed that everyone in your family held these same enthralling qualities, a notorious, long line of pureblood slytherin. And one would think you’d act as such, uppity, entitled and holier-than-thou, but it was quite the opposite.

Good-natured, courteous, poised—saintly, even. An overall good Samaritan.

Adored by many, hated by none.

Except Remus that is.

Well—hate was a strong word. He didn’t hate you, he had no reason to. But he couldn’t stop the agitating, grating feeling that crawled up the back of his neck whenever you were near.

He knew there was something wrong. He could feel it, it seemed like he was the only one who wasn’t helplessly drawn to you, like a moth to a flame—and it was starting to get to him.

He just didn’t get what all the fuss was about, granted, you were attractive—he wasn’t blind, he just didn’t like you. People practically worshipped the ground you walked on, praising you for being a decent human being, you even had the faculty playing into the palm of your hand.

And Remus wasn’t buying it.

He didn’t bother hiding the huffed scoff of disbelief and fed-up roll of his eyes from his friends when they passed you in the courtyard.

Predictably, you were surrounded—first-year girls giggling in your orbit, one perched behind you braiding your hair while you braided another’s. A few sat nearby on the benches, stringing together daisy chains like a scene plucked straight from a children’s storybook.

You looked like Mother Teresa, for crying out loud.

Later, in the Great Hall, his friends watched, as his spine became ridgid, grip on his spoon hardening the moment you walked in. As always, you strode in, arms linked with Pandora’s, that same wine-red lollipop in twirling your mouth, loud and obnoxious chatter circling between you.

At least, that’s how Remus saw it.

In reality, you’d walked in quite casually, reasonable volumed, light conversation following you, signiture lolly in hand. It seemed that today, Remus’ world was tinted slightly red with comtempt. He was practically burning a hole in the back of your head with his harsh gaze, as if he could will you spontaneously combust.

A sharp voice broke his concentration.

"Have you ever actually spoken to her?"

James.

Remus blinked, realization dawning as he registered the weight of his friends’ stares, the expectant looks they all shared. James’s tone was filled with exasperated skepticism. They knew he wasn’t your biggest fan—for whatever reason, he wouldn’t say.

Remus scowled, “Once.” And you were annoyingly nice through the entire interaction, despite Remus’ painfully obvious irritance, offering to help him infact.

It was late one evening when he limped into the hospital wing in search for Madame Pomfrey, still reeling in pain after a transformation—usually James or Sirius went to fetch his potion for him, but today he didn’t want to be bother. A white nurse’s apron tied neatly around your waist, gently changing the bandages of a battered Quidditch player. When you turned to him, peaceful expression contorting into one of concern. Without hesitation, you moved toward him, a little too quickly for his liking.

He stepped back, avoiding from your touch, as if it’d burn him, grumbling out, “Is Madam Pomfrey here?”

Slightly taken aback by his clear rejecting disposition, you explained that there had been a quite ghastly incident involving some first-years and the Whomping Willow. Reaching out a hand—

“She’s healing them on site at the minute, but if you tell me what’s wrong, I’m sure I can help you wit—”

Before you’d made it to the end of your sentence, he had already spun on his his heal and rushed away, sharply spitting, “Forget it.”

By the time he’d returned back to the common room, his limp had gotten slightly worse, straining under the pressure of his excertion—pain flaring with every step.

Lily was the first to notice, immediately rising from her seat to meet him, concern pinching her brows.

“Why didn’t you get healed?” she asked, her tone somewhere between scolding and worried.

He winced suddenly as he stretched his body out across the cushions. Both James and Sirius turned their heads in concern, faces mirroring Lily’s, brows knit upwards in a sympathetic grimance.

Sighing in defeat—“She wasn’t there.” Twisting and turning in a fruitless attempt to find a comfortable position where he couldn’t feel the searing ache in his bones.

“What do you mean, she wasn’t there? The hospital wing is never empty.” James’ voiced chimed in from his seat across the room, before he continue, ”Even then, you could’ve waited there.”

Lily was still adjusting the cushions she’d placed under his legs when she said, “I’ll go now if you wa—”

“No,” Remus interjected quickly, reaching out to stop her before she could stand, scratches on his knuckles still raw, sucking in a deep breath, willing his body to relax into the sofa, pushing the pain away from the forefront of his mind—he held her arm lightly.

“There’s no point going now, she won’t be back until later.”

Her face screwed in confusion, looking back at the others hoping they would intervene. Sirius made his way over to where they were, sitting by the fire, James following closely behind. They watched him, waiting for him to continue.

Lily frowned. “Who was there?”, his jaw tightened.

“It was only Y/N,” his eyes were shut as he ran a hand through his hair, his voice taking a sharp tone, a deep frown forming on his lips; “And I’d rather wait here in pain, than be healed by some girl playing dress up.”

His words were harsh and left little room for agrument, only cracking an eye open at the sound of James’ loud frustrated groan—his head rolled back, and his fingers forcibly rubbed at the wrinkles that had formed between his brows.

“So, let me get this straight, you turned away a perfectly good healer, in your state, because you don’t ‘like’ them?!”

Both Sirius and Lily looked gaped at him in shocked, shaking their heads in clear disapproval. He pursed his lips, forming into a thin, stubborn line.

“And she’s not ‘playing dress up’. Y/N has been volunteering under Madam Pomfrey since third year, Remus.”

Remus exhaled forcefully through his nose, but he didn’t argue.

Really, he should have felt guilty.

For the way he dismissed you. For the way he recoiled like you were something foul, despite your only offense being offering to help him. But he couldn’t find it in himself to act the slightest bit remoseful—pushing his face into the sofa, trying to block out the world. Wanting to ignore the way his head only throbbed—the headache had been making it’s presence known for hours.

Only pounding louder at the mention of your name. Even his friends came to your defense.

Since then, he’d made it his mission to stay out of your way—hating the person he became in your presence. It was ridiculous really, having such hostility to a person who had been endlessly kind.

He tried to avoid you, really.

But it seemed as though the Gods were punishing him.

First, it was in duelling class, you were no daisy, a truly gifted witch—and remained undefeated in casual combat.

He wanted to watch you get knocked off your high-horse, zero interest in parttaking. But alas, the Professor had decreed, that ‘The winner stays on’, and much to his misfortune it had rolled around to his turn.

He stepped onto the platform him and you turned to look at him—eyes bright, light pleasant smile on your face—he felt that same prickling irritation crawl up his spine.

You bowed to him, adherring proper etiquette, and he followed suit, gripping his wand tightly as he moved into position.

The duel began with a flick of wands and a burst of movement. He had to admit—grudgingly—that you were good. Swift on your feet, sharp reflexes, casting defensive spells, deflecting him with ease.

You weren’t even try to win.

The goal was to disarm, and disarm only—and yet you hadn’t made one attempt at him, effortless precision in the way you diverted every one of his spells, riccoching away with loud hisses. Barely having moved from you position, hand still comfortably behind your back—while Remus had broken a clear sweat, inching up the platform, closing the distance that was set between you.

Remus was by no means an amateur, so this was just embarrassing.

You were only blocking, like this was some silly game, like you were playing with a child. And it was starting to make him irrationally angry. The surrounding students had taken a step back, whispering amongst themselves as your wands clashed in bursts of white and blue.

Did you think you were so good, that you needed to pull your punches?

It was already in motion when he’d realised what he’d done, his aggrevation got the better of him, and with a calculated flick of his wrist, Remus sent a well-aimed flippendo, straight at you. You saw the look in face, the anger crumbling as the spell left his lips.

It immediately broke through, sending you flying upwards, a sharp white flash leaving your wand.

For a moment, the room was still.

Gasps sounded, echoeing in Remus’ ears, and the Professor stood up abrupty from his seat by the platform, eyes rising and falling, following the movement of you body.

He barely registered the sting of magic, the clattering sound of his wand, is what brought Remus back into the room.

Your chest heaved, each breath deeper than the last, trying to compensate for the wind that had been knocked out of you. Head bowed forward, sitting on you knees, palms spread across the floor, wand still in hand as you stumbled, failing to raise from your position.

Your reflexes had caught you, just barely preventing your entire body from crashing roughly against the hard mahogany.

Knees still burning from the hard connection. The silence broken as your friends made their way through the crowd, and as they neared, you raised a hand to halt them before they could fuss over you. You exhaled sharply, trying to straighten your spine, shaking the residual magic from your fingertips. Hands burning from bracing you impact, wand warm in your tight grasp, the energy still thrumming beneath your skin.

Remus stood frozen, chest rising and falling in rapid succession, his expression wavering between guilt and frustration. Someone reached out—Dorcas, maybe—but you only rolled your shoulders, breath still laboured as you shook off the lingering sting of the spell.

Despite his foul-play, you’d still won—effectively disarming him mid air.

Remus swallowed as he took a hesitant step forward—whether to speak, to apologize, he wasn’t sure. The professor finally spoke, ”That was reckless, Mr. Lupin.”Voice ringing in his ears, sharp and disapproving.

Without a word, you turned on your heel and strode toward the exit, footsteps ringing against the wooden floor.

You hadn't looked at him.

Hadn’t even spared him a glance.

The next time he saw you, days had passed, now in Potions.

He should have known Slughorn would meddle. The man had an affinity for grouping “brilliant minds” together, and Remus, to his horror, was no exception.

“You two will make an excellent pair,” Slughorn beamed, practically vibrating with excitement as he waved between you and Remus. “Top of my class, both of you—oh, the potential! I expect nothing short of excellence.”

For a few moemnt, your stood still, and he could have swore he saw you eye twitch. But then, you turned to him with a polite, yet tight-lipped and strained smile on your face, hands already moving to gather ingredients.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

He didn’t respond—just nodded stiffly, shoving his sleeves up as he resigned himself to his fate.

The entire class, you worked in relative silence, opting to only speak when you spoke to him, your voice was so casual, so smooth, nowhere near as pinched and curt as his.

Still unable to fight off the relentless, gutwrenching burn of his blood at your proximity—he couldn’t explain it, couldn’t comprehend why his body has such an involuntary viseral reaction to you.

Observing you quietly, watching as you hummed while stirring the cauldron, peaceful concentration on your face. And he hated it, hated how when you look at him, your eyes remained just as kind as that day in the hospital—not holding an ounce of resentment towards him, not even a flicker of the disdain he was certain he deserved. It gnawed at him, made something coil tight and uncomfortable in his chest.

He should have been relieved—grateful, even—that you hadn’t taken his hostility to heart.

“Lupin?”

Your voice broke through his thoughts, dragging him back to the present. He realized, belatedly, that you were watching him expectantly, holding out your hand.

“Hmm?”

“The moonstone,” you repeated patiently, point at it, a jar of powdered moonstone that was next to his open textbook. “Are you going to add it, or should I?”

For a moment, he just stared.

And when your arm reached out and over to take the jar yourself, the time frame you needed add in the ingredient slipping away, the seconds almost slowed down as your arm made contact with the searing hot cauldron.

You retracted quickly, jar in your grasp, and holding your arm in pain.

Remus flinched, the scrape of your sharp inhale cutting through the low murmur of the classroom. “Shit—” the word slipped out, before he could think, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. But your skin was cold, shockingly cold, like there wasn’t an ounce of warm in you at all—the gasp leaving before he realised.

You pulled your arm away from him abrupty, he sat still watching as you pulled out your wand and muttered a cooling charm under your breath.

“I’m fine,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “It’s nothing.”

His jaw clenched watching the redness faded slightly, but the skin still looked tender. Your eyes flicked away from your arm to the cauldron—gaze ever focused, ever composed. But Remus saw it, the fear and the colour drain from you face at his reaction—you knew he felt it, felt you, your temperature*.*

Remus swallowed the apology clawing its way up his throat. What good would it do?

“We’ve got time to redo the step.” You mumbled, rolling down your sleeves.

He reached for the moonstone, fingers brushing against the jar’s glass. Without a word, measuring out the powder and added it to the cauldron in slow, careful motions.

Noting how, for the rest of the class, your gaze didn’t meet his.

“Perfect!” Slughorn’s voice rang through the classroom, loud and booming, as he peered delightedly into your cauldron. “Absolutely textbook! I knew the two of you would be a fantastic match.”

Lunch couldn’t have come fast enough, immediately as the bell run, he watched your figure slip away silently into the corridoor.

Remus had barely touched his food, stirring absentmindedly at his plate as James and Sirius chattered animatedly beside him. Lily sat across from them, eyes flitting between her book and whatever ridiculous conversation was unfolding at the table.

His was in daze, replaying the moment over and over again—on question on loop in his brain.

Why?

He knew full well it wasn’t normal, there was no doubt about it in his mind, and sure he ran hot, for his own reasons, but he couldn’t shake away the look you had in your eyes, the panic, how when you tore your hand from his grasp, the surface of his fingertips were still cold.

That day, you didn’t walk in with Pandora like usual, the spot on the bench remained empty, for the entire lunch hour.

Instead of attending lunch, you were pacing around the Observatory in the Astronomy tower, hand rubbing over the skin where your burn should be, it would’ve healed completely before the end of the class anyway, but the cooling charm, cut the time down to a meer 5 minutes.

You’d been knawing at the skin of your bottom lip for too long now, a nervous habit. Staring mindlessly out, hoping the skies would provide some solace to the turmoil brewing deep in the pits of your stomach.

Why did he have to touch you?

Hands gripping the metal of the railing, it was familiar, cold—matching your skin. Gods, you hated this, hated how you were—cursed, hated how all it took was mistake and your whole world would come crashing down upon you. And you’d, unfortunately, survive, forced to find a new identity, just as your parents had.

The mantra was heavy on you lips—he won’t know, he doesn’t know, he can’t know.

You wanted to go about your day, to make your way down to the hospital wing, do some good for once, but you knew it wouldn’t be smart—you couldn’t focus anything right now. Let alone treat sick people, something that needed your undivided attention.

Maybe its best you skip dinner too, you weren’t exactly hungry.

Walking back to the slytherin common room, mind in a state of complete disarray—it was the wet dripping down your chin that made you realise—you’d bitten your lip swollen and raw. Metallic taste in your mouth, you picked up your pace into a small jog.

“bathroom, bathroom, bathroom,” muttering under your breath.

Of course, in your time of need the nearest girls’ toilet was, what felt like, miles away. You were sure it looked worse than it actually was. The small gash was already healing—but you were running now, the drops were going to stain your shirt if you didn’t hurry.

Hand covering the your mouth, you felt him, and the floor, before you saw him.

A loud, “Ooof,” sounded from above you—and when you landed on the hard stone, you bit down re-opening your nearly healed wound. You couldn’t help the pained groan that escaped your lips, the sharp sting of fresh blood flooding your mouth.

“Bloody hell—”

The voice above you was unmistakable.

It just had to be him, didn’t it?

You scrambled upright, ignoring the way your limbs ached from the fall. Remus came round by you side, and Lily was on the other—her words were genuine and full of concern, ”Y/N! Are you alright?!”

Her hands were already reach for you, when you tried to say tell her that you were fine. Instictively avoiding her touch, backing up, and into Remus’ grasp, you were well and truly trapped. Hooking their hands under your arms, and pulling you to a stand.

His hands were achingly hot against your robes, and you forced your teeth back into the closing gash—keeping the blood flowing.

You really were short on luck today.

“Merlin, you’re so cold Y/N,” her hands already running up and down your arms to warm you, you shied away from her touch, but Remus kept a tight grip on you.

“I run a tad cold, I’m fine though, just heading to the bathroom.” It came out rushed and pinched, completely muffled from you hand, still pressing your teeth into it—eyes becoming more glossy by the second.

You so desperately needed to be anywhere but here.

Remus felt like a looming presence behind you, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him—feeling his eyes scanning your frame. You were still trying to squirm out of his grip, but he wouldn’t release you.

It took a few more moments for Lily to stop forcibly rubbing you arm and take a step back, concern still etched into her face. “Are you sure? You look—”, she hesitated, before gesturing your appearence.

You let out a breathy, forced chuckle. “I’m fine, really.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded slowly, allowing you a sliver of space.

Remus, on the other hand, hadn’t moved. His grip remained firm, his fingers twitching slightly where they pressed against your sleeve.

You refused to look at him.

He won’t know, he doesn’t know, he can’t know.

But the silence stretched between you, growing heavier with each second. You could feel his eyes on you, scanning every inch, catalouging every detail.

“You’re bleeding.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your stomach twisted violently. Your grip tightened over your mouth, fingers digging into your skin, willing yourself not to react.

“I bit my lip.” You interrupted quickly, words too sharp, too frantic. “That’s all.”

Remus still hadn’t let go, his face was almost unreadable—

“Let me see.”

Your heart lurched. “No.”

The word left your lips too quickly, too forceful, too much like a command. His grip tensed, just for a fraction of a second but you couldn’t wait any longer—each second riskier than the last, it was all already too much. Ripping your arm from is grasp, tears heavy on your waterline—”I have to go now.”

Before Lily was even able to offer her company, you were gone. Had bolted, practically running down the corridor, leaving them both behind.

You didn’t stop until you were safely locked inside the bathroom, palms pressed against the cold porcelain of the sink, chest heaving. You turned on the faucet, letting the water run over your trembling fingers, watching as it swirled pink before disappearing down the drain. Examining your lip—already healed.

He doesn’t know. He won’t know. He can’t know.

But no matter how many times you repeated it, you couldn’t shake the way Remus had looked at you.

The coil had already began to wined. It always started like this, suspicion, panic, terror. You could barely meet your own gaze in the mirror, splashing water on you face—hair sticking to your forehead, slow pulse thumping in your ear. A constant reminder.

Monster.

The rest of the week, you’d avoided meal times, giving Pandora a cheap excuse every morning, one day studying, the next day, tutoring, the day after hospital wing.

Thinking, hoping, praying to whatever deity had done this to you, for just a slither of mercy. You, of course, wrote home, detailing the incident. It was always better to keep them in the know.

The castle had begun to feel suffocating.

Too many eyes. Too many questions.

So you turned to the one place that had never judged you—the Forbidden Forest. Its not like anything in there could do real harm to you.

You were the monster they’d warn you about.

The shadows welcomed you, stretching long and dark beneath the canopy, swallowing you whole. Bark damp and cool under your fingertips, legs hanging comfortably from the branch. Feeling your stomach churn, as an unfamiliar heartbeat rang in your ears, much faster—nearing.

Its footsteps small and rapid, hands gripping onto the wood much tighter, when you saw it. A rabbit, your feet moved faster than your brain. Drawn in, you couldn’t help but instinctively follow, stalk—hunt— scent painfully sweet. You watched it wriggle into the base of a hollowed out tree, hand reaching in and dragging it out, it squirmed and squealed in your hold.

The saliva was building, pooling in your mouth, your chest shuddered with each breath, and swallowing thickly—you pulled out your wand, holding it firmly to the stomach of the creature.

“Episkey.”

It calmed, less frantic, less afraid.

And you placed it down, gently with a few tender stokes to the head, back into the safety of the cavern.

Hours has passed, trailing aimlessly up and down the outskirts of the forest, you crouched low by a river, staring at the distorted reflection staring back at you. The veins by your eyes bloomed over the curve of your cheekbones, a prominent dark-red, pulsing under your fingertips, the dark edge of your iris adoping a black hue and expanding, consuming almost all of the white.

A thing of nightmares.

You tilted your head back, admiring the moon, full and captivating—alone and understanding, like that of an old friend.

A branch snapped in the distance.

You stiffened, every muscle locking in place, every instinct screaming prey.

An itch beneath your skin. A sickness in your bones.

You squeezed your eyes shut, teeth digging into your bottom lip—

Then it rung, echoed, ricochetted off of every nearby surface, breaking the stillness of the water you stood over.

A howl.

One too close for comfort, the skin at the back of your neck prickled, you refused to take another breath. You should have paid more attention to your surroundings, should have a path ready, an escape route. It was too late now, it was too close, you could smell it now.

You’d wasted time.

There wasn’t much else to do, you didn’t know where to run next, each second of the chase to valuable to get lost. Taking the large rock that sat snuggly against the water’s edge, you blindly tossed it behind you, using every ounce of strength in your body. Before submerging yourself.

The water was freezing, so much so it made your eyes burn, you forced yourself to relax—to sink, avoid detection all costs.

Your mother had warned you about wolves, vicious, savage and beastly creatures—that killed for the sake of killing, for the thrill of the hunt.

It was ironic in your opinion, the way she spoke about them with such disgust and distain, like your kind of monster was any better than the next. At least werewolves could escape it, only spending 12 nights of the year a slave to their nature, able to blend in with the rest of the world, almost normal—they’d live and die in timely fashion, naturally or of disease.

The priviliege possibility.

You were the real vicious, beastly creatures. A parasite—feeding off the life of innocents, beautiful and magnetic to draw in the naive and weak, taking life, all that is good and disgracing it.

The ultimate perversion of nature, the condemned.

The pressure of the water above you had made your chest burn, ears filling with water, and as much as you tried to tune your hearing to the surface level, everything was dulled by the gurgling, whoosing the bounced back and forth between your ears.

You had to take the chance, you had to surface, you’d already been under too long.

Forcing yourself up, clothes weighing you down, making the ascent that bit more burdensome on your muscles, your fingers gripped the lip pond, tugging yourself free from the water’s embrace. You layed there for a moment, eyes still squeezed shut, half submerged, drinking in heaping gulps of oxygen.

You could feel it, the warm hum of the sun against your back, the life of the forest clear in the quite churps the swam across the air. The time under the water had passed so quick, peacefully, all thoughts subdued by the lulling sway, the push and pull of the current.

The rest of your body hit the ground with an uncomfortable splat, completely and thoroughly drenched, and yet you couldnt’t complain. Despite not having slept a wink, you felt less lost, thoughts a bit clearer, mind less polluted.

Still, you utterly were exhausted, trudging back to the castle—leaving a wet and dripping trail behind you.

It was just early enough that you’d been able to walk in through the main entrance unseen, but before you could turn the corner down to the girls’ toilets, it hit you, harsh, defeaning and impossible to ignore.

You doubled over, the roaring incessant pull, making your gums ache and vision blur. Stumbling forward, you tried to rest your back on the stone, but it whafted in again, stronger. Forcing you to screw your eyes shut, all but collapsing on the floor—clutching your stomach.

It was exactly what you hoped it wouldn’t be.

The sweet, sickly coppery smell, had your head spinning, and even after all the endless nights you’d spent in the hospital wing, sometimes dripping in the stuff, you’d still never smelt blood so compelling.

You could barely breathe, each inhale felt like an iron rod was being shoved down your throat, curled into a ball, writhing as you fought every cell in your body to not chase.

All you could hear was an awful shrilling sound, and you wanted to gag, a retch building in your chest.

You’ve learnt that fate is twisted, and sadistic—cruel in nature.

Because despite all your efforts, your struggle and labour to stay away.

It was coming to you.

There were three, you could hear them, all three heartbeats—one significantly faster than the others, though only one approached you. You groaned a pained sound in protest, they shouldn’t come closer, really.

Padding footsteps stopped by you, breath hitching as you shook with the effort, taking what little you had left in you—you pushed yourself as far away as possible. And when your head hit the wall, you just sobbed. Frantically shaking you head, whispering over and over to yourself—

“Please, no, Gods, no-”

They’d heard the impact first, and when James looked up, the small dark figure at the bottom of the hall thudding to the ground, he looked over at Sirius, who he’d been supporting Remus’ weight. That knowing look, the one that said, we need to help.

He was only inches away, his fingertips gently lifting away you robes, they were heavy and soaked, the splattering connection that sounded made Remus wince, ears still so hypersensitive.

James’ expression was grave, wordlessly, picking you up, carrying you with careful, measured movements.

Your body was stiff against him, trembling—not from the cold, but from the unbearable restraint you were forcing upon yourself. Hands locked into tight fists against your chest, as your jaw clenched so tight it sent sharp pangs down your skull.

You could smell him, so much closer now, just behind you.

The fresh wound. The slow, sluggish trickle of blood. The way it called to you like a siren song, wrapping invisible hands around your throat, pulling, pulling—

And then a voice.

"She’s absolutely freezing."

It was so distant, like layers and layers, gallons and gallons of water seperated you.

You wanted to scream at him, No, no I’m hot, its so hot. it burns— but your lips wouldn’t move, your body wouldn’t listen.

And then, another voice.

Deep, rough, hoarse from exhaustion.

Remus.

“Take her with us.”

A sharp, breathy whimper rattled in your throat. You can’t. Not when your willpower was teetering to close to the edge. Not when you could barely contain the way your fingers twitched toward him, the way your tongue pressed hungrily against your teeth.

Not when the taste of him still lingered in the air between you.

The scent had been overwhelming before—but now? Now it was unbearable.

Because he was so close.

Because you could hear it now—his and only his heartbeat, as if made just for your ears. His blood buzzing and pumping around his body, seeping through clothes, slipping through cracks—

You sobbed, twisting violently in James’ arms, thrashing, desperate to get away.

"Hold her still!" Sirius hissed, as he stumbled back against Remus.

"I am!" James snapped, struggling to keep you from writhing out of his grasp.

You shook your head violently, the world spinning, tilting—every inch of you screaming in protest.

"I can’t—" your voice was barely there, more breath than sound. "Please—"

But no one was listening.

Because they didn’t understand.

They didn’t know what you were.

And they didn’t realize the real danger wasn’t whatever had lead you collapsed in that hallway.

The danger was you.

Edges of your vision began to cloud, head lolling, a rolling with each step James’ took, tears drying on you cheek and body falling limp as the last fight you has in you dwindled away.

Madam Pomfrey was quick to aiding Remus, discretely as always, cornering off a large enough section for him, James and Sirius. Agonising groans as she healed the gashes across his chest, tending to the bruises and aching muscles with quick efficiency—falling into the routine she’d become so unfortunatley accustom to.

James and Sirius help, dabbing the sweat off of him, changing the bandages as they soaked again and again—disgarding them into a bucket nearby.

Now, her next mission was you.

She knew well of your affiction, thankfully, as did a few other select members of the faculty, hiding your true nature from the students, the parents, the papers. It pained her to see you in your condition, knowing you were a sweet girl, not an bad bone in your body. Trying so hard to be better, counter the instincts that clawed at you from the inside out.

Pomfrey had always been gentle with you, but now, her touch was laced with urgency. She pressed the back of her hand against your forehead, feeling the unnatural chill of your skin.

"Oh, my dear," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You flinched, shifting away even in your half-conscious state.

"No—" your voice was hoarse, faint. "Don’t—"

But she shushed you, soft but firm, her fingers brushing over your pulse point, it was always slow, just barely there, but now—it was weak, a beat a minute. Not suprising, you hadn’t visited for your potion in some time, for whatever reason, denying yourself.

Forcing yourself to endure it, torturing and punishing yourself—while walking around with the biggest smile, nursing others back to health.

Remus was just coming to, the hair at the base of his scalp stuck to his neck, head pounding, jaw aching—when his eyes finally opened, he noticed his friends’ attention locked elsewhere—necks arched into a straining crane.

Transfixed on you, your poor shaking figure, fighting fever and something else.

By this time, Pomfrey had called for assistance in keeping you in place, keeping you running—hell bent on leaving the room.

Eyes raising heavily, following theirs, exerting his body into an upright position. He knew it was you, only from the familiar intrusive way his body shivered, hairs raising and skin prickling down is spine—because that wasn’t your voice,

No, your voice was always light, jarringly composed, sickly melodic. Not this, what filled is ears was hard to listen to, he wanted to shy away from the injured cries. Invasively loud, inescapable—and they didn’t seem to be stopping.

Becoming more urgent, more distressed, adopting a particularly harrowing edge when Pomfrey rushed back to you with a small green vial, attached to a concerningly large needle.

It felt disturbingly familiar, he saw himself in you—the futile struggle, the panic, the pain.

They all instictively turned away with a sharp intake of breath as Pomfrey pushed the needle deep into the dip where your neck meets your shoulder. It took a few more long moments before you calmed down—your head lolled again, body burning with exhaustion. Your head felt so far away, you didn’t want to sleep, but it was tempting—reminding you of the peace you’d found in the river earlier.

Eyes slipping away into the back of your head, before fluttering open just a sliver—just enough to see him.

Remus.

Still wincing, still covered in bandages, but his head was turned toward you.

Watching.

Brows furrowed.

Sighing as the sleep fully washed over your body.

Remus left the hospital wing that same day, still ridden with the usual post-moon aches, and he knew his own bed would be a better remedy.

The trio walked in silence, heads hanging as they slipped passed the closed curtain of your bay.

Barely out of earshot, it was Sirius who broke the silence first.

“D’you think she’s okay?” it was low and sincere, what they’d all been thinking.

No one answered for a moment, the memories still so fresh, too fresh for them to find the words. Remus couldn’t ignore the tight feeling in his chest—not the one cause by the night’s tearing, distorting and reassembling, but one of sympathy. Like he’d been forced to watch a wounded animal.

James’ voice was strained, struggling to capture the optimism his words clearly wished to convey, “I’m sure Pomfrey will take good care of her,” nodding to convince himself more than the others.

Whatever was wrong with you, you didn’t deserve it.

Remus chose not to say anything, because despite even her greatest efforts, she struggled to heal him—magic only going so far. And what he saw, what made you like that, he knew had to be a much worse problem than his.

The rest of the weekend passed with little commotion, though—Remus opted to collect his potion himself on both days, intending to catch a small glimpse of you, maybe you were fine—resting in the bed with your usual charming smile, surrounded by your friends—

On the saturday, your curtains were still close, no visitors, just silence around the wing. He was quick to leave, feet padding softly away as he shook off the gut-wrenching pinch he felt as he walked passed. But by sunday’s early evening, the wing was mostly clear, no sign of your presence, no signs of anything—just gone.

Of course, he attended classes as normal, when the first breakfast rolled around he only spared one glace at the entrance when Pandora walked in alone, by dinner his lips were sealed shut in confusion.

You weren’t in the hospital, you weren’t in classes, you weren’t at dinner.

The third day in a row of no-show. Remus’ body had the same tell-tale signs, as though you’d glided into the room, Pandora by your side—smile bright, lips reddened from your lolly. There was still no nothing though, halls feeling emptier, no smiles, no lollies, no you. He only pushed around the food on his plate, legs bouncing beneath the table, teeth grinding under the tension.

You’d think he’d be relieved to be rid of you.

Presence having always caused him such discomfort, such unjust agitation. But in spite of all that, you still plagued every inch of his thought, moments still flashing vividly behind his eyes of how he last saw you. He just needed to know.

That whatever sickness, whatever ailed you no longer did.

You still didn’t appear for another two days.

And when you’d finally walked into the Great Hall, practically clinging onto Pandora’s arm for support, Dorcas and Narcissa stuck to your sides, like bodyguards.

Still no smiles, still no lolly, still no you.

Because, that wasn’t the same girl who made his blood boil just by the way people were drawn to you, that wasn’t the girl who made his world tint red, body tensed and irritated, no. You were drained of all colour, eyes dull and trained to the ground—teeth knawing roughly at your lips.

Your sickness had left stripped everything away from you, a hollowed out husk of the girl you were before, and it made it hard for Remus to swallow the lump in his throat—made it hard for him to tear his gaze away from you.

So fragile.

The grip he had on his glass made his knuckles turn white, surely this wasn’t normal, surely there was someone doing something, Pomfrey—anyone.

Lily’s hand clapped over her mouth at the sight of you. Wasting no time rushing to your side, and Remus could hear her voice, the hushed concerned questions tumbling out, “Y/N, are you okay? Where have you been? Do you need anything?”

You were barely able push out a smile, in attempts to quell her worries, but your face was uncharacteristically stiff. Lips stretching and trying to curve up at the corners, but it was no use—it looked like a sort of twisted grimace.

Her hand ghosted over yours, cold to the touch, brows knitting tightly into a furrow—your whole body tensed under her touch, and as much as you wanted to pull away, you struggled to find the energy.

It was so clear that she meant well, but you had hardly taken in one breath, Remus was still watching you, and you felt his critical gaze on you as always.

“I’m fine, Lily, thank you though, just a bit poorly,” moving you hand away from hers to rest lightly in your lap.

Lily could see how every word was a strain on you, energy depleting as the interaction stretch beyond what you’d imagined. With a nod and a few more kind words, she sat back at the table.

Everyone’s eyes were on her expecting—waiting to her to detail the what she’d said, how you were doing.

She relayed, keeping it short and simple—but reinforcing one specific detail, you were still so cold.

You’d dismissed yourself early from dinner, a poor excuse of ‘rest’.

Remus still listening.

As everyone tried to offer you company, some support, an escort. “At least just to the common room?” Narcissa insisted, but you’d already stood and hushed her pleas—the same words, you’d become a record player, stuck on repeat.

“I’m fine, Cis—really.” Your smile didn’t meet your eyes.

He was so distracted that evening, always looking over to your table. No-one commented on it. Just allowing him to sit in his own state of disarray, internal conflict.

It would be inappropriate to pry, to check in on you. You weren’t friends, barely even associates—and he hadn’t been kind to you once in all your years as classmates.

Tolerating you with unfiltered scorn and hostility, never once considering how it would feel—to be on the receiving end of his indiscriminate contempt.

And finally, he felt it. What he’d been ignoring, allowing anger to push it down, letting the searing vex settle in the forefront of his mind—but it still lingered, waiting patiently to be acknowledged.

The guilt.

Abrupt and blunt were his words as he stood up from the bench, “going bed early.” And he didn’t wait for the responses or the goodnights, pace quick out of the hall.

He did go to bed, he just didn’t stay there. Reaching under his pillow and pulling out the map. Hesitating, as his fingertips ran over the rough, dry surface of the parchment. He shouldn’t.

That did little to stop him though.

He told himself, if you were in your common room, actually resting, he’d leave it alone. It wasn’t his place anyway.

But his eyes scanned for your name in the small circle of the dungeon.

Empty.

Brows pinched high on his forehead, frantically unfolding the pages, flicking back and forth for your name. Dread was settling in, what ifs—you could be in that same condition as the other night.

Scared, in pain, alone.

The sigh of relief when he found your name, heartbeat unusually fast and echoing in his ears. His feet moving faster than they should have, instinctively.

He wasn’t even sure why he was doing this. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t. Legs carrying him far as his strides picked up, walking, jogging, running, sprinting to you.

You were too weak to go where you really wanted, the walk to the black pond just too tasking. The next best thing was the Observatory.

The sky was dark, storming—violent claps of thunder and lightning clapping breaking the clouds. Wind whipping and forcing the rain onto the balcony. Your legs hung over the edge, robes dripping, forming a puddle around you.

Face resting on the bar in the middle of the railing—it was nice, the rain on your skin, the pitter patter on the stone left little room for your thoughts.

You were thankful.

Moments of peace so few and far between as of recently.

You knew he was coming, could smell him from a mile away, there was no point in running anymore. Growing accustomed to the cruel and bitter fates the Gods kept throwing at you.

And quite frankly, you had nothing left to fight with.

His heaving breaths sounded behind you, arms holding the door frame for a moment before he took a step towards you. He saw visibly the way your spine straightened and became taut, breath halting.

You weren’t as easily swayed by his scent this time, for one he wasn’t bleeding. And you’d already braced yourself for his presence—teeth biting harshly into your tongue, burning at the painful sting, drawing blood.

There was time for you to leave, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t give up. Sure his arrival wasn’t a coincidence. Either he knew or he was coming to find out.

Both inevitable realities with unfortunate ends.

He was still paused behind you, having stopped a few meters away—not exactly sure what to say, not sure why he was here.

Couldn’t even tell if the way his skin prickled and itched was because of you or the rain’s harsh assault on the surface of his skin.

All words failing to reach his lips, instead, he took a seat a few inches away from you, on the other side of bar you’d been resting against.

Legs joining yours, in their dangle and sway over the stone’s edge, robes darkening as the rain soaked further into the fabric.

For a long while, you both sat in silence.

Remus didn’t know you knew, it had barely been a week since your discovery. Your second day out of the hospital wing, you connected the dots—the howl you’d heard that night, the way he’d been so severely wounded, the cabinets in the hospital filled with small vials adorned with his name, his aversion to you, why his scent was so disturbingly alluring.

Even now, he sat mere inches away and your mouth was filling with saliva—jaw clenching in efforts to reject the lure.

You were almost shocked at your ignorance to him, his nature, suddenly seeming so obvious—wanting to scoff, both monsters that can’t recognise each other—the irony.

His first words tempted you to laugh.

“Cold?”, he asked, rain dripping off the tip of his nose as he turned to look at you.

It took a few more long drawn out seconds before you turned to meet his gaze. And his heart ached at the sight of you, so utterly defeated, eyes vacant.

You reply was so matter of fact—

“You know I am, Lupin,” maintaining eye contact, it had a layer of something he didn’t quite understand.

Breaking the stare, you turned and looked out longingly at the clouds, letting your words settle into the crisp air between you. His body heat radiated off him so far, it would have warmed your cold body—if that were possible.

He wanted to ask what you mean, and why you said it like that, wanted to ask what was wrong, and why you looks so..so—he couldn’t even put his finger on the word—so not you.

Mouth opening and closing once, twice before blurting out, “Are you okay?” as it left, he felt it was a rather stupid choice of question—considering the situation, but it was too late now.

“You’ve really come all this way to ask how I am?” Still you kept your eyes looking out into the distance, admiring the deep hues of the clouds that rolled over the horizon.

He was still looking at you, your body against the pillar, as if the weight of the world rest on your shoulders. “Well?”

You felt yourself fiddling with the edge of your sleeves, the lump that’d been forming in your throat for the last few minutes felt impossibly larger. You didn’t want to look at him, knowing it would break you, the exhaustion rolling over you in waves—and you couldn’t bear it much longer.

When you did look to him, your eyes pricked with tears, lips twisting into a deep frown.

“I’m tired, Remus.”

You were, so so tired, in pain, hungry.

He didn’t know what to do, completely helpless, it’d made him feel ill, the dejected look on your face, there were so many words swirling in his mind. So much he wanted to say, none of it fitting, none of it enough. Instead, he reached an arm around you, pulling you in, taking the weight you’d been pressing on the bar between you—your head on his shoulders.

He had no idea why he felt comfortable enough to do that, maybe it was the way you said his name—soft, fragile, or maybe it was the way you looked at him—lost. If it wasn’t that, maybe it was the reason why he was even in here in the first place—he cared.

The idea of telling you that it would be okay, seemed ill-fitting, he still didn’t know what was wrong. The rain was coming down slower now, less aggressive and the thunder sounded further away—drifting.

You pressed your lips together, questioning whether to say anything at all. But you were already here, it was already in motion.

“Remus, do you know why you hate me so?”

He looked at you, confused, ready to protest, he doesn’t hate you, he really didn’t. It was the knowing look on your face that stopped him, reflecting on his treatment towards you—he stayed quiet.

You nodded, at nothing, turning away from him.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

The question seemed silly, of course he knew why he was here, he came to check on you, see if you were okay. Find out what was wrong—

“Why?”

Your body was still rigid against his, there was no soft rise and fall, still holding your breath—waiting.

His lips parted when he found the right words to start his sentence, “Your condition-“

Your interruption was simple, yet vague—

“If you have to ask, you’re not ready to know.”

He gaze was on you, perplexed but he listened as you continued, “I wouldn’t be able to tell you anyway.”

There were rules, restrictions against sharing about your condition, not just for the safety of others, but your own—the hysteria, the uproar, an undoing.

His breath hitched as your eyes met his, drained, understanding—kind. The air seemed to still around his when the words fell from you lips.

“Does it hurt you greatly?—each moon?”

You knew, his mouth was dry, eyes searching your face, expecting rejection, contempt, fear. But there was none, you weren’t scared of him, and though your eyes lacked their usual spark, there was still a subtle warmth, accepting. The smallest smile, twitched at your lips, hoping to give him some comfort.

Neither of you moved from your position, his body burned hot despite the rain, harsh wind, and your presence—yours was still cold, as always, a stark contrast to his heat.

“How long have you known?”

…

“A few days.”

It was obvious to him what made you realise, his condition that morning when you saw him, he wasn’t surprised—you were smart.

He would have asked you if you’d told anyone, but he was sure for some reason, that you hadn’t—that you wouldn’t. He chose to answer your initial question instead, grimacing as his body recollected the way his bones would break, his muscles would tear and his own screams of agony were alien in his ears.

“It hurts. A lot, more than I can say,” confession honest and clear.

You hummed in acknowledgment, but still waiting.

Waiting for the dots to connect in his mind, he was thinking—it was clear in the expression on his face, blinks slow, brows furrowed.

Like he was running through every possible piece of information he’d cataloged about you. You couldn’t tell him, and he couldn’t ask—his brain felt muddled.

Just as the skies cleared with time, so did his expression—looking at you with wide, shocked eyes. Always cold, unnaturally so, brilliant reflexes, alluring and captivating to all—people flocked to you effortlessly, and now that he was thinking about it—he rarely saw you eat, at every meal time, lips tinted red from your lolly.

A honeyduke’s classic.

A bloodsucker.

He still didn’t understand, you were nothing like what he’d read about—presented as ugly, ghoulish creatures that burned in the sun.

He was stuttering, puzzled, “But-but the *textbooks—*your—nothing like that”

Nodding, staring down into your lap.

“live long enough, and you can change history.”

His breath was caught in his throat—that’s why. He felt so blind, it should have figured it out soon, or at least suspected, from the way his skin crawled in your presence.

There were signs, so many, but it still seemed impossible, unfathomable.

“Show me.”

Head whipping towards him, shocked. He didn’t even know what he asked of you, eyes on his face, an incredulous look on yours—still contemplating.

“It’s…it’s not—uh, pretty.”

You felt silly at your remark. Of course it wasn’t pretty, he couldn’t be expecting something pretty.

He watched, face unchanging, not flinching away at the sight of your face distorting—whites of your eyes vanishing and the veins, they bulged, stretching out from your waterline and further down your face—protruding thickly out on your neck. You parted your lips, allowing the four sharp canines into his views, still he was neutral.

Just looking.

Cogs turning slowly.

“That morning—you were, in pain…was it—“

His insinuations were clear, the words dying on his lips when you nodded, trying to turn away from him.

“I don’t understand.”

It just didn’t make sense to him, after all these years, he’d never seen you like that, and the cause?

You weren’t even sure if you could tell him, if you should, even wording seemed hard. It didn’t seem right just say it—

Because I was hungry, because it was you.

It was clear to Remus how you were pondering your next words. It would be letting him in, allowing him to see through the cracks, the flaws, the unfortunate reality of you, the real you.

“Well, I hadn’t eaten—in a while, so it was just…”

He probably shouldn’t have asked, but it seemed the words were already in the air—

“Are you hungry now?”

Remus didn’t even know what he wanted you to say, he guessed that you were, still mild discomfort in your face, your body language. Not once did you breath in deep enough for your chest to even rise, back still straight and constantly fidgeting.

And if you weren’t—his mind couldn’t help but wonder.

The question wasn’t hard to answer, yes, every cell in your body screaming, deprived, angry. Your stomach twisted at the thought of eating, it had been so long, weeks—you’d even avoided the potion to keep the cramps at bay. You didn’t deserve the relief, because as much as it stopped the physical pain—your thoughts repulsed you.

But the shame, it never got any better, as much as your tried to push it the very back of your mind—ignore the suffocation of it, the nauseating pressure the clawed from the bottom of your spine and punched right through your chest every time your mouth-watered.

That same feeling stopped you from answering directly, mumbling, faintly above a whisper, as if saying it quieter would make it less difficult—

“It’s not something I enjoy—“

He was quick to intrude, sharp and direct.

“That’s not what I asked.”

It was even difficult to be near him now, insides lurching, in need of sustenance—and his heart was beating so strong, blood warm and intoxicating—appetising.

Your leg twitched with the effort it took to not move away from him, gaze transfixed on edge of stone you at on. Chewing relentlessly at your lip, it was unavoidable, so painstakingly aware of every pump of blood in his veins—

“Y/N,”

“Yes! Yes, Remus! Is that want you want me to say?! That i’m starving and haven’t eaten in weeks—That my throat feels like it’s closing in?!”

There was no need for you to be so harsh with your words, but you snapped—frustrated at yourself, frustrated at him for asking; for making you have to say it out loud.

And yet, he was seeming unaffected by your outburst, eyes sweeping over your figure—this whole time you’d been so composed, each sentence well-thought and calculated. It wasn’t his intention to strike a nerve, he could see the way you shrunk into yourself after, regret in your eyes—

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shou-“

“—Weeks?”

He cut you off again, echoing your words from before, your finger came up to pick at the lifted skin on your lips, only answering with a small nod. He couldn’t imagine it, having to walking around hungry for days, let alone weeks—the restraint you must have, working with the bloody and injured almost everyday.

“How?”

It seemed like such an incomprehensible task.

“How what?”

Right, he’d just blurted out the word random, as though you’d have access to his internal monologue.

“How do you do it—with Pomfrey, all the blood? Doesn’t it make you…I don’t know—uncomfortable?”

You hummed lightly at his explanation, thinking for a second, and for a while your face relaxed—as you thought back to the times you’d spent in the wing.

“It wasn’t easy, at first. But I wanted to help people, lessen their pain—so it doesn’t bother me anymore.”

You continued, confessing with a small scoff—

“It’s the least I can do in the life, something good, my soul maybe be damned—but at least i’ve found purpose.”

When you looked back at him, a deep frown was etched onto his face, eyes swimming with something you couldn’t quite read—looking at you as if your last words were blasphemous.

“You don’t really believe that do you? what you said—about your soul?”

Thinking back to your words, they did seem rather harsh, but you just pulled your lips into thinly lined smile, it stopped there just past the corners of your mouth, not travelling further up your face, as it should have. Sighing deeply through your nose—resigning with another nod.

“It’s a curse, Remus—what I am. A crime against nature.”

You weren’t bothered by your words at all, having come to terms with your reality many years ago, it made sense to you that he didn’t agree—he wouldn’t understand.

“Do you think that about me—and my soul? My curse?”

Brows stretched up and froze high in your forehead, frown now matching his—resting deep on your lips. Placing a hand on his—as if to make your words more sincere.

“I—Of course not. It’s different—you could never be damned Remus, you’re kind. And besides, you can’t help what you become, it’s just different.”

His eyes narrowed as he ran his other hand through his hair, you’d been sitting together so long it was almost dry. He was so confused, you contradicted yourself so plainly—

“You say it like you’ve got a choice in the matter, you didn’t ask to become what you are, Y/N. It’s not different at all.”

Your head was already shaking in dispute, he didn’t get it, yes you didn’t get a choice but there was no doubt in your mind about your fate. It just made sense to you that way, you were a different kind of monster.

Chest huffing in mild frustration, shifting your entire body to face him.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your words were harsher than you’d expected—too much of the contempt you held to yourself seeping in, taking a deep breath and correcting your tone.

“You don’t have a choice, Remus. You can’t fight against the moon—But you also don’t take life to sustain your own, you live and die—from old age or disease, the same why everyone else does.

We’re different.

You don’t leave death and destruction in your wake because of your selfish desires—taking advantage of the weak.

That’s my nature—That’s what I am.”

You pointed to yourself, finger poking hard and frantic in the middle of your chest—sick revolt burning in your eyes, wet with unshed tears.

He could see it, and it was so achingly familiar, the unadulterated distain for yourself. Too close to home, too much like his own—

Voice low and gentle, taking the hand that’d been accusing you so harshly in both of his.

“You’re nothing like that,”

It was true, to him at least, you were nothing like what you’d described—he wished so badly to be able to change your mind. Almost offended at how you could be so casually unkind to yourself—and he knew you meant it, that you truly did believe the things you said.

His touch was so hot against yours, and yours so cold against his—you wanted to tear your hand away, in fear of making him uncomfortable—so accustom the the sharp hiss that would leave everyone that made contact with you.

But he held your hand so tightly, with such earnestness, you couldn’t help but accept the warmth of his touch.

And for once, when holding your hand in his, there was no strange twisting in stomach, no hair standing on the back of his neck—no underlying loathing, no sickly feeling bubbling in this chest, no secrets.

Just you and him.

Understanding and solidarity.

“Is that why you do this—starve and deny yourself? Because of what you think about your soul?”

He saw through you, completely.

A single tear slid down your face, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie, deny it.

“I just don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The moon was barely visible now, resigning under the bright light that the sun had just barely begun to shine—

“And you won’t, you couldn’t even if you tried, Y/N.”

You frowned again, still so stubborn and untrusting of yourself—“You don’t know that, Remus.”

His words were immediate, explicit and absolute.

“Yes I do,” gaze so intense you had to tear your eyes away, “No, look at me—I do know that. I saw you—you passed out trying to get away from me that day.

So you wouldn’t hurt me.

You’ve already done so much good, you don’t need to suffer like this anymore.”

By his final sentence he already had you standing, dragging you out of the Observatory—hand in yours pulling you down the stairs.

“Remus, slow down! Where are we going?”

“A walk.”

“I—A walk?! it’s 5am?”

He didn’t bother answering, he knew his words weren’t enough to make you believe him, to change your twisted perception of yourself. And as you found your way out of the main entrance towards the forest—he spoke to you in a quiet soft voice.

You weren’t trailing behind him anymore, falling into step with your shorter, still exhausted stride. He spoke about the pain of his first transformation and as you passed the Whomping Willow—he revealed how it’d been placed by Dumbledore, for him.

When you reached the black pond, the sun was fully up, gracing the sky with warm rays and radiance. He’d been holding your hand the entire time—you began to wonder why he hadn’t let go.

Surely, it’d become uncomfortable for him, surely the surface of his skin burned from the cold. He must have noticed the skepticism in your gaze, asking, “Shall I let go?”

You shook your head, but pulled you both to a stop, opening his hand, and inspecting it—expecting it to be cold to the touch from the prolonged contact. But it wasn’t even flushed, just warm, too warm—considering.

He let out a breathy chuckle at your examination, rubbing his palm in confusion in confusion; the sound made your eyes snap to his face—lips stretched slightly across his face into crooked smile.

Simply taking your hand back in his grasp and continuing your walk, now back towards the castle.

In an almost smug tone—“I tend to run a bit hot, so don’t worry,”

How ironic.

Unprompted, as the exit to the forest became clear, he detailed how he got his condition—a cruel and vile act of revenge on an innocent.

He struggled to talk about it even after all these years, and you could hear how his heart rate quickened as though he’d been transported back to that moment—the little boy hiding in his wardrobe.

“If it’s too much, you don’t have to say,” voice gentle and comforting.

“I know i don’t have to, I want to.”

And your thumbs found themselves instinctively ghosting over his knuckles, tracing the skin of each scar—as if trying to sooth him, heal the wounds that still linger in more than a physical sense.

“What i’m trying to say, is that, there are twisted and sadistic people of all natures, that doesn’t mean you’re as bad as the worst of your kind—I promise.”

You hummed back to him, with a nod.

“Will you do one thing for me?” he asked when you slipped through the door in the West Hall. He was looking at you, with an unexpectedly fond eye.

“What is it?”

“You have to say you’ll do it first,”

A smile cracked onto your face, the first he’d seen in weeks, the one that reached your eyes—making them crinkle at the corners, the same smile he’d found irritating for all these years.

“How can I just agree—“

“Please?”

Rolling your eyes as you relented, not protesting when he walked you both down the hall, but after two left turns, it dawned on you.

He’s taking to you the Pomfrey.

You froze, a few meters from the door—mouth suddenly dry. He squeezed your hand, turning to you with a pleading look, “You said you’d—“

“I can’t.”

His chest lurched at the fear in your eyes, the way your shoulder inched up tighter, closer to your ears—shaking you head frantically.

Stepping forward, he released your hand but wasted no time wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him, on palm gently running over your back, the other instinctively holding your head against him—stroking over your hair.

You felt the vibrations of his voice in rumble his chest, a hushed tone.

“You know you can’t go on like this—you—this isn’t how you fix things.”

You padded in softly hand in hand, Remus still leading you in—and when Pomfrey turned to the door. She paused, looking between the two of you—fingers interlocked, the smallest of smiles twitched onto face.

“Here for your potion, my dear?”

But she wasn’t talking to Remus—back already turning to the cabinets, you mumbled a small, yes.

You’d sat down on a bed, he hadn’t let go, and you were grateful—his warmth distracting you from the swirling pits of your stomach as she approached you with one small yellow and a larger red vial.

Pouring them carefully into a small metal cup, she patted a hand onto your shoulder—encouraging, the hesitation in your eyes clear to her.

One deep breath, flicking looks between her, Remus and the cup. It slid down your throat with ease but the taste—coppery and sickly sweet—made you struggle to disguise the heave the pushed through your stomach.

You hated it.

Placing the cup down, a grimace still on your face—you body thanked you for it. The cramps fazing away slowing, mind instantly less foggy. Remus could see the colour coming back to your face and his shoulders relaxed as though he’d let out the biggest sighs.

Pomfrey came back, she handed you your lolly and sent you on your way. You didn’t wait to leave before you unravelled it—looking at it as if it was the best thing in the entire world, a soft smile on Remus’ face when you popped it into you mouth with a small hum.

As the doors closed behind you both, Pomfrey let a knowing smile split onto her face as she cleaned up.

Two of a kind, she thought to herself.

[remmyj-ohnloops]

a shitty IT job

Sirius Black x reader who thinks sirius is cool, tattoos and all ✩ 635 words

cw: office au, pre-relationship, fluff, reader and Sirius have worked together for a while.

an: the start is vaguely inspired by shitty comments i've had said to me because i have a fair few tattoos.

“You don’t exactly look like you should work here, y’know?” you remark casually, leaning against the counter beside the kettle in the breakroom.

Sirius feels the familiar wave of disappointment rise in his chest, but he forces it down with a long, controlled breath. He’s heard this line a thousand times before, as though his tattoos and unruly hair are better suited for fast food or bartending. Never mind the fact that he’s more than qualified for the job he’s doing, a job he’s damn good at, thank you very much.

Normally, comments like this slide off him without a second thought, but when it’s coming from you—his favourite person here, the one he shares his breaks with and the only person in this place he actually cares about—it hits a little harder. You, the sweetest person he’s ever met, looking at him with that same judgmental eye that everyone else does, feels wrong.

He hums in response, bracing himself for the next comment.

You glance over your shoulder, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You look like you belong on stage or something—way too cool for a shitty IT job.” Your voice is light, teasing, but there’s a softness beneath the words that doesn’t escape him. Then, almost on instinct, you add, the grin turning slightly guilty, “I probably shouldn’t say that. You might actually leave me here to suffer, and let’s face it, no one else is half as good as you at this stuff.”

Oh.

The weight lifts off his shoulders like a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. Of course you didn’t mean it the way others do. You get it. You think he’s cool. Sirius feels something warm spread through his chest, a feeling that’s rare and precious—being seen for who he really is, not the rough edges others assume come with his appearance.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice soft yet full of playful confidence. “I’m not going anywhere. Besides, who else is going to save your arse when the servers crash for the hundredth time this week?”

“Oh, Sirius Black, my great savior,” you tease, and his smile deepens.

“Don’t go getting too sentimental on me now,” he jokes, his eyes twinkling as he meets your gaze. “I might start thinking you actually like me or something.”

You laugh, but there’s a slight flush to your cheeks that makes his heart beat a little faster. You quickly turn back to the kettle, pretending to focus on making your coffee, but he catches the quick glance you throw his way before you avert your eyes again.

Sirius bites back the smirk threatening to tug at his lips, feeling the familiar heat in his chest again, the kind that always seems to flare up when you’re around. It’s the same feeling he’s been trying to ignore for months now—the fluttering in his stomach whenever you smile at him, the way his pulse speeds up when you laugh, the way he can't help but look for you whenever he walks into the room.

"Alright, time to stop distracting me," you mutter, but your voice is light, almost shy now, as you stir your coffee.

Sirius takes a step back from the counter, bending to pick up his bag on the floor beside him. He glances at you once more, the flicker of something unspoken passing between you, but he doesn’t press it. Not yet.

"Back to work," he says, with an easy grin, though his mind's racing with the implications of the quiet moment. "If you need saving, call me."

You roll your eyes but laugh, and he can’t help but feel a little lighter than before. As he heads out of the breakroom, he looks over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of you watching him.

[remmyj-ohnloops]

lasting impressions

( a night to remember - pt1)

sirius black x afab!reader ⊹ 6.5k

cw ⟢ biker!sirius RARARAR, nervous!reader, alcohol, swearing, suggestive, strangers to ????, tension, teasing

it seemed by the time the morning after the party rolled around, you'd forgotten most of what you'd done, not to worry, sirius was your walking reminder.

a/n i litch skipped class to write this today LOL, i hope yall like it, man bun sirius is just hhhhh not proofread x

The rest of that night was a complete and utter blur. Marlene was meant to take you home but ‘coincidentally’, she ended staying at Dorcas’ to clean up after the party.

That left you with James.

Poor James, had to keep his eyes on you before you ravaged his best mate.

All the swimming you’d done, thankfully tuckered you out for a while—becoming less like Trouble the tasmanian devil and more of a sweet gooey puddle on the sofa.

Proclaiming your love to everyone and everyone.

You had tried to put your clothes back on—but it seemed that no one wanted to let you get dress, and it was getting rather cold.

Sirius had been watching as you padded wobbly, back to the pile by the pool, humming off-beat to the music that still played int the living room—seeping through the crack in the door. Hopping around with one foot partially through your wet bottoms, Sirius decided it was time for him to chime in.

“Busy?” an amused smirk playing on his face.

Huffing in frustration, still trying to force your foot through the wet tangled pant leg, you didn’t answer—you also didn’t hear the sound of his footsteps coming towards you.

Using all your sense at one seemed to be a difficult task at the time.

If you’d had the capacity to think of shaking the clothes out, you probably would have already had them on. Sirius stood over your hunched figure waiting for you to notice him, but you lost your balance—sending yourself right into him.

A soft “oh!”, leaving your lips when you made contact, of course, Sirius was ready to catch you—after having watched you sway back and forths for a while, he figured it would happen sooner or later.

Your chin was still resting chest when you looked up at him, a lazy grin slowly spreading across your face, accompanied with a, “Hello!”

He couldn’t stop himself from matching your smile, entertained by the way you melted against him, letting his hands settle at your waist to steady you, “Fancy seeing you here,” his voice light and teasing.

Nose scrunching slightly, you hummed, “Mmm, you’re so warm,” seemingly deciding then and there to stay pressed against him.

“Mind telling why you’re trying to put your wet clothes back on, sweetheart?”

“S’cold,” words still slurring, and now muffled against his skin. He chuckled, shaking his head, taking the towel that was quite literally right next you clothes—and drapping it over your shoulders.

Sirius began dramatically, rubbing his hands up and down your arms—using all of his might to warm you; “James is going to hex me if I let you catch hypothermia on his watch.”

It only made you break out into loud giggles, wriggling under the towel like your situation was the funniest thing you’d ever seen. Clutching your stomach, laughter ringing through the garden. As he stopped, he leaned in to your ears—whispering in a soft, low tone—”Better?”

It made your ears burn, and stutter several incomplete words, before eventually giving up speaking, feigning non-chalance with a roll of your eyes. And Sirius couldn’t stop the bark of laughter from leaving him—

"Merlin, you’re so cute," Sirius mused, watching as your face scrunched up, trying and failing to pretend his words hadn’t made your heart stutter.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, determined to move on. “I’m putting my trousers back on.”

Tilting his head at you, amusement dancing in his eyes, “Are you, now?”

Nodding firmly, you reached down to grab them, still heavy with water—only for Sirius to pluck them up first, holding them just out of reach.

"Oi!" You swayed slightly, glaring up at him. "Gimme."

"Mmm... no," he hummed, examining the soaked fabric like he was contemplating setting them on fire. "See, I just spent all this time warming you up, and now you want to go and undo all my hard work? Tsk, tsk."

"But I’m cold," you whined. "Clothes make you warmer, Sirius, it’s science."

"Not when they’re wet,” he countered, lifting an eyebrow. “Putting these on is just going to make you colder.”

"But I’m already wet," you argued, throwing your arms out as if that proved a point. "I’m wet, the clothes are wet—so it cancels out."

Sirius stared at you. "That’s...that’s not how that works.”

"It is," you insisted, crossing your arms. "Like...double negatives. Wet plus wet equals dry."

Sirius blinked. "That was the single worst attempt at logic I have ever heard.”

"You’re the worst attempt at logic I’ve ever heard," you shot back, wobbling on your feet.

"That didn’t even make sense," he snorted, running a hand down his face. "Merlin, you’re impossible."

"Gimme my trousers."

"No."

"Gimme."

"Nope."

Before you could protest further, Sirius simply sighed, tossed the offending trousers aside, and scooped you up like you weighed nothing.

"Sirius!" you gasped, clinging to his shoulders on instinct. "Put me down, fiend!"

"No can do, sweetheart," he grinned, carrying you inside with ease. "You’ve lost trouser privileges."

"That’s not a thing," you grumbled, voice muffled against his shoulder.

"It is now."

Sirius stepped into the living room, plopping you both down onto the couch in one smooth motion. You huffed, still tangled up against him, but the warmth of the house—and him—was already seeping into your chilled skin. You could feel his chuckle rumbling against you as he reached for the nearest blanket, draping it over you both with an air of finality.

"See?" he murmured, voice smug. "Much better."

You grumbled something unintelligible against his shoulder, but you didn’t move—not even an inch. Partly because you were comfortable and partly because your limbs still felt like jelly.

Sirius huffed out a quiet laugh, adjusting the blanket so it covered more of you.

Dorcas rolled her eyes at the wet trail you’d left upon entry, grumbling about how she’d just mopped, before tossing a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a jumper in yours and Siruis’ general direction.

"I love Dorcas," you announced from the couch, voice muffled but enthusiastic. She came towards the sofa as you confessed, a glass of water in hand, passing it to you with a soften sigh—small smile on her face.

"I love everyone!" It came out shockingly louder than your last statement; “Everything is so good,”

Sirius chuckled, shifting slightly so he could look down at you. “Yeah?”

"Mhm," you hummed, snuggling impossibly closer. "Sirius, you’re my favorite."

"Ooooh, scandalous," Marlene called from the other room. "James, how does it feel to be replaced?"

"I am not replaced!" James shot back indignantly. “And I’ve been stuck with cleaning up this mess, while Sirius is lazing on the sofa.” The last sentences was mumbled and huffed under his breath.

Dorcas snorted, flicking her wand to banish a suspicious-looking stain from the carpet. “James, he quite literally had to drag her inside.”

Marlene hummed in agreement. “Yeah, poor bloke probably had to wrestle her just to get her to drop the wet clothes.”

The light chatter continued among them as they cleaned, but eventually, all that could be heard from the couch was your soft, content sigh as Sirius tightened the blanket around you both.

Sirius glanced down at you, only to realize your breathing had evened out, your face smushed sleepily against his shirt.

"Merlin’s beard," he muttered, shaking his head fondly. "You really are trouble."

It took another thirty minutes before the house was back to its original state, James let out an exasperated sigh, plopping onto the single chair by Sirius—eyes scanning over your sleeping figure.

Sirius had his phone in one hand, the other on your thigh—your shoulders rising and falling slowly with heach breath, head rested on his shoulder—very very comfortable.

James squinted his eyes at the pair of you.

"Alright, let’s get moving," James announced, stretching his arms over his head. "I want to be in bed before the sun comes up for once."

Sirius sighed dramatically but sat up, shifting you carefully in his hold as he did. You stirred only slightly, mumbling something incoherent before settling again.

"Right then," Sirius said, looking over at Marlene expectantly. "Time to take your gremlin home."

Marlene raised a brow. "My gremlin? No, no, you two are taking her home."

"What? No," James argued, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You were supposed to take her home!"

Marlene gave him an unimpressed look. "And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that? There’s one of me, and she’s basically liquid right now."

"S’not true," you mumbled sleepily, shifting against Sirius' chest. "I’m solid. Mostly."

"See?" Sirius smirked. "Mostly solid. You’ll manage."

Marlene rolled her eyes. "James, you have a car. Sirius, you have a motorbike. There are two of you and one of me. Basic math says this is not my problem."

James groaned, rubbing his face before turning to Sirius. "Rock, paper, scissors for it?"

"Not a chance, mate," Sirius said, already standing with you in his arms. "You drive. I’ll follow."

James huffed but didn't argue further, muttering about how Sirius always managed to get out of the worst parts of every situation.

The drive back to their flat was mostly quiet, save for the occasional hum of a song from Sirius as he trailed behind on his bike. You remained blissfully unaware, curled up in the passenger seat of James’ car, only half-waking when he parked and Sirius pulled open the door.

"Up we go, trouble," Sirius murmured, lifting you effortlessly before you could try and stumble your way inside.

James locked the car, sighing as he followed them up the stairs. But when he opened the door to their flat, he realized something.

"Wait," he frowned. "Where is she supposed to sleep?"

Sirius, still carrying you, blinked at him. "Uh. My bed?"

"Oi," James pointed a warning finger at him. "That’s my friend, so no funny business."

Sirius rolled his eyes, adjusting you in his arms. "Please. I’m not the one you need to worry about."

James scoffed, but let it go, too tired to argue further. "Fine. Just—behave yourself, alright?"

"Always do," Sirius grinned before disappearing into his room.

The moment he set you down, you sighed, rolling onto your side as you curled into the warmth of his duvet. Sirius exhaled, shaking his head with a small smirk before tugging the blankets up over you properly. His bed had always been big—more space than he usually needed—but right now, he didn’t mind it.

For a moment, he just watched you, taking in the peaceful expression on your face. The soft rise and fall of your chest. The way your hand curled slightly into the pillow.

With careful fingers, he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch barely there.

"Pretty," he murmured fondly.

And with that, he switched off the light and settled in beside you—close, but not too close. Just enough to make sure you were warm.

When the morning rolled around, the light in the room making your eyes burn even while closed, head pounding and throbbing—mouth abnormally dry. A groan left your lips as you shifted slightly, body stiff from sleep, but as you stretched out, something felt… wrong.

For one, the bed was too big. And for another—

Thud.

You hit the floor with a graceless, painful sort of smack, tangled in the sheets you’d apparently dragged with you.

"Bloody hell," you muttered, squeezing your eyes shut as you lay there for a moment, reeling from the sudden impact. That definitely didn’t help your headache.

Panic set in almost immediately.

You blinked, finally taking in your surroundings, mind scrambling to piece together where the hell you were. The room was unfamiliar—dark bedding, posters plastered lazily on the walls, the faintest lingering scent of cologne and cigarette smoke.

Your stomach dropped.

This—this wasn’t your room. And it definitely wasn’t Marlene’s or Dorcas’.

You scrambled to your feet, legs wobbling slightly beneath you, hands clammy as you pressed them to your temples. The pulsing ache behind your eyes did not make thinking any easier. Your heart hammered as you backed up toward the door, mind racing through every terrible, worst-case scenario imaginable. Your body moved on autopilot—twisting the handle, slipping out into the corridor with the sheer desperation of needing to get out of here.

And then—

"Oh, look who’s up," James’ voice.

Your head snapped up, vision still slightly blurred, but sure enough—James Potter was standing in the open kitchen, casually stirring a bowl of cereal. And next to him, leaning against the counter, was Sirius Black, sipping a cup of tea with all the ease in the world.

Your breath caught. James’ flat.

Some of the panic loosened its grip, but the mortification settled in just as quickly.

"She lives," Sirius smirked over the rim of his cup.

You opened your mouth—closed it—then tried again. "I—I don’t—" You winced at the sound of your own voice, throat dry and hoarse. "What—"

James raised a brow. "Need some water before you start asking questions?"

You swallowed thickly. "Maybe."

Sirius nudged a glass across the counter without a word. You took it hesitantly, stepping forward just enough to grab it, before downing the whole thing in a few gulps.

It helped. Slightly.

"Alright," you breathed out, trying to regain some sense of composure. "What…happened?"

Sirius and James exchanged looks, and you did not like whatever silent conversation they just had.

James was the first to break. "You happened," he snorted, shaking his head. "You were sloshed, love."

Your brows knit together. You remembered getting to the party. Swimming. Bits and pieces of the night flickered through your mind, but it was all… hazy.

"You don't remember?" Sirius tilted his head, watching you closely as you chewed at your bottom lip, avoiding eye contact with him.

"I—" You hesitated. "Some of it? I remember the party. And—I think I was trying to… put my clothes back on?" You frowned. "But Marlene had already given me some?"

Sirius grinned, all too happy to remind you. "Ah, yes. You were determined to put your wet clothes back on, actually. Told me that ‘wet plus wet cancels out,’ or something equally brilliant."

You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. "Merlin’s sake. I told Marlene this would happen.”

"You also declared your undying love for everyone about five times," James added, chewing lazily. "But apparently, Sirius was your favorite."

Your head shot up at that, eyes wide. "I what?!"

Sirius hummed, parroting Marlene’s words from last night, looking far too smug. "Scandalous, I know."

You stared at them both in abject horror, any lingering dizziness temporarily forgotten as you fought the urge to crawl out of your own skin. This is exactly what you were worried about, being a public nuisance and making an absolute idiot of yourself.

You just groaned again, leaning against the counter, face heating—hoping some unknown force would strike you down, anything to avoid the mortifying feeling in the pit of your stomach.

James snickered before shrugging. "Could’ve been worse. At least you didn’t puke."

Small mercies.

Sirius walked over to where you stood, handing over a packet of ibuprofen, you still couldn’t meet his gaze. The intensity of his stare, paired with the almost cocky smirk that played on his face made you shrink into yourself—his fingertips lingering on your hand for just a second longer than they should have. Before he walked back over to lean against the counter.

James watched the entire interaction rather unimpressed, but he chose not to say anything about it, instead he pulled out the seat next to him—motioning for you to sit down. Your brows were still knit high up on you forehead, endlessly wracking your brain, willing it to focus on the events of last night. Unconsciously picking at the skin around you fingers, eyes glaring at a spot on the table, a deep frown settling on your lips.

It took a few calls, but eventually James got your attention, offering you some toast.

But the idea of eating anything made your stomach lurch slightly, you shook your head immediately, muttering, “I think i’ll pass, thank you though,”

The guilt was killing you, not only did you make a fool of yourself, you didn’t remember and you didn’t make it home. Standing up from your place in the table, asking James if you could borrow something to change into after your shower. He spluttered slightly, mouth still full—”Course,”

The hot shower did little to calm your mind, only washing the slight smell of chlorine off your skin, opting for the smallest clothes James had, they still were very ill-fitting, hanging off of your frame. Your hair dripped onto the towel you’d hung over your shoulders, taking your spare toothbrush out James’ cabinet, you began brushing.

Brain mindlessly trailing away, memories of your antics flashing vividly behind your eyes, more specifically that moment in the pool, like you’d been transported back to that very second, your heart raced and thumped in your ears—cheeks heating at the thought of the kiss.

Groaning as you shut off the running tap, fingertips brushing over your lips. Exhaling through your nose, you shook your head, mumbling to yourself as you left the bathroom.

“What have i done?”

Trailing over to James’ room, he was at his desk, typing on his laptop. You stood by him wordlessly for few a moments, a frown on your face, eyes trained on the floor. The smile on his face dropping at the sight of yours, “What’s the matter, love?” turing his whole body towards you.

“I’m sorry.”

Your voice was meek as you continued, “I’m sorry you had to take care of me, I hope I didn’t ruin your night,” You looked like you were about to cry, he couldn’t help the huffed chuckle that passed his lips as he hugged you,

“Y/N, you didn’t ruin the night for anyone, if anything, you made it more fun.”

Head still in his chest, he leant away slightly, catch a glimpse of your face, barking out a laugh at your wet eyes, “I promise, doll. And I didn’t mind taking care of you, I’m sure Sirius didn’t either.”

Still not raising your head, you flooped dramatically onto James’ bed, face first—the teasing tone of his voice playing in your head over and over. Another wave of embarrassment washing over you. James was already standing up, still laughing lightly at you, before he took a pillow from the top of his bed—dropping it on your head.

“As much as I’d love to watch you be awkward and embarrassed with Sirius, I need to go to the gym—I’ll drop you home when I get back.”Voice drifting further away as he finished.

He was already out of the door before you could beg him not to leave you with Sirius.

What was more mortifiying was that you knew your brain wouldn’t let you rest until you’d apologised to him, and now that James was gone for however long—you were trapped with the guy you’d drunk kissed with no buffer.

It took you another twenty minutes of internal conflict before you slowly skulked out of James’ room, food calling your name more than anything. You’d prayed Sirius would be back in his room, allowing you more time to work yourself into a mental space confident enough to talk to him like a normal person.

Everything about him just felt so intimidating, so confident, so straight-forward, so handsome.

The kitchen was thankfully empty, giving you space to boil the kettle—maybe a cup of tea would settle you.

Once again lost in thought, you’d failed to notice how the Gods had tricked you into thinking you were safe. Comfortably slotted into the corner in the counter—waiting for the kettle to tick over, when Sirius had walked into the space, resting against the door frame—watching.

You looked so deep in thought—drowning James’ jumper, hair still slightly damp. Sirius wasn’t going to deny it, despite your very comfortable, almost disheveled appearence—he still thought you looked just as gorgeous as the night before.

He interrupted you chain of thought with his voice; “Boil enough for two?”

The way you almost jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice was rather comical, practically clutching your non-existent pearls. And he didn’t grace you with time to recover, because, he was already so close to you by the time you’d turned around—stalking over to where you stood.

You did try to stutter out an answer, but your heart beating so loudly in your ears was distracting, preventing you from forming one conscious stream of speech. Instead, you gave up and just nodded���turning away from him and the cocky grin on his face.

Staring at the marble counter as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Sirius was still closing the distance between you, so much so that you could feel the heat that he radiated on your skin, could smell his freshly washed hair, laced with caramel and dark leather. You wanted to move away, but you were effectively cornered, the only escape would be if you somehow went through him.

You turned to find away to give him more space, but he just leant further in, looking down at you with that same smirk, so painfully aware of how panicked you were at the proximity. Breath audibly hitching as he reached over your head—eyes still locked with your, pulling out another mug from the cupboard and placing it beside him.

And instead of moving away after getting what he needed, like any normal person, he entrapped you by placing his arms on both sides of you body—palms pressing against the counter.

"Something on your mind, sweetheart?"

Sirius’ voice was low, smooth—far too amused for your liking. The way he was looking at you, all hooded eyes and lazy smirk, made it very clear he was enjoying your predicament.

You swallowed, attempting to look unaffected despite the fact that your pulse was hammering at your throat. "No."

He tilted his head slightly, like he didn’t quite believe you. "No?"

Your fingers curled against the counter, desperate for something to ground yourself. The heat of him was overwhelming, every sense, every inhale filled with something distictly Sirius. It was ridiculous how effortlessly he took up space, how he had you feeling cornered without even laying a hand on you.

"Then why," he murmured, dipping just slightly closer, "do you look like a rabbit caught in a trap?"

Your breath hitched. His voice was too smug, too pleased with himself, and it sent something hot curling low in your stomach.

"I don’t," you lied, attempting to shift to the side—only for Sirius to mirror you, blocking your escape with ease.

His lips twitched. "Mmm, I think you do."

He was so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his hands braced on either side of you, caging you in like he had all the time in the world.

You hated how your voice came out weaker than intended. "Do you make a habit of cornering people in kitchens, or am I just special?"

His smirk deepened. "Oh, you're special."

Your stomach flipped violently at that, and you cursed yourself internally for the reaction.

The kettle clicked off behind you, but neither of you moved.

Sirius’ gaze flickered down, lingering for just a second too long before meeting yours again, dark and unreadable. "Seems you’ve lost the bite you had last night."

Your lips parted—whether to say defend your drunk actions or tell him to piss off, you weren’t sure—but before you could get a word out, he finally pushed off the counter, retreating as smoothly as he’d approached.

The loss of his warmth left you feeling almost unsteady.

He reached for the kettle, pouring the water into both mugs like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just obliterated your ability to think straight.

"Relax, darling," he murmured, stirring his tea with a spoon. "I'm just having my morning fun."

You exhaled sharply, gripping the counter just to reorient yourself.

Sirius glanced at you from the corner of his eye, smirking again when he saw your still-flustered expression.

Bastard.

With another deep breath, you turned to him, a frown now etching itself into your face—it came out slightly begrudge, more reluctant and dreading than you’d hoped.

“I—uh, wanted to say…I’m sorry, for uh—how I acted last night. I’m not usually that drunk or forward or shameless actually,” Twiddling your thumbs, lips pursing together before you spoke again; “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable in anyway, or um—make you look after the random girl who drank too much…”

The feeling that prickled on you neck, made your throat drier was undeniably, shame. What a way to present yourself. Sirius had stopped stirring his tea, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. His smirk was gone, replaced with something softer, something unreadable. For once, he didn’t look like he was about to tease you.

“You think I was uncomfortable?” he asked after a beat, his voice quieter now.

You swallowed, suddenly unsure. “I mean…I don’t know. You had to drag me inside, jumped into the pool for me, I kissed you—and—Merlin, I don’t even remember half of it, but I know I was being ridiculous and unruly.”

Sirius exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter. “You weren’t ridiculous.”

You shot him a dubious look.

“Alright,” he amended with a small grin. “Maybe a little ridiculous. But you were also sweet. And funny. And probably the most affectionate drunk I’ve met.”

Your face burned. “Merlin.” You buried your head in your hands. “Please, please don’t tell me everything I said.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” He was definitely enjoying this a little too much. “Not when I could use it as leverage later.”

Your groan of embarrassment only made him chuckle.

“But,” Sirius continued, a little more serious now, “you don’t have to apologize, love. You didn’t do anything wrong. We all have our nights.”

You hesitated, glancing up at him. “Really?”

He nodded, taking a slow sip of his tea. “Really. Besides, I’d hardly complain about you curling up in my lap and calling me your favorite.”

You almost choked. “Sirius.”

His grin was downright wicked now. “What? I’m just saying, if you ever feel like being that affectionate sober, I wouldn’t mind.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to be flustered or exasperated.

Sirius only winked. “Tea’s getting cold, sweetheart.” Then, as effortlessly as ever, he turned on his heel and sauntered out of the kitchen, leaving you standing there—stomach in knots, head spinning, and entirely unsure what to do with yourself.

It was getting late, and you’d been sitting in James’ living room for hours since he left, waiting rather impatiently for him now.

God’s this would have been easier if you hadn’t left your bag at Dorcas’.

Sirius eventually showed himself again, shocked to find you sitting there, still no James.

Sirius’ voice broke the silence like a stone skipping across a still lake.

“Are you waiting for James?”

You looked up, slightly startled, your fingers curling tighter around the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Sirius stood in the doorway, arms crossed, dark eyes scanning you with mild amusement and faint incredulity.

“Yeah,” you admitted, shifting slightly in your seat. “He said he wouldn’t be long.”

Sirius frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall. “That was hours ago.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “I know.”

“Then why the hell are you still sitting here?”

You exhaled, dropping your head back against the couch. “I left my bag at Dorcas’,” you admitted begrudgingly. “No bag means no keys. No money. No phone. So, I figured I’d wait.”

Sirius blinked. “And you didn’t say anything?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t want to be a bother.”

A sharp breath left him, his lips parting before he ran a hand through his hair. “So, let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You’ve been sitting here alone, in a mostly empty house, for hours, when I could’ve just driven you home?”

Your face warmed. “I didn’t—”

Sirius let out a disbelieving laugh. “For fuck’s sake, sweetheart.”

You bristled at the exasperation in his voice. “I said I’m fine. I chose to wait.”

Sirius scoffed, pushing off the doorframe. “You chose to sit in a silent house, curled up like a bloody lost puppy, instead of just asking me?”

You frowned. “I wasn’t curled up like a lost puppy.”

“Are you sure? Because that’s exactly what James’ couch has been hosting all evening.” He gestured toward you. “At this point, you might as well start whining for him to come back.”

You shot him a glare, blanket tightening around your shoulders. “Dramatic.”

Sirius folded his arms, tilting his head. “You really don’t want me to take you home?”

“I—” You hesitated. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?” You bit the inside of your cheek, blinking rapidly, trying to find the words that wouldn’t expose you, but would stop his pestering. His eyes narrowed slightly.

And then something clicked.

“Oh, Merlin,” he breathed, an unrestrained grin creeping onto his lips. “You’re scared of my bike.”

Your stomach twisted. “I am not.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, pure delight lighting up his face. “You totally are.”

You scowled, hating how much he was enjoying this, as if you hadn’t suffered enough embarrassment to last you a life time in the last twenty-four hours. “I just… don’t trust two wheels to keep me alive.”

Sirius smirked. “You think my death machine is going to kill you?”

“I never called it that.”

“You were thinking it.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples, squeezing your eyes shut, tilting your head. Voicing coming out a bit more sharp and desperate than you’d hoped, “Can you just—drop it?”

He hummed, watching you carefully. Then, his smirk softened into something more amused, something more real.

“You trust me though, don’t you?”

The question caught you off guard, and your lips parted slightly, mind scrambling for an answer.

Because you did. You knew you did.

Sirius must’ve seen something in your face, because his voice was quieter when he spoke next.

“I’d take care of you,” he murmured. “I will take care of you.”

Your chest tightened, the swirling in the pit of your stomach only getting worse the longer you pondered on his words, the tone of his voice and how it had you melting in your seat.

And you hated that that was what finally made you relent.

With a deep breath, you stood, setting the blanket aside. “Fine.”

Sirius grinned like he’d just won a bet. “Knew you’d cave.”

You rolled your eyes, following him toward the door.

Outside, the air was crisp, and the night was still—making you much more aware of the sweat building on the palms of your hand, The sleek black motorcycle stood ominously under the streetlamp, its chrome glinting under the dim glow.

You eyed it warily.

Sirius watched you, then held up a helmet. “Here.”

You hesitated, staring at it, before reaching to take it. But instead of handing it over, Sirius stepped closer, gently placing it over your head himself.

Your breath caught.

He was careful, fingertips brushing against your skin as he adjusted the straps, securing it beneath your chin. His touch was fleeting but warm, sending something strange skittering through your ribs.

“There,” he murmured, pulling back slightly, his face still close to yours. “Not so bad, huh?”

You swallowed thickly. “Mm.”

Sirius chuckled, stepping away—but then paused, eyes raking over you. His expression shifted slightly.

“You’re going to freeze,” he muttered.

Before you could even think about protesting, he was already shrugging off his leather jacket, draping it over your shoulders.

“Sirius—”

“Not up for debate.” His voice was firm, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’d hate for you to lose feeling in your limbs before you can tell me how much you love my driving.”

You sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, you slipped your arms into the sleeves, the scent of him—something rich and warm, like cedar and leather—enveloping you.

Sirius straddled the bike, motioning for you to get on.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

You hesitated for only a second before gripping onto him, arms wrapping firmly around his waist, fingers locking in front, resting your head on his back—taking in a deep breath, trying to brace yourself. Playing his words of reassurance over and over again in your head, he’s going to take care of you, you’ll be fine.

He softly patted your thigh, a final comfort, before—the bike roared to life, and you barely had time to take another breath before Sirius took off, the rush of wind stealing the breath from your lungs.

A shrill scream leaving you mouth before you could even stop it, and he felt your grip on him become impossibly tighter—holding on for dear life. Sirius laughed, his voice mingling with the night air whipping past you.

It took a while before your pulse slowed, for the rise and fall of your chest to become less rapid, less frantic and settle into pace with Sirius’. And just as you were becoming accustom to feeling of the ride, you realized something.

The streets were unfamiliar.

Your brows furrowed. “Sirius.”

“Hm?”

“This isn’t my house.”

“I know.”

You shot him a look, but he was already parking in front of a small diner, flicking the kickstand down before hopping off. “Figured you haven’t eaten all day.”

Your stomach grumbled in response.

Sirius smirked. “Thought so.”

Inside, the diner was warm, golden light casting soft shadows on the walls. You sat across from Sirius, eating in quiet companionship, for a while, the occasional teasing remark breaking the silence—and once he’d started talking, he really didn’t stop, endless questions streaming out, asking how you met James and other random acquisitions.

It was easy. Comfortable.

And you didn’t quite know what to do with that.

Afterward, Sirius drove you home, putting your helmet on your you once again, this time his eyes scanning—drinking in your face for a moment too long. Before setting off again, he pulled your arm to wrap around him tighter—squashing any space between you.

At your doorstep, you hesitated, shifting slightly on your feet—God’s did he look good, hair pulled back, a few pieces framing his face from the way he pulled off his helmet, cheeks slightly pink from the bite of the wind.

Then, before you could overthink it, you asked, “Do you…want to come in? For a cup of tea?”

Sirius’ lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Inside, the two of you sat on your sofa, tea in hand, conversation flowing effortlessly.

Until you found yourself staring.

Really, it wasn’t your fault, it was his.

He just looked like he was hand-carved by the God’s, not just that, he looked like they took their sweet time with him. Eyes almsot sparkling under the dimly lit light of your lamp, you had no control over it—the way your eyes flickered from his lips, to his eyes, just absorbing every inch of his face.

Sirius arched a brow. “What’s the verdict?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Without your drunk goggles…” His voice was lower now, edged with mischief and something more. He leaned in impossibly closer to you, the heat of his breath, ghosting past the shell of your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down you spine—and he saw the way it ran through you. “Do you still think I’m as hot as you did last night?”

You tongue darted out to wet you lips that had become painfully dry, the second the rough tone of his voice reached your ears, and rung over and over in you head. He’d pulled back just enough to look at you, a slither of space between you.

And in a rare, unfiltered moment of boldness, you answered without hesitation.

“Yes.”

Sirius’ smirk faltered just slightly. His gaze flickered over your face, his fingers drifting from the edge of his knee to ghost just barely grazing yours. But the only thing you could focus on was the way he was looking at you.

He looked like he was considering something. Like he was daring you to say more.

Every part of you wanted to close the space between you, but you couldn’t, you wouldn’t—

“Gods, you’re pretty,” His words came out rushed, yet sincere—almost immediately pressing his lips to yours. Hands no longer hovering over your skin, pressing his palms on your thighs and leaning into you—you couldn’t exactly hold yourself up, not when your fingertips were trailing up his neck, toying with the stray hairs at his nape.

Falling softly against the settee, kiss becoming more intense as the moments passed—his hands travelling, gripping you hip, inching up to hold your waist, chests heaving against each other. Sirius had been dying for this, excruitatingly impatient and feverish in his actions, airy sighs and muffled groans passing between you.

“Sirius—mmpf,”

Your hold shifting from his hair to grasp at his shirt, the other trailing up underneath, palm hot and pressed firmly to his chest, sliding towards his shoulder, leaving light red lines in the wake of your soft scratches. Neck craning into him as his kisses travelled slowly down your jaw—nipping and sucking at the thin skin, before trailing back up—lips parted and swollen, memorising your face.

Blown out pupils, cheeks reddened, half-lidded, just perfect. His hands inched up slowly, running over the dip of your waist, the curve of your breasts, resting at your neck, pulling you up slightly and taking your bottom lip between his teeth—earning him the sweetest whimper.

Silently thanking your drunk self for granting you access to this, enjoying the moment as it continued—melting into eachother’s indulgent and plentiful touches.

[remmyj-ohnloops]

made for this - sb x reader

going down on your bf for the first time - 371 w

content: smut, blowjob, praise, facefucking

you’re not sure what you expected, but the sight only has your eyes widening and mouth water comically. you stare and he laughs.

sirius cards his fingers through your hair, using it as leverage to guide your head towards his leaking cock. he smiles down at you, urging you to please him. gulping down the lump in your throat, you give the tip a kitten lick, the musky flavor of his precum bleeding onto your tongue. he sighs, his member throbbing; the feeling is too good and the sight of you on your knees is too much for him not to take control.

the tip is pushed past your lips, spreading the taste of him further. the length invades your mouth, meeting the back of your throat in a sharp stroke.

“relax your throat,” sirius tells you, his voice strained with how tight you feel around him. his grip in your hair loosens once you take his advice, and he instead gently gathers your hair up into a makeshift handle to guide your head with.

“that’s it, you’re a fast learner,” he praises you, bucking his hips into your open mouth. he grunts when you gag. “oh, you were made for this.”

tears prick in your eyes and you’re unable to keep them at bay, his thrusts growing too brutal for you not to cry. yet, he only seems to get all the more intense, enticed by your display. you’ve known sirius to be vocal, but now, grunting and panting and moaning out while his cock is being shoved deeper down your throat, he is downright obscene.

“p-pull out,” he says in warning, tugging on your ponytail to get you off him. “im gonna-“

but you’re already seeking his taste, too curious for your own good. all it takes is a harsher suck and he’s shooting hot spurts of cum down your mouth. he’s moaning your name, panting and gasping by the time you finally move away from his crotch.

sirius is looking at you through hooded eyes, lust hardly disguised in his expression.

“did i do good?”

he huffed a breathless laugh, his hold on your hair turning into a gentler caress. “i told you, you were made for this.”

[remmyj-ohnloops]

Here I am again, my favorite Harry Potter fandom writer :)

I saw something on TikTok, but I lost it because the page was refreshed before I could watch the end and see the creator of the video. But it gave me an idea:

Severus Snape's daughter x Marauders (which you know my preference is always Sirius 😘)

Severus doesn't have much love for his child since Lily is not her mother, but as a father who is aware of his own family history, he makes sure that his daughter lives a relatively happy life in good conditions. She will probably have a natural talent for potions and defense against the dark arts.

In this case, I honestly didn't think how to connect her to Sirius, there would probably be an age difference problem… ah but I want to hope that my favorite author can do something about impossible love 💕❤️😍

Cora! ❤︎ This did become an age-gap fic (approx. 16 years between reader and Sirius). I spent so much time on HP wiki trying to figure out canon birth years. I set it in OotP with a post-Azkaban Sirius.

Hopefully this works for impossible love ❤︎ I mean, Sirius is always gonna hate Severus but that doesn't mean Sirius can't love his daughter!

Snape Spawn

Sirius Black x Snape!reader

6.7k words

cw: age gap!, Y/N, pining?, snog, fluff if you squint

In the aftermath of losing Lily for calling her a mudblood, Severus became a pathetic mess. He lived more and more inside of his head just to survive. When he went home for the summer, he didn’t have the respite of Lily’s company when his parents became too much. To put it shortly and concisely, he found comfort in some girl’s arms, a girl also tempted by Voldemort’s preaching. 

When he returned to Hogwarts in the fall, she wrote to him. He was going to be a father. 

The girl didn’t survive much past your birth. Your grandparents took care of you for a few years, until they reached an age where they were unfit to do so. They returned you to Severus, being that he was now of age and able to fulfil his role of father. 

He did so, although not gratefully. 

You were raised in a tolerable home. Severus knew he couldn’t bring up a child in a home similar to the one he was raised in, so he did his best to ensure that you were happy. He found himself wishing you were the offspring of Lily, rather than some girl who would’ve joined the ranks of Voldemort. He kept you in the dark when he did join the Death Eaters. You were to be protected. 

When Voldemort fell and Severus became a double agent, you were still unaware of everything. He took a job at Hogwarts as the Potions master, per Dumbledore’s request. You were watched over by a couple in Hogsmeade while he worked. 

When you came of age, you attended Hogwarts, being sorted into Slytherin. Some people immediately questioned if Severus was fair when grading your assignments for his class; you had only received O’s from him. Despite your high grades across the board, next highest being Defense Against the Dark Arts, there was enough suspicion for Dumbledore to step in. When the headmaster deemed that your work was exceptional and far above the rest of your peers, the concerns settled down.

Your expertise in potion making rivaled that of your fathers, as did your passion for it. You made plenty of extra potions in your spare time. You had a complete collection of potions in your dorm. You would sell some for non-academic purposes, the most popular being various healing potions. You also supplied the veritaserum for Truth or Dares at parties. Despite being the daughter of the least-liked professor at Hogwarts, you were fairly well liked. 

After you graduated, you opened an Apothecary in Diagon Alley. You and Severus spoke less and less. As he saw it, you were no longer his responsibility. And really, you weren’t. You didn’t reach out to him. Just the occasional letter to him at Christmas and his birthday and you received a letter on yours. 

Then you got a letter from Severus that confused you. It said ‘Happy Birthday’ but your birthday had passed and you had already received your annual letter. There was something else off about the letter: several words were misspelled. Out of curiosity, you wrote down the correct letters and it spelled out a potion. It was one you always had in stock, although it was particularly difficult to brew. You knew it was a long shot and probably wouldn’t do anything, but you took the potion and poured it over the letter. 

A short message appeared at the bottom. 

Danger lies ahead. Meet me.

And then an address appeared with instructions. 

You were quite confused when you arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place. You followed the directions left for you. You were even more confused when after you knocked on the door, you heard screaming from inside and then Remus Lupin opened the door.

“Erm, Professor?” you asked.

He stepped aside and let you in.

“Snape, she’s here!” he yelled down the hallway and then up the stairs, “Someone shut that portrait up!” 

“Y/N,” Severus said, standing in the doorway at the end of the hallway. “You came.”

You held out the letter before saying deadpan, “It’s not my birthday.” 

You looked past your father into a kitchen filled with people. Most of them were adults older than you, closer to your father’s age and older. Nymphandora Tonks was probably the person closest to your age. You looked back at Severus.

“What is this? What danger-?” you started to ask.

“Bring the girl in, we’ll fill her in with the door shut, please,” a firm, female voice said from within the kitchen.

Severus turned and you followed him into the kitchen, along with Remus. You recognized Molly and Arthur Weasley from graduation. You were in the same year as Percy, who was absent. The only other people you recognized were McGonagall and Mad-Eye Moody, from his picture in the paper. 

You took a seat at the table and crossed your arms. You were waiting for an answer.

“So this is your spawn, Snivelly?” a smooth voice said from the end of the table that had been out of view from the door.

You turned your head to see Remus sit down next to Sirius Black. He looked more sane and put together than he did in all of his mug shots that littered the Daily Prophet two years ago. 

“Merlin, when did you sire her? She’s older than Harry,” Sirius continued, eyeing you up and down. 

It only made you narrow your eyes at him. The arrogance that he emanated didn’t sit well with you. You had a feeling that you weren’t going to like him, no matter how handsome you were beginning to think he was. 

“None of your business,” Severus snarled, taking the seat next to you and putting himself between you and Sirius. 

“She’s of age. Otherwise she wouldn’t be here and we wouldn’t be about to tell her about the Order,” Remus said. 

The way that Remus looked at Sirius told you that Sirius would be filled in on you later. Remus had been one of your favorite professors at Hogwarts. It certainly helped that he taught your favorite subject and did a much better job at it than Lockhart did. Severus had warned you the moment Remus was hired that he was a werewolf. He had made you promise to remain in your dorm during full moons. Even with his Wolfsbane potion, Severus wanted Remus nowhere near you. 

“The Order? Is someone going to explain? I had to close up shop early,” you said as you looked around the table. 

“The Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore founded it when You-Know-Who first rose to power. And now that he’s back…” Arthur said. “Arthur Weasley, by the way.”

“So he is… he is back?” you asked, looking at your father for confirmation. 

He nodded.

“We fought him once and we’ll fight him again,” Moody said gruffly. 

You folded your hands in front of you. You swallowed thickly, once again looking from person to person around the room. 

“Where do I come into this?” you asked quietly.

“They want you to join,” Severus said. “They assumed you’d want to fight. Particularly, Lupin.”

You leaned forward to get a clear look at Remus and cocked an eyebrow when you made eye contact. 

“You’re a talented witch, Y/N. You’ll want to be on the right side of this,” Remus said. 

You thought about the idea of fighting. If Voldemort really was back, you knew there would be another war brewing and which side you would support. 

“How do I help? What do I need to do?” 

“Told you she’d agree,” Remus told Severus, a smirk appearing on his face. 

Mad-Eye and Arthur went into a deeper discussion about what the Order did, how secretive they needed to be, how they would communicate with you. Remus added a random comment here and there. You nodded as you listened intently. You gave Severus the occasional glance but he sat with a stoney expression. Beyond him, Sirius watched you with an amused look that you didn’t like. In your opinion, this meeting of the Order was no place for an expression like that. 

After the delegation of assignments and missions, Molly looked at you and said, “You’re welcome to stay for dinner if you’d like.”

“Oh, um, I don’t know…”

Severus put his hand on your shoulder, grabbing your attention.

“I’ll see you at the next meeting,” he said before disappearing out of the kitchen.

You briefly turned your head to watch him leave. You chuckled to yourself. Typical. 

“Meeting’s over?” Hermione asked, entering the kitchen. 

“Mum, what is for dinner?” Ron added, following her.

You and Molly moved to the side to allow for the new people entering and the members leaving. Then two pops could be heard from the hallway before Fred and George came in. Their eyes locked in on you. 

“Snape! Long time!” George called, wearing a grin that matched his twin’s. 

“Weasley one and two. How’d you two survive last year without me?” 

“Dreadful. Had to find a new way into the Slytherin Common Room,” Fred answered. “Are you staying for dinner?” 

“I guess I am now. Didn’t know you were here.” 

“Wow, we rank that high?” Fred asked, giving you a wink and earning an eye roll from you.

“You rank because you funded the first few months of my shop’s rent,” you deadpanned before breaking into a smile. “And I want to know why you needed so many wiggenwelds.”

As the people in the kitchen shifted, you found yourself sat at the table again. This time, as you sat across from the twins with Tonks to your left, you felt older, less like the child in the room. Arthur, Molly, Remus and Sirius were the only other members of the Order who remained. 

You turned to Tonks and muttered, “I thought this was going to be more of a… Order meal.”

She shook her head and gave Molly a weary glance. You both knew you weren’t supposed to talk about Order stuff around the younger kids, but you thought it was safe enough. 

“Not many stay. Molly invites them every time.” 

Then the twins took over your attention. They told you about what they got up to your last year at Hogwarts when they bought healing potion after healing potion from you. They recounted the Triward Tournament and everything that happened last year. At one point, you explained to Tonks how you let the twins into the Slytherin Common Room on several occasions so that they could prank some of your more foul housemates.

Sirius wouldn’t admit it, but he was listening intently to your conversation and stealing momentary glances of you. 

Some time after you left and everyone had dispersed throughout the house, Remus sat with Sirius in the drawing room. 

“When did you find out Snivellus had a kid?” Sirius asked.

“When her name appeared on my roster.”

“You taught her? And you didn’t tell me?”

“I hadn’t seen you in twelve years, Padfoot. It didn’t seem important. Why do you care so much?”

Sirius didn’t answer. He didn’t know why your existence was so intriguing to him. Maybe it was the shock that Severus had actually managed to be intimate with someone. Sirius had watched you all through the meeting and then practically all dinner. Seeing you interact with Tonks and the twins, and everyone really, made it clear that you were a much different person than Severus. 

“You said she’d want to join. What made you think that?” 

“You remember how Severus was in school, with the dark arts?” Remus asked. “She had that same intense interest, except in Defense. Wasn’t a better student in her year. I was shocked when I heard she wasn’t going for an Auror position.”

“Didn’t she say something about a shop?”

Remus nodded. “Follows Snivy in that sense. Runs an apothecary in Diagon Alley.”

“I’m still not over that Snivellus has a kid…” Sirius muttered with a sigh. 

---

Over the next few weeks, you met more and more of the Order’s members. Each meeting was a different combination of people. Molly, Arthur, Remus and Sirius were the only consistents. The Weasleys were fine, as was Remus. He insisted that you call him by his name, being that he was no longer a professor and you were no longer a student. It took time.

And then there was Sirius. This handsome man who looked at you with ever-changing expressions. One day he would be intrigued by you and the next he would be disgusted. You exchanged very few words with him. He was always on the other side of the room. And yet, your eyes often locked with his. 

“Remus, we need you to come with us,” Molly called from the door. “Y/N, can you stay? We’ll need healing potions when we get back.”

“Erm, yeah. Yeah, I can stay. Is there-” you started to ask.

“Potions station? Upstairs. Have Sirius show you,” Remus said before following Molly and Arthur out of the house. 

Once the door closed, you sighed. You hadn’t been on a mission yet, and you knew it was because of how young you were. It was a bit frustrating. You were of age. They asked you to be a part of the order. And here you were, staying behind to be a potioneer. Yes, you were good at it, but you were also exceptional at dueling. Remus had told you that before. 

You looked around for Sirius. He wasn’t in the kitchen or anywhere on the main floor. You checked the various rooms as you ascended the stairs. You asked the Weasleys and Hermione if they’d seen him and all you got were shrugs in response. Great. 

Then, with a sigh because it was so obvious, you knocked on his bedroom’s door. 

“What?” his voice bellowed from inside.

“Sirius, I, erm, I need a potion station? Profess-, ahem, Remus said to ask you for it,” you said loudly to ensure your voice carried through the closed door.

There was a moment of silence before the sounds of him grumbling and getting up before he opened the door. He was more casually dressed than you had ever seen him. You were caught off guard by how effortlessly handsome he was.

“Wait in the drawing room. I’ll bring it down.” 

You nodded. Sirius turned to go higher up the stairs and you went the opposite direction. You paced around the drawing room while you waited for him to return. You set up your travel package of potion ingredients. You knew that the Order had some stock, but something told you that your personal stock would be of higher quality and you preferred it when you knew where each ingredient came from. The sources could really affect the effectiveness of a potion. 

You jumped when the potion station clanked through the door, followed by a string of swears from Sirius. 

“Sorry, just this damn thing…”

You looked at it with a subtle gasp.

“Merlin, that’s ancient.”

Once it was in the room, you took over levitating it toward the middle of the room so you would have plenty of room to maneuver around it. 

“Well, it was my parents so…” Sirius’ voice trailed off, his eyes studying your every move. “Can’t say how much it actually got used around here.”

“I keep forgetting this is your parents’ place. Must be strange to have it turned into headquarters when you grew up here.” 

You started a fire and immediately went into work mode, starting a large batch of classic wiggenwelds. Sirius unceremoniously fell into a rickety armchair before getting comfortable. Surely watching you work would be more entertaining than staring at the ceiling in his room. 

“Strange doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Without looking up from the cauldron, you asked, “How would you describe it then?” 

“Horrible,” he said quickly. He didn’t even pause to think about it. “It’s a prison. It was when I was growing up here and it still is. Different kinds of torture, but it boils down to the same pain.” 

You glanced at him through your eyelashes, only briefly as to keep the majority of your attention on the potion that was beginning to simmer. He looked utterly at ease in the chair.

“They say we can’t risk you getting captured. Dementor’s kiss and all.”

Sirius chucked. “They say… Like staying here isn’t sucking my soul out all the same.”

“It’s not exactly… cheerful.”

“My damned house elf was never a good housekeeper. Nor was my mother an interior designer. Parents took too much pride in their family heirlooms to consider taste.” 

You hummed. “I take it you think you have taste, then?”

“Oh, I know I do. I mean, don’t take my room here for example. If you could see my room at the Potter Manor?” He shook his head with a sigh. “And I had barely settled after moving out when… when it all happened.”

You sat back on your heels, turning a muggle cooking timer you had in your pack. The potion needed to sit for some time.

“Do you want to talk about those years? Or should we change the subject?” you asked, placing some of your tools back into their case.

He barked a laugh and tilted his head back against the chair’s fraying material. 

“Change the subject. There’s not much to say about sitting in a cell and rotting for twelve years.”

“Says the only man to escape Azkaban.”

“Different subject, darling.”

“Okay, okay. Can I ask why it feels like you’re always staring at me during meetings?” 

“Easy. Because I am.”

The casualness in his answer took you by surprise. Who admits to staring at a person? 

“Why?”

“You’re Snivy’s kid,” Sirius said like it was an obvious answer, but it made you frown.

“I take it you and my dad didn’t get along.” 

“I wouldn’t say we were friends, no. But the feeling was mutual.” 

“So Severus is my dad. Why does that make you stare?” you asked, standing up and crossing your arms over your chest. This time, it was you studying him, taking in every detail of his features. 

Under your intense gaze, SIrius sat up in the chair and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Trying to figure out how much like him you are.”

You hummed. “I’m sure someone told you it doesn’t matter if you like dad or me. There’s a bigger problem at hand that doesn’t require us to be friends.” 

Sirius flexed his eyebrows in mild annoyance.

“It’s not friendship I’m looking for from you,” he said, sounding irritated that he had to explain this. “Can I trust you? Can we trust you?”

You scoffed and took a step backwards. 

“Why wouldn’t you be able to trust me?”

“Because I don’t trust your father. I don’t care if Dumbledore does. I don’t care he claims to be a changed man. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater.”

Suddenly, your expression changed into complete shock and disbelief. It hit Sirius that perhaps you didn’t know of your father’s history and the mark he bore on his left arm. 

“Oh, you didn’t know…”

“Dad was… is… was…” you stuttered. “No… He-he can’t… What?” 

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t’ve said anything if I knew you didn’t know…”

“No,” you said, holding up a hand to silence Sirius. “I’m glad you told me. You really would think I would know that about my own father… Merlin…” 

Sirius stood up and took exactly one step toward you. Then your timer went off. The cauldron captured all of your attention again. You removed it from the fire, stirred it and added the final ingredients. Sirius didn’t sit back down. He was too distracted with how you turned off your emotions to deal with the potion. It was like you suddenly didn’t care that a portion of your father’s identity had been hidden from you for your entire life because you had a duty, a duty to be prepared when the members of the Order returned. 

“Sirius,” you said after a few minutes. “Thank you for telling me about my father.”

“They’re back!” Ginny yelled from downstairs.

“Great, help me take this down to the kitchen?” you asked, gesturing to the cauldron. 

“Yeah, I’ll bring it. You go ahead, assess the damage done.”

You chuckled softly. “I’m no healer. Just a potioneer.” 

---

Slowly, you started talking to Sirius before and after meetings. The ones Severus attended, you avoided his eye. You had never questioned some things before, and now you were. The more you thought on your childhood, things that previously seemed odd made sense, given Sirius’ revelation. 

Severus wasn’t oblivious to your sudden coldness to him. He cornered you after one of the meetings. 

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked.

“What?” you replied, barely able to bring yourself to look at him. 

“You’re avoiding me,” Severus said plainly. “It’s unlike you.” 

You shrugged before crossing your arms. 

“So what if I am? You’re not who I thought you were.”

“I’m your father,” he hissed, leaning forward like he was trying to assert his dominance over you. 

You kept your head held high. “Roll up your sleeves then, Father.”

Severus stood up straighter, taking a step backwards. He glanced around the room. Then he grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the kitchen.

“Come with me,” he snarled, dragging you up the stairs until you reached the drawing room. He closed the door behind you and casted a muffling charm. “Who told you?”

“Doesn’t matter. It should have been you.”

“It does matter, Y/N.”

You scoff, turning away from him. You didn’t see why it mattered who told you, just that it hadn’t been him. You knew now and you didn’t know how you could trust your father. You agreed with Sirius on that point; it didn’t matter if Dumbledore trusted him. You decided that your father had to re-earn your trust. You were his daughter, his own flesh and blood. How come he wasn't the one who told you?

“You made yourself a liability,” he said.

“Oh no, what’s going to happen? I can’t go on missions? Oh, wait, I haven’t been on one.”

“You’re starting to sound like… Merlin…” Severus said.

Severus stormed out of the room and practically flew down the stairs. Even from upstairs, you could hear his threats.

“Are you trying to turn her against me? Do you ever think about your actions?”

“I didn’t know Y/N didn’t know!” Sirius’ voice replied, carrying as much anger as your father’s did. “She deserved to know.” 

“Severus! Sirius!” Molly yelled. 

You could imagine what the kitchen looked like. Severus at Sirius’ throat. Despite the anger in his voice, Sirius would maintain an even expression, or it would be masked with a casual grin. Molly was certainly trying to get in between them. 

“Molly, don’t you agree that Y/N should know of past alliances?” Sirius asked.

“Y/N, maybe. The rest of the house? No.”

You rolled your eyes as you left the drawing room and went down the stairs. You slipped out the front door before you could overhear any more of the argument. Something flipped in you and you didn’t feel like seeing Severus or Sirius in the aftermath of that meeting. You also didn’t want to talk to Molly and explain your part in it. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid it forever; there would be more Order meetings. But that wouldn’t be for a week, and people would be able to settle down. 

The next week, you arrived early. You’re not sure why, but it felt like the thing to do. The Advance Guard was gathering. You weren’t a part of it, surprise surprise. You knew that Severus wouldn’t be, but he would arrive as close to meeting time as he could. Sirius would be around. 

“Y/N, you’re not needed until later,” Remus said as you walked through the door and hung up your coat.

“I know,” you said casually. “But I can have tea in my flat, alone, or I can have tea here.” 

You walked past the guard, which proved more difficult than it should have been as they stood in the narrow hallway. There was no one in the kitchen, which you found odd. It was usually the life of the house, especially before meetings. You knew the kids liked to linger in attempts to be overlooked so they could attend a meeting. Molly always spotted them and kicked them out. ‘Members only,’ she’d say to their protests as they declared that they’d like to join. 

You put a kettle on and milled around, looking for the various things you need. Cup, tea leaves, sugar. Maybe a biscuit if they had some. You find everything you need just as the kettle whistles, and then you settle at the table. 

It doesn’t take long before Sirius enters the kitchen, smiling when he sees you. He took the seat next to you. After a minute, he reached over to grab your cup and took a sip of your tea. He made a face as he placed it back in front of you.

“Got enough sugar in there?”

“Not a fan of this blend,” you deadpanned, which was a partial truth. You also just liked your tea on the sweeter side. “You excited to see Harry?” 

Sirius tensed slightly but then he nodded.

“Yes. I wish he could’ve come sooner or we could’ve written him any kind of information…” He gave you a soft look. “It’s not like with you. He doesn’t have the ability to solve a riddle and brew up some potion to counteract a cursed piece of parchment. Bloody muggles he lives with…”

“I’ve heard stories,” you muttered. “They put bars on his windows at some point.”

Sirius’ eyes widened at that.

“They did what?”

“The muggles, um, Fred and George said they rescued him from some horrible situation a few years back. You’d have to ask them ‘bout it.”

Sirius nodded and the two of you fell into a mostly comfortable silence. Slowly, other members of the Order started to fill the kitchen and the seats at the table. The murmur of small talk broke up the silence. Then there was a commotion by the front door – Harry had arrived. 

You remained seated as Molly and Sirius went to greet him and the Advance Guard. You made brief eye contact with Harry before he was ushered upstairs and Molly closed the kitchen door so the meeting could start. Sirius sat down next to you, but the air around him was changed. 

You stayed for dinner again. In exchanging Order Members for the non-members, Sirius got up and sat down next to Remus. The spots on either side of you were filled by Fred and George. You sunk into your seat as Harry asked question after question about the Order as Sirius encouraged him and Molly shut him down. It was tense. You just wanted a warm home cooked meal, not an argument if the Harry Potter should be allowed into the Order and who was his family. 

The meal took far too long in your opinion. You barely took the time to say goodbye before hurrying out the door and making your way back to your flat. You sighed in the darkness. You didn’t bother turning on the lights, not needing it to cross the small distance to your room. The emptiness of your flat reminded you that you liked the solitude of it. It wasn't busy or filled with raging arguments. It was calm. It was quiet. It was you. 

The next few meetings, Sirius didn’t sit near you. He didn’t bother to say hello or bye. You practically glued yourself to Tonks, given she was the only person in the room who currently didn’t make you feel like a child. Yes, you were the baby of the group, but you didn’t need to feel like that. It didn’t help that you still hadn’t been chosen to go on a mission. Your main and only task was to stay behind and prepare potions in case the worst happens on the mission. 

“I’m not a healer,” you reminded everyone time and time again, only to be dismissed. 

You started leaving Grimmauld Place in a huff more often than not. Then you heard about the group selected to accompany Harry to King’s Cross. You didn’t even bother showing up to headquarters on September 1. No one was going to attack the boy at the train station, and you knew there would be no need for potions when the Order members returned. You’d hear about how Sirius tagged along in his animagus form during the next meeting. Great. Even Sirius technically got to go on a mission. 

Your attitude toward the Order was worsening. You knew that it was the side to be on. You knew you signed up for this, but it really wasn’t living up to any expectations that you had. Then, Remus approached you with a desperate request. You couldn’t turn him down. 

Sirius sat watching you as you worked on preparing the Wolfsbane potion. Remus was running out and Severus claimed to be too busy to brew it. You could’ve brewed it at your shop but something drew you to headquarters. So you sat in the drawing room with the ancient brewing station, a wide variety of ingredients and a potions book. You could feel Sirius’ eyes on you, taking in every motion. 

“Do you need something?” you asked, an air of impatience to your voice. 

Sirius doesn’t respond right away. He had been in his thoughts thinking about how when Severus was that intensely focused on a potion, Sirius would’ve made fun of him for it, but when it was you, it was fascinating and beautiful. 

“No,” Sirius said firmly.

You spared him a glance. It barely lasted a second. Sirius made no effort to pretend that he wasn’t staring at you. You sighed. You weren’t a huge fan of having someone watch your every move while you brewed a potion. You were no longer in school; you didn’t need supervision.

“If you don’t need anything, why are you in here?” 

“It’s my house,” he replied flatly. 

“Look,” you said, standing up and brushing yourself off before slowly walking over to him. “I know you and my father don’t get along. But I’m brewing that-” You gestured back toward the cauldron. “For Remus, who is your friend. And I really don’t need any distract-”

You were cut off by Sirius’ lips pressing onto yours as he leaned upward. You hadn’t realized you were standing close enough to his chair for him to do that. You took a shocked step backwards. Sirius stood up with a smirk on his face.

“Thanks, on behalf of Remus. I’ll leave you to finish that. Uninterrupted. And if you need me, I’ll be in my room.”

No distractions. That is what you had been asking of Sirius and instead, he gave you one of the biggest distractions that he could. You watched him leave the room and then tried to regain your focus. You had a task at hand. A rather important one, if you asked anyone who knew of Remus’ condition. The liquid started to bubble and you swore, hurrying to stir in the next ingredient. 

Your mind kept drifting back to Sirius and the fact that he kissed you. And then left? Well, you had been in the middle of asking him to leave, but still. You don’t kiss someone and leave. Not like that.

You finished brewing the Wolfsbane and poured it into a collection of vials. You took your time cleaning up, debating what you wanted to do. You were still debating it as you went to find Remus and give him the vials. The upcoming full moon was already taking effect on him. He looked more tired and weak than usual. You knew the potion helped but it was still a far cry from a cure-all. 

Then you found the door that said ‘Sirius Orion Black’ on it. You stood outside it for at least a full minute before raising your hand to knock on it. But you didn’t knock. Not right away. You let your hand fall. Then you raised it again, and let it fall. On the third try, because third time’s the charm, you knocked. You could hear movement from inside the room and then he opened the door. 

Sirius watched you with curious eyes as you walked into his room. He closed the door behind you. You scanned the room, scoffing at the posters of motorbikes and girls in bikinis.

“Classy,” you said. “This is the taste that your parents didn’t have?”

“If I recall, I said to not count my room here. I put all this up when I was like 13? 14? Give or take. And permanent sticking charms are more powerful than most people give them credit for.”

“Ah, that’d be the lack of understanding for the word permanent.”

Sirius chuckled at that and leaned against his desk. Once again, he was watching your every move. He couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at his lips as you cautiously sat down on his bed. You were still taking in the time capsule of Sirius’ childhood when you spoke.

“So, um, what was that? Downstairs.” You knew you sounded confused, unsure of how you felt about it.

“When you said that I don’t get along with your… with Severus,” he started, saying your father’s name with a moderate level of disgust, “you weren’t wrong. Apparently, I have strong emotions for Snapes. For him, it’s… ahem, not good. But you?” He took a breath and shook his head. “I can’t get you out of my head. At first I thought it was because you’re his kid. But it’s not that. It’s… Merlin, you’re something else, you know?” 

You just stare at him. You didn’t quite understand what he was saying. This time it was your turn to watch him as he stood up from leaning against his desk and made his way toward you. He stood in front of you for a moment, running a gentle finger along your jaw from your ear down to your chin. 

As he sat next to you, he added, “And I tried to stop what I feel for you. Bury it deep. But, fuck, Y/N, you’re irresistable…”

“So August was…”

“That was me telling myself this would never work. You’re a Snape. There’s no way you could want me like I want you.”

You wanted to laugh. Sirius was devilishly handsome and you found he was easy to get along with. You liked how he didn’t treat you like a child and understood why you felt less than in the Order, since you were both consistently left behind. 

“What made you… change your mind?” you asked, turning so your body was angled toward him.

“I may be very much reading into it, but I don’t think so since you’re here now. But you brewed Remus’ potion here rather than your little apothecary shop. Thought that it might be because I’m here. And then you were about to call me a distraction.”

This time you did laugh.

“Cocky much? Assuming a distraction is a good thing?” 

He leaned in so his face was only centimeters from yours. “Is it?”

You hated how your breath caught in your throat. You hated how Sirius obviously noticed with his smirk growing into a wide grin. He leaned in more. His lips weren’t quite touching yours but you swore you could feel them move as he spoke.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Just kiss me again, Black,” you breathed.

That was all he needed to press his lips to yours again. You didn’t pull back this time. You leaned into him, kissing back with passion you hadn’t felt in years. Sirius had one hand cupping your face and the other holding onto your waist, holding your body in place. The voice in his head kept saying that any moment now you’d remember that Sirius is the same age as your father and it would disgust you. You kept proving the voice wrong with each passing second. 

Soon enough you were no longer sitting on Sirius’ bed. You straddled him, pressing your body against his. Both his hands were traveling your body, feeling the softness of your skin under your shirt. You simply had an arm around his neck and a hand in his hair. 

You felt like you had fire in your veins as Sirius’ lips left yours but kept pressing wet kisses to your skin. He moved to your jaw and down your neck until he found the sweet spot near your collarbone.

A firm knock on his door froze the both of you where you sat practically intertwined. 

“Padfoot, I’m going for takeaway. Want anything?” Remus called through the door. 

You pressed your mouth against Sirius’ shoulder to prevent yourself from giggling. There was something so utterly teenage about almost getting caught snogging. You and Sirius were both adults, but being walked in on by Remus would still have felt mortifying.

“Nah, mate, I’m good,” Sirius yelled back. His hands were still holding your side and back under your shirt. 

“Alright.” There was a pause. “Did little Snape leave? I didn’t hear the door.” 

You pulled back from Sirius’ shoulder with wide eyes. You didn’t know what you wanted him to stay. If Sirius said you were still here, Remus would probably ask if you wanted anything or where you were since you clearly weren’t anywhere else in the house. If he said you were gone and Remus decided to come in for some reason, Sirius would have to explain why he lied. Well, it would be obvious why he lied, but still. You figured it would be better if Sirius said you were gone and then you could sneak out while Remus was gone. 

“She’s quiet, that one. Mum would’ve liked her,” Sirius replied and you nodded approvingly. 

“Right. Okay. I’ll be back.” 

You and Sirius sat silently. You listened to Remus descend the rest of the stairs and leave the house. 

“I’ll have to be gone before he gets back,” you said.

“Or you could stay,” Sirius offered. “Say you forgot something or another.”

You placed a kiss on Sirius’ cheek. “Yeah? And then what?” 

“Then…” Sirius drew out the word as if pondering your question. “You spend the night?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Oh, Sirius, I don’t fuck on the first date.” You patted his cheek gently before removing yourself from his lap. You tried not to look at the tent in his pants, the result of having you. “How about you make me dinner sometime?”

Sirius had frowned when you got up but it was quickly replaced with a smile when you suggested dinner.

“And if I’m no chef?”

You shrugged. “I could pick up takeaway. Or, if you’re really nice, I could make something.” 

Then, realization hit you and you sat back down next to Sirius. 

“If this happens,” you said, gesturing between you and Sirius, “we’ll have to tell my father.”

Sirius’ grin only grew, something wicked flickering in his eyes. “I can’t wait to tell him.”

“That’ll help you mend your past,” you muttered, earning a bark of a laugh from Sirius.

“I think we’re well past being able to mend anything, sweetheart,” he said. “But I can be cordial if it means I can have you.”

You jam a finger into his chest. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. So far all you are is a good snog.”

“A good snog, eh? High reviews.”

“Think you’re open on Friday?” you asked, standing up again and straightening your shirt.

“Let’s see,” Sirius said, mock-pondering. “Tomorrow, Friday, next week, next month… I’m open.”

“Right, sorry.” You gave Sirius a small smile. “Chinese sound good? I’ll pick it up and be over ‘round 7?”

“Sounds lovely.” 

Tag: @bruxa0007

[remmyj-ohnloops]

how did it end?

Remus Lupin x fem!reader who see each other for the first time after the breakup ✩ 5.5k words

summary: After remus broke up with you, you decided to move away and distance yourself from your friends. What happens when you move back and run into each other again?

cw: exes to ???, slightly angsty, little bit of fluff, everyone is lowkey rooting for remus and reader to get back together, reader is insecure about friendships.

an: this is so much longer than I originally planned

It's strange being in a new place, full of uncomfortable new experiences. When your last tenancy ended you'd been strong armed into moving here to be closer to your friends. Those friends being Regulus and Barty. Barty had told you in no uncertain terms that you were ‘boring and lonely now’ and that ‘being closer to us can fix that, treasure’. So here you are. 

You scouted out a new favourite cafe to work in, they make the most delicious latte ever. It's quiet enough that you don't get distracted but busy enough to not feel awkward about spending hours there. The rhythmic clicking of keys drums like a metronome as you type, engrossed in what you're doing, unaware of your surroundings. 

“Oh, hello.” The voice is shocked and tinged with confusion. You recognise it, of course you do, it's Remus. You want to cringe in on yourself because why the fuck is he here? Instead, you put a polite smile on your face, hoping it looks sincere, and look up at him.

He looks the same as always—warm, soft. You're a bit startled at how little he’s changed in the time you’ve been apart—handsome as ever, hair a bit longer and maybe a little older. An awkward smile plays on his lips, but his eyes are wide, as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Hi, Remus. How are you?” you ask, stumbling over your words, caught off guard by his presence.

“I—uh, I’m good, thanks. What are you... doing here?” His voice is hesitant, unsure if he has the right to ask.

“I’ve just m—” you begin, but then you’re interrupted by Sirius’ sudden arrival. The moment you spot him, the weight of avoidance hits you. You've been actively steering clear of all of them for so long. If there was ever a time for the earth to swallow you whole, it’s now.

“Hello, sunshine. Reg told me you’d moved in just around the corner.” He greets you with an easy smile, and you immediately notice that he’s not surprised in the slightest to see you here. A frown creases your brow as you try to process this—Regulus never mentioned either of them living nearby. But then, you suppose, if he had, you never would’ve come here.

“He did?” you ask, focusing on Sirius—he’s easier to look at than Remus, who still seems stunned.

“Oh yeah, he was more enthusiastic about it than I’ve ever heard him be, honestly.” Sirius pauses, then smirks. “But I suppose if you get any positive inflection out of him, you'd think that.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that—Sirius is right.

Your gaze flicks over to Remus, still frozen in shock, and something inside you flips. You can’t stand it. You need to leave, and you need to leave now.

“It was really nice to see you both, but I’ve got to go,” you say quickly, gathering your things, offering a strained smile in their direction. As soon as you stand, Sirius’s hand lands gently on your shoulder, anchoring you, ensuring you hear him out

“Listen, maybe you could think about not dodging everyones texts now and come to dinner at James and Lily’s?” there's a soft smile on his face, it looks like he really means it but you're almost confident he’s saying it to be polite. “Even Junior comes, weird bloke that one.” He huffs.

“I’ll think about it,” you reply, offering a tight smile. “I’ll see you guys around.”

You risk one last glance at Remus before turning to leave.

As soon as you’re out the door, Sirius lightly slaps the back of Remus’s head, snapping him out of the reverie he’s been in since the start of the conversation.

“What was that for?” Remus asks, rubbing the back of his head to soothe the sting.

“You’re a fucking idiot, mate” Sirius responds, shaking his head.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” you snap as you storm through the door to his flat. “I am going to kill you.”

On the walk over, the confusion you'd felt after running into Remus and Sirius quickly spiraled into something far darker—rage. You were almost certain the ‘chance’ encounter had been carefully orchestrated by the Black brothers. You’d been content living in a world where Remus didn’t really exist for you anymore. He’d become a distant echo, like a pleasant memory you occasionally revisited—until today.

“Oh, middle name too? You’re in trouble now, Reggie,” Barty drawls, feigning sympathy from his spot on the couch, sprawled out like he couldn’t care less.

You don’t even glance at him, your glare locked onto the culprit in front of you. “Care to explain why I just ran into your brother at the café?” you demand, arms crossed tight over your chest, radiating annoyance.

“Because he likes coffee, I’d assume,” Regulus replies with a casual shrug, as if the answer is self-evident.

“Remus was there,” you deadpan, unwilling to let this go.

“Oh, did I forget to mention that he lives nearby? Must’ve slipped my mind,” Regulus says, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, clearly enjoying your frustration.

You feel your fists clench at your sides, your teeth gritted. Regulus knows exactly what he's doing—pushing your buttons just because he can. The worst part is that it’s working.

“Reg, you didn’t forget to mention it,” you seethe, narrowing your eyes at him.

When he saw the anger radiating from you, Regulus’ smirk faltered slightly. For a fleeting moment, his usual aloofness cracked, and he softened. “Look, I’m sorry. But I didn’t know how else to handle this,” he said, his shoulders lifting slightly in a half-hearted shrug. “You’ve turned into a hermit, and I think you should talk to your friends. You can’t keep shutting them out.”

“I am talking to my friends,” you shot back, gesturing vaguely between the three of you. “Besides, I don’t even think they really want to be friends with me.”

Barty, who had been silently watching the exchange, groaned and pushed himself off the couch, his movements slow and deliberate as he approached you. Without warning, his hands found your shoulders, giving them a rough shake as if to snap you out of your stupor.

“Treasure, who the hell wouldn’t want to be friends with you?” His voice was half-mocking, half-sincere. His hands shook you harder, as though trying to force some sense into you. “Not that I particularly approve of any of them,” he added with a sharp glance at Regulus, but his touch remained on you, firm and insistent.

“Shut up, Barty. You loved it when we went for dinner —don’t pretend otherwise, you liar.” Regulus stands from his spot, stepping in between you and Barty with a look of mild exasperation. “Stop shaking her, you’re going to break her in half.” He tried to pry Barty’s hands off you, but his voice softened as he added, “He’s right, though, you know?

“No,” you said flatly, each word heavy with finality. “They were only friends with me because I was Remus’ girlfriend. And that’s all it was.”

“All I’m saying is, maybe you should just try speaking to them.” 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Since your encounter with Remus and the conversation with Reg, you’ve done exactly the opposite of what he suggested. Instead of moving forward, you’ve retreated into your flat, alone with your thoughts. The memories swirl, the pain and the joy, the highs and the lows. But mostly, it’s Remus that lingers—his image impossible to shake.

You can’t stop replaying every moment with him: his smile, his words, the way he laughed so effortlessly even when life felt heavy. There was a quiet strength in him, hidden beneath his gentleness. And those eyes—warm, knowing, full of secrets and pain. It felt as if he understood you in ways no one else could, even without you speaking a word.

The moments you shared with him seem so distant now, like they belong to another lifetime. And more than once, you’ve found yourself wondering if he’s thinking of you too. Does he feel that same ache in his chest, that pull that refuses to fade? Remus has left his mark on you—one you can’t scrub away, one that’ll linger far longer than you're ready to admit. The fondness you feel for him is unshakable, no matter how much it hurts.

When you realize you’re stuck in an endless loop of thoughts, you stand up. Dressed in your coziest clothes, you step outside. The cold wind cuts through the streets, but the fresh air is oddly comforting. You walk, letting the rhythm of your steps clear your mind, until you reach the store. It feels like the right moment to restock, to do something, anything, other than be trapped in your head.

Halfway down the cereal aisle, surrounded by the hum of the fluorescent lights, you hear a gasp. You turn, and there she is: Lily Evans, fiery red hair unmistakable, a tired but loving smile on her face as she balances her baby on her hip. For the first time in days, a wide, genuine smile spreads across your face. She’s the person you were closest to all that time ago, your confidante, and here she is—storming down the aisle toward you, her eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

She's quick to wrap her free arm around you, and you do the same to her. “Hello lovely, I heard you were lurking somewhere near here.” she exclaims brightly, “can’t believe you didn't tell me.”

The guilt rises in your chest, and you hesitate, flushing at the unspoken question. Did she really care about you that much? “I’m sorry, Lils. I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me…” you murmur, sheepish.

She laughs, a sound that fills the space between you both, and brushes it off with the ease of someone who knows you better than you know yourself. “Don’t be silly. Of course, I do." She says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and for the first time in a long while, you begin to believe it. Maybe you really are friends, with or without Remus.

"Is this Harry?" you ask, nodding toward the little bundle in her arms. At the sound of his name, he perks up, offering you a shy wave, which you return with a warm smile.

“God, he looks just like James," you say, unable to hide the fondness in your voice.

“I know," Lily replies, a dreamy tone filling her voice. "Acts like him too.”

You laugh at that, teasing, "How do you deal with them? You must be a saint."

She shrugs, the exhaustion of motherhood evident in her smile, but there’s a playfulness in her eyes. “I have no idea. It’s a madhouse 24/7.”

“Well, what did you expect?" you reply, your tone lighthearted, and the two of you fall into easy conversation, catching up on the details of each other's lives. Time seems to slow in that moment. 

After a while, Lily grows quiet, her gaze softening as she looks at you with something like concern in her eyes. She hesitates for a moment before speaking again, her voice gentler now, almost like a secret is being shared between the two of you. "Listen, no pressure, but I really think you should come for dinner. You know, just for fun. I promise, it'll be a good time."

You look away, avoiding her gaze as a wave of doubt rushes over you. “I don’t want to intrude…” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

But Lily isn’t deterred. She places a firm hand on your upper arm, her touch warm and reassuring. “We’re your friends, Y/N. You wouldn’t be intruding.” Her words are simple, but there’s a weight to them.

Still, there’s something holding you back. "You were Remus’ friends first," you say, almost apologetically. "I don’t want to make it awkward or uncomfortable by being there. You should've seen him when we saw each other in the cafe.”

Lily lets out a soft chuckle, the sound light and knowing. “I did hear about that," she says, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "But he's a big boy, I'm sure he'll be alright." She winks at you, a playful glint in her eyes. 

Before you can respond, James Potter is walking down the aisle. 

“There you are! Been looking for you all over, angel.” His eyes focused on Lily, when his gaze shifts, to see who she’s been speaking to, his grin brightens even more. Genuinely happy to see you. 

"Y/N!" he exclaims, pulling you into a tight hug that lifts you off your feet for a moment. “It’s so lovely to see you.”

His enthusiasm is infectious, and you can’t help but smile up at him as he pulls away. “You too, James,” you reply, the weight in your chest easing just a little.

Lily hands Harry to James before turning to you with a sly smile. “I was just saying that she should come to dinner at ours, Jamie. What do you think?”

James’ grin widens even more, head nodding vigorously. "Oh, yes! Please do. I’ll get on my knees and beg if I have to."

 You laugh, the sound light and free, before shaking your head at his theatrics. "You really don’t have to go that far," you tease, though the warmth in your chest is undeniable. The genuine kindness in both of their eyes, the way they both seem to have picked up right where you left off, makes something inside you stir. You can’t remember the last time you felt like you belonged somewhere.

Lily’s gaze softens, her voice quieting as she adds, "We miss you, you know." Her words hang in the air for a moment, a subtle weight that makes your heart ache just a little.

James, noticing the shift, places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, Y/N. But dinner’s on us, no pressure. Just... come, yeah? We could all use a little bit of good company.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words feel heavy on your tongue, like they’ve been trapped inside you for so long. Your instincts scream at you to run, to retreat back into your shell, but the warmth, the offer of real, honest connection, tugs at something inside you. Maybe this is what you need. Maybe it’s what you’ve always needed.

"Alright," you say, surprising even yourself with the calmness in your voice. "I’ll come."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

“Why the fuck did I say yes?” you groan, your feet dragging as you approach Lily and James’ house, Regulus and Barty walking beside you, their fingers intertwined. A tight knot of anxiety is building inside you, one that feels like it might snap any second.

“Chill the fuck out, Tres. You’re gonna make me snap if you keep this up,” Barty whines, his voice heavy with exaggerated drama as he slouches beside you.

“What he said,” Regulus agrees, pressing a soft kiss to Barty’s cheek. He glances at you, brow furrowed. “I don’t get why you’re so worked up. It sounds like they actually want to be your friends, which is what I told you.”

“I know, but I feel like it’ll be different once everyone’s together. It’s just gonna be… weird,” you mutter, staring down at the ground, kicking aimlessly at the rocks scattered in your path. “I could always just bail—tell them I’m not feeling well.”

Barty’s enthusiastic "Yes, let’s do that" is drowned out by Regulus, who smirks and shakes his head. “No, if you do that, I’ll tell them you chickened out. Which is exactly what you’d be doing.”

You shoot him a glare, crossing your arms. “You’re a right sod, Black.”

Regulus smirks, unfazed. “Would you look at that, we’re here.”

You glance up and realize with a start that you've arrived at Lily and James’ house. The warm glow from the windows spills out onto the porch, and you can hear faint laughter from inside. Your nerves spike again, but you take a deep breath, steeling yourself.

Regulus watches you with an unreadable expression, but you catch the glint of concern in his eyes. “You’ll be fine,” he says quietly, his tone softer than usual. “Remember, they invited you because they want you there, not because they feel obligated.”

Before you can respond, the door swings open, and there stands Lily, her expression lighting up even more when she sees you. “You made it!” she exclaims, pulling you into a quick hug. "Come in, come in. Everyone’s just getting settled."

You step inside, immediately greeted by the warmth of the house and the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen. Harry’s running around with a toy in his hand playing with Sirius, and James is perched on the couch, looking absolutely delighted to see you.

Then your eyes flick over the rest of the room and settle on Remus, as if drawn to him like magnets. He offers you a small, friendly smile and a nod of his head which you return.

"Hey, hey!" James grins, raising his glass in a mock toast. "I’m glad you made it. We were starting to think you’d bail."

“Thanks for the warm welcome,” you reply dryly, but you can’t help the small laugh that slips out.

As you make your way toward the couch, you can’t stop your gaze from drifting back to where Remus is standing near the fireplace, quietly observing the room. When Remus catches your eye, his smile is faint, almost hesitant. His gaze flickers away for a moment before he meets yours again, his expression neutral but not unfriendly.

You swallow hard, heart beating a little faster. The silence between you both is thick with tension, the remnants of a relationship that was once close—too close to ignore, too delicate to heal completely.

"Hey," you say, your voice steady, though you feel everything inside you twist.

"Hey," he replies, his voice quiet but warm. There's a slight tilt of his head, as if he's not entirely sure what to do with himself at this moment. He looks like he wants to say more, but the words don’t come, and for a long, uncomfortable beat, neither of you speaks.

Lily is talking about something with James, her voice fading in the background as you remain locked in this strange standoff with Remus. You tell yourself to just breathe, to focus on the room, the warmth of the fire crackling in the corner. But then, just as you're about to force yourself to look away, he shifts, taking a small step toward you.

"I—" Remus begins, but the words stop again, his hands running through his hair in a familiar gesture that makes your heart ache. "I’m glad you came tonight. I wasn’t sure if… well, if you’d want to be here with everything between us."

“I wanted to be here,” you say, your voice low, trying to keep the honesty in your words without letting the pain of it all seep through.

There’s a long pause, and then Remus looks at you, his eyes searching yours for something, anything. “Good… you – you look good by the way.” Before you can respond, hands are roughly placed on both your shoulders, Sirius, all energy and excitement. 

“Let's get you a drink, Sunshine,” with that, you’re whisked away towards the kitchen. 

As Sirius drags you toward the kitchen, you can’t help but chuckle. The whole thing feels a little surreal—this weird in-between space where the past and present collide, but you’re trying not to think too hard about it. If you do, you might spiral.

"Come on, you look like you need it." Sirius grins at you, and it’s one of those smiles that has the ability to make you forget your nerves for a second.

“Yeah, definitely,” you mutter, glancing back over your shoulder at Remus. He’s still standing by the fireplace, looking distant, his eyes trained on the conversation happening at the couch.

The laughter from the living room seeps into the kitchen as you look away, reminding you that you’re still expected to be a part of this—expected to be okay. You swallow hard. "I need a breath of fresh air," you blurt before you can stop yourself.

Sirius looks up from where he's poured the drink, his eyes softening with concern. “You sure? I mean, there’s a lot going on out there, but you don’t have to stay if it’s too much.” His voice drops to a more serious tone.

You nod quickly, unable to explain what’s suffocating you. “Yeah, I just need a minute.” You don’t wait for another word from him, slipping past him and through the kitchen door, stepping out into the cool evening air.

The back garden is quieter than the house, with only the sounds of bugs and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. You lean against the porch railing, inhaling deeply as you try to clear the weight from your chest. The coolness of the night feels like a balm against the fire inside you, but it doesn’t take long for the tightness in your throat to return. The silence is comforting, but it doesn’t drown out the thoughts of Remus—his smile, the way his eyes lingered on you earlier.

You close your eyes, exhaling slowly, but the moment is fleeting. The knot in your stomach tightens again, and you feel like you're drowning in all of it. What am I doing here? you wonder, pressing your palms against your eyes.

The sound of the door opening behind you startles you, and you whirl around to see Remus standing there, fiddling nervously with the cigarette box in his hands. His posture is hesitant, shy, and beneath the dim light, he looks bone tired.

He glances up at you, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the words.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words hanging awkwardly between you. Your brow furrows in confusion, and he must see it because he adds, “I didn’t think that when I broke up with you, you’d think that meant they wouldn’t want to be friends with you anymore.” He gestures vaguely toward the door he’d just come through.

“That’s not your fault, Remus,” you say quietly, shrugging and turning your gaze away from him, toward the garden. “It’s just how breakups go.”

He moves closer, but keeps his distance, leaning against the railing. “I should’ve made it clearer.”

You inhale sharply, your voice sharper than intended. “It wasn’t your job anymore. It’s fine.” The words taste bitter on your tongue.

He’s silent for a long moment, studying you—your words, your tone, the way you hold yourself. He sees the changes, but also the parts of you that are still the same, and something about it seems to weigh on him.

He shifts uncomfortably, then finally speaks again. “I wish you’d shout at me, y’know?” His voice is softer, almost pleading.

You turn to look at him, incredulous. “Why?” you ask, pausing. “So you can feel better? So you can say you left me because I was some raging bitch who’s impossible to deal with?” A weak chuckle escapes your lips, hollow and bitter.

“No,” he shakes his head quickly, his gaze softening. “Because I deserve it. I left because I was a coward.” His voice drops to a near whisper, vulnerable and raw, barely audible over the sound of the wind.

You both fall into a heavy silence, the air thick with everything left unsaid. Neither of you knows how to fill the space between you, unsure of whether you even want to. The quiet feels too loud now, and all the unspoken words hang like a weight between you both, heavy and unresolved.

“Why–” the words get stuck in your throat, “why did you break up with me?” your voice sounds weak even to your own ears.

Remus shifts slightly, his hands still nervously fidgeting with the cigarette box. He exhales a slow breath, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to turn away again—like he’s too scared to face the weight of your question. But he doesn’t. His eyes lock with yours, and you can see the storm of emotions behind them.

"I didn’t know how to be what you needed," he admits finally, his voice tinged with regret. "I—" He pauses, shaking his head, trying to find the right words, as if they're all tangled up in his chest. "I couldn’t give you what you deserved. I thought... maybe if I let you go, you’d be better off without me, because I couldn’t give you the kind of love you needed."

You feel the sting of his words, a dull ache that spreads through your ribs. You turn away slightly, trying to steady yourself, but your hands grip the railing tightly. “I didn’t need perfect, Remus,” you say quietly, almost to yourself. “I just needed you to be here, to try.”

He winces at that, and you can see the way his jaw clenches. "I know.” 

You're both standing there, pensive, the stillness of the moment heavy in the air. The garden before you stretches out in a quiet, almost forgotten beauty. The sun, low in the sky, casts long shadows across the path, while the fading light tints the flowers with a soft, golden glow.

You wrap your arms around yourself, pulling your body in as though trying to gather the pieces of yourself that feel scattered, lost. It's an instinctive action, one that’s meant to soothe, to offer a small measure of comfort. But it doesn’t quite work. The tightness in your chest remains, the ache of unsaid words, of things left unresolved. The warmth of your own touch feels distant, like a quiet echo that doesn't quite reach you.

Just as you're about to let yourself walk away, Remus speaks up again. “They all really missed you.” He turns to face you, offering a half-smile, half-grimace that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"I missed them too... I missed my friends," you reply, but before you can stop yourself, the words slip out, "Did you miss me?" You immediately look away, wishing you could take them back. You feel vulnerable, uncertain. It’s a moment you immediately regret—and you can see the same hesitation reflected in Remus’s face.

His heart aches at your question, and he feels it crack in his chest.

“Of course I did,” he says, his voice wavering like he’s on the edge of tears. When you finally turn to meet his gaze, you notice the shimmer of it in his eyes.

"Maybe we could try being friends again?" you ask, the words tentative, fragile.

"Yeah... I’d like that," he nods, his voice soft but sincere. His answer feels like it came too quickly, like a reflex.

You give a small, uncertain smile, but hesitate before speaking again. “Do you really want to be friends?”

Remus glances upward, his posture stiffening. For a moment, there's an unbearable silence. Then, with a sigh, he looks back at you. “God, no.” He says it like it’s devastating, like the situation you're both in is causing him physical pain. He just looks at you for a second, “I don’t think I can be friends with you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his confession, the weight of his words hanging between you both. The air feels heavy, and the silence stretches for what feels like an eternity. You open your mouth, but no words come out. For a moment, you simply stare at him, your mind racing, trying to process what he’s just said.

Remus shifts uncomfortably, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he’s battling with himself. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that,” he adds, his voice softer now, more tentative. “I just... after everything, I don’t know if I can pretend it’s just nothing. You mean too much to me.”

“I—” you begin, but your voice falters. You swallow hard, the knot in your throat thick and tight again. It’s like everything you’ve been trying to suppress, to ignore, has come rushing back all at once. “I don’t know what to do with that,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

Remus shifts closer, but there’s still a careful distance between you, like he’s waiting for you to make the next move, for you to decide if this is something you both want to untangle. His eyes are wide, searching yours, as if waiting for a sign, some clue that this isn’t too much to bear.

“I don’t either,” he admits, his voice breaking slightly. “But I can’t keep pretending that I don’t still care about you. Not when it’s this obvious. Not when all I think about is you. Not when I’m standing here, hoping you’ll look at me and say that maybe we can try again.”

The air feels thick, and you take a shaky breath, wondering if you’ve made a mistake, if it would be easier to walk away now, before anything else is said. But the truth is, you’ve never been able to just walk away from Remus, no matter how hard you tried. Your heart knows it too well—maybe better than your mind ever could.

“You hurt me,” you say, the words raw and unfiltered. “And I’m scared. I don’t know if I can just forget that.”

“I know,” he says quickly, his voice trembling with an honesty that cuts deep. “I know I hurt you. And I’m not asking you to forget, not even for a second. I just want to... I don’t know... I just want to figure out if there’s something left between us. If we can try to fix this.”

The thought of trying again, of reopening those old wounds to see if they could heal, fills you with both hope and fear. You stare at him, searching for any hint of the person you used to love, and yet there’s something different now. Something older. Wiser, perhaps. But the weight of what he’s asking hangs in the balance, and it’s hard to imagine letting go of the hurt, of the walls you’ve built around yourself since everything ended.

“Maybe we can start over,” you say quietly, your voice shaky but steady. “Maybe we can take it slow. And see what happens.”

Remus nods, his face softening, though you can see the weight in his eyes. “Yeah. Slow. I’d like that. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You look away for a moment, the thoughts swirling in your head. This isn’t an easy choice. It’s messy, and there are pieces of both of you scattered everywhere. But there’s also something raw, something real, in the space between you. It’s terrifying, but it’s also... maybe it’s worth it.

“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his gaze again. “We can try.”

The words hang in the air between you, tentative, like a promise you’re not sure you’re ready to keep. You swallow, trying to steady the tremble in your chest. The silence stretches again, but this time, it feels different. It feels like there’s something more, something unsaid, lingering.

Remus shifts just slightly closer, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for permission—permission to close the gap between you, to bridge the distance that’s always seemed too wide to cross. And then, without quite thinking, you step forward.

The movement is slow, hesitant, but the moment you’re within arm’s reach, he exhales, his body language softening. His hands, still nervously fumbling, stop, and he takes a breath like he’s steeling himself for something. The space between you is still charged, and yet, when he finally closes the gap with a cautious, but warm embrace, you freeze for a brief moment, before the weight of everything else settles in.

His arms wrap around you gently, carefully, like he’s worried you might break if he holds you too tightly. You stand there, unsure of everything, but something deep inside you tells you this feels right—his touch, the quiet connection between you both.

For a moment, you don’t speak. You don’t need to. It’s enough just to be there, together in this moment. You let out a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” Remus whispers into your hair, his voice barely audible.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his presence fill the spaces where doubt and fear once lingered. And despite the ache in your chest, despite the confusion and the fear of what this might mean, you find yourself clinging to the moment. It’s not perfect. Nothing ever is. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper back, your voice barely more than a breath. “It’s okay.”

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