stuffidoandwrite

[stuffidoandwrite]

Remus returns two hours late, covered in ash and something stickier. It isn’t his blood, Sirius knows that now, by color and by habit. He knows how Remus smells when it’s his.

Sirius waits in the kitchen of the Order’s temporary safehouse in Newcastle, half-empty bottle of Ogden’s on the counter, wand clutched too tightly in his hand. He doesn’t say a word when Remus walks in—just watches him shut the door behind him like he’s afraid of what might follow.

Remus doesn’t speak, either. He walks past Sirius like he’s furniture, heads for the sink, and starts washing his hands. He scrubs hard. Viciously. Too long. Sirius watches as flakes of dried blood flake off his knuckles and slide down the drain like secrets.

“How bad was it?” Sirius finally asks, when the silence turns heavy.

Remus doesn’t look up. “Greyback was there.”

The name hits Sirius like a slap.

He stands. “Did he—?”

“No.” The word comes out sharp. “Not like that.”

Sirius wants to believe that ends the conversation. That it answers the question. But he sees how Remus’s jaw tightens. How his shoulders stay hunched even now, like he’s still flinching from something that isn’t there.

Sirius moves closer. Slowly. Like Remus is something wild, half-feral, still caught in the crossfire of some inner battlefield.

“I should’ve gone with you,” Sirius says quietly.

Remus lets out a dry laugh. “You think you’d have survived five minutes with that pack?”

“I could have—”

“You couldn’t have stopped him,” Remus says, turning at last. His eyes are red-rimmed, tired, ringed with old bruises that haven’t quite faded.

Sirius swallows hard. “What did he do?”

Remus is quiet for too long. When he finally speaks, his voice is cold, careful.

“He knew your name.”

The silence after that is a living thing. It breathes. It watches.

Sirius stiffens. “What?”

“Greyback,” Remus says. “He called you by name. Said things—” He breaks off. “He said you smelled like fear. Said you tasted like prey.”

A slow chill unfurls in Sirius’s chest.

He crosses his arms over his chest like a shield. “You never told him about me.”

Remus shakes his head. “Never.”

Sirius can feel the question form between them, unspoken but enormous. Then how?

And Sirius knows.

Not from the Order. Not from eavesdropping. But from Remus.

From how he said Sirius’s name during full moons. From the things he begged for in the woods, when he thought no one heard. From the broken sounds in his sleep after a mission gone wrong.

“I think he’s been following me,” Remus says, too quiet. “Or watching. Or—he can smell it. Us.”

Sirius steps forward. “That’s not your fault.”

Remus looks at him then, really looks. “Isn’t it?”

And Sirius understands: this isn’t about blame. It’s about shame. About control. About the unbearable intimacy of being known by someone who wants to own you.

Sirius reaches out and touches Remus’s wrist. “He doesn’t get to twist this into something dirty.”

“It already is.”

“No.” Sirius’s voice is steady. “He doesn’t get to decide what we are.”

Remus closes his eyes. “You don’t understand. He looks at me like I belong to him.”

“Then look at me.” Sirius waits. “You belong to me, Moony.”

Remus opens his eyes. There’s something raw in them. But he nods. Just once.

They don’t kiss. Not tonight. It would be too much.

But later, when they lie side by side on the too-small mattress in the guest room, Remus curls into Sirius like a wound folding in on itself, and Sirius wraps himself around him like armor.

Neither of them sleeps.

But for the first time in weeks, they don’t have nightmares.

[stuffidoandwrite]

Soul Ache | Draco Malfoy

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader Summary: You simply can't stay an ex when you're the only one Draco has every truly loved. Plus.. You just don't look as good with a Gryffindor. Themes & Warnings: jealous!Draco, possessive!Draco, yearning, fluff, oh my god so much tension, swearing, SMUT (EATING, fingering, messy stuff, p in v), angst KIND OF with resolution.

It was a dream at first.

So many had been trying to get a chance at Draco for years. He was everything a girl could want. Handsome, rich, respected, talented. But he never looked at the ones that fell at his feet. Oddly, for someone who life came so easily to, he was looking for a challenge. S conquest. Something to achieve and be proud of.

You were it, of course. Your feistiness, your drive, your refusal to flop before a man and beg him to be the one that puts a ring on your finger. You respected yourself, which was one of the key differences between you and the other girls and what made you so appealing to Draco. One would think, looking at Draco Malfoy, that he wouldn't want someone capable of standing up for themself, someone who was stubborn.. But falling for you was so quick. It was effortless.

It was just getting you to fall back that was the hard part.

After months of distanced courting, you finally allowed Draco to hold your hand in the hallways, to scare off whoever bothered you, and to drape his scarves and cloaks over your shoulders when you were stared at a little too hard. You ran your hands through his icy blonde hair in the shimmering moonlight at the Astronomy Tower, lips urgently crashing against his in an attempt to understand how in love you were.

Draco was so much deeper than what others saw. He was capable of love, love so deep that you almost drowned.

You were the one thing Draco Malfoy had ever fought for. But he didn't know how to keep you.

It wasn't cheating, not really. Not in the physical sense. But there were letters, there were promises made to people who could help his family, whispered arrangements you stumbled upon because Draco didn't bother to lock his desk one day.

A favor here, a compromise there, all of it threaded through with flirtation. Not love -- he was firm on that. It was never love. But you didn’t care about the technicalities.

You cared that while you were fighting for him, he was negotiating with other girls like you were an inconvenience.

It ended in his dorm. You were standing by his desk with the crumpled parchment in your hand, breathing hard.

“So this is how you do it, huh?” you spat, voice shaking. “You secure your family’s precious alliances by whoring out your attention to anyone who’ll help you?”

He went pale, grey eyes sharp with something that wasn’t guilt yet, just fear of being caught.

“It isn’t like that, love. You know it isn’t. Don’t be fucking dramatic--”

“Don’t you dare tell me how to feel about this, Draco.”

He reached for you and you stepped back, the paper crumpling tighter in your fist.

“It’s strategy,” he hissed. “My father expects--”

“I don’t give a fuck about your father!”

Your voice broke on the last word. He flinched like you’d slapped him.

“You knew what they were asking me to do,” he said, quieter. Almost desperate. “You knew. And you--you were supposed to understand. I need this. For us. For my family.”

“I was supposed to understand you humiliating me? You promising things to other girls while you’re with me? No.”

Silence filled the space between you like poison.

“Then leave,” he whispered.

“I’m already gone.”

You tossed the letter at him. He didn’t even try to catch it.

You left before you could see if he broke.

The feeling of your absence hit Draco like a ton of bricks to the stomach. In every silence, in everyday's classes, in the nights at the Astronomy Tower that he spent alone when you'd normally be there next to him, keeping his cold skin warm.

He didn’t eat much. Didn’t speak unless spoken to. Even Pansy stopped trying after a while, realizing he wasn’t moody -- he was wrecked.

He cried, but only where no one could hear him. Silent, hoarse sobs with a fist pressed to his mouth to muffle the sound. His voice started to vanish -- raw and strained from nights spent whispering your name into the dark, pleading with a version of you that would never answer.

He still carried your favorite quill in his satchel. Still flinched every time he saw someone wearing a scarf like yours. Still instinctively turned his head when he heard your laugh, only to remember it wasn’t his anymore.

The worst part wasn’t losing you. It was knowing he’d done it to himself. It was knowing that he'd lost a planned future with the only girl he'd ever loved because he couldn't prioritize loyalty.

And you?

You were strong. Just like he knew you'd be. You definitely weren't joyful without him, but you never cried or complained. You sat with a straight face, entire body set in stone, refusing to acknowledge his existence.

You just stopped speaking his name.

You sat in class with your head high and your eyes blank. When the professor called on you, your voice was steady, cold. Even as your heart clenched at the thought of him across the room, trying not to look at you but always failing.

You didn’t cry. Not where anyone could see. Not even when you were alone. It felt like crying would make it real, and you refused to give him that.

You sat in the Great Hall with your friends, ignoring the way he watched you from the other end of the table, silver eyes glassy and furious. You ate meals you could barely swallow.

Your posture was perfect. Your uniform immaculate. You made yourself untouchable. A fortress he could never breach again.

You were like this, never laughing, never expressing an ounce of joy.. Until Oliver Wood sauntered up to you.

The Great Hall's attention was immediately commanded. Whispers spread. Eyes focused onto you and the approaching Gryffindor boy.

“What's the bloody idiot doing?”

“Oh, shite. He's off to speak to Y/N!”

“I pity that poor bloke.”

Draco’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He didn’t even blink. Just stared, silver eyes sharpening to knives.

You felt it too, the shift. The sudden heat of so many eyes on you. You kept your spine straight, fingers curling around your goblet, refusing to give them a show.

But Oliver didn’t seem to care about the audience. He grinned at you, easy and genuine.

He cracked a fucking joke.

And you burst into laughter. For the first time in months.

Not polite, tight-lipped laughter, but real, unstoppable laughter that shook your shoulders and made you cover your mouth too late to hide it.

The entire Hall went dead silent for a beat.

Draco’s fork fell from his fingers and clattered onto his plate.

He didn’t pick it up. Didn’t move. Just watched you, frozen, the look in his eyes murderous and wrecked all at once.

And for the first time since you’d left him, you didn’t care.

The following weeks were fantastic, but grueling for Draco. You went to Oliver's games, despite being talked about for “dating” a Gryffindor. You went to Hogsmeade, ignoring Draco and his friends in favor of sipping butterbeer and people watching with Oliver.

Every time Draco saw the two of you, he wound tighter and tighter. The jealousy, the anguish, the rage, it mixed together inside of him, creating a storm. Draco normally felt things strongly, but this? This was something different. He knew it was his fault. But the anger blinded him. It refused to let him rationalize. After years of you being his, he was forced to see you prance around with some stupid fucking Gryffindor jock.

Today, you stood in the hall with Oliver and his friends, giggling. The afternoon sun streamed through the castle windows, catching in your hair, making you look infuriatingly radiant to the boy sulking far down the corridor, fists in his pockets, eyes fixed on you like a curse.

But you didn’t notice Draco right now. Or if you did, you didn’t care.

Oliver’s arm was draped lazily across your shoulders, not possessive but comfortable, like you’d known each other forever. His friends were chuckling about some disastrous practice session.

Oliver turned his head to you, eyes bright with mischief.

“Come on, back me up here, Y/N,” he urged, lips curling. “I told them it wasn’t my fault the Bludger nearly took my head off. Clearly it was Bletchley’s shite aim.”

You snorted. Loudly enough that a couple of younger students turned to look.

“Mhm. Right. Because you’re so good at dodging,” you teased, nudging his side with your elbow.

He gave a wounded gasp, clutching at his chest with over-the-top dramatics.

“You wound me,” he declared. “I ask for backup and I get betrayal. Traitor.”

You just grinned wider.

“I’m not your lawyer, Wood. I only deal in facts.”

Oliver’s friends burst out laughing. One of them clapped you on the shoulder, saying, “She’s got you there, mate.”

Oliver shook his head in mock exasperation, but he was beaming at you. Really looking at you, like you were a person and not a prize.

“Fine. Fine,” he relented, squeezing your shoulders lightly. “But you’re still coming to the next match, yeah? Can’t have my lucky charm backing out now.”

Your lips twitched, warmer now, the fortress cracking just a little.

“I’ll be there,” you said softly, holding his gaze.

He grinned. The whole group cheered and jostled you both, making you laugh even harder.

And down the corridor, Draco Malfoy watched it all.

Eyes black with jealousy.

Teeth grinding.

Heart breaking in slow, unstoppable motion.

Draco stormed into the Slytherin common room, robes billowing behind him like some furious bat. He dropped his bag with a thud and didn’t sit, just prowled in front of the fire, breathing hard.

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a wary glance. Blaise Zabini lounged in an armchair, one brow raised in silent judgment. Pansy sat cross-legged on the green velvet sofa, pretending to read.

“She was laughing,” Draco snapped, voice clipped and tight. “With him. That fucking git.”

Pansy didn’t even glance up.

“Yes, Draco, we all saw. Whole sodding corridor did.”

Draco’s eyes flashed.

“She’s doing it on purpose, Pans. Parading him around. Acting like she’s over it.”

“Maybe she is,” Blaise drawled lazily, studying his nails. “Who can blame her?”

Draco rounded on him.

“Don’t start, Zabini.”

Blaise smirked, infuriatingly calm.

“Mate, you humiliated her. You expect her to mope forever? She’s got Wood now. Big, dumb Gryffindor with a shiny Quidditch badge. She’s moved on.”

Draco’s jaw worked furiously.

“That’s not what happened, you bloody prick. Watch your mouth before I--”

Pansy snapped her book shut with a crack.

“You wrote letters to other girls. Promises, Draco. She found them. What did you think she’d do?”

Goyle grunted in agreement.

“Yeah, s’not great, mate.”

Draco’s glare could have melted glass.

“He had his arm around her today.”

The words dripped poison.

Silence fell. Even Blaise stopped smirking.

“Like she was his,” Draco spat, voice cracking despite his best efforts. “Like she belonged to him. She's mine. Always has been.”

Crabbe shifted uncomfortably.

“We could... y’know. Sort him out.”

Draco barked a humourless laugh.

“Yeah? Brilliant plan, that. Hexing Wood so she can really hate me. Genius.”

Pansy exhaled in frustration.

“So what are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer straight away. Just stared into the fire, shoulders tense, breath coming short. Then, without another word, he left again, grey eyes hardened and focused.

He knew where he'd find you. Right at the Quidditch field, under the lights, watching that idiotic git and his dumb friends practice Quidditch 24/7. You were going to talk to him. He was done being ignored, done stewing in his own misery. He didn't care if he had to drag you off the field.

The grass could have fried below his feet. Draco was fuming.

He crossed the grounds at a furious pace, cloak snapping in the night wind. The chill didn’t even touch him, he was burning from the inside out.

As the pitch came into view, he could already hear them: shouts, laughter, Wood’s barking orders like he owned the place. He spotted the glint of red and gold circling overhead, Bludgers cracking against bats.

And there you were.

Exactly where he’d known you’d be.

Perched on the stands, arms resting on your knees, chin propped in your hand. Watching them. Watching him.

You laughed at something Oliver yelled from the air. It wasn’t even a good joke. Draco could tell from here. He could feel his blood boil at the sound, your laugh, something he hadn’t heard in weeks except for that humiliating first time in the Hall.

He slowed only once, boots crunching on the grass. Took a deep breath that didn’t help at all.

Then he climbed the stands two at a time.

“Oi! Malfoy!”

A couple of Gryffindor Beaters noticed him first, scowling, voices carrying across the pitch.

Draco ignored them completely. His eyes were locked on you.

“Y/N.”

Your name came out like a snarl, low and tight, all his careful composure finally snapping.

You turned slowly, brows lifting in cool, deliberate surprise.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

The use of his surname sliced at him worse than any hex.

He didn’t answer immediately. Just stared at you, really looked at you. The curve of your mouth still turned from that stupid laugh, your hair mussed by the wind, the Gryffindor scarf someone had given you wrapped around your neck.

His fists clenched at his sides.

“Get down.”

You blinked once.

“I’m sorry?”

His voice was colder, but it trembled.

“I said get the fuck down here. Now.”

That got the whole team’s attention. Oliver was already landing, broom braced against his shoulder, face thunderous.

“Oi, Malfoy, back off. Get your arse off my pitch.”

Draco didn’t even look at him.

“This isn’t about you, Wood. Piss off.”

He only had eyes for you.

“We’re talking. Now. I don’t give a shit if I have to drag you.”

Your friends shifted beside you, uncertain, glancing between the furious Slytherin and the Gryffindor captain who looked one word away from lunging.

But Draco didn’t move toward Oliver.

He just waited.

Jaw locked.

Chest heaving.

Grey eyes shining with rage, hurt, and something that looked terrifyingly close to begging.

“Draco..” You said, your eyes fighting the urge to soften. You glanced at Oliver, who's fists squeezed together in readiness. “This really isn't the time or place.”

His teeth gritted.

“I don't care.”

Draco’s voice was raw, stripped of all its usual arrogance.

“Five minutes,” he bit out. “That’s all I’m asking.”

You hesitated, glancing at Oliver, who was already stepping forward, his grip tightening on his broom.

“Y/N, you don’t have to--”

“It’s fine,” you said quietly, standing.

Oliver’s jaw tensed. “Like hell it is, lass.”

You shot him a look, let me handle this, and he exhaled sharply but didn’t stop you as you descended the stands.

Draco didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, until you were right in front of him.

Then he grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward the edge of the pitch, away from prying eyes.

You stumbled, hissing, “Draco--stop--”

He didn’t. Not until you were hidden behind the stands, the shadows swallowing you both. Then he whirled on you, his grip on your wrist unrelenting.

His eyes could've set off a grenade.

Cold fingers gripped at the scarf around your neck, immediately unraveling it.

“Get this ugly thing off from you. Christ. Can't even fucking talk while I'm looking at it.” He said, managing to rip the Gryffindor scarf off from you, grimacing in pure disgust. “One could seriously wonder if you were a house traitor.”

Draco’s voice was a low snarl as he tossed the scarlet-and-gold scarf aside like it was cursed.

“There,” he bit out, his fingers flexing at his sides as if resisting the urge to touch you again. “Now you look like yourself again.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths.

“You don’t get to decide what I wear,” you snapped.

Draco stepped closer, his body caging you against the wooden beams of the stands. The scent of him, crisp apples and winter air, flooded your senses, familiar and infuriating. His grey eyes searched yours desperately, looking for a single trace of affection.

“I meant nothing to you then? The years spent with me meant nothing?” He spat.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. The ache of his words cut deeper than you expected.

“I never said that,” you breathed, voice barely steady. “You don’t get to claim my past like that. You--”

His jaw tightened, eyes darkening with frustration and pain.

“Don’t twist my words, Y/N.”

You met his gaze, fierce despite the trembling inside.

“You meant everything. Every-fucking-thing,” you hissed, biting back tears that you'd done so well to fight for months. “But there was nothing left when you decided that family matters were more important.”

Draco flinched like you’d slapped him. His nostrils flared, breath coming in ragged, furious bursts.

“That’s not fair,” he ground out, voice cracking despite the venom. “You think I wanted any of that? You think I liked doing it?”

Your eyes flashed, hot tears finally spilling over, but you didn’t back down an inch.

“You did it anyway.”

His mouth opened, then shut, words failing him. His hands hovered at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling like he was fighting not to grab you and shake you.

“I had no choice,” he growled, voice low and shaking. “You don’t understand what it’s like, what my father,”

You cut him off with a bitter laugh that sounded half-sob.

“Don’t you dare make this about him. Don’t you dare act like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to me.”

He pressed closer, so close you could feel the heat of his chest against yours, his eyes boring into you like he could carve the truth out of you by force.

“I was trying to keep us safe,” he hissed, voice breaking, something ragged and awful in it. “I was doing it for you.”

Your breath hitched at that, but you shook your head violently, hair whipping across your face.

“I never asked you to sacrifice us for your family’s goddamn pride. You were going behind my back, Draco. A little bit of honesty would've fixed everything!”

Silence fell between you, thick and choking.

Draco’s jaw trembled. For the first time, the fury in his eyes wavered, replaced by something hollow and wounded.

He swallowed hard, voice dropping to a raw whisper.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

You shut your eyes, tears spilling freely now. Your voice was quiet, broken.

“Then you should’ve just loved me.”

He exhaled like he’d been stabbed.

“I did,” he hissed out, eyebrows furrowed. “I do. Every day I do. More than I love myself. More than I love the stupid fucking family matters.” His voice was like venom, angry, burning velvet.

Your breath hitched at his words, at the way they poured out of him like a confession he’d been dying to make but never dared.

His hands finally lifted, hovering uncertainly near your arms before curling into fists, like he couldn’t bear the thought of touching you if you’d only pull away.

“Then why didn’t you say it?” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of all the months you’d held yourself together. “Why didn’t you tell me before you ruined us? Tell me what you had to do.”

His eyes were wild, shimmering with unshed tears he refused to let fall.

“Because I’m a fucking coward,” he spat, voice rough. “Because I didn’t want you to know how weak I was. How much I needed you and how I'm just a bloody puppet.”

You shook your head, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand, breath hiccupping with grief and fury.

“You didn’t have to be strong, Draco. I would’ve taken you exactly as you were.”

He shook his head.

“Doesn't matter. You have Wood now, yeah?” He laughed bitterly. “Brave and honest, just like a Gryffindor. Sickening.” He commented, like it was the most vile thing in the world. “I’ll beat that filthy blood-traitor within an inch of his fucking life.”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms.

"Don't you dare threaten him," you hissed. "Oliver's honest with me. He's different."

Draco flinched like you'd struck him, his silver eyes flashing with something wounded and feral.

"Is that what you want?" he snarled. "Some golden-hearted hero who'll never disappoint you? Who'll never have to make the hard choices?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Tell me, does he know you? The way I do? Does he know how you bite your lip when you're trying not to cry? How you hum under your breath when you're brewing? How you whimper when--"

"Stop it." You shoved him back, your breath coming in sharp gasps. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to remember me like that and then -- then throw me away when it's convenient!"

Draco's face twisted. For a second, he looked like he might crumble. Then his mask slammed back into place, colder than ever. A hand came up, finger tips ghosting the sides of your throat.

“Watch your mouth. You are by far the best thing that has ever happened to me, love. I'm sick every day thinking that you don't believe it,” he whispered, his fingers squeezing a bit harder. “Please.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Not from fear, never fear, but from the weight of his words, the pressure of his fingers, the look in his eyes like he was already drowning in everything he couldn't say out loud.

“Let go,” you breathed, voice shaking, not from weakness, but from the storm surging inside you.

But he didn’t. Not right away.

Draco’s grip wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t meant to hurt. But it was desperate, like if he let go of you now, you’d disappear for good. His eyes burned into yours, silver lightning in a dark sky.

“I remember everything,” he said, softer now, his voice breaking at the edges. “Every bloody second with you. I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I close my eyes and it’s you.”

His hand finally dropped, but his body didn’t move.

“I know I ruined it. I know. But I never stopped loving you. I never stopped. And you standing here... acting like he could ever replace what we had--”

“He didn’t replace it,” you interrupted, voice trembling, but sure. “He respected it. He respected me. Something you forgot how to do.”

Draco flinched like the words knocked the air from his lungs. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“You don’t get to demand closeness,” you said, the anger behind your tears rising like a tidal wave. “You lost that."

His chest was rising and falling fast now, panic threading through the rage.

“Y/N…” he whispered. “Don’t walk away. Please. Not again.”

You looked at him -- really looked at him. Pale, furious, unraveling at the seams.

You saw something you'd never seen. Vulnerability. Bare honesty. Desperation. All of the ugly emotions that he kept from you, just like his father had taught. And you broke. For once, you couldn't be strong. You couldn't be honorable. You broke. All of the feelings rushed in. The heartbreak, the love, the yearning for your home back. All of the hurt from what you lacked. And what you lacked was Draco, even if you didn't trust him.

Walking back in three large steps, you grabbed his face and brought it down to your own tear soaked one, your lips colliding in a harsh kiss.

Draco froze for half a second, shocked by the force of you -- by the taste of salt on your lips and the shaking of your breath. Then he broke with you.

His hands flew up, burying themselves in your hair, clutching like he could anchor himself there forever. He kissed you back with something that wasn’t gentle at all, wasn’t sweet. It was frantic. Bruising. A clash of teeth and tongues and desperate sobs you both tried to swallow.

Your fingers dug into his jaw, dragging him closer, needing him to feel everything you’d buried.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he choked between kisses, voice shredded. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so--”

“Shut up,” you whispered hoarsely, pressing your mouth back to his before you could start sobbing in earnest.

You didn’t want words anymore. Words had betrayed you both.

He staggered forward, forcing you back against the wooden beams of the stands, but this time you didn’t push him away. Your arms locked around his neck, grounding yourself in the smell of him, the feel of him. The stupid warmth you hated yourself for missing so badly.

“Don’t leave me,” he gasped against your lips, voice cracking in a way you’d never heard before.

You shuddered, tears spilling freely onto his skin.

“I hate you,” you whispered brokenly. “I hate you so much.”

But you kissed him harder.

And he let out something like a sob, clutching you tighter, forehead pressing desperately to yours between rushed, clumsy kisses.

“I know,” he breathed. “I know. But I love you. Merlin, I love you.”

He kissed you again, gentler now but no less desperate, hands trembling as they cupped your face. Like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.

Then, from the pitch, he heard Wood's voice. Talking casually with a friend in his too loud tone. He wasn't approaching the two of you -- he was respecting your wishes. However, it was enough to piss Draco off. Enough to remind Draco of who was trying to replace him.

His eyes narrowed into a glare again.

With one hand, he tilted your face, looking into it. He grabbed your hand with the other.

“Come with me.” He said, tugging you off the field.

You didn't argue. You knew this look. The jealousy, the inability to contain himself. You knew what would happen if you kept him too close to who was afflicting him. So, you followed. His steps were fast, legs long and body tall, dragging you behind him with a tight grip.

When you reached the dorm, you immediately hit the wall.

“Bloody waste of space should never have laid a finger on this.” He hissed, his mouth planting sloppy, wet kisses onto your neck. You exhaled, gripping his robes tightly.

“Draco--”

“Enough talk. Gonna show you how much I missed you, then I'm gonna show you everything that Gryffindor half-breed can't do for you.”

“Draco, I--” you tried again, voice cracking with emotion, but he growled low in his throat, cutting you off.

“I said enough.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His silver eyes were dark, swirling with that familiar storm of jealousy, anger, and raw need. But beneath it all, you saw the thing that undid you every time: fear.

Fear of losing you.

His hand squeezed yours, painfully tight but grounding, refusing to let you go.

“Look at me,” he demanded, voice low and shaking. “Look at me.”

You did. Chest heaving. Eyes wet.

He dragged his thumb across your cheekbone, smearing away the remnants of tears, before cupping your jaw and forcing your head back against the wall.

“He doesn’t know you,” he spat, his mouth brushing yours with every word. “Not like this. Not like I do.”

You shuddered, fingers curling into his robes, pulling him closer even as you hated yourself for it.

“He can’t make you sound like this,” Draco continued, voice dropping to a husky rasp, his lips trailing down your throat. “Can’t make you feel like this.”

Your breath hitched, a broken moan escaping despite your best efforts.

“Draco, please—”

“Please what, love?” he taunted, kissing you so harshly you thought your lips would bruise. His free hand skimmed your waist, gripping possessively. “Tell me. Beg me.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, teeth sinking into your lip to keep from whimpering, but he wouldn’t allow it. His fingers dug into your hip, dragging you against him so you could feel exactly what he wanted.

“Say it.”

You exhaled shakily, voice cracking under the weight of everything between you.

“I missed you,” you whispered. “Fuck, I missed you.”

That broke him.

He crashed his mouth onto yours with something between a sob and a growl, devouring you, kissing you like he wanted to consume every last memory of Oliver fucking Wood from your mouth.

His grip on you tightened, fingers digging into your hair, your waist, desperate to claim every part of you.

“Mine,” he breathed against your lips. “Always. Say it.”

You couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not to yourself.

“Yours,” you gasped. “Always yours.”

And the last piece of him that had been holding back shattered completely.

“Good. There's my girl. Haven’t really lost you, have I, love?” He chuckled cockily, reaching down to your shirt, tucked into your skirt carefully. He tore it off without a second thought, looking down at your skin.

The cool air made you whimper, squirming.

To placate you, he rubbed a hand along your side, still admiring quietly.

“Stunning. Nothing I’m sharing with Wood, that fucking reject.” He snarled.

Then, he quickly redirected you, pushing you back onto his bed demandingly. You gasped in surprise as he slid a finger under the waistband of your skirt, pulling it off in one swift motion. You were left in just your bra and underwear, the cold air biting at you, making you ache. Draco stared down at you with hot grey eyes.

“Dray.. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Want you.”

Draco smirked, wickedly and snidely, leaning down a bit.

“Me? You’re sure the Gryffindor superstar couldn’t do it better? The lad was--”

You groaned, rubbing your thighs together. They were beginning to get sticky, catching the moisture from the heat between your legs.

“No! Please.”

Without another word, he leant down the rest of the way, running a finger down the front of your soaked panties. Humming at your reaction, the arch of your back and soft moan, he looked at his finger. The dampness glistened.

With another brush, conveniently right in the most sensitive area, he pressed a gentle kiss to your clothed peak. You hissed, threading your fingers through his messy blonde hair. He grinned.

“Patience, patience. I’ll get to it.”

Finally, he pulled your sticky underwear down, and his smile widened.

“Gorgeous. Prettiest pussy in the world, love.”

He kissed it, eliciting a moan from you, the heat of his mouth and his bare skin finally touching where you wanted it. Thickening the spit over his tongue, he gave you one broad lick, your thighs fighting to close around his head and arms.

He tsked against your wet heat, letting his hands fall to pin your legs down. He licked deeper, splitting you completely, hitting every spot that mattered. You moaned, your back leaving the bed, arms coming up to grasp whatever you could reach. His ministrations were lewd, wet and sloppy, like he was taking his time to taste you.

Draco groaned against you, the vibrations making your toes curl.

"Fuck," he muttered, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with you. "Taste even better than I remember."

You whimpered, hips lifting off the bed, chasing his mouth.

He smirked, dragging his tongue up your slit slowly, teasingly, watching your face twist with frustration.

"Draco--"

"Say it again," he demanded, nipping at your inner thigh. "Say you're mine."

You gasped as his fingers replaced his tongue, two slipping inside you with ease, curling just so.

"Yours," you choked out, back arching. "Only yours--fuck--"

His free hand gripped your hip, holding you down as his fingers worked you ruthlessly, his mouth sealing over your clit again, sucking hard.

You came with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his head, fingers tearing at the sheets.

Draco didn’t let up, licking you through it, drinking down every last shudder, every gasp. Only when you were squirming from oversensitivity did he finally pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Good girl," he murmured, crawling up your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your ribs, the swell of your breasts. "Now let's make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He stood, practiced hands shrugging his cloak off and quickly doing away with his belt buckle.

"Look at me."

Draco's voice was rough, commanding, as he loomed over you, his belt clattering to the floor, his trousers pushed low on his hips. His cock strained against the fabric of his briefs, already leaking for you.

You were dazed, still trembling from your first orgasm, but your eyes locked onto his.

He palmed himself through the fabric, watching the way your breath hitched.

"You're never to let that pathetic blood-traitor touch you again," he said coldly, finally freeing himself, stroking his length slowly. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," you gasped, thighs pressing together. "Draco--"

He didn't make you wait.

In one smooth motion, he dragged your hips to the edge of the bed and filled you, burying himself to the hilt with a satisfied groan.

You cried out, nails raking down his back, legs locking around his waist.

"Fuck-- so tight," he gritted out, hips snapping forward, setting a brutal pace. "You think Wood could fuck you like this? Could ruin you like this?"

You shook your head desperately, pleasure coiling tight again.

"No -- no -- only you--"

Draco’s lips curled into a vicious smirk, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Open your mouth," he demanded, thrusts turning punishing, each snap of his hips driving the breath from your lungs.

You responded, your brain foggy from the ruthless pace, the smell of him, the overstimulation. As soon as your lips opened wide enough, Draco spat into your mouth, grabbing your jaw to make you swallow it.

His name broke on your lips as he hit that spot inside you, the one only he knew, the one that made you see stars.

Draco groaned, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. "That’s it. This is all you needed, hm? A reminder?"

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles just the way you liked.

"Give it to me," he ordered, voice rough with need. "Let me feel it."

You shattered.

Your back arched off the bed, a broken whine tearing from your throat as pleasure ripped through you, wave after wave, Draco’s name a prayer on your lips.

He fucked you through it, his own release barreling toward him, his rhythm faltering.

"Fuck--fuck--" His hips stuttered, his grip on you ironclad as he spilled inside you with a groan, his entire body shuddering.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths, the heat of his skin against yours.

Then Draco pulled back just enough to look at you, his silver eyes dark, possessive.

He dragged his thumb over your swollen lips, his voice dangerously soft.

"Next time I see Wood's hands anywhere near you?"

A pause.

A promise.

"I’ll kill him. I know the words." He warned, a finger tracing your jaw. You nodded, leaning into his touch. Draco hummed, pulling you up into his lap. “Resorting to filthy Gryffindors like you don’t know that your place is right beside me.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling yourself tighter to his body. The silence fell upon you easily - and since you’d confronted your issues, for once in the past few months, it was comfortable. His scent wrapped around you like a blanket.

He broke the silence quietly, his voice calm, kind and measured.

“I hope you know how truly sorry I am. And how long I plan to make it up to you for, love.”

You softened, your eyes glistening.

“How long?” You responded.

“Forever. Even that isn’t enough.”

A smile curled onto your lip. You leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Forever then. It’s settled.” You told him softly, pulling the sheets up around you to settle against his chest. Your eyes were getting heavier by the second - and it had never felt so easy to fall asleep.

After all, you were home. Finally.

“I love you.” Draco quietly admitted. It wasn’t often that he actually said it. He was a man of actions, not words, so he never felt the need to tell you many times. But you treasured the times it did leave his lips.

“I love you too.”

He made it up to you forever. And for Draco, even that wasn’t enough, just as he’d said.

[stuffidoandwrite]

꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀the way he loves her. ⠀✸⠀(⠀ myg ⠀)

pairing: idol!yoongi x non-celebrity!fem!reader

genre fluff drabble, domestic softness, unspoken love

word count: 1.1k

summary: yoongi never says it out loud. not in the way the world would understand. but the way he reaches for her, the way he lingers in every small thing — that's how he says it. always.

⠀ m.list | similar to this

there’s a way yoongi loves her that no one else seems to notice. it's not loud. not obvious. it’s not declarations in front of crowds or red roses in glass vases. it’s quieter than that.

smaller.

realer.

like the way he leaves the lights on for her when he knows she’s coming home late, even if he’s already curled up in bed.

the way he buys her favorite drink without asking, sliding it onto the kitchen counter without a word, like it just appeared there by magic.

she never asks for things. never expects.

and maybe that’s why he always wants to give.

there’s a way he watches her too. like she’s the only thing anchoring him to the world some days. like if he looked away, even for a second, she might dissolve into the air and leave him reaching for nothing.

he loves her in the way he tugs her into the safe curve of his side during movie nights, even when the credits roll and the world goes dark.

in the way his hand finds her wrist, loose and lazy, brushing his thumb over the softest part of her skin like a prayer he’s too scared to say out loud.

it’s in the way he saves things.

tickets from places they’ve been.

little notes she leaves behind without thinking.

that stupid grocery list where she spelled ‘mayonnaise’ wrong and tried to cover it up by drawing a heart over it.

he keeps them all tucked into the back of his wallet, where no one else will ever see. sometimes, when the days are too heavy, he’ll thumb through them.

not looking for anything in particular.

just needing to remember that there’s a version of the world where she smiles at him across a kitchen table, barefoot and sleepy, and it’s enough to make everything quiet inside him.

there’s a way yoongi loves her even when she’s not looking.

especially then.

like when she’s arguing with the microwave because it’s “being dramatic” again.

or when she sings under her breath while folding laundry, off-key and perfect.

or when she falls asleep sitting up, a book half open on her lap, her head tipped back in a way that should be uncomfortable but somehow looks like peace.

he’ll take a thousand pictures in his mind and never show a single one. some things are just meant to be his. he loves her in the silences too. the comfortable ones. the heavy ones.

when she doesn’t have to say she’s tired — he knows.

when she doesn’t have to ask if he’s okay — she knows.

no performance. no pretending. just two people, finding each other again and again in the spaces the world leaves behind.

he loves her in the way he lets her see him — all of him.

the messy, complicated, not-always-good parts.

he lets her in even when it’s terrifying.

because somewhere along the way, she became the only place he feels safe putting down all the heavy things he’s carried for too long.

he doesn’t say “i love you” often.

maybe he never will.

maybe the way he pulls her close when the nightmares get too loud says it better.

maybe the way he lets her steal the covers and pretend it was an accident says it better.

maybe the way he stands in the doorway some mornings, coffee in hand, just watching her breathe — maybe that says everything.

because there’s a way yoongi loves her that doesn’t need translation.

doesn’t need spotlights or speeches.

it’s stitched into the mundane, tucked between grocery runs and shared toothpaste and the way he presses a kiss to the back of her neck before he leaves.

a love that’s not about being seen.

a love that’s about staying.

and he’s staying.

he’s always staying.

even if he never finds the words.

even if the world forgets to notice.

she’ll know.

and somehow, he thinks — that’s enough.

⠀

quietly, always © cigarettesuga

⠀

[stuffidoandwrite]

Every song is Marauders coded if you’re delusional enough

[stuffidoandwrite]

Hello Mae!! I loooovveee your fics!!

I'm feeling rather sick right now, so I wondering if you could write EMT!Marauders x Sick!Reader (vomiting, passing out, high fever etc)

If not then that's ok, thanks!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: vomit mention (past tense), reader has a high fever but isn't like super super out of it (though it's mentioned some of her memories are a bit hazy)

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

The voices start out in your dreams. Low, indistinct murmurings, in voices that you know instinctively are safe. They’re warm enough to cuddle into like extra blankets. So, you don’t feel particularly inclined to rouse until something starts rubbing your cheek. 

Your lashes peel apart like they’ve been stuck together with glue in your sleep. It’s a herculean effort. Worth it to find Remus on the other side, though. 

“Hi,” he murmurs, thumb still stroking your cheek. 

“Hi,” you whisper back. 

Remus smiles—it’s one of your favorites from him, so tender it’s almost shy, like he doesn’t want anyone to see—and ducks down to kiss the corner of your mouth. Dutifully missing your lips, as your boyfriends have been sentenced to do for the past couple of days. You blink fuzzily. The hall light is on, illuminating dimly your otherwise dark bedroom and Sirius and James peeling off their uniforms. Sirius is typing something into his phone, while James watches you out of the corner of his eye, grinning when he catches you looking. 

It’s possible you’ll never not flush when your boyfriend grins at you while stepping out of his trousers. This may be a life sentence. 

“How are you feeling?” Remus asks. 

You make a sort of humming sound. You’re sick of feeling sorry for yourself and besides that you’re running out of adjectives. First it had been not right, then not very well, then plainly bad. Now you feel distinctly in worse territory, but to voice that feels too much a plea for pitying treatment, and you won’t do it. 

Remus murmurs, “Yeah?” and tsks like he hears it anyway. He lays a hand over your forehead, frowning. 

“What time is it?” you ask. 

“Early,” James says, like an apology. “We just got in.” 

You nod like this is expected. It’s not unusual for your boyfriends to come home from a long shift in the early hours of the morning, but truthfully, you don’t remember exactly when they’d left. You were in a sort of feverish, half-asleep state for most of the evening. 

“Open,” Remus prompts softly. You do, and he nudges a thermometer into your mouth, smoothing some hairs away from your face once he’s done. He looks worried. So many sweet, tender touches. It’d be enough to make you dizzy even if you were fully conscious. 

“Is she warmer?” Sirius asks. 

“I think so,” says Remus. 

James makes a sad puppy noise and flops onto the bed, now in his underwear. “I’m sorry, lovie,” he whines, practically crawling on top of you to put his face in your stomach. “It’s shit to be poorly for so long. Have you been sick again since we left?”

You have to think about it, but shake your head. This seems to satisfy James somewhat. 

“Did you drink your fluids?” Sirius asks. You nod this time. He walks over to the water bottle on the nightstand, giving it an experimental shake. “Still feels full.” 

Remus’ lips twitch at whatever look crosses your face. The thermometer beeps, and he pulls it from your mouth. 

“I drank some,” you defend yourself. 

Sirius gives you a playful reprimanding look, but then his attention is Remus’ as Remus pulls the thermometer closer. “Thirty-nine point seven.” He sighs, bringing his hand to your head again. He pets your hair. “Sweetheart…” 

“Nothing hurts, still?” James asks you. 

“No,” you mumble, contrite. You feel like you’re disappointing them. 

Sirius crouches by the bed, leaning forward to give you a pillowy soft kiss on your forehead. He’s thrown on an old t-shirt of Remus’, worn and with holes in the soft fabric. “It’s okay, baby. It’s not your fault; you’ve always been hot, it’s only getting worse.” 

You give him a dry look. That joke got old within the first day of your fever, but the way he delivers it so solemnly now does make a smile tug at your lips. Sirius bumps his nose into your temple teasingly. 

“Might’ve helped if you drank your fluids, though.” 

“Fuck off,” you murmur. Really, you love having him so close, and Sirius seems to know this. His expression is smug as he gives you another conciliating kiss. 

Remus is looking down at the both of you like you’re his favorite annoyances. “I think it’s time to go to hospital,” he determines. 

You frown. “But you just came from there.” 

“Ugh, I know,” Sirius groans. “The things we do for you, hm?” 

“You don’t seem to be improving,” Remus says. “We need to get a better idea of what this is.” 

“Can’t it just be a stomach bug?” you sulk. 

He hums, sweeping his thumb over your forehead. It’s warm and calloused. “It’d be nice if it was,” he says, “but we ought to know for sure. And this doesn’t quite fit the parameters of a regular stomach bug, dovey.” 

“It’d be helpful to have some bloodwork done,” James agrees, sitting up a bit to prop his chin on your stomach. 

“Bloodwork?” you repeat. 

“I sure fucking hope it does,” quips Sirius. When you still look trepidatious, he laughs and smooches your cheek. “You’ll be fine, my love. We’ll take good care of you.” 

“The best care,” James seconds, sitting up on his haunches to un-pin your stomach from the bed. “C’mon, let’s get up.” 

You eye all three of your boyfriends, but begin sitting up slowly. “You just got home. You really want to go back to work at” —you glance at the clock on your nightstand— “six thirty in the morning?” 

“That’s exactly what we want to do. You’re so smart, baby.” Sirius gives your cheek a pat. You pout at him in response; your head hurts now that you’re upright. “Anyway, I texted Mary at St. Bart’s, and she said we can get in if we go now.” 

Remus kisses Sirius’ head in silent thanks as James gets up to dig through a drawer of Remus’ jumpers for you both to put on. 

“We just love work so much,” he jokes, tossing you one. Sirius catches it before it can hit you. “We can hardly stay away, you know? Plus, bring your girlfriend to work day is a great time, I hear.” 

“So fun,” you sigh, resigned. 

Sirius smiles softly at you as he pulls Remus’ jumper over your head. “That’s the spirit.”

[stuffidoandwrite]

Just A Scratch

poly!marauders x fem!reader

synopsis: during a full moon night, an unexpected accident leaves flicker (you) injured, shaking the bond between you, remus, sirius, and james. as they bend the truth to shield one another from pain and guilt, you learn that sometimes, lies are the kindest form of love.

warnings: injury, blood, animal attack, transformation, emotional distress, graphic descriptions of animal injury, mild panic attacks, graphic descriptions of lycanthropy transformations, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

w/c: 5.3k

part of my mini blurb series flicker's adventures

masterlist

The night wrapped around the woods like a heavy cloak, thick with the scent of damp earth. 

You walked alongside the three, feeling the weight of the evening pressing on your chest in tandem with the exhaustion that seemed to seep from every slumped shoulder and dragging foot. 

Remus had been growing quieter these past few days, a shadow of weariness clouding his usual calm, and tonight, that fatigue clung to him like a second skin, heavier and more stubborn than ever before. 

You reached out instinctively, your hand brushing against his arm, trying to share a fraction of strength, though your own heart ached in quiet sympathy.

Sirius’s voice, low but steady, broke through the silence “He’s gonna be okay,” he said, eyes burning with quiet conviction as he looked your way, as if he could read the worry you were trying so hard to bury.

The words, simple as they were, settled over you like a fragile promise, but still, you felt the tremble beneath them, the ache behind the certainty.

James and Sirius each took a side, their hands firm and sure as they cradled Remus between them. He leaned heavily into their support. You followed closely, your fingers brushing gently along his back.

The only sounds were the soft shuffle of feet on mossy ground and the slow, measured breaths laboring from Remus’s chest. 

The shack came into view, worn and weathered but steadfast, nestled in a clearing where the moonlight fell in silver pools. Here, the boundaries between man and beast blurred. Tonight, more than ever, it felt like a sanctuary not just of wood and stone, but of understanding and fragile hope.

"Almost there," James murmured.

You reached out, touching Remus’s arm again, offering warmth and silent reassurance as they guided him through the door. 

The air inside was cool and still, smelling faintly of old pine and earth—a small world carved from quiet necessities. 

You swallowed the lump of dread that threatened to rise as the first tremors rippled through Remus’s body. It was the inevitable sign that the transformation had begun, that the full moon was claiming him once more.

James carefully eased Remus down onto the worn wooden floor of the shack, steadying him as he sagged heavily between James and Sirius’s arms. His breaths were shallow, uneven, eyes clouded with exhaustion and pain, and an unmistakable worry settled over all of you.

Sirius crouched close, voice soft but steady, “You’re going to be okay, Moony. We’re not going anywhere.”

Remus looked up at them, doubt flickering in his tired gaze. “You really will be here?”

“We will,” James said quietly, voice firm but gentle. “Whatever happens, we’re right here. We’ve got you.”

You stepped closer, brushing your hand along Remus’s arm, offering what little warmth you could. “All of us,” you said softly. “No matter what.”

Relief washed over Remus’s face, though the tension hadn’t left. His voice was barely above a whisper, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“We won’t leave you,” Sirius promised, squeezing Remus’s hand. “Not now, not ever.”

You pressed a kiss to Remus’s forehead, fingers lingering for a moment.. “You’re so strong,” you whispered, voice barely audible, hoping your words could be a balm for the storm brewing beneath his skin. 

“I love you, Remmy”

His gaze found yours, exhaustion melting into something softer, and in a voice frayed by emotion he whispered, “I love you too.”

The three of you formed a tight circle around Remus, your presence a fragile shield against the inevitable. For a moment, silence settled over the room, thick and reverent, as the first shivers rippled through his limbs. His breath hitched, and his eyes met each of yours—wide with fear, shining with pain, pleading for strength he could no longer summon.

You reached for his hand one last time, your fingers squeezing his with all the love and steadiness you could give. James brushed his shoulder in passing, a whisper of comfort beneath the growing tension. Sirius hesitated, just for a heartbeat, then leaned in to press a quiet kiss to Remus’s hair before pulling away.

Without a word, the three of you stepped back, hearts heavy and reluctant, retreating toward the far room at the back of the shack. 

The door creaked softly as it closed behind you, sealing Remus in solitude, as was always the rule. The transformation had to happen alone. It was a sacred, brutal thing—not meant to be witnessed or shared. Only endured.

You sat down with your back against the wall, every nerve in your body stretched taut with anticipation, ears straining for what you knew would come next.

And then, the screams began.

A guttural cry, raw and ragged, tore from deep within him. It was jagged and primal, scraping against the wooden walls, echoing into the night like a symphony of agony and surrender. 

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as the shudder rippled through his body. Bones groaned and shifted with dreadful sounds that seemed to wrench at your very soul. A sob escaped his lips, fragile and heartbreaking. You wished you could catch it and hold it close, to shield him from every shard of pain.

Then came the howl.

Not just any howl, but a lonely, aching lament stretching into the night. It was raw and mournful, carrying the weight of every lonely full moon Remus had endured. The sound clawed at your heart—hollow, vast, aching for something just out of reach.

Your eyes closed, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotion and sound. Before you could unravel beneath it all, strong hands cupped your ears with gentle insistence. 

Sirius reached for you, his touch instinctive and gentle. His palms, warm and calloused, came up to cover your ears with delicate pressure, shielding you from the worst of it. You felt his thumbs brushing softly against your temples, grounding you, protecting you.

He leaned in close, his chest pressed to your back, his breath warm where it spilled into your hair. A kiss found the crown of your head—slow and lingering, a silent promise.

“It’s alright, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with quiet determination. “You don’t have to listen to this. You don’t have to carry it all.”

He stayed close, his warmth a shield around your trembling form as the wolf’s anguished cries filled the small room.

Minutes stretched like hours. The sounds softened as the wrenching transformation slowed. The guttural growls gave way to quiet panting, gentle and rhythmic like a steady heartbeat. The rawness faded into the steady thump of paws against earth and the soft rustle of fur brushing the floor.

When it was clear—the storm had passed, and Remus was no longer the man in the center of the room but the wolf—his eyes sharp and luminous even in the dim light—the three of you shared a silent understanding.

James shifted first, muscles rippling beneath familiar fur as he transformed into his stag. His antlers reached toward the rafters, noble and steady. 

Sirius followed, sleek and dark, a large dog padding softly beside you. 

You felt your own form begin to shift. Bones and muscles realigned, fur brushed over skin, until you stood small and vibrant—a flicker of fiery red among the shadows.

Out beneath the cold glow of the moon, your little pack slipped into its familiar rhythm. The shift from human to animal had washed through you in one long, seamless wave. 

Moony had accepted this ritual. It had taken long months, but now the wolf’s golden gaze no longer flared with confusion when met with antlers gleaming between the trunks or with the dark blur of Padfoot racing by. 

And you — small, lithe, winding through the underbrush or high among the branches — had long since become part of this strange world he understood.

The door to the shack had been nudged open, and the four of you had slipped free into the night. Moony sniffed the wind, body low and tense, muscles rippling beneath thick fur. Then, with a low huff, he set off toward the trees, his steps steady, as if he, too, knew what came next.

Padfoot bounded after him, darting in wide circles as he ran. The wolf growled, low and deep, and the chase began.

You leapt easily into the trees, claws curling into bark as you climbed, higher, higher, until you could follow from above. The branches swayed beneath you, and your keen eyes tracked their wild path below. Each thud of paw against earth echoed through the hollow places inside you, a rhythm older than words.

Behind them, Prongs moved with regal calm, tall and gleaming beneath the moon, antlers cutting dark lines against the sky. He followed at a slower pace, steady and sure, his gaze sweeping the shadows around them, watchful for danger. 

For no matter how many times you did this, there was always the risk — the forest was wide, the night full of sharp things unseen.

From your perch, you watched them run. 

It was beautiful in a way it should not have been. The four of you out here beneath the sky, untethered by names or titles, by human skin or human fears. 

And yet no matter how wild it seemed, how far the wolf ran, how high you climbed, none of you strayed far from each other.

You watched from your perch, high among the skeletal branches of an old oak. Below, the moon spilled its pale light in a trembling pool across the clearing where Moony stalked, nose low to the ground, every muscle taut with restless energy. 

He had grown quieter as the hours passed, the early wildness in his steps slowing to a more deliberate, measured prowl. 

Moony turned suddenly, nose twitching, body low to the ground. You stilled, claws sinking into bark, breath caught tight in your chest. Something had shifted in the air. 

You felt it, sharp and sudden, like a string pulled taut. The wolf’s ears pricked, his eyes narrowing, gaze fixed on something deeper in the trees.

That was when you saw it.

A flash of russet fur, low to the ground, slipping silently between the trunks. A fox — large, lean, and bold, its sharp muzzle lifted to the wind, unaware of the danger only feet away. It moved with confidence, weaving through the underbrush, its eyes glinting in the moonlight.

And Moony saw it too.

A low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within the wolf’s throat, darker than before. His hackles rose, claws digging into the earth as his body tensed, trembling on the brink of violence. 

You felt it in your bones — this was no longer the Moony you knew, the one whose instincts had learned, slowly, to accept your presence. This was the wolf, wild and hunting, ruled only by the raw, ancient hunger that surged beneath his skin.

Before you could move, Padfoot was already there — a blur of dark fur, teeth bared, barking sharp and loud, trying to draw Moony’s attention away. 

He leapt between the wolf and the fox, barking again, circling wide, ears flattened, doing everything to pull him back.

Prongs charged in next, antlers held high, stamping the ground hard, a warning. He swung his head, shifting his weight, ready to block if he had to.

But it was not enough. Moony’s gaze had locked on the fox, and the wolf within him would not be denied. With a sudden, savage snarl, he lunged forward, muscles coiling for the kill.

You moved before you could think.

Leaping from the tree, body light as flame, you raced down the trunk, claws skimming the bark. The ground rushed up beneath you and you bolted across the clearing, small and fast, paws flying over the forest floor. 

You could hear the thundering of Moony’s breath behind you, hear Padfoot barking wildly, trying to stop him, but you had no choice — the fox would never outrun the wolf, but you could reach it first. You could save it. 

You skidded to a stop between them, your small form a flash of red against the dark, and lunged at the fox, driving it away with sharp yips and snapping teeth. The startled animal fled into the undergrowth, vanishing in a streak of russet fur.

But too late.

A snarl split the night, closer than you had thought. You turned just in time to see Moony’s powerful form descending on you, teeth bared, eyes burning with wild hunger.

You tried to leap clear — but claws raked across your side, sharp and brutal, tearing through fur and flesh alike.

A searing pain burst through you, bright and hot, as your body tumbled to the ground. A raw, helpless scream escaped your throat — high and sharp in the voice of the red panda, a sound you could hardly believe was your own.

The world tilted, spun. You barely registered Padfoot’s furious barking as he rushed to your side, circling you protectively.

Prongs moved swiftly, antlers low, stepping between the wolf and where you lay crumpled. With careful, deliberate movements, he began to drive Moony back, forcing him away from you. 

A sharp stamp of hooves, a commanding toss of his head — the stag herded the snarling wolf, inch by inch, back toward the shack.

You lay there, trembling, pain lancing through your side, the scent of blood sharp in the cold air. 

Padfoot pressed close, his body warm and solid against yours, muzzle nuzzling your fur with desperate care, a low, frantic whimper rumbling in his throat.

He nudged at your trembling form with his nose, whining softly as he took in the torn patch of fur along your side. You whimpered faintly, curling slightly from the sharp flare of pain, your small body shivering in the cold. But your gaze, dazed and wide, remained locked on the wolf.

Moony was still tense, teeth bared, hackles high, though Prongs had stepped between you now. The great stag gave a forceful stamp of his hooves, then turned his antlered head and let out a deep, gruff snort — a pointed sound meant for Padfoot alone. An unmistakable command.

The shack. Now.

Padfoot hesitated only for a second, torn between instinct and reason, but the message was clear. 

He stepped closer, nudging at you again, then dipped his head low and with immense care, grasped the scruff of your neck in his jaws — firm but gentle. Jjust enough to hold you, to lift you as a mother might carry her young.

You whimpered again as the movement pulled at your injury, but you allowed it. Trusting him. 

The forest blurred past in streaks of dark and silver as Padfoot bounded toward the shack, his massive paws barely touching the earth, your small body swaying with each stride. 

The door was already ajar from earlier, and he shouldered it open with a grunt, bolting through the familiar rooms until he reached the one where they had all waited before.

He set you down with the gentlest touch, then with a shimmer of movement, transformed. Sirius fell to his knees beside you, bare-chested, hair tousled, eyes wild with panic.

"Fuck, fuck, sweetheart, look at me, Flick, please," he gasped, already tearing off his shirt. The fabric ripped beneath his hands, his fingers shaking as he pressed it to your side. You whimpered beneath the touch, the burning throb of your wound sharp beneath your fur.

"You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay, love, please just… just stay with me. Don’t transform, not yet." His voice cracked. 

His hands moved frantically, trying to gauge the depth of the injury. He peeled the torn fur back carefully, wincing at the sight of blood, but even through the haze of panic, he could tell it was not life-threatening. 

Painful, yes, but not deep enough to tear muscle. His chest heaved in relief, though his hands never stilled.

"I’m so sorry, I should have— I should’ve been faster, fuck, you’re so bloody brave, Flicker, but gods—" he pressed another kiss to your head, voice breaking.

But beneath the sound of his words, you could hear it. Faint at first, through the thin wall separating this room from the main chamber of the shack.

A low growl, then a sharp, wet crack.

Your ears twitched toward it instinctively, heart pounding beneath your ribs.

Sirius froze too, gaze flickering toward the sound. "Shit… he’s changing back."

The noise swelled. Bones grinding, breaking, shifting. The wolf’s deep snarls unraveling into ragged groans of something less, something fragile. The air seemed to thicken with it, each tortured snap and sob a knife to your chest.

You whimpered again, curling instinctively, ears flattening against your head as the awful sounds of Remus’s transformation clawed at you. 

Even now — after so many full moons — it never got easier to hear. And this time, with the sharp pulse of your own pain thrumming through your body, it seemed even more unbearable.

Sirius noticed. His breath hitched. In a heartbeat, he gathered you gently in his arms, cradling your small form against his bare chest, one hand still holding the torn fabric to your wound.

"Shhh, baby, don’t listen," he whispered, voice trembling with emotion. He cupped one large hand over your ears, shielding you as best he could. Pressed a shaky kiss to your head. His heart thudded beneath you, fast and frantic. "It’s almost over, I promise."

And then, at last, the noises shifted — the snapping and tearing gave way to gasping breaths, then softer, broken sobs. No longer the wolf but human againn.

Sirius let out a long, shaking breath, shoulders slumping in exhausted relief, though his arms remained wrapped tight around you.

"He’s back," he whispered, voice thick with feeling. "Our Moony’s back."

"You can shift back now, darling," Sirius murmured softly, voice close to your ear, fingers brushing with tender insistence over your furred form. "Come on, love. It’s alright. You’re safe."

It took effort, more than you cared to admit. Your body felt heavy, dragged down by the sharp throb of pain lancing through your side. But you breathed, slow and shallow, and let the magic coil and unspool through you. Fur gave way to skin, small trembling limbs reshaping until you lay against the floor in your human form once more, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

Your arms curled instinctively over your side. The torn fabric of your shirt clung damply to the wound, a jagged slash running across your ribs. It burned, deep and hot, though not mortal. 

Before you could gather the words to speak, a low sound curled through the thin walls — a broken, fragile whimper.

Remus.

Your heart hammered painfully in your chest, a desperate pull beneath your ribs. “I need to be with him,” you whispered, voice breaking. “He’s hurting, and I have to—”

Sirius grabbed your face gently but firmly, his eyes wide with panic and urgency. “Listen to me, Y/N,” he urged, voice shaking. “Remus can’t see you hurt right now. I need you to stay here, stay safe. Please

“But Remmy he is—”

"Stay," he said quietly, voice rough with restrained emotion. "Please, sweetheart. You cannot… he cannot see you like this."

The meaning struck deep. Remus, raw and wrecked after the shift, haunted always by the weight of what he became under the moon. The guilt was carved into him already. If he saw you wounded, wounded because of him, it would undo him completely.

You exhaled a trembling breath and nodded, though every part of you longed to be with him.

Sirius gave you one last lingering glance, then rose swiftly and disappeared through the door.

Down below, the main chamber of the shack lay steeped in cool shadows. James knelt at Remus’s side, one arm steadying him as he lay curled upon the worn floorboards, trembling in the aftermath. His skin was pale, clammy with sweat, hair clinging in damp strands, his body racked with exhaustion.

"Jamie," Remus rasped, voice barely more than a ghost of sound. "Where… where is Sirius? Where is Dovey?"

James hesitated, throat tight. He could not bring himself to answer, to lie, nor could he bear to speak the truth — but before he could form a single word, the door opened with a rush of footsteps.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sirius said quickly, dropping to his knees, both hands cupping Remus’s face. "Easy, love. You’re alright. It’s over. You made it through."

At the touch, Remus sagged, a broken sound catching in his throat as he leaned toward the familiar comfort. But it was fleeting — the peace shattered by sudden panic blooming sharp and fast.

"Where is she?" he gasped, voice cracking. "Where—where is she?"

He pushed upward, limbs trembling violently beneath him. He barely managed to lift himself before collapsing back into Sirius’s arms, wild eyes darting between them. The terror in his gaze was palpable, raw and jagged.

"Moony, listen—" Sirius tried, voice low, soothing.

But it was too late. Remus caught it. The faintest shift in James’s face — the look of worry, the grief he could not quite mask.

"No," Remus choked, breath hitching sharply. "No. What did I do? Please—tell me—where is she—"

He fought to rise again, muscles screaming, breath breaking in harsh, uneven gasps. His body betrayed him, but still he struggled, frantic.

"Remus," James said urgently, catching him, holding him fast. "You cannot stand. You are barely—"

"She’s hurt," Remus gasped. The words tore from him like broken glass. "She’s hurt—I—I—please—"

The sound of it wrenched at Sirius’s heart. He could scarcely bear the sight of Remus like this, raw with fear, every inch of him consumed by guilt.

"She is safe," Sirius said at last, voice low, steady. "She is alright. I swear it."

But the words did little to quiet the storm in Remus’s eyes, wide and shining with helpless terror. He shook his head, breaths coming faster, shallow and ragged. "I need to see her," he whispered hoarsely. "Please—I need her—"

The door creaked open softly.

You barely paused in the threshold before you were moving, crossing the space in quick, determined steps, heart straining in your chest.

Remus and James looked up in unison — and both froze.

Their eyes fell instantly to your side, where your torn shirt clung crimson to your skin. James’s face paled visibly, mouth parting in alarm, while Remus’s entire body seemed to seize, panic flaring bright and wild across his features.

But before either could speak, you lifted a hand, voice quick and light, trying your best to sound calm. "It’s alright," you said softly, even managing a small smile, "truly — it looks worse than it is. Just a scratch, I promise."

"That is not a scratch," James said at once, voice strained.

Remus, however, looked utterly stricken. His breath hitched, eyes wide, horrified. "I —" he choked, trying to sit upright. "I did that — oh God — what have I done?"

You were at his side before he could fall apart, sinking down gently in front of him, cupping his face in your hands. His skin was clammy beneath your palms, trembling faintly, his eyes bright with tears.

"You didn’t," you whispered, voice soft but firm. You leaned in closer, brushing your thumb along his cheek. 

"It was not you. I—I fell," you said, weaving the lie with care. "A branch caught me on the way down, that is all."

You fixed him with a steady, insistent look before shifting your gaze to James. For a moment, he paused, jaw clenched, but then the unspoken message in your eyes reached him, and he gave a small, knowing nod.

"Remus, love," you whispered softly, leaning in. "It was not you."

Tears glittered in his eyes. He shook his head faintly, breath hitching. "I—I saw—"

"You saw nothing," you said gently, voice warm, steady. You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I fell and a  branch caught me. That is all."

You glanced meaningfully at James, who caught on immediately, clearing his throat.

"She is telling the truth," James said with conviction, moving to kneel beside you both. "We saw it. Clumsy thing tried to fly out of a tree."

That earned a soft breath of laughter from you, and even Remus’s lips twitched, though his gaze was still worried.

"I—are you alright?" he whispered. His fingers hovered near your side, hesitant, trembling.

You smiled, catching his hand in yours, threading your fingers together. "I am alright," you promised, voice light and sure. 

A little glimmer of mischief sparked through you then, and you leaned back slightly. "See for yourself."

Before either of them could protest, you let the shift wash over you — fur rippling into place, form shrinking down until Flicker, small and bright, sat before them.

James groaned dramatically. "Dove—"

But you were already on the move, padding in a slow circle around them, tail flicking playfully, showing them with every bounce of your step that the injury barely hindered you at all.

James laughed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. "You are such a menace."

Remus let out a shaky, relieved laugh of his own, shoulders slumping as the tension bled from his frame. He opened his arms invitingly.

With an eager chirp, you leapt into his lap, curling against his chest, pressing your little face beneath his chin.

His laughter broke free then — warm and breathless. "Merlin, I love you," he whispered, arms folding protectively around you.

When he shifted slightly and winced, you pulled back in alarm, big eyes blinking up at him.

Remus grinned, eyes twinkling. "What is this? Afraid of hurting me, dove?"

You gave a series of indignant little chirps, tail flicking in protest.

At that moment, Sirius swept in from the doorway, brows lifting at the sight before him. "Well, well," he chuckled, crouching down. "Look who is causing trouble already."

He scooped you up carefully, cradling you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your furry head.

"Alright, enough showing off," he murmured fondly. "Come back to us, pretty girl."

At the warmth in his voice, you let the magic ripple once more, shifting back in a blink, now nestled in Sirius’s arms, your bare skin against the warmth of his chest.

Remus and James were beaming at you, eyes bright with love and relief.

"There you are," James teased softly, reaching to brush his knuckles down your cheek. 

You giggled, leaning into his touch as Sirius kissed your temple and Remus gave a soft, shaky laugh, still holding your gaze as though he could hardly believe you were truly alright.

The first pale light of morning was creeping through the thinning trees, brushing the world in soft, misted gold. The forest lay hushed in the aftermath of the night, the sharp edge of the full moon dulled now, fading beneath the slow, blooming light of dawn.

Sirius had an arm wrapped tightly around Remus, supporting most of his weight as they walked. Remus was swaying between steps, utterly spent, head drooping against Sirius’s shoulder, his breath still coming in slow, unsteady pulls. Sirius spoke to him in low, soothing murmurs, each word a tether keeping him grounded, close.

James stayed at your side, and the determined set of his jaw told you there was no use arguing. You tried anyway.

"I can walk, Jamie," you said stubbornly. Your side still throbbed faintly beneath your bandages, but nothing you could not handle.

James gave you a pointed look, one brow arched, hazel eyes dark beneath the stray curls falling into his face. "Not taking any chances with you."

He stooped then, swift and sure, arms sliding beneath your knees and back before you could so much as blink. You squeaked softly as he lifted you against his chest.

"James—"

He cut you off with a quiet look. "You do not get to argue. Not tonight."

You huffed, half exasperated, half endeared, curling instinctively into him as he carried you with maddening ease. His warmth, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, was a comfort you could not deny.

They walked in pairs, Sirius and Remus behind you, James carrying you just ahead, each step steady and sure. The path wound gently through the soft hush of dawn, the castle spires beginning to rise through the misted distance.

James broke the quiet first, his voice low, for your ears alone.

"When we get back," he murmured, "Sirius and I are going to have a long talk with you."

You stiffened a little in his arms, glancing up at him. His mouth was set, serious now.

"You cannot do that again," he continued, gaze fixed ahead. 

"You cannot throw yourself between Moony and a fox just because you want to help." His tone was quiet but sharp, firm beneath the softness. "That is not how this works."

You opened your mouth to speak, but he hushed you immediately, glancing back to where Remus leaned against Sirius, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"Not now," James whispered. "Do not wake him with this. Just listen."

You closed your mouth, gaze dropping.

James’s voice gentled a little, though the weight of his words remained. "We go as a pack for a reason, dove. We are there to protect him. But we are also there to protect each other. And I swear to Merlin, Sirius and I—and bloody Remus himself—would rather see a fox dead ten times over than see you hurt. Do you understand?"

You swallowed, heart twisting with guilt beneath your ribs. After a beat, you nodded softly against his chest.

"Good." James whispered, pressing a kiss into your hair.

You shook your head with a smirk. "You won’t be dead by twenty-one."

James laughed, a warm sound that held a hint of something more. "I sure hope so," he said, eyes gleaming. "But if you keep getting into trouble like this, I won’t make it."

You smiled softly, brushing your nose against his jaw. "I’m sorry," you whispered. "I promise I won’t give you another heart attack."

"You had better not," he said, though the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile, eyes warm now, brushing away the sharpness of before.

Behind you, Sirius’s quiet murmurs carried through the still air, words of comfort for Remus, who remained nestled against him, too worn to do more than breathe slowly, softly, safe in the circle of their love.

The familiar stone halls of the castle greeted you like a sanctuary. The heavy oak doors gave way with a low creak beneath Sirius’s shoulder, James just behind him, still holding you carefully in his arms. 

The corridors were quiet now, blessedly empty, save for the soft shuffle of your little group making its way up through the winding staircases.

Remus was barely conscious, eyes fluttering open for the briefest of moments before slipping shut again. 

Sirius carried him with fierce protectiveness, whispering softly into his hair, words meant only for him, as though he could anchor him through the remnants of pain and exhaustion.

At last, your dorm appeared around the corner. Inside, everything was as you had left it, warm and waiting.

Sirius lowered Remus gently onto the wide bed, tugging the covers up and around him. Remus stirred only faintly, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he curled instinctively into the pillow. His chest rose and fell in slow, even rhythm now, sleep already pulling him under.

You had barely touched your feet to the floor before Sirius was there, reaching for you, strong arms sliding around your waist, pulling you in without a word. You melted against him at once, your cheek pressed to his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“I am so glad you are alright,” Sirius whispered into your hair, voice low and tight with something unspoken. His fingers curled in the fabric of your shirt, holding you close as though to prove to himself that you were here, whole, safe. 

“You scared me tonight. You scared all of us.”

“I know,” you whispered, guilt knotting in your chest. You tilted your face up to meet his eyes. “I am sorry, Siri. I... I did not mean to put anyone at risk. It just— it happened so quickly. I only wanted to help.”

His expression softened at that, though a faint crease lingered in his brow. He kissed your forehead tenderly, breathing you in.

“I know, love. I know you did. But this is not going to happen again. We cannot lose you. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, throat tightening. “I do. I promise.”

Sirius held you for another long moment before finally letting you go with a sigh, brushing his knuckles down your cheek.

James had already set about stripping off his boots, tossing them haphazardly beneath the bed. He looked over at the two of you, his smile soft and tired.

“You will be the death of us yet,” James murmured with affection, voice low so as not to disturb Remus, already deep in sleep. “But you handled yourself well tonight.”

You gave him a small smile, warmth blooming in your chest despite the ache of the night. “I was lucky.”

Sirius snorted softly, shaking his head. “Lucky or not, next time you so much as think about leaping between Moony and danger, we will hex you to the bed until the moon has passed.”

You laughed quietly, easing onto the bed beside them, muscles finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion. 

James climbed in beside you, tossing an arm lazily over your waist, pulling you close. Sirius settled in next, curling against your other side, one hand resting lightly atop your hip, fingers tracing idle patterns.

Remus lay at the center, soft breaths whispering through parted lips, brow smooth in sleep now, all tension melted away.

You glanced toward him, heart tugging with quiet fondness, with a love that ached in the softest corners of your soul. 

Even if he never learned the truth of that night—how it was his own claws that caused the wound—and even though you had all agreed, silently, to spare him that burden, sometimes a lie was not cruelty. It was mercy, a fragile shield to protect a heart too fragile to bear the weight of guilt it did not need to carry.

And in the end, the four of you had been lucky.

It was, after all, only just a scratch.

[stuffidoandwrite]

hiii!! i love your writing! i was wondering if i could request something with poly!marauders where reader is having a multiple-day episode where she just stays in bed and cries and can’t seem to do anything? i think that they would be good about trying to help her without pressuring her

i deal with that stuff especially in the summer and i think the hurt/comfort would be so cute

no pressure of course i know it’s kind of a heavy topic, have an amazing day!!

Hi, love! thank you for requesting <3 i hope this is the kind of thing you wanted

poly!marauders x fem!reader ✩ 1.9k words

cw; depression

The warmth of the room feels cruel, almost mocking. The air is heavy and stale from stillness and you know it’s because you haven’t summoned the will to get up and crack a window. Even the idea of moving feels like it would drain the last bit of strength you’re clinging to.

There’s guilt too, thick and low in your chest, compounding the numb weight that's settled over you. The boys – your boys – never signed up for this. For the version of you where everything feels unreachable, everything except the sadness. So you pushed them away.

Rationally, you know that only made things worse. But you’d convinced yourself you deserved the isolation. You remember how James’ face fell when you asked them to leave you alone – how it crumpled under the weight of helplessness. Remus and Sirius hadn’t looked any better, but they knew this territory. They've wandered it themselves, and maybe that’s why they didn’t protest.

You hate this version of yourself. You wonder if, with a little luck, your bones might fuse right here, locked in place so you'd never have to move again. You feel ridiculous. Small.

A wash of light spills into the room, startling you out of your thoughts. Remus stands in the doorway, silhouetted for a moment, then quietly walks in, a glass of water in his hand. He sits on the edge of the bed, folding one leg beneath him so he can face you. His free hand gently brushes your hair from your face.

“Hi, dove,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” you rasp back, your voice rough from disuse, the shadow of a smile tugging at your lips.

He smiles too. It’s soft and sad and not nearly as bright as usual. You must look a mess.

“Can you sit up and drink some of this for me, lovely girl?”

You shift, the scratch of sheets beneath you suddenly deafening in the quiet. Muscles ache and a dull throb passes through you from being still too long. But you sit up, slowly, the motion ungraceful and tired. Remus moves with you, steadying the glass so water doesn’t slosh over the sides as he hands it over, his hand warm at the back of your neck.

It tastes like nothing and everything. Cold and clean, cutting through the film in your mouth and the weight in your throat. You drink it all.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, just enough praise to feel like something, but not enough to make you shrink from it. His thumb brushes against your jaw before he leans back a little, giving you space but not going far.

“Y’know how Jamie bought enough bananas for all of Britain?” he begins, eyes flicking toward the window, where the curtains are drawn.

You hum a soft, “Mmhmm,” already imagining James’ sheepish grin and his arms bracketed by tote bags.

“Well,” Remus continues, a little more animated now, “they all went brown too quickly and he wouldn't let Sirius throw them out. Kept saying they shouldn’t be wasted.” He huffs a laugh under his breath. “So now we’ve got three loaves of banana bread. All of them with chocolate chips.’”

You don’t laugh, exactly. But your lips curve, not the ghost of a smile this time, but something real. Small and fragile. You look at him, and he’s watching you, something soft flickering in his eyes. Relief, maybe. Or hope.

You shift your legs beneath you.

“Did he burn them?” you ask, voice raspier than you'd like but steady enough.

Remus smiles again, eyes crinkling faintly at the corners. “Only one. Sirius keeps making fun of him for it.”

You sit with the empty glass in your lap for a minute after Remus finishes speaking, thumb tracing the rim slowly, quietly.

You swallow around a lump that isn’t quite sadness – more like uncertainty – before glancing up at Remus again. He doesn’t rush you. He never does. His hand is still resting loosely on your ankle, anchoring you without pressure.

“…Do you think,” you begin slowly, voice catching a little, “Do you think they’d mind if I came into the living room for a bit?”

His brow furrows, not from confusion but concern. “Mind?” 

You look down at the duvet, picking at a loose thread. “Because I told them to go. And I know that was–it wasn’t really fair. I just didn’t know what else to do.” The words tumble out, half-formed. “Are they angry?”

There’s a pause. Then a warm weight settles next to you again, and Remus is reaching out to gently tilt your chin so you’ll look at him.

“They love you, I love you,” he says simply. “They’re not mad. They just want to be here for you, we all do.”

You nod slowly, still unsure, still wading through that murky middle ground between wanting comfort and fearing you don’t deserve it. But Remus smiles like it’s already decided, like the hardest part is already done.

“C’mon then,” he says, standing and offering you a hand.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to take it, but because your fingers feel clumsy and you’re half afraid you’ll fall apart if someone holds you too carefully. But you take his hand anyway, and he squeezes once, grounding you.

Remus walks close without crowding, letting your pace set the rhythm. When you pause outside the door, his hand slips from yours to rest lightly on the small of your back.

Inside, you hear Sirius grumbling something in French, followed by James groaning when he doesn’t understand. All of you have taken to learning little bits here and there with Sirius as your teacher.

It makes you smile.

You take a breath. Then another. And step inside.

The room is warm, in a different way to the bedroom. The afternoon light slants in golden through the half-open curtains. Sirius is sprawled sideways on the sofa, all long limbs and sleepy eyes, a blanket draped over one shoulder. James is sitting on the floor overlooking a notepad laid out on the coffee table.

The second they clock you in the doorway, everything stills.

Sirius sits up straighter, his eyes soft, cautious, like he’s afraid too sudden a move might scare you off. James blinks once, then straightens so fast it’s almost comical.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Sirius says gently, his voice quieter than usual but still unmistakably him.

 And before your brain can talk you out of it, your feet are moving, bringing you to the sofa. You settle beside Sirius, tucking yourself gently into the crook of his arm.

He doesn’t say anything else. Just curls that arm around your shoulders and pulls you in, slow and careful, like you’re something precious and he’s terrified of cracking you open.

You close your eyes. It feels safer here. Warmer. Maybe you haven’t ruined everything after all.

You glance up at James, who’s still sitting there, looking like a very large puppy waiting for instructions. You can see him itching to ask, before he does.

“Do you want anything, angel? Cup of tea maybe?”

You let out a breathy little huff of air – something like a laugh. Sometimes, you think, James’ only desire in life is to make sure the people he loves most are well cared for and looked after. He does it well. 

You give him the smallest of smiles. “Remus said you made banana bread?”

Sirius snorts beside you, the sound low and delighted. “Just here for the banana bread, you minx.” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, tucking you in a little tighter.

You close your eyes as Sirius tightens his arm around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer, the warm pressure of his embrace a gentle weight that feels just shy of grounding you. 

James’ voice cuts through the calm, light and teasing, “I’ll be right back, angel. You’re in for a treat.”

He disappears into the kitchen, and you hear the telltale scrape of the oven door opening, the soft clink of plates and the faint hum of him moving about, preparing. Sirius doesn’t speak at first, but you feel his gaze lingering on you. His thumb runs absent-mindedly along the edge of your arm, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of your sleeve.

“It’s a good job you’re having some now,” he finally says, voice laced with an amused undertone, “I don’t think it’s going to last long. It’s his best yet.”

You blink at him, eyes heavy. “Really?”

“Mmhm,” he replies, the teasing lilt in his voice giving way to a touch of pride, “I told him so too.”

A small, genuine smile slips onto your face. You know what Sirius’ praise looks like, it’s usually a silly amount of kisses and a few cheeky comments.

As if on cue, Remus appears at the doorway, his frame lit by the soft, golden light filtering through the curtains. In his hand, he holds another glass of water, freshly refilled. You hadn’t even realized you were thirsty again, but as soon as you see it, the weight in your throat suddenly seems more pronounced.

“Here you go, dove,” he murmurs, crossing the room calmly and handing it off to you, his fingers brushing yours. He settles into the armchair across from the couch, his long legs folding beneath him.

You take it from him gratefully, bringing it to your lips. The coolness of it against your parched throat is a relief. You take a sip, and as the water slides down, the haze in your head clears just a fraction.

Sirius’s voice, now a little quieter, takes on that same careful, almost protective tone. “Let me hold it for you.”

Without a word, you pass the glass over to him. His fingers wrap around it securely, holding it in place as you rest against his side again. It’s the smallest of gestures, but it’s kind and sweet and entirely unnecessary.

James returns with a plate, steam still rising from the banana bread. The smell – rich and sweet with a hint of chocolate – hits you before you even see it. You sit up just enough to take in the sight of the loaf, golden and slightly uneven, with just the right amount of gooey chocolate chips poking through.

“There you go, love,” James says softly, his smile wide and boyish, as he holds the plate out to you. “Fresh out of the oven.”

You take a small piece, breaking off a chunk and bringing it to your mouth. The texture is perfect, soft yet just a little crumbly. It’s comforting.

“It’s really good, Jamie,” you say, the words slipping out before you can think to second-guess them.

James’ face lights up at the compliment, and you can’t help but notice the way his shoulders seem to relax a little, like your approval matters to him more than you even realized.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replies, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

You laugh softly, the sound light and quiet in the stillness of the room. You feel a flutter of warmth in your chest at the ease with which they all care for you.

You take another bite of the banana bread, letting the sweetness melt on your tongue, and let yourself be. You know you’ll likely retreat again, but it’s nice to know they’ll be here no matter what.

masterlist <3

[stuffidoandwrite]

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?

Read part 2 to this fic here.

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

[stuffidoandwrite]

bloody bird's nest

poly!marauders x reader where Sirius is in one of his moods ✩ 679 words

cw: just sweet silly fluff

an: originally started this as just sirius x reader but then it turned into poly!marauders! so surprise first poly!marauders fic!!!

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. It's a bloody outrage, is what it is.”

That's the first thing you hear as you walk into the boys’ flat. They're sitting at the dining table drinking cups of tea, while Sirius is complaining about something. Neither Remus or James look very concerned about their boyfriends musings. You, however, can’t help but feel a twinge of concern at the sharpness of his tone.

You approach him quietly, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on the crown of his head. He doesn’t preen like usual, not even a little. His body is stiff, and your heart clenches in worry.

“Oh, don’t mind him, dovey. He’s just in one of his moods,” Remus says casually, his arm extending to pull you gently into a hug. He presses a quick kiss to your lips before guiding you to sit next to him. You look over to James for confirmation that there really is nothing to worry about, and he's just beaming at you.

“I resent that, moony, this is perfectly justified and I just can’t–” then his eyes meet yours, “doll, when did you get here?” 

His face softens and he leans over to give you a kiss on the top of your head this time in apology and then goes back to his furious ranting. 

You’re trying your best to keep up with whatever Sirius is saying when a cup of tea is placed in front of you, when you look up it's James that’s made it, he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek ready to round the table back to his seat. Before he can, you tilt your chin up, wordlessly asking for more. He smiles, his lips soft against yours, and then reluctantly pulls back. You take a sip of the tea— made just how you like it—and a silly giddiness is bubbling up inside. 

“Thank you, Jamie,” you whisper, smiling softly, making sure not to disturb Sirius.

“You’re welcome, gorgeous,” he replies with a wink, dropping back into his seat.

Remus, ever the peacemaker, reaches across the table to take Sirius’s hand in both of his, trying to calm his boyfriend. 

“Pads, it's not that big of a deal that it wasn't in stock, if you order it you can always use James’ until it arrives” Remus consoles.

Sirius seems less tense now, it's mainly from Remus’ touch and not from what he says though you think.

“No offense to you Jamie,” Sirius begins with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “you know I love you and I think your hair is very pretty, but the last time I used your products, my hair looked like a bloody bird’s nest.” James couldn't look less offended, all pleased with himself at being called pretty by the Sirius Black.

“Wait, you’re talking about your fancy curl stuff?” you ask, already moving to grab your bag from where you'd set it down, a light chuckle escaping your lips at how worked up he’s gotten.

Sirius’s response is immediate and petulant. “Yes, obviously. I’m talking about that.”

You hear a light-hearted groan from James and Remus, but you just laugh.

“I stopped and bought some on the way here,” you say nonchalantly, “I noticed you were running low last time I stayed over.”

You expect a simple reaction, but when you turn to face them, all three of your boyfriends are looking at you as if you’ve just performed some sort of magic. Their gazes are filled with awe and adoration.

Sirius is the first to break the stunned silence. He stands abruptly, crossing the room in two long strides to gather you into a tight hug. His lips are warm against your forehead as he presses kiss after kiss to your skin.

“Thank you, Dolly,” he says while showering your head in kisses. 

“This is why you're my favourite” he whispers loud enough for the other boys to hear. From across the table, Remus and James groan in protest, and you can’t help the delighted laugh that bursts from you.

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let me know what you think of this! I love any feedback! <3

[stuffidoandwrite]

Flo, I saw this ask and thought I should shoot my shot and request this idea that had been stuck in my head. Soooo, dearest, can I request a Reggie fic or drabble wherein he was asked to babysit Draco? I just know he’d be so scared and caring at the same time. 😭🫶

thank you for requesting tally, my love! <3 this is much more serious than it should've been haha

Regulus Black x reader ✩ 1.4k words

cw: fluff, mentions of regulus' childhood

The sound of a muffled voice catches you off guard just as the front door clicks shut behind you. Regulus has never been one to talk to himself – not even when he’s pacing the floor, deep in thought. A frown begins to carve its way onto your face as you toe off your shoes and step further inside.

“Reggie?” you call out, but the silence that follows is absolute.

The living room looks like a stranger’s attempt at recreating yours. Familiar shapes in unfamiliar places. The cushions, usually arranged with an almost obsessive precision, are scattered across the floor. A trail of half-eaten snacks litters the coffee table, accompanied by the telltale shine of spilled juice. You blink at the mess.

The voice again – clearer now. It’s coming from the kitchen.

You follow the sound, and there he is: standing in front of the open fridge, shirt rumpled, hair tousled and standing in places where it looks like he's been tugging at the roots.

“Regulus?” you say again, softer now, more coaxing than questioning. At the sound of your voice, his tense shoulders drop, just slightly.

“Amour.” He exhales the word like a lifeline, turning to face you. There’s barely a moment to register this rare, almost rakish version of him before your eyes catch on the small blond child nestled against his hip, one gummy fist curled in Regulus’ collar.

Draco.

You blink. Regulus is holding Draco.

Before you can shape a single question, he’s already unraveling the explanation in a hurried string of words. 

“Cissa asked if we could babysit–last minute. I think she meant more you than me,” he says, too quickly. His voice is tight, a touch higher than usual. His eyes, normally sharp and composed, are wide and unmoored. “I was going to call you but then she just… dropped him off.”

You’ve seen Regulus face down a lot of scary things. You’ve seen him walk away from most of his family, piece together something tentative with Sirius and rebuild himself after all of it.  But this – this nervous wreck of a man clutching a toddler – is a rare and oddly endearing sight.

“Right,” you say, pressing your lips together, not quite succeeding at suppressing a smile. You step closer, now barefoot on the cool floor.

“Don’t laugh,” he pleads, already hearing it in your breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

And that’s all it takes. The laugh escapes, light and delighted, before you can stop it. It bubbles up and spills over and, miraculously, draws a giggle from Draco, who’s still tucked snugly into Regulus’ arms.

You look at the little boy, noting the way his sticky hand is practically glued to Regulus’ collar, cheeks flushed and round with sleep or sugar, probably both.

“Hi, handsome,” you coo, brushing the back of your finger across a soft, baby-plump cheek. “How are you?”

The response is a delighted babble, animated and incoherent, followed by a suspiciously adult-sounding huff. Regulus looks vaguely betrayed. You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to the underside of Regulus’ jaw where the tension knots visibly under his skin. His breath catches for a moment, a small shudder passing through him like he’s been holding himself too tight for too long.

“Has he been fed?” you ask quietly, brushing a damp curl from Draco’s forehead.

Regulus exhales, a long, weary sigh that seems to carry the weight of the entire day. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough, “tried a bit of everything from his bag.” His eyes flicker with something soft – relief, maybe, that at least that part is done.

You reach up and place your hand on his back, just between his shoulders, and start to rub small, soothing circles. The tension there is a stubborn thing, slow to leave.

“Have you eaten?” you ask, your fingers stilling briefly, just to emphasise the point.

His brow furrows like the question confuses him. “He’s the baby,” he says slowly, like that explains everything. “Why would I—”

You arch a brow, tilting your head. “You haven’t taken your eyes off him since he got here, have you?”

Regulus blinks, caught. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again like he’s trying to defend himself but can’t quite find the angle.

 “Of course I haven’t,” he says, slightly indignant, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “What if he gets hurt? What if he chokes on something or hits his head or–or just falls apart? What if–”

A small, startled grunt stops the slow build of panic, followed immediately by a sharp tug to his hair.

“Ow–Draco, no,” Regulus hisses, eyes squeezing shut in pain as the tiny hand fisted in his dark strands tugs again with all the surprising strength toddlers seem to have.

You hide a laugh behind your hand, stepping in without hesitation.

 “Alright, sweetheart,” you murmur, and with careful fingers, you begin gently unfurling Draco’s tight grip. 

Regulus’ breathing stutters, speeding up with little rhythm, again as your touch lingers, your fingers brushing his scalp, then down the side of his face, smoothing over the tense edge of his jaw like balm.

“Deep breaths, love,” you whisper.

He closes his eyes and does as you ask, drawing in a shaky breath and letting it out slowly. His shoulders sag as though he’s just remembered how.

You wait. You’ve always known how to wait through his spirals – how to anchor him gently, without force. The panic that once clung to him like a second skin is rarer now, appearances few and far between. But when it returns, it still hits hard and sudden.

Draco babbles something against Regulus’ chest and then lets out a sneeze, his tiny limbs jolting at the sound. Regulus immediately shifts, instinctively protective.

You give him another moment, watching the tension drain in slow increments.

“Do you want me to take him?” you ask softly. “You can make yourself something to eat, yeah? Get your bearings.”

Regulus doesn’t answer right away. You see the conflict flicker in his eyes – torn between pride and exhaustion, between trust and a still bubbling anxiety.

He looks down at Draco, who is now happily smearing a faint line of drool across his collarbone, and then back at you.

You add, gently, “It’s completely up to you. Whatever you want.”

Regulus swallows. Then, quieter than before: “If that’s alright.”

Your smile deepens as you stretch your arms out for the baby. “Of course it is.”

He passes Draco over with such careful, lingering hands, like he might dissolve without his touch. You settle the boy on your hip, your body already swaying, instinctive. Draco sighs, content, and nuzzles into your shoulder.

Once he’s sure Draco’s weight is secure in your arms, Regulus lingers a moment, brushing a thumb over the baby’s socked foot like he’s reluctant to let go completely.

“Go make a sandwich, Reggie. Or heat up the leftover soup–unless that’s what’s all over the coffee table?”

He glares weakly. “Juice.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Regulus watches you for a moment longer before turning toward the counter, finally moving to make himself something – toast, probably, the only thing he reliably trusts himself not to burn when distracted.

And even with his back to you, he can’t stop glancing over his shoulder every few seconds.

There’s something about the way you hold Draco, confident and instinctive. Your cheek brushing lightly against blond curls. The way you sway just the smallest bit on your feet, calming without thinking. And the baby, usually fussy with unfamiliarity, is content. Quiet. Safe.

It hits him harder than he expects.

Regulus has spent his life navigating things no one should have to. Tiptoeing through rooms where love came with conditions, where softness was foreign and fleeting. And yet, here you are. Patient. Steady. Effortless.

He’s seen you in a hundred different lights. But this? This is something else entirely.

He turns toward the fridge with a newfound stillness in his limbs.

Draco sighs dramatically against your shoulder, like this has all been terribly hard work for him too. You chuckle, gently rocking side to side.

Regulus pauses with his hand on the fridge door, glancing back one more time. “You’re good at this,” he murmurs, voice low and sweet.

You meet his eyes over Draco’s head. “So are you.”

He huffs softly, the closest thing to a laugh he’s managed all day. “I feel like I’ve aged ten years in two hours.”

“You’ll bounce back.” You smile, and his heart stutters.

masterlist <3

[stuffidoandwrite]

the first time remus made a sirius joke-

Regulus: you can’t be fucking serious.

Remus: he’s right, you can’t. i am.

Sirius:

Regulus:

James:

Regulus: I can’t believe you just said that.

Remus, grimacing: me neither.

Sirius, oddly turned on: I’m going to kiss you now.

[stuffidoandwrite]

Isn’t she lovely…

sum up : nearing Sirius' first birthday with his daughter at his side

tw : fluff, some bad memories, abusive family

ship : poly!marauders x fem!reader

After Hogwarts, the four of you had carved out something soft and sacred: a messy little house on the edge of the London suburbs, its walls stuffed with laughter, socks that never matched, and the constant hum of love.

James, Sirius, Remus—and you.

It didn’t take long for the chaos to settle into rhythm, and even less time before your shared love started to grow roots deeper than any of you expected. Two years into this quiet life, you found yourself pregnant. You’d all agreed early on—there’d be no paternity tests, no need to label who the “real” father was. You were all one heart, beating in different bodies.

And somehow, fate—or magic, maybe—had honored that wish.

Lyra came into the world one cool April morning, red-cheeked and loud-lunged. She quieted the moment she heard Remus’s voice—soft and steady, like the pulse of something ancient and safe. She had his freckled skin, Sirius’s storm-gray eyes and dark curls, James’s easy smile and stubborn cowlick. She was all of them. All of you.

The sleepless nights blurred together in a haze of lullabies, shared feeding shifts, and warm arms wrapped around each other in the quiet dark. Lyra’s tiny presence had filled the house with a kind of peace none of you had known you’d been missing.

But as the days passed, and her seventh month neared, something shifted.

Sirius grew quiet. Not cold, just... dimmer. Less of his usual barked laughter, fewer teasing kisses pressed to your temple in passing. He still held Lyra like she was made of starlight, but sometimes you’d catch him staring—not at her, but through her. Like he was seeing something else. Someone else.

His birthday was coming. And it was always a difficult time.

It hadn’t erased the ache of what came before—the cold, gray walls of the Black family home, where birthdays weren’t celebrated, only tolerated. That haunted look in his eyes always surfaced around this time of year, no matter how much love you poured into him.

And this year, with Lyra smiling up at him like he hung the stars, the weight of it all seemed to be pressing heavier than ever.

You knew what haunted him—what curled beneath his silence like smoke.

Sirius thought he didn’t deserve her.

You saw it in the way his eyes lingered on Lyra, too long and too quiet, as if he were memorizing her innocence before the world could bruise it. She shared his eyes—those stormy grays that once brimmed with defiance, now shadowed with fear. Sometimes he couldn’t even meet her gaze without flinching, as if staring into her was staring back into a version of himself he never wanted to become.

He thought about how he had once been cradled, soft and untouched in his mother’s arms. How her voice had maybe once been gentle, not that he remembered, before it sharpened into commands and curses. How love had curdled into something cold and conditional. What if that was inside him too, buried like a dormant curse?

From his spot on the kitchen table, Sirius watched Lyra squeal with delight as James made silly faces, her tiny fists waving in the air as she bounced on his knee. Her laugh was pure sunlight—unfiltered, unafraid. And Sirius’s chest ached like it might cave in.

You moved without a word, your hand reaching out to gently rest on his knee, grounding him in the present. Warmth. Presence. Love. Across the room, Remus wordlessly slid a steaming cup of tea into Sirius’s hands, his touch lingering just long enough to say I’m here.

Sirius barely spoke these days. Words felt brittle in his mouth, too clumsy to carry what he felt. But you knew. All of you knew.

You couldn’t fix what lived in his memory. You couldn’t rewrite his childhood or reach back through time to hold the boy he used to be. But you could be here. Now. With him. As he learned, slowly and painfully, that he was not his mother. That he was not the poison that raised him.

That he was loved. And safe. And still worthy.

He looked down at the cup in his hands, then at you, and for a moment, the tightness in his jaw eased. The tiniest crack of something—hope, maybe—broke through.

“I don’t know if I’m a good dad,” he murmured at last, voice rough. “I don’t know if she should see me that way.”

You squeezed his knee, then stood and moved beside him, resting your chin on his shoulder as Remus stepped closer too. James, still bouncing Lyra, looked up with that easy smile of his, and said without hesitation, “She already does.”

Lyra squealed again, reaching toward Sirius with grabby hands and a grin that could split the sky.

And when he took her into his arms, trembling just slightly, she rested her forehead to his and sighed, utterly content.

The morning of Sirius’s birthday arrived quietly.

There were no streamers, no pancakes in the shape of his name, no outbursts of celebratory joy. Just the soft clink of cutlery in the kitchen and the distant cry of a waking Lyra from her nursery upstairs.

He left for work early.

No kiss goodbye, just a murmured, “Don’t wait up,” and the familiar scent of leather and cloves lingering in the doorway. You hadn’t expected anything different—Sirius never celebrated his birthday. Not really. Not since he left home. Not since birthdays became a reminder of who hadn’t celebrated them with him.

Still, your chest ached as you watched him leave, shoulders tense beneath his jacket like the weight of the past still hung from them.

Later, after Lyra had been fed and changed, you found yourself in the kitchen with Remus and James, sipping lukewarm coffee while the baby babbled softly in her high chair. The room felt too quiet without Sirius’s usual sarcasm or dramatic storytelling.

You stirred your mug slowly. “We should leave him be today. At least for now.”

James leaned back in his chair, dark circles under his eyes and worry tucked into the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he sighed. “He hates being reminded. Always has.”

Remus was silent for a moment, nursing his tea, eyes fixed on the grain of the table. Then, quietly, “But we don’t have to ignore it either.”

You nodded, understanding. Pushing too much would only drive him deeper into himself—but pretending it wasn’t his birthday would hurt in a different way. Sirius didn’t want celebration; he wanted to be seen. Not as a name on a cake or a date on a calendar—but as him. As someone still here. Still worth loving.

“I think,” Remus said gently, “we can make it soft this year. Just... let him come home to something warm.”

James grinned, just a little. “Blankets. Tea. Chocolate cake we can claim is for Lyra.”

“She doesn’t even have teeth,” you reminded him.

“Exactly,” he smirked. “More for us.”

You laughed, quietly, and glanced up at your daughter. Lyra blinked at you with those wide gray eyes—Sirius’s eyes—and clapped her hands against the tray of her chair.

“We’ll be here when he’s ready,” you said softly, almost to yourself.

And you would be. All of you.

Waiting in the warmth of this house, ready to remind him that this home—his home—was nothing like the one he’d left behind.

That night, Sirius came home angry.

You heard the front door shut with too much force, the thud echoing through the house like a warning. His jaw was tight, eyes stormy, and his coat was still halfway on as he stormed through the hallway. You didn’t ask what happened. You didn’t need to.

None of you spoke. The air shifted around him gently, like the three of you had wordlessly agreed: no pressure. No pushing. Just presence.

Remus held Lyra, bouncing her carefully on his hip. James stood in the kitchen, arms crossed but not tense, watching with the same helpless ache you felt in your chest.

And Lyra, sweet and oblivious to the way pain can settle into skin like frost, reached out from Remus’s arms with a delighted squeal. “Aaa!” Still unable to form words.

Her tiny fingers stretched toward Sirius, wriggling in excitement.

But Sirius didn’t stop.

He barely glanced at her, eyes flickering past her like he couldn’t bear to look. Then he disappeared into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

The sound startled her.

Lyra’s bottom lip trembled, her face scrunching as a sob burst from her lungs. Remus immediately shifted her, shushing her with practiced calm, but it couldn’t soothe the hollow twist in your stomach.

You exchanged a look with James. Neither of you said it out loud, but you knew what the other was thinking. This wasn’t just about today. This was a wound years deep, re-opened by love he didn’t feel he deserved.

“I’ll go,” James said quietly, and disappeared down the hallway.

Time passed. Enough for Lyra to calm down, to fall asleep curled against Remus’s chest. Still, no word from either of them. So you went.

The bedroom was dark. The kind of dark that held silence like a weight.

You blinked slowly as your eyes adjusted, and then you saw them—two shapes on the bed. James lay close to Sirius, one hand resting over his chest like a silent tether. Sirius was curled in on himself, barely breathing, and even in the shadows, you could feel the way grief and guilt pulsed off him like heat.

You padded forward carefully, your weight barely shifting the mattress as you slipped into the space between them. Sirius didn’t speak, not at first. But his breath hitched as soon as you touched him—just your hand on his arm.

And then came the words, broken and barely held together.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over, voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

You curled your body around his back, arms wrapping him tightly, your forehead resting between his shoulder blades. James shifted closer too, his hand now pressed to Sirius’s side. You didn’t stop him from apologizing—you just let him say it until he couldn’t anymore.

“I don’t know how to be what she needs,” Sirius choked out finally. “She’s so… good. And I—Merlin, I’m not. I don’t want to hurt her, I don’t want to turn into her. I don’t want her to be scared of me. She shouldn’t even—she shouldn’t ever call me ‘dad’. She deserves better than someone like me.”

He was trembling now, and James pulled him closer, nose pressed to the back of Sirius’s neck.

“She will call you that because you are that,” you whispered. “Not because you’re perfect. Because you’re hers. Because she knows your voice, and your laugh, and how your arms feel safe.”

“And because you love her,” James added, soft and steady. “You love her like it breaks you. That’s what being a dad is, Pads.”

James’s voice was gentle, firm with truth, and Sirius stilled under your touch.

He didn’t reply—not right away—but something shifted in the way he breathed. You stayed there, wrapped around him, holding the cracks together until the worst of it passed.

Eventually, with coaxing and soft kisses and promises that it was okay to come back to the light, you managed to pull him from the quiet dark of the bedroom.

The scent of warm apples and cinnamon wafted from the kitchen.

Remus stood at the counter, spoon-feeding Lyra in her high chair. She was all sunshine again, kicking her feet happily and thumping her tiny hands against the tray. The tears from earlier had long since vanished—her world blissfully reset.

Sirius stopped at the doorway.

His hand gripped the frame, knuckles pale, eyes locked on her. She hadn’t noticed him yet, but you saw the way his chest lifted—slow, shaky—as if he didn’t know how to step back into a room that still wanted him.

Remus turned, smiling softly. “She’s alright. So are we.”

He rose from his seat, brushing past Sirius with a quiet squeeze to the shoulder, and handed him the small bowl of puréed fruit. She finally looked up and her eyes lit up like a thousand stars. She didn't see the broken man he knew he was, she didn't see a disowned heir, a runaway. She saw her father, her safe haven.

Sirius hesitated. His fingers curled slightly, like the weight of the bowl might be too much. But before he could step back, James nudged him forward with a gentle nudge to his back. “Go on. She’s been waiting for you.”

With a tired sigh and a quiet mutter you didn’t catch, Sirius moved toward the chair and slowly sat down in front of Lyra.

He blinked at her, cautiously scooping a small spoonful of the food and guiding it to her mouth. She opened wide, smacking her lips happily, cheeks full and eyes gleaming.

You and the others moved around the kitchen quietly, preparing tea, cleaning up the counter, staying close—but giving them space.

You caught it then: the small smile. The one that crept slowly onto Sirius’s face, cautious but real, as he dabbed her chin with a napkin and cooed softly, “There you go, sweetheart. You’re such a little mess.”

And then—clear as day, piercing the air with joy—came her voice.

“Papa!”

The room froze.

Sirius went absolutely still, the spoon suspended in mid-air. His breath caught audibly in his throat, eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief.

“Papa!” she squealed again, clapping her hands against the tray, food smearing across her fingers and shirt. She bounced, eager for his attention, as if she knew exactly what she was saying.

He didn’t move at first. Just stared, like the word had physically knocked the wind from his lungs.

Then slowly, trembling, he set the bowl down on the table and buried his face in his hands—heels pressed against his eyes, trying to stem the flood. His shoulders shook once. Then again.

A watery laugh escaped his lips.

And then he was standing.

He reached for her, pulled her from the high chair and into his arms with a desperate kind of gentleness, like she might vanish if he wasn’t careful. Lyra tucked herself against him with no hesitation, sticky hands clutching at his shirt.

“Papa,” he whispered, over and over again. As if trying to prove to himself that it was real. That she had chosen that word—him—first.

You saw the way his face crumpled, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief and a kind of joy that left him raw.

He laughed through tears, holding her tight, pressing kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her tiny hands. “That’s me,” he whispered, voice cracked wide open. “That’s me, baby girl. Papa. I’ve got you.”

None of you moved to interrupt. James leaned back against the counter, blinking fast. Remus swallowed hard, his hand brushing lightly against yours.

And you—you felt your heart swell to the brim.

Because that word—simple and small—had been everything Sirius needed.

He cried, and he laughed, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself feel it all. Lyra, content in his arms, curled into him without a care in the world, smearing fruit across his chest.

And Sirius didn’t care. Not about the mess. Not about the shirt. Not about the parts of him he thought were broken.

All that mattered was this.

This moment. This love.

And the little voice that had named him something he never thought he could be.

For a few precious seconds, the house was silent—stunned into stillness by Lyra’s voice.

But then came another sound. A soft, choked sniffle.

You turned your head and saw Remus do the same, both of you setting your sights on James. His eyes were glassy, lips wobbly, and his arms crossed stubbornly like he was trying to contain the absolute flood of emotions threatening to break loose.

“I can’t—” he sniffed again, wiping his face with his sleeve. “This is unfair. Why didn’t I record this? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and now I’m going to die.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, and Remus rolled his eyes with a fond smile. “You absolute sap,” he muttered, rubbing James’s back.

Then Lyra, in Sirius’s arms, looked over at the two of them. Her eyes lit up again, and she pointed enthusiastically. “Dada!!”

The second the word left her mouth, everyone froze.

Remus’s jaw dropped. James blinked rapidly, hand to his chest. And Lyra just beamed, so proud of herself. Sirius gasped, his arms tightening slightly around her. “She—she knows, oh my god—”

James dropped to his knees like he’d been shot in the heart, dramatically clutching his chest. “That’s it. I’m done. She’s too smart. Too pure. I’m crying forever now.”

Remus didn’t even try to stop smiling as he leaned in and kissed every inch of her giggling little face. “You clever little thing,” he murmured. “You knew. You knew we’re all yours.”

Her laughter, bright and bell-like, echoed through the kitchen—pure sunshine.

You stepped back slightly, heart so full it hurt, and your elbow bumped into the edge of the old vinyl player on the sideboard.

Click.

Soft static, and then—

Isn’t she lovely…

The opening notes of Stevie Wonder's voice filled the room, perfectly timed. Sirius let out a breathless laugh, already swaying gently with Lyra still in his arms, lifting her just slightly so her feet kicked in the air.

“Alright, alright,” James sniffled, pulling himself dramatically to his feet. “If we’re crying and dancing now, someone has to lead you.” He grabbed your hand and twirled you into a slow, playful spin.

You laughed, clinging to him, as Remus wiped his face and headed back toward the stove. “Someone has to keep dinner from burning,” he teased over his shoulder. “But I’m choosing the next dance.”

The kitchen filled with the smell of spices and the warmth of something that had nothing to do with the oven. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to Lyra’s cheek as Sirius danced with her gently in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder.

Then he leaned over, his lips brushing the skin of your neck, his voice low and full of everything he hadn’t been able to say earlier.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For this. For her. For not giving up on me.”

You turned, one hand still resting on Lyra’s back, and kissed him softly—his cheek first, then his lips. “Thank you, Sirius.”

Because you weren’t just a family.

You were his second chance.

And in the golden warmth of a messy kitchen, with dinner cooking and a baby squealing and laughter rising like a song, Sirius Black was home. And for the first time in a few years, he could enjoy his own birthday, because life was worth waking up to her.

dividers : @enchanthings @omi-resources

[stuffidoandwrite]

Don’t Call It Love

Pairings: Fred Weasley x Y/N

Warnings: Smut, angry make out, reader uses fred as an outlet..

Summary: An unlabelled relationship seemed like less drama, until it wasn't.

Notes: is this a safe place to admit I don't think Fred would be a dom.. I see him as a switch who has no problem submitting to the woman of his dreams AKA me 😏

Enjoy!

---

Y/N had always made things clear: no strings, no labels, no expectations. She liked Fred Weasley for his wit, his hands, and because he made her laugh when she didn’t want to.

All too aware of the drama that came with a relationship, she'd chosen not to get in one. Why would she when everything had been going oh so perfectly?

Fred didn’t mind at first, he liked the chase, liked sneaking out to the dungeons after curfew, liked how no one knew except for George (and only because his twin was nosy). But lately, it had started getting to him. The way you'd leave immediately after sex. Like it was all he was good for..

Then came the incident.

It was in the courtyard. Y/N was leaning against a column, book in hand, the picture of disinterest until Draco Malfoy slithered over, all smug and silver-tongued. Fred was watching from across the quad, pretending not to. Pretending he wasn’t burning.

Malfoy said something that made her chuckle. Fred didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way Draco leaned in, all teeth and confidence, like Y/N would ever want that. She didn’t, obviously. Fred knew that. But Draco didn’t.

So Fred intervened.

“Problem, Malfoy?” he asked, loud enough to draw attention. He stood beside Y/N like he belonged there. Because he wanted to.

Y/N arched a brow but didn’t move away.

Draco sneered. “Didn’t realize she came with a chaperone.”

Fred smiled—sharp and smug.

"I don't." Y/N said nonchalantly. She glanced at Fred, her eyebrows lightly furrowed as if asking him what he was playing at.

There was tension. A pause. Malfoy said something about bloodlines and "slumming it with Weasleys," but Fred didn’t hear it, he was too focused on how Y/N's expression had shifted. This time her icy glare wasn't directed to him but to Draco.

Malfoy as if realizing that statement hadn't landed well with her, raised his hands in mock surrender.

Later, when they were alone, she pulled him aside. “You might as well tell everyone we're screwing.”

Fred scowled. He'd gotten carried away he knew that.

“Pull something like that again and we're done."

He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." She said, letting him know just how serious she was.

---

Fred had never been good at pretending things didn’t bother him—especially not when it came to her.

It had been three days. Three long, drawn-out, torturous days since she last spoke to him. No smirks in the hallway, no late-night meetups, no subtle glances across the Great Hall. Nothing. Y/N had gone colder than the dungeons she lived in, and Fred, usually quick with a joke or a grin, was in a foul mood.

George noticed, of course. He was lounging on his bed tossing a Fanged Frisbee into the air and watching it gnaw on the air before floating back down.

“You look like you’ve been hexed,” George said, not even trying to be subtle.

“I’m fine,” Fred grumbled from his bed, arms crossed behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it had personally offended him.

“Sure you are,” George replied, unimpressed. “You’ve been brooding like a third-year who just found out their crush is dating someone from Beauxbatons.”

Fred exhaled harshly. “I did something. She didn’t like it.”

George snorted. “So what’s the plan? Apologize? Grand romantic gesture? Give her our entire stock of Firewhisky?”

“I don’t know,” Fred muttered. “I'm going bloody mental.”

But then, a fluttering of wings. A familiar thunk at the window.

Fred’s heart jolted before he even turned.

There, perched on the sill, was her owl. Elegant and sharp-eyed, with a rolled-up bit of parchment tied to its leg. Fred leapt up so fast George barely had time to blink.

“Speak of the devil,” his twin muttered with a smirk.

Fred unraveled the message with fingers that were suddenly clumsy, eager.

“Room of Requirement. Now. – Y/N.”

No frills. No punctuation. Just a command. He was halfway down the hallway before George could tease him about it.

—

The Room of Requirement was already shifting as he stepped inside. The moment he crossed the threshold, the air snapped like a pulled wire. The room shimmered into existence, dark and familiar: soft candlelight, their usual couch, a haze of old books and untamed desire.

Then she was there.

No words. No smirk. Just heat.

Her lips crashed into his like a curse. Urgent. Bruising. She pushed him back against the wall and kissed him like she was trying to punish him for existing in her absence. Her hands tugged at his belt, impatient. Her shirt was gone before he could think, and suddenly he was staring at her in just a bra, breathing hard, stunned.

“Y/N...” he started, but she cut him off with a kiss that made his knees threaten to buckle.

She was still angry. He could feel it—in the way her nails dug into his shoulders, in the way she pulled at his clothes like they were in her way. But Merlin, he didn’t care. Not right now. Not when she was finally touching him again. Not when she was here.

Fred let her take control, let her use him like she needed to prove a point.

He would’ve let her do anything.

He didn’t know what this meant—didn’t know if it was forgiveness or just a temporary ceasefire, but he’d take it. He’d take her, any way he could get.

Fred barely had time to catch his breath before she whispered, voice low and sharp:

“Don’t talk.”

And just like that, he was silenced. Not by fear, not by obedience, but by awe. By her.

She pushed him, firm and wordless, until he dropped onto the velvet couch behind him. The second he landed, she was crawling into his lap like she owned it, like she always had. Her thighs slid on either side of his hips as she straddled him, her hands already in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan.

Fred's hands found her waist instinctively, fingers brushing the soft skin just above her skirt. But she didn’t let him take control. No, this was her pace. Her rules.

She rocked her hips forward once, slow and deliberate, grinding herself against the growing bulge in his pants.

Fred’s head fell back with a low, strangled sound. “Bloody hell…”

She kissed him again hard, messy, all teeth and need, and it knocked the air from his lungs. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was frustration, unresolved tension, and the anger she didn’t want to say out loud. Every movement screamed you pissed me off but I still want you.

Her lips moved to his jaw, down his neck, biting just enough to make him hiss through his teeth.

Fred’s hands gripped her hips tighter, guiding her, helping her grind against him as he muttered, “Missed you.”

She stilled for a second. Just a second.

Then she kissed him again, harder.

Like she didn’t hear it.

Like she didn’t want to.

Like if she acknowledged it, the whole damn house of cards would come down.

Fred’s hands were roaming now, over her thighs, up her back, fingers splayed wide like he was trying to memorize every inch of her. And maybe he was. It had been days, but it felt like a drought, and here she was, storming back into his arms, fierce and unforgiving.

She ground her hips against him again, dragging a low, needy groan from his chest.

“Fuck...Y/N…”

She silenced him with a kiss, slower this time, deeper. Her hands slipped under his shirt, nails dragging lightly up his stomach, sending shivers through him. She tugged it off over his head and tossed it somewhere behind her without ever breaking the kiss.

His mouth moved to her collarbone, kissing and nipping the skin just above the edge of her bra as his hands unhooked it with practiced ease. She pulled back slightly, letting it fall from her arms, watching his gaze darken as it dropped to the floor.

“Merlin,” he whispered, voice rough.

She let out a little sigh of pleasure when his mouth latched onto one of her nipples. the kind of noises that drove him mental. They were just like her. Subtle. Reserved. Contained.

Fred’s head hit the back of the couch with a groan as she reached between them, unfastening his belt and slipping her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. He bucked into her touch like he couldn’t help it... like the mere idea of her hands on him again was too much.

She stroked him slowly, lazily, savoring every twitch and whimper. And when she finally lifted herself to sink down onto him, it was with a hiss of breath and a muttered curse.

Fred’s hands flew to her hips, holding her like a lifeline, his head tipping forward to rest against her chest.

She started to move—slow at first, just rocking her hips, her rhythm deliberate and punishing. She kissed him like she wanted to devour him. Like every thrust was payback for the stunt he pulled.

His hands wandered again, palming her breasts, sliding down her thighs, guiding her pace when he couldn’t take the teasing anymore.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he murmured into her skin.

She didn’t answer, just pressed her lips to his neck and rode him harder. Faster. The room filled with the sound of skin and breath and low, broken moans. He was unraveling under her, eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, like he couldn’t believe she was actually there again.

And when they finally fell apart together, tangled in each other and slick with sweat, her name was the only word on his lips.

Her breathing was still ragged as she sat on top of him, skin slick with sweat, her chest rising and falling against his. His hands had gone still on her thighs, but his eyes were still locked on her face like he was afraid she’d vanish.

And maybe she would.

Y/N shifted, slow and deliberate. He felt the twitch of her muscles, the tension in her body signaling that she was about to move, to lift herself off him, to pull away.

But then his hands tightened at her hips.

Not rough. Just firm. Like he couldn’t help it.

And when she tried again, his arms wrapped around her waist without hesitation,sliding around her like something instinctual. A reflex. Holding her there, keeping her.

Encircling her like a snake might its prey.

Which, really, was poetic. She’d always thought she was the predator in this little game of theirs.

Her hands braced on his chest, ready to push off, but he dipped his head to her shoulder, lips brushing the crook of her neck. Like a secret. Like a prayer.

“Stay.”

The word wasn’t pleading. It wasn’t desperate. It was quiet. Soft.

And that made it worse.

Y/N froze.

It echoed in the silence between their bodies, curling around her spine, tightening something in her chest she hadn’t realized was there.

"Okay."

He didn’t move.

Didn’t look at her.

Just kept holding her like that, his arms snug around her waist, face tucked into her neck like she was the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

[stuffidoandwrite]

remus: can i have a venti vanilla latte with, uh… seven espresso shots?

sirius: jesus christ, just do cocaine

[stuffidoandwrite]

"holy shit they finally confessed, what comes next--"

[stuffidoandwrite]

“This is Ridiculous”

– Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

Draco Malfoy sat rigidly at his station, fingers tapping against the cool glass vial beside him. He hated how noisy Gryffindors were—especially when Weasley laughed like a dying hyena in the back of the class. But that wasn't the real problem today.

No, the problem was you.

You—sitting just one row over, your quill twirling in your fingers while Slughorn droned on about Amortentia, the most powerful love potion known to wizardkind. Draco knew it was ridiculous, utterly absurd, to be this bothered by you. You were just another Slytherin. You weren’t even friends.

But ever since the beginning of term, he’d been noticing... things.

The way you’d tilt your head when confused. How your robes always smelled faintly like something sweet—lavender? Vanilla? No. He didn’t care. He shouldn’t care. He had bigger things to worry about than whatever stupid perfume you wore.

And yet here he was, wondering if Amortentia would smell like that if he brewed it.

Slughorn clapped his hands. "Right then! Let’s get to it! Everyone step up and have a whiff—Amortentia, as you know, reveals the scent of what most attracts you. Quite fun, but remember—it doesn’t mean love. Just... infatuation, perhaps. Ha-ha!"

There was a bit of nervous laughter. Hermione went first, of course, listing off parchment, peppermint toothpaste, and "something... earthy." Potter followed, muttered something, and turned red. Pathetic.

Then it was Draco’s turn.

He walked up like he didn’t care—chin high, shoulders sharp, like a dagger sheathed in silk. He leaned in slowly, prepared to fake something generic.

But the moment the scent hit him—his mind blanked.

Sweet smoke. The faint smell of fresh parchment. Peppermint… and something warm and feminine—like lavender and firewhiskey at the same time.

He blinked.

No. No no no.

That wasn’t right.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy?" Slughorn asked, eyebrows raised. "Anything... interesting?"

Draco straightened instantly, schooling his face into a mask of polite boredom. "Smells like... books, I think. Vanilla. Old wood, maybe."

You arched an eyebrow at him when he sat back down beside Blaise, but said nothing.

Which made it worse.

Because now he was sitting there thinking about you thinking about him, and wondering what you smelled.

He peeked over at you.

Your nose crinkled when you sniffed your own Amortentia sample. You bit your lip. Frowned. And your eyes—those clear, sharp eyes—flicked briefly to him.

His stomach dropped like a stone in the Black Lake.

No. Absolutely not.

This was ridiculous.

There was no way in hell Amortentia was making him act like a lovesick Hufflepuff. He was a Malfoy. He didn’t pine. He didn’t crush. And he certainly didn’t blush every time you tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Mate,” Blaise whispered, elbowing him. “You’re staring again.”

Draco scowled and looked away, crossing his arms.

He’d get over it. He’d have to. He couldn’t afford distractions—not now.

But later that night, when he passed you in the common room and caught the faint trace of lavender and smoke on your scarf—

He realized it wasn’t going away.

Not anytime soon.

💚 Bonus Draco Crush Headcanons:

Denial, denial, denial. Draco will absolutely convince himself it's just a weird phase. He’ll avoid you, then immediately look for you. It drives him insane.

He becomes over-aware. Of your presence, your scent, how close you sit in class. He starts correcting your potion ingredients not because he cares, of course. "You're doing it wrong," he'll snap, but he just wants to talk to you.

Possessive glances. If he catches someone else making you laugh, he gets this tight look on his face, but says nothing—because he doesn’t like you, right?

Internally panicking during Potions. He remembers that Amortentia scent for days. And when he figures out the last smell is you, he stops sleeping properly for a week.

Eventually… he lets something slip—accidentally. Maybe a sarcastic comment with too much softness in his tone. Maybe a compliment disguised as an insult. Maybe… he finally lets himself ask:

“What did your Amortentia smell like?”

@strawberryhanny 🎀

[stuffidoandwrite]

hi lovely! in your fic with reader being loopy, jamie mentioned the time when HE was super loopy and cried the whole way home- and i was just thinking ab if you maybe could write ab this? i can just see him clinging to reader and practically being on her lap and the other boys just laughing at his possessiveness, while still holding his hand bc he'll cry even harder if they let go!!! if not lovie that's okay, ilysm and i hope you have an amazing day/afternoon/night !!! MWAHHH !

I love this! another shortie, I hope you like it! Thanks for requesting! poly!marauders x fem!reader

cw: brief mention of surgery, general loopiness

wc: 447

“Oh goodness. Oh my god! Prongs, please be careful.” Remus sighed, clearly over this situation before it had even really started. James could not seem to care about his boyfriend’s distress less, he seemed more consumed with the lizard scurrying on the pavement. 

“Look at him! Look at him, pads. He’s so fast! Hi little guy!” James clambered towards the critter. You all would’ve allowed him his whimsy, if he wasn’t at risk of toppling over and falling flat on his face. His face that had already been cut and stitched up that day. 

“Jamie, please be careful, my love. You’re scaring me.” You chuckled lightheartedly. His head whipped around towards you, comedic panic overtaking his features. 

“Scared? Why are you scared? I’m so sorry lovey. I’m not scary, I promise.” He began rushing over to you, leaning all his weight on your side. You were grateful for the car door to stabilize yourself. 

“I’m not scared of you baby. But get into the car will you?” You consoled him. He obeyed immediately, attempting to pull you in alongside him. You settled into his side, behind Sirius. 

“Is everyone buckled in?” Remus turned around from the driver's seat, checking everyone before putting the car into drive. 

James began to paw at Sirius’ shoulder. “Pads. Pads.” He whined. “I miss you.” 

Sirius chuckled from the front seat. “I’m right here, James.” 

“No you’re not.” James protested. “I’m here. You’re over there.” 

Sirius sighed endearingly and turned around, grabbing James’ hand. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Jame huffed. “Where’s Remus?” He looked around the car. 

“Remus is right here, love. He’s just driving.” He settled your hand on his bulky shoulder. He looked at you with a tearful expression. “Jamie, it’s okay I promise.” 

“But, I want Remus here!” He sniffled. 

“I’m here, prongs, I’m right here.” Remus reached behind him to grab his hands as well. “The minute we get home I’m all yours.” To James' dismay, he had to pull his hand away to make a sharp turn. 

“Why did you let go?” James tried to pull his hand back. 

“He has to drive, love.” You tried not to laugh. You never thought James could get any more expressive in his adulation, but apparently he could. He just cried more. 

“It’s not fair!” He moped. 

“I know it’s not. We’re almost home.” You soothed. 

“I really hate seeing him so upset.” Remus mumbled, sad. You could tell that his inability to be with James at this very moment was getting to him. 

“I know. He’s okay though.” Sirius looked at James and squeezed his hand. He turned to look at James in the backseat. “He’s even already asleep.”