#nora's scribbles ᝰ.ᐟ

[laufeysvalentine]

cat's out the bag

spencer reid x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ spencer reid x secret relationship!reader — in which members of the bau go out for dinner and see spencer with... a girl?

early seasons spencer, twilight & ariana grande references for some reason (i don't even listen to her), reader sits on spencer's lap, disgustingly cute but mostly disgusting

word count ༄ 2k

nora’s notes ༄ my first spencer reid fic + a new writing style. this may be a complete disaster 💖

Spencer’s in the middle of finishing up a reread of a Sherlock Holmes installment and packing up from work when the clomping of two pairs of shoes ruins his peace. 

“Morning, genius,” one of the voices says, bubbling with sweetness in just a way he knows exactly who it is without having to look at the two shadows that enter his vision, blocking the light. 

“It’s almost evening. In fact, it’s been six hours, thirty-four minutes, and eighteen seconds since morning,” he mutters, flicking the page over. “Now, move. I can’t see.” 

“No, you’ve been in a funk all week and we’re going to get you out of it,” Garcia sing-songs, taking his book hostage. She looks the opposite of how he has the past week–put together, with a perfect outfit, as always. “I don’t care why you’ve been a grump, only that you come out with us tonight, yeah? You don’t have to drink, just hang out.” 

He looks up, reluctance prodding his expression. Garcia and Derek are side-to-side, arms crossed, looking down at him. Yeah, nope. “I’m busy tonight.” 

“With?” Derek raises an eyebrow. “You got a date, pretty boy?” 

“I’m meeting with a friend who’s been out-of-town.” He responds, reaching out for his book. “Okay, Dad?” 

“Seriously, Reid?” JJ chimes in from behind the other two. “Come out with us.” 

“I’m busy. I would say I was sorry, but I’m not. 1 in 8 people apologize at least twenty times a day. 43% of people regularly apologize during a situation in which they are not at fault–” Spencer begins as he turns away from them to collect his things. 

“Yeah, that’s enough. Getting Hotch to come was hard enough, I’ll call it quits while I still can. See you tomorrow, Reid.” JJ turns on her heel and walks back towards her own desk.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow too.” He nods and passes them on his way out. “Bye.” 

Garcia looks at Derek, her eyebrows cocked. “Well, then.” 

“Guess it’ll just be you and me, baby girl,” he teases, heading to walk back to his desk. 

“Just the way I like it.” Her heels nip the back of his shoes as she chases after him. “Even though JJ and Hotch will be there too.” 

“They can watch.” 

— 

“When’s Hotch getting here?” JJ drums her fingers on the side of her glass, tilting her head up. The restaurant they’re in is loud and crowded, the three of them squished into a booth clearly meant for two, all having glasses of what the waitress described as “fun, flirty drinks” cradled in their hands. Garcia’s stirring some kind of electric pink concoction with an equally pink umbrella when a throat clears. 

“I’m here,” their boss says, sliding into the booth next to them. His eyebrows furrow–well, maybe that’s just his resting face, they can’t really tell–as he glances at the drink in Derek’s hands. “What exactly is it that you’re drinking?” 

He shrugs, taking a sip. “I think it’s called the Orange Surprise. Not that there’s anything surprising about it–or this place, at all, really. I mean, look around. And this just tastes like–” 

“Wait,” Garcia interrupts, eyes on something behind him. She whips off her glasses, rubbing them furiously on her shirt before her jaw drops and she begins to stand in her seat. “Is it just me or is that Reid over there with a girl? A gorgeous girl at that?” 

As soon as she finishes her sentence, three more heads whip around to her line of vision, shock pulling at their faces. Even Hotch looks mildly surprised. 

From their vantage point in the restaurant, they can see Spencer’s side profile as he stares at a girl across the table from him–you, looking magnificent, even in the dingy, uneven bar lighting. Your elbows are on the table, face cradled by your hands as you stare up at him. The love shining out of your face--lips parted with intrigue as you listen, eyes soft, cheeks relaxed--is sickeningly lovely. And even at first glance, a table full of profilers can tell just how much you care about him–enough to reach across the table and smooth down an untidy lapel, enough to listen raptly as the words begin spilling out of him in a ramble, to smile at him with a kind of learned tenderness you only get from knowing someone with incredible intimacy and just time. 

“Oh. My. God.” She tries to scooch past Derek, who catches her by the hips. 

“Wait, baby girl. I wanna see how this plays out before we interrupt. What if that’s a cousin? I don't know, a friend?” He says, stalling her. She reluctantly sits back in her seat, neck craned. 

“They’re touching,” JJ reports, a gasp falling from her lips. “Reid hates touch.” 

“We can see, JJ,” Derek quips, though his jaw is just as dropped. 

As soon as the boy started rambling, everyone at the table expected you to get up and walk away, or look as bored as they felt listening to him. But you stayed. Your eyes are on his, nodding every so often. They watch as one of your hands wanders to Spencer’s arm, rubbing a circle on the fabric of his button-down. He looks so relaxed in your presence, unlike they’ve ever seen him before. What the hell is happening?

“Please let me go over,” Penelope begs. “I need to know. I need to meet her!” 

“I second it,” JJ echoes. “They’re worse than the two of you, and I didn’t think that was possible with Genius over there.” 

“No, we still don’t know if they’re long-term or first date or what. What if we barge in and they’re just friends?” Derek almost sounds convincing. Almost.

“That is not friendly behavior,” Hotch chimes in. Their attention lasers in on the table in front of them, shock freezing their limbs. You’re pouting, saying something to Spencer–he’s melting in your hands, nodding so much it looks like his head could just screw off any moment now, and you stand. Are you going to leave? Break up? What’s happening? 

You wander to his side of the table, and, in the most disgusting display of PDA ever, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands knitting themselves together behind his neck. And Spencer is sickeningly okay with it, hands traveling to your hips, massaging your pelvic bones as you say something to him. A blush pinches his cheeks–no, it’s like a virus, spreading all over his face as he buries himself into your neck. 

Garcia thinks she heard Derek gag. A giggle escapes you, loud enough to hear from their booth. From across the restaurant.  

“Okay, we’re going over,” he announces, standing from the table. “Even just to break this up. I’m nauseous.” 

“Copy that,” JJ contorts her face, following the group towards them. 

Garcia’s practically skipping ahead, expression both accusatory and giddy as she reaches your table. Her hands slam onto the wood, eyes wide as Spencer rears back, immediately on alert. “Alright, Reid, explain yourself now.” 

“Less dramatic, princess,” Derek whispers to her, nudging her shoulder. 

You cock your head at the quartet. They can all tell you’re mentally scanning them, just as much as they’re doing to you. It takes you a couple moments–and Spencer’s groan as he returns to his previous position nestled on your shoulder–before it clicks who they are. 

You jump up, abandoning Spencer with an embellished gasp. “You must be the BAU!” 

“Minus a few members, yes.” Hotch nods at you, looking the exact picture of what your boyfriend had described. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t be able to peer past the perfectly neutral, bordering on pleasant mask he’s pasted on his face. But that twitch of his lips gives it all away: he knew nothing about you, and mentally his jaw is on the floor. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“You too…Aaron Hotchner?” You guess, biting your lip. You’re so purely adorable that half of the team is already in love with you. 

He nods, and you smile at all of them. The happiness you’re wearing is so genuine that JJ whispers to Derek, “I think I just got blinded.”

“And you’re Penelope Garcia?” You turn towards her, eyebrows raised. She reaches her hand to shake yours, but you bypass it entirely and go in to wrap your arms firmly around her. She hugs you back, eyes blown up at shock.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’ve been keeping her from me this whole time!” She accuses Spencer as you pull back, greeting the other members as well. You hear the surprise in JJ’s laugh as you do the same for her, hug firm and leaking with kindness. 

“I haven’t,” he responds matter-of-factly. He’s resisting the urge to pull you back into him, annoyed at all of his colleagues for stealing your time together. Instead, he shifts to the edge of the seat, legs opening wide in a manspread that would be absolutely disgusting on anyone else. But it fits him. Alarmingly well. “I talk about Y/N all the time.” 

“Y/N’s your girlfriend?” Garcia’s tone borders on a shriek, but in a restaurant as loud as this one, no one notices. “I thought she was your cousin!” 

“Ew, what?” you crinkle your nose just as Spencer echoes your words–“That’s disgusting. But scarily more common than you’d think.” 

“I-I mean, you do talk about her a lot. You’ve just never mentioned her in relation to you before.” She sputters out. Everyone can see the cogs turning in her brain, trying to piece the puzzle together. “I love you already.” 

“He said he wouldn’t talk about us at work,” you agree, letting his arm pull you between his legs, one hand falling to your thigh. “Do you guys want to sit down? Now that the cat’s out of the bag, we should catch up.” 

“Um, yes, absolutely!” Garcia throws her hands into the air, scooching the two of you over so she can fit into the booth. “Now, tell me absolutely everything.” 

You shrug, snug on your boyfriend’s lap while also leaning in to look at her. Both of you sparkle in a way he absolutely adores. “I saw him, I liked him, I wanted him, and I got him.” 

“In the wise words of Ariana Grande,” she nods, words wise and expression stoic.

“Are you an Arianator?” You gasp, hand collapsing onto her hand in excitement. She takes that cue to launch into something Spencer does not at all understand. The other members of the BAU shuffle into the other side of the booth, Derek closest to Spencer and JJ at the end. He almost lets out a laugh seeing Hotch sitting so uncomfortably between them, shoulders drawn up tight as to conserve room, face equally as scrunched.

He opens his mouth to comment, but your fingers interrupt, drumming on his shoulder in excitement. You recap your conversation in a voice no one else can quite hear but him. He nods as you ramble, the opposite of what you were doing for him a few minutes ago. In some ways, you're just like him, but you're also complete opposites in so many others. While he usually hates physical touch, you lean into it, fingers tracing patterns onto his broad back while the sun peeks out of the sky, showering him in a glow that makes him downright angelic. Your other hand creeps to his as you watch him brush his teeth–you love seeing his toothbrush next to yours, there’s something so incredibly romantic about it that you can't describe, something that intertwines the two of you. He’s yours, you’re his. 

He presses his lips to your hair, then behind your hair, inhaling you. You’re perfect for him. So, so perfect. 

“Wow, pretty boy.” Derek shakes his head. “Just when I thought I’d seen everything. I didn’t think you’d be so into PDA.” 

“She was away for a whole week. What do you expect me to do?” He huffs, arm wrapping around your waist. Yes, he still hates handshakes, but for you–well, he is absolutely pathetic. And after having you leave for work? Not seeing you for seven whole days? He would get down on his knees and beg you to hold his hand. To pay him an ounce of attention. God, he is unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you. 

“Greet her like a normal person. Or stay in your apartment,” Morgan advises, only half-joking. 

But Spencer’s no longer paying a shred of attention to anything his co-worker is saying. He’s too absorbed in you, laugh unabashed and tinkling as you discuss something animatedly with JJ and Garcia. You fit so well in his little family, he thinks. You might as well just stay with him forever. 

masterlist

tags @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac - didn't tag anyone from my other list because it's a diff fandom!

[laufeysvalentine]

i want you.

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- or in which you're in love with your best friend, but he's not exactly in love with you back... angst

word count ༄ 3.2k

nora’s notes ༄ eeek my first writing post!! i'm so excited. this is kind of bad but IDC part two will be coming and i swear will be better written okay enjoy!! mwah 💘

“moony!” you sing-song as you twirl into his dorm, lips spread into a wide grin. “we’re leaving for hogsmeade, hurry up.” 

he’s on his bed, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he glances up from his book, suppressing a smile when he sees you. “hi, y/n.” 

he embodies the word comfort, you think. he’s wearing one of his trademark warm wool sweaters, an empty mug of tea by his knee, gray blanket draped across his lap, and that smile. it would be the death of you, you were sure of it. 

“hi,” you respond, clasping his book and setting it onto his bedside table. “c’mon, everyone’s waiting for us downstairs.” 

he sighs so deeply you think he might crack a lung, and loops his pointer finger through one of the belt loops of your jeans to pull you onto his bed. “do we have to?” 

as much as you’d like to stay here with him, you also want to buy more chocolate frogs, so you spring back up, tugging at his hand. “yes, please. i’m low on my candy stock.” 

he groans, letting you pull him off of his bed and out of the dorm. “your sweet tooth is killing me.” 

you shrug. “that’s what you signed up for when you said yes to being friends in first year. now you’re just living with it.” 

he just hums in agreement, letting you wrap your arm around his. remus lupin, your best friend. he’s the kindest man you’ve ever met, let alone known. it would be a lie to say you weren’t completely and utterly in love with him, and even more of a lie to say you hadn’t been since before you were a teenager, even if you didn’t understand it then. but, alas, as soon as you’d admitted it to yourself, you also resolved to never, ever tell him. you were sure he didn’t feel the same about you, and why would you carelessly toss away the best friendship and most understanding person ever just for some feelings? 

and so, you waited and hoped, prayed that it would go away. you would move on and keep your friendship. 

and, of course, you didn’t. 

“y/n!” james calls once he sees the two of you walking down the stairs to where the rest of the marauders are waiting. “finally.” 

“we sent you up like ten minutes ago,” peter complains, frowning. 

you shrug. “oops.” 

remus shifts his arm to settle around your waist, nudging you in front of him. “well, we’re here now, so get a move on.” 

you thread the hand he placed on your stomach with your own, thumb rubbing circles onto his. he smiles down on you, and that smile, oh, lord. you could see it a million times and never have enough. you’d jump over bridges to have him watch you like that all the time. you’d sell your soul to be his, really and truly. and the worst part is, you have no shame about it. merlin, you’re in love. 

—

jelly beans or chocolate frogs, that is the question. you glance at one, then the other, then the other again. your shoulders slump. it’s too hard of a decision. you’re about to cave and get both when you feel warm arms wrap around your waist, a chin settling onto your shoulder. without looking, you press a kiss to remus’ cheek. “hi.” 

“hi,” he replies, inhaling your scent, nose tucked between your ear and your hair. 

“chocolate frogs or jelly beans?” you ask anxiously, holding up the two in front of you. “or both?” 

“both,” he agrees with you, and you can feel the tension slowly leaving him as he stands behind you, entwined with you. 

you nod, happy with his judgment, about to speak when someone beats you to it. 

“remus?” a voice yells from behind, excitement coloring her tone. 

you know who this is without looking too, but you wish you didn’t. remus slowly stands back to his whole height, and the sudden absence of his warmth makes you shiver. you turn just as he does, even if you don’t want to see the girl beaming at him. 

you know her, of course you do. doesn’t everyone know celeste huxley, the most beautiful hufflepuff to grace hogwarts’ campus? angels sing when she walks past, men and women fall to her feet in her wake. she’s worshiped, adored. okay, you’re being dramatic, but still. 

you hate her. 

you hate her silky hair, her evergreen smile, her cesspool of kindness. 

and you hate yourself more for hating her. she’s never been mean to you a day in her life, she couldn’t be mean to anyone even if she tried. but still. she’s who you’ve tried to be your whole life. she is the blueprint, the model with cherry-red high heels you wobble and blister your feet in. she has all Os on her OWLs, victoria’s secret hair, people who love on her like a celebrity. and she’s fucking obsessed with your best friend, of course. she could have anyone in the world, and she picked him. why couldn’t she love sirius or james, like half the girls at the school? why did she have to want remus? 

and the worst part is, she deserves him. he deserves someone as perfect as he is, even if that’s celeste. 

as you swallow down your hatred, you realize she’s started to pull remus away from you, pulling on his sleeve towards the jelly slugs, and you almost lob your stupid chocolate frog at her head. tears sting your eyes and you try your best to blink them back as you watch remus watch you, only half-listening to her blabber. he knows you hate her, and the most sheepish, guilty look comes over his face. you ignore him, putting your candy back, too upset to think about eating it. luckily, you spot sirius in the corner and quickly try to make your way over him when you’re pulled back. 

remus has got ahold of your belt loops again, and you watch him whisper something to celeste before gently removing her hand from his sweater and pulling away. he chose you now, but for how long? the thought chills you, goosebumps prickling your skin, your heart. 

“dove,” he says quietly by your ear. “what happened to your candy?” 

“didn’t want it,” you mumble, walking towards sirius. 

“why not?” he’s dancing around the topic, and both of you know it. 

“not hungry.” 

“i’m sorry.” 

“s’not your fault,” you say. you’re not mad at him, you could never really be mad at him, but you’re upset nonetheless. you push away towards the black-haired boy perusing the shelves. “siri, you done?” 

you link arms with your other friend, leading him out of honeyduke’s, leaving remus trailing behind. 

—

“hi dove.” a voice, and its accompanying owner, peeks out from the doorway into your dorm. “may i come in?” 

“hi rem,” you say in response, beckoning him in, putting your book to the side to let him crawl onto you. “can’t you always?” 

his shoulders sag slightly, slumping into your bed as soon as he reaches it. his head is in your lap, and he closes his eyes once you begin to massage his scalp with your fingers, pressing a kiss to your exposed hipbone next to him. 

you don’t say anything, you just let the silence dance between the two of you. 

he’s so pretty. you brush some of his sandy strands out of his face to let yourself just admire him. the towering giant and all his gentleness. your fingers trace the outlines of his face, the scars that decorate it, all the way down to his right pinky, where he has the cutest tattoo. 

i love you is all you want to say. the words pulse at your throat, begging you to let them free. but you can’t. you can’t lose him. anyone else, sure, you would do it. but not him. not remus, your remus. 

when he wakes, groggy but grounded, you have a hot cup of tea ready by your bed, ready for his consumption. you hand it to him as soon as he’s fully awake, pulling himself off of you to accept the mug. “i don’t deserve you, dovie.” 

“don’t say stuff like that, rem. if anything, you deserve better.” you press a kiss to his cheek, smiling. 

“there’s nobody and nothing better than you,” he promises, hand landing on your lower thigh to massage it gently. you smile, letting the quiet linger between the two of you a little longer before speaking up. 

“you wanna talk about it?” you ask, watching him sip his tea. 

he gives you the most adoring smile, and you want to put it in a box and lock it up and keep it forever. “just tired.” 

“okay,” you say, searching his face to verify what he’s saying. “you can always talk to me, you know.” 

“thank you.” remus is always sincere, it’s one of the things you love about him, but he seems especially sincere now. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, y/n.” 

“and you are to me,” you whisper, eyes dipping to his plush pink lips. you want to kiss him so badly right now, but you know he just means it like a friend, as much as you wish it wouldn’t. 

swallowing, you wipe those ideas away, choosing to rest your head against his fleece sweater-covered shoulder. he drops a kiss onto the top of your head, and you sigh in contentment. this is why you refuse to tell him you love him. you couldn’t live without these moments. 

“there’s a party tonight at nine-ish,” he says softly. his thumb is rubbing circles on your knee. “sirius is dragging me along. will you come?” 

you contemplate it only briefly. “i’m tired, rem. you should go, though.” 

“i’ll stay back with you,” he decides with resolution. your heart melts, it’s sweet of him to want to stay with you, but you want him to have fun. plus, you can feel in how his body coiled with excitement when he talked about it–he wants to go. 

“no, go.” you glare playfully at him. “i won’t forgive you if you don’t.” 

“i’ll stay with you,” he repeats, staring right back at you. “it’s just a party. i’d stay with you forever, you know? you’re my favorite person.” 

“i’ll be mad at you if you don’t go, i swear to merlin,” you egg him on, heart melting. 

“no.” he’s too stubborn for his good. 

“i want to be alone,” you lie. you know he wants to go and you refuse to hold him back. “i might come later on, just not at nine. i’ll be there at ten, maybe.” 

“and i’ll wait for you,” he promises. 

“please, remus.” you put on your saddest tone, gaze up at him pleadingly. “i just need some alone time.” 

“you want to be alone?” he asks cautiously, searching for any hint you may be lying. 

“yes.” you cross your toes, tucked under your quads. 

he’s hesitating, and as if in perfect timing, a knock sounds at your door before a familiar head of black hair peeks through. 

“moony, let’s go. leave poor y/n alone.” sirius clicks his tongue. 

you push remus’ shoulder lightly, gesturing for him to go. he casts one long look at your face, as if memorizing every ridge. 

“she’s not going to change while we’re gone, get a move on,” sirius groans from the door. you nod at the statement, and remus concedes. 

“i’ll be here the whole time,” you promise. 

“call me if you get lonely.” he makes you swear before reluctantly getting up. you kiss his hand to send him off. 

you were lying when you said you would join him at nine. five minutes after he’s out the door, you’re fast asleep under the covers, the ghost of his touch comforting you. 

—

as soon as your eyes open, you let out a sound of disappointment. you can tell you haven’t slept through the night, as none of your roommates are in their beds, and they always sleep in. the clock reads that it’s only a bit before eight forty five, and you roll over in your bed. you know you won’t be able to fall back asleep, but you try anyway, until the door slams and your eyes fly open. 

it’s lily, face flushed with the cold and excitement. the second she sees you kissed by sleep, she covers her mouth. “sorry, y/n! were you sleeping?” 

you wave her off. “no, i was already awake. what’s up?” 

“james is going to be at the party tonight. will you come? please, please, please? i don’t want to go alone with him,” she begs. “please.” 

you weigh your options: if you stay here, you’ll just lay in bed, not sleeping. you might as well go with her, you’ll see remus there too. 

“okay,” you agree, and she practically drags you out of bed, she’s so happy. 

—

even though lily’s the one who dragged you here to keep her away from james, she’s off with him in a corner within ten minutes of you getting there, leaving you in a sea of other people, alone. of course, you know most of your housemates that are stuffed into this crowded common room, but you don’t know any particular one of them enough to properly go up to and chat. you sit awkwardly on a couch for a few minutes, next to couples making out, before finally just giving up and getting ready to leave. 

you saw sirius going into a bedroom with someone, so he’s out of the picture, peter’s smoking in the corner with some ravenclaws you have no interest in speaking with, james is alone with lily, and he’d kill you if you interrupted them, and you have absolutely no clue where remus is. 

whatever. you walk towards the door to the girls’ dormitories, stumbling over students on the way, when you just barely catch a glimpse of sandy hair outside on a balcony. you’d know it anywhere–that’s remus. you scramble towards him, eager to see a friendly face, hand cracking the door open, when just as quickly as it came, the excitement dies in your throat. 

because just behind remus is a girl you hate to see. celeste, hair floating behind her. if you blink hard enough, you see a breeze wafting through her hair as her fingers knot around remus’–your remus–neck. his hands are on the small curve of her waist, and he’s pushing her against the railing and, oh god–they’re kissing. 

you let out a thick gasp and your hand slaps over your mouth. you turn and flee. they probably heard you, but they can’t maneuver through the crowd like you can. within seconds, you’re sure you’ve lost any trace of them, darting through people as you sprint outside to the outside of the castle. sure it’s past curfew, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

no one will see you now. 

he’s supposed to be yours. he was yours, he was yours in more than just a best friend. those nights when he fell asleep in your bed, having you wrap your arms around him for warmth, he was yours. when you always visited him post-full moon in the apothecary, and as much as he wishes to push you away, you never let him, he was yours then. when he lets you in, truly and fully, and lets himself cry against you, letting you take care of him for once. you’re the only person he’s ever let himself cry in front of.

and even though you’d deny it a million times, and you did, to sirius, to james, you’ve always hoped that he liked you back. deep down, in the parts of your soul you only ever showed to him. he didn’t have to love you, even. just like, that would be enough. anything would. 

but that was too much for him, clearly. 

you’re crying. tears, fat and hot, soaking the skin on your cheeks. head in your hands, letting your open palms pool the salty water. you feel nothing but yourself and the wind against the cold of the stone steps, whipping your hair around. 

“dove.” 

you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping you’re hallucinating, praying the voice you just heard wasn’t real. you couldn’t see him right now. that would be humiliating. 

“y/n?” 

you crack your eye open when you hear the same voice, trying to swallow your sobs back and failing as they manifest into ugly hiccups. you’re not hallucinating. merlin damn it. 

in front of you, peering up at your blotchy face, is remus lupin, your best friend. the man who’s not yours. 

he’s on the step below you,  but one hand snakes its way onto your knee, soothing your skin with his slender thumb, the other finding your hand to intertwine your fingers. fuck, his touch both makes you lean into him and want to throw up at the same time. his eyes are chock-full of compassion, and god, you hate it. “what’s wrong?” 

his words send you blubbering into tears again, rubbing at your eyes as something splits open in your chest. “n-nothing.” 

“something’s wrong, love. let me help you. let me in,” he pleads in the softest tone, and you have to fight to not give in, to wrap your arms around him and never let go. remember celeste, remember that terrible sight of his lips on hers. 

“remus, leave me alone.” you’re shaking, but somewhere inside you, you find your resolve. you stand, pulling away from him, and make to run back inside the castle, but his long legs catch up to you easily, arm shooting around your waist when your knees buckle and you collapse onto the floor in sobs. 

“y/n, you’re scaring me,” he says, panic accumulating in his voice. “please tell me what’s wrong and i’ll fix it, i promise. please, baby. it’s killing me hear you cry.” 

you’re so close to the doors, you can see them. you stand again. “you don’t get to say that.” 

“what?” his arm’s still around your shoulder and you shove it off. 

“stop it! you’re so mean, remus. you don’t get to call me dove and call me baby and say stupid things like how there’s nobody better than me and i’m your favorite person and then go off and kiss other girls,” you spit out on the verge of hyperventilating. you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore. it’s just coming out, spewing out of your mouth like the vomit that’s sure to follow. but even as each word shocks you, you know they ring true. “i hate you for it. i hate you for leading me on for years when i’ve loved you since we were kids! you’re terrible, remus. i hate you.” 

he’s absolutely stunned trying to process your words, and you use the momentary distraction to race back into the school, gunning for your dorm and locking it once you’re inside. the image of celeste and remus plays through your mind all night, so much that you can barely even think about how you confessed your love to him.

masterlist | next part

tags @lydiasfalling @dancingwithourhandsuntied

[laufeysvalentine]

i want you. pt 2, remus lupin

intertwined, sewn together

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist, pt 1

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- the aftermath of you accidentally confessing your love for remus and running away, hurt/comfort, fluff

word count ༄ 4.1k

nora’s notes ༄ so sorry for the delay on this, thank you so so so much for all the love on the first part and for 200 followers??? that's gen insane i love all of you 💘 i haven't proofread so pls excuse grammar

you’ve barely gotten a wink of sleep next morning, and it shows. you finally crash in the morning to sleep through breakfast and lunch. 

at two, you’re up, but barely. you feel like absolute shit. the feeling only worsens when lily comes in, pity in her face. she knows what happened, and the pity only means one thing–there’s a reason he hasn’t come by, and it’s not because he’s in love with you. 

burying your head in your pillow, you let out a loud groan. 

“y/n?” she pulls back your covers and offers a plate up to you. “remus brought this for you, cause you weren’t at breakfast or lunch.” 

“don’t say his name in my presence,” you beg her, only half-joking. the plate she brought has all your favorite foods from the great hall, and you hate that remus knows you so well, well enough to pick them out. 

“he wants to talk to you,” she says once she’s sat on her own bed a few feet from you. “he just didn’t want to cross your boundaries. i’ll tell him off if you’d like, just let me know.” 

“i love you, lily, but it’s not necessary. it’s not his fault half of hogwarts loves him and the prettiest girl out there fell to his feet,” you huff, a sadness leaking out of you. you want to blame him. but really, you can’t. “he didn’t do anything wrong. i guess.” 

lily’s eyebrow raises as she waits for you to elaborate. “he did make you fall to his feet, didn’t he.” 

“you know who i’m talking about.” as if you could compare to celeste… although you’re pleased with the compliment. “and i’m still mad.” 

“you have every right to be,” she concedes, mouth open to say something when the door bursts open, carrying in a flustered marlene. 

“please, y/n, i’m begging you. do something about him. he’s run off and sirius can’t find him, so he’s bugged james about it who’s bugging me, and i can’t take it anymore.” her cheeks are flushed, begging, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to her. “i’d never do this to you, but i’ll truly rip my ears off for another moment of this.” 

“marlene.” lily’s glaring at the blonde, grabbing her by the elbow. “don’t listen to her, y/n. do whatever you want.” 

as much as you feel bad, you’re not ready. you don’t want to face him, like, ever. 

and that’s what you resolve to do for the whole next week. knowing remus, he would never make you uncomfortable, not on purpose, at least, but he knows you too well to make you uncomfortable by accident. so, three days later, when you stumble into breakfast with approximately thirty minutes of sleep and bags suitcases under your eyes to match it and choose the seat farthest away from him, he doesn’t move closer to you. 

still, you feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you just stare down at your plate, making pictures with the eggs and ketchup. while half-listening to marlene’s blabbering, you craft a smiley face, then a frowny face to match your mood, a mickey mouse, and then this girl that you hate for no reason because she’s really not hateable at all you just hate her because she kissed this guy who’s your best friend but technically you’re not even dating you’re just in love with him. fuck. you push away the eggs and glance around the table. the first thing you notice is him noticing you–it’s the first day you’ve not felt too lovesick and heartbroken to ditch class and meals, for risk of seeing him, so your presence speaks for itself. even then, every morning you wake up to an artfully arranged plate outside your door, laden with your favorite foods. the same comes for lunch and dinner, and you’re not stupid. you know he sends them. 

but you can’t talk to him. not now that you know he’s not in love with you like you are with him, at least not as much. he might even like celeste by now. not “might,” he probably does. you wouldn’t hold it against him. they would be beautiful together. a fresh round of nausea sloshes into the walls of your gut. 

when you deem it socially appropriate to leave, you take the chance, getting up with the masses heading to class, trying to slip through the crowd to avoid him. 

“y/n,” sirius croons from your right, so close you can feel his hot breath on your ears, and your heart sinks. where sirius is, the marauders are soon to follow. “oh, how i missed you this past eternity.” 

you grimace at him, pushing his cheek away from your face. “hi, padfoot. it’s been three days.” 

“and what days they’ve been!” he proclaims dramatically, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pretending to faint. 

“siri. i’m not in the mood.” you mutter, slipping out from under his arm, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the blond you would recognize anywhere is not here. you’re in the clear for now, you’ve no clue where he, peter, and james have gone or why they’re so far from sirius. 

he senses your mood shift and transforms into serious sirius. “you need to get back with moony.” 

when you blow out a heavy breath, your hair flies forwards and hangs limply on your face. “a, as i said, it’s been like three days. b, we were never together so i can’t ‘get back’ with him. c, and listen carefully when i say this, i don’t want to.” he doesn’t want me are the words you leave sour and dormant on your tongue. 

“but, y/n,” he pouts. “he really misses you, even if it’s only been a little while. he’s a wreck, knowing he made you cry.” 

you’ve heard enough. of course. this is why the marauders aren’t near him. it’s a ploy, an intervention if you may. 

“no, don’t even.” you pull away from him and push through the throngs of students to get away from him. you toss out a parting over your shoulder before slipping away, “i’ll see you in class.” 

just kidding. you sneak back into your dorm and let the blankets swallow you, watching the ceiling to pass the time. remus is not in love with you. he never will be. 

as you count the amount of nicks in the ceiling paint for the forty-hundredth time, you think about him again. as you have for the past eight years. 

even if he’s not in love with you–you can’t imagine a life without him. you can’t sacrifice your friendship, all those friendly touches, the feeling of his warm hand splayed against your back, the sight of him curled in his bed with his newest book. how could you never discuss your favorite books with him again? how could you sacrifice that golden look that makes you melt over as you speak? those perfectly brewed cups of tea, vanilla-scented sweaters, knitted thickly with love? 

he’s your best friend. the answer is, you could never live without him. even if you’re in love with him and he’s not, in fact, in love with you back. you’ll just have to get over it. 

whoever painted this ceiling left fourteen cracks. 

–

you’re going to get over him, you swear it. this is what you repeat as you walk into the great hall, your eyes trained on the ground, slipping into the seat next to lily. you refuse to look at him or any of his friends. you won’t. you can’t. 

it’s the first time you’re here. sure, you came by the table this morning, but drawing pictures with ketchup until the whole plate looks like you murdered the bottle isn’t exactly engaging. now, you and marlene are conversing about stupid things: the shoes you need in your wardrobe, your favorite song to listen to while crying in the shower vs. in your bed. and important questions, like what’s better, milk or dark chocolate (dark chocolate, obviously, and don’t even think about saying white chocolate. that is not real chocolate)? 

you can feel his eyes on you, drilling almond brown holes into your skull. the urge to look up chokes you. you want to see the curve of his smile, how lopsided it leans on him, the scars that dance around his lips. but you steel yourself. you can’t. you won’t. 

–

you’re ignoring him. the problem is, it’s not really working. 

no matter where you are, you can feel his eyes on you; even if you’re across the classroom, you swear you can smell the earthiness of his cologne, his sweaters. 

fuck. 

you are not getting over him anytime soon. 

the two of you manage to avoid any contact for what feels like months–days, maybe. in the hallways, you brush past each other, sometimes mumbling an apology or two as you pass. nothing sincere. nothing short of incredibly, incredibly awkward. 

you tuck yourself into hidden corners of the library, the astronomy tower, the room of requirement, anywhere where you can get away. from him, from the scary softness of sirius’ eyes when he looks at you, the even more terrifying relative quiet from marlene, who was seemingly instructed to give you space by lily. everything is awkward. and it’s all your fault. 

when the glances stares fade, you know why, and you hate yourself for knowing. the full moon’s nearing. remus’ shoulders are sagging, his looks come from lower down. his body is aching more and more, he twists around nearly every class you have together, something you know he’s always done to try and alleviate some pain. his undereyes are bruised and swollen, and you see the brass of his cane around the common room, and you hate that you aren’t there for him. he hates that thing, he always tries to avoid using it. 

it must be especially bad this time around. 

and when lily comes into your dorm the day before the full moon, skin sunken with exhaustion, you figure something’s up. 

“lily?” you ask, jolting up from your book. the mug of tea that he drank the night you stopped talking is still by your bedside. you can’t bring yourself to move it. what if that’s your last memory with him? 

“hm?” she murmurs, flopping onto her bed. 

“what’s wrong?” you ask as you turn your body towards hers. 

she waves her head, face in the pillow. 

“you can talk to me about him,” you frown. “it’s related to him, isn’t it? the full moon?” 

the redhead sits up, looks at you. she’s not one to lie, never has been. “...yeah. james is just stressed, because he thinks this transformation has already been really painful for him, and it’s only going to get worse tomorrow.” 

your head is bobbing. you swallow your feelings–what is that, guilt? shame? you don’t know what. maybe celeste broke up with him. not everything is related to you. 

“mhm,” you say in response. absorbing. 

she hesitates, mouth opening, before shutting it again. “it’s–well, i don’t…” 

you shrug. “you don’t have to say anything, lily.” 

so she doesn’t. 

—

lily’s right. in the eight years you’ve known him, he has never looked so rough pre-transition. you steal peeks at him all day, like he’s a tv show you weren’t supposed to watch as a kid. it looks like the life is steaming out of him. his hair–artfully messy, as always—is mussed and unwashed. when he walks out of the classroom, it’s a limp, with a slow clunk to it that makes your chest hurt. you want nothing more than to rush over and help him, but no. if he wanted you, well, if he didn’t want celeste, he would have come after you. 

he doesn’t want you. you repeat that to yourself when you see him almost pass out onto his plate during lunch, making a worried sirius (yes, sirius of all people, who usually tries to stay calm in situations like these) rush him to his dorm. 

but he reappears only an hour later for potions, when his back is tensed, tight, and his shoulders are hunched over. slughorn tries to call on him twice, but he pretends he isn’t there. 

your chest aches when he doesn’t show up to dinner, and halfway through, the rest of the marauders disappear, muttering to themselves as they go. you rub your collarbone and watch, your anxiety heightened. 

once the great halls door slam, the first place your eyes dart to is the hufflepuff table. you don’t even need to look around to see her. everyone within a ten-person vicinity is ever so slightly turned towards her, like her charisma is impossible to ignore. they want to be her, be with her, know her. 

she’s speaking animatedly, tossing out an airy laugh now and then. maybe remus hasn’t told her yet. 

some evil, petty part of you relishes in that fact. 

the girls are watching you, eyes wide and lips pursed. they’re trying to read you, determine how you’re feeling. dorcas, of all people, has been checking in on you everyday since you and remus fell out, and marlene too, in her own sarcastic way. but seeing them together made you ache for a cavity that could never be filled. a gryffindor love, a spectacular love. one that existed in your if onlys. 

you head straight to your room after dinner to try and throw yourself into your homework, but the distraction doesn’t work. you can’t stop thinking about remus. is he okay? you wish you could be with him. why did you start ignoring him in the first place? 

as the stars fade into the sky, lily bursts through the door, mary an hour later. marlene sneaks in, then out, then in again, with dorcas by her hand. but as time ticks, ticks, ticks, you can’t stop from looking at it. you’re the only one awake now, but the marauders probably aren’t back yet. 

you try your hardest to battle the reluctance that accompanies you to your bed, but you can’t. you just lie there, body tensed as images of remus run through your mind. the two of you visiting his hometown, or him on your lap, your favorite place for him to be. you’ll never forget the feeling of his coarse hair against the lilting touch of your fingers, or how he would turn onto his side, nose bumping against your stomach as he nuzzled into you. 

after waiting what feels like hours, you check the clock. yes. he’s back now. you rise as quietly as you can, slipping out of the dorms and darting towards the hospital room. is he okay? 

madam pomfrey is nowhere to be seen, and as you pass blue curtain to blue curtain, all you can hear is your shuffling. no one’s here–save for one figure on the end, flat on their back, moonlight filtering through the window above them. 

it hugs him in a most flattering light, his eyes closed and relaxed. fuck, he’s already sleeping. you don’t know if you should be happy he won’t see you or not. on your tiptoes, you creep towards his bed, where there’s a chair on his right. when you touch it, it’s still warm. the marauders must have just left. 

here he is. remus lupin. 

your eyes scan his face and arms, any body part that’s left out from the blankets. he has a fresh cut running from his elbow upwards, through where his t-shirt curls around his bicep. for someone with such fresh scars, he looks so, so beautiful. 

the second you sit down on the chair, his eyes fly open. 

oh. 

he wasn’t sleeping after all. 

perhaps the most awkward minute of your life passes, the two of you just staring at each other. your lips are parted, limbs frozen, anticipating. 

“rem?” you squeak out, reaching out to touch him as you usually would. you want to trace the scar that runs down his cheek, but he pulls away, muttering. 

without even acknowledging you, he turns on his side, burying his head into the pillow. 

“oh,” you breathe. he doesn’t want you there. you’re so stupid. why the hell would you come here? you know he likes celeste. you saw them kissing for merlin’s sake. 

you’re trying your best to stifle a gasp as your eyes become sticky with tears. what the fuck were you thinking? 

“stop it. just stop it,” he groans. “why are you bothering me again?” 

your limbs are stuck in place. for some reason, you can’t think, move. your thoughts are spinning in circles, racing around your mind. nothing’s coherent right now. 

you look at him again, his muscles shifting against the cotton of his t-shirt, and swallow. this is goodbye, isn’t it? your lips twist. 

“i-i’m sorry. i know you probably want to get your rest, i’ll just–” you have to force yourself to stand up, but when you do, your hand accidentally brushes his back on the small bed, and he jerks back, electrocuted. “oh, i–sorry.” 

he jolts upright, hands on the bed to support him. “dove?” 

you pause your movements, unsure what to do. he knew who you were before, didn’t he? what happened? 

maybe he’s just delirious from lack of sleep. you begin to walk away when a warm hand wraps around your wrist, drawing you backwards. 

“y/n. i–” he stops when you face him, and you can see the exact moment he sees the tears in your eyes, as he pulls you onto the bed, thumb sweeping the wetness under your eye like it’s second nature. his palm, rough with calluses and scars, supports the softness of your cheek, and you melt. “you’re here. you’re really here?” 

his eyes, that soft amber, spilling over with uncertainty and… regret? the same way he would look after one of the marauders’ particularly nasty pranks, or snapping at one of his friends close to the full moon. 

you nod, shoulders tense. “i just wanted to come stop by. i didn’t mean to–”

“no, no,” he interrupts, his other hand coming up to rub your arm. “i’m sorry. i didn’t… i’ve just been having, er, i’ve been having dreams of you all week. i thought you weren’t real.” 

his face is sparkling with earnestness, a kind of hope you hadn’t seen on him in a while. when you don’t say anything, he takes it as a cue to continue. “i’m also sorry for everything. i thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore. or… i don’t know.” 

“it’s okay, rem,” you promise, trying to build up the cracks threatening to crumble your voice and your resolve. you try to pull away from his touch, but his fingers just find your knee instead, massaging the flesh there. “i didn’t want to get between you and celeste or anything. it seemed like the right thing to do.” the last part of your voice comes out in a throaty whisper. 

“no.” he says firmly. 

“no?” you ask, shoulders crawling towards your shoulders. 

“no. i want you in my life, dove, always. i–celeste and i aren’t anything. i don’t like her. i never did.” his voice peters out, but his gaze on you stays strong. “there’s another girl.” 

does he hate you? want to kill you? because that’s sure what he’s doing right now, and he knows you too well to not know the effect he’s having on you. like he took the sword of gryffindor and peeked it into your chest–not enough to kill you by brunt force, but enough to maim, to let you bleed out onto the bed as you stare at him, betrayal tearing open your veins. 

“that’s nice, remus.” you don’t even know how words are coming out of your mouth at this point. maybe someone’s taken over your body? 

“i’m sorry for not coming up to you, too. i thought it was the right thing to do,” he says quietly, one of his hands dropping from your face. goosebumps follow where his skin met yours. you think the next sound you hear is the crack crack cracking of your heart. “i thought you wanted space from me. and you deserve that. i only let her kiss me cause… well, cause i thought i had to get over you.” 

what?

he’s gauging your expression, you can feel it, but again, everything’s spinning. you might pass out. what’s happening? who is this other girl he loves? 

“i’ve loved you for so long, but i thought there was never a chance that you could love me back. and then, there was that day. but, you’re you, the most gorgeous girl in all of gryffindor, and then there was me. you deserve so much better than me and how fucked up i am. so i left you alone. i thought it was right.” he glances to the side, bringing his hands to his lap. this is not real. you’re not real. he was right. this was a dream, and any minute this floaty feeling will stop and you won’t feel like you can’t feel your body and you’ll wake up hear your alarm and class will start it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real. 

but your hand reaches out to his, shaking. and the next words that tumble out of your lips are: “y-you love me?” 

“how could i not?” a laugh slips from his mouth and those eyes–those beautiful, beautiful eyes–are back on you and you can’t swallow breathe think nothing but those eyes, those sweet eyes. 

your mouth hangs open. “but…” 

“i’m sorry, y/n. and i don’t know if it’s too late, if you’ve found someone better, but i couldn’t ever leave you thinking that i don’t love you back. anyone who didn’t is a fool. an utter fool.” remus scratches at his jaw, lips pursed. “sorry. i just had to say it.” 

“you love me,” you repeat, looking at him. “you love me?” 

“i always have and i always will. loving you is a part of me, dove, the best part of me there’s ever been.” he sucks in a breath, brings your hand to his lips. when he speaks, you can feel the vibrations of his voice on your skin. “i love you so much.” 

you don’t even realize you’re crying until a tear splashes onto his cheek. you move to touch it, leaning closer to his face as your finger smooths the tear out onto his pretty skin. and then–then, oh, god, you’re so close to him. his breath is so warm. he smells so, so good. 

“can i kiss you, dove?” he asks so softly that you almost don’t hear him–you’re not even sure you do, it might just be instinct that pushes your lips together. something written into your body from birth. you were meant to be his, he yours. 

and merlin, he tastes better than you ever could have imagined. 

remus. your remus. 

a smile spreads across your lips after your next kiss, slow and so, overwhelmingly perfect. he pecks your teeth, your nose. 

“remus,” you say, but a small giggle escapes you before you can finish your sentence. this is surreal. what’s happening right now? are we sure this isn’t a dream? “what are we doing?” 

“kissing, dovey,” he answers with another kiss. “and, maybe, if you wanted, i could be yours?” 

“you’ve always been mine, rem,” you respond solemnly, and he tugs you down next to him, pulling your body under the covers so you’re flush next to him. “only now i can kiss you.” 

his palms come up to your cheeks, one to your hair, and again, the two of you connect–by your lips, sure, but also by you. you’ve connected, there’s no breaking it now. 

“and all of that you were saying?” you pull back every so slightly to look at him, to know him. “you are the most perfect soul i could ever ask for. i want you to tell me every time you feel like you don’t deserve me, because that’s just untrue. you deserve everything and more, and you are so perfect for me, i can’t even fathom how you exist.” 

at that, he pulls you back into him, plants and plants and plants his lips on your face. “there’s no part of me that doesn’t love you, dove. my heart, my mouth, my soul. all of me.” 

and when you’re too tired to kiss any longer, if that concept even exists, you fall asleep leg between his, nose pressed into crease between his neck and jaw, arms around each other, intertwined with him for the night–though, in a way, you always have been. and you always will be. 

masterlist

taglist: @lydiasfalling @moonysloveee @treefairy-28 @lolwey @callsignwidow @navs-bhat @hisparentsgallerryy @brxght-world @grxcisxhy-wp @luvv-danielle @idkman5353 > i'm in love with all of u fr

tags: @fairygirl170 @burningwitchprincess @theredvelvetbitch @effervescentpoet @nott-my-riddle @amatoanima @boromoony @daddypriceugh @stqrgirlies-blog @angemyrtille@lydpop @moonlightremblack @moonydoodlez @wizzerreblogs @just-here-for-ff @sodavrr @serenadingtigers @ficcharsimp @lettertovera @djlance-rock @hypn0fl3ct @thewitchesofart @novausstuff @wrenisrad @ayyeitssarahh @a1ienmush @jay-is-a-pinguin @lovergirlsdiary333 @ajtriesart @setayeshmohseni @iraslore @thesecretgirluniverse-blog @nishinoyas-wife @hyperfixatedscorpio @pansyitcanton @hannah44444 @may-madness @girlwihkaleidoscopeeyes @oursweetmoony @whimsicalgirliee

lmk if you'd like to be on my main taglist xx!

italics means i couldn't tag you for some reason 💔 also sorry i've been so mia in the comments, i love and appreciate all of you who are commenting, tysm and have a good day lovelies

[laufeysvalentine]

death of you, remus lupin

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x friend!reader -- or in which you realize you like remus. and that absolutely terrifies you. requested

word count ༄ 3.4k

nora’s notes ༄ hiii i hate this but probably will not be able to post until may or june soooo here it is anyway 💘 hope you enjoy!

Liking someone has always been the death of you. You could name all of the crushes you’d ever had on one hand–the boy next door in your childhood home, the sandy-haired one at the ice cream shop the summer you’d just turned 13, the guy who sat next to you in potions year 5.  The thing (or the problem, depending on how you look at it) was that few boys proved to be to your liking–but, if they were, you liked them hard. 

These boys had essentially nothing in common. Different personalities, hair colors, stories. The only trait that united them was how much you liked them–and how awkward you became as your relationships progressed. 

You weren’t boisterous the way some of your peers were–cough, Sirius Black–but you weren’t a complete hermit, despite what some of your friends would claim. You kept to yourself mostly. Being on the outskirts of the picture means you’re still in the frame. The thing was that the second you realized your feelings for someone, you would straightjacket yourself. Your personality would curl in on the edges, speech coiled in the pit of your stomach. 

You try your best now to not like people. You’re totally fine until you do, so staying away from that territory is your best bet–at all costs. 

“Are you coming?” One of your dormmates sticks a head back into your room. They’re going to Hogsmeade, or something like that, to meet the new Beauxbatons transfer. 

You emerge from your trance, shaking your head. “No, I’m going to the library. I’ll catch you later, though.” 

You receive a nod and the sound of footsteps running down the hallway, which cues you to pack up your books and head out to study, where you’re planning on meeting Remus. 

The library is one of your favorite places to be. It’s dark but not dank. It’s cozy. Especially when you spot the boy at your table, snug in one of his signature knitted jumpers. You can see his eyes lifting from the parchment spread in front of him to watch you approach. 

“Morning,” he says with his signature quietness–low and firm. Steady. 

“It’s mid-afternoon,” you respond as a grin crosses your face subconsciously. “You feeling alright?”

“Aren’t I always?” He gives you a lopsided smile, taking your head shake as a response. He’s avoiding your question–the full moon’s coming in a few days–but you’re not one to push. That’s why he opened up to you in the first place. “You going to Hogsmeade later?” 

You shrug. “Maybe. My roommates went ahead, though.” 

“Prongs and I are heading over later–actually, the whole lot will, if you fancy checking it out.” He raises his eyebrows, and you consider it. You like hanging out with James and Sirius; they always make you feel welcome, having been adopted into their group via Remus and being in Lily’s circle. 

“Sure, not like I have anything better to do. This is a bore itself.” You gesture jokingly to him and pause to let him pretend to be offended, acting out the dramatics he’s clearly inherited from Sirius. Luckily, he only bemoans your lack of enthusiasm to hang out for a few moments before returning to his studies. Head over paper, neck craned. “Your posture is terrible, Remus.” 

He pouts, still hunched into himself. “Let me live.” 

“Okay, you’re the one who’s going to have back problems when you’re thirty,” you shrug, patting his arm with a hollow affection and pulling back to work on your essay. “But, suit yourself. I let you live and you let me work.” 

He leans over your seat, a deluge of ink and chocolate and smudges of cigarette smoke that tickles you in the best way and leaves you the slightest bit dizzy, to deliver a quick pinch to your earlobe. You think he mutters something like you started it, but with a petty slap to his shoulder, he shuts up and gets back to his essay. 

You’re not sure if it’s hours or minutes that slip between the two of you, but at some point, Remus stands, looking over the table. A quick glance through the cloud-kissed windows tells you it’s still afternoon. Probably. It’s a little too gray outside to tell.

“Ready to go? Think the boys are heading there now,” he yawns, arms stretching above his head. The edge of his wool sweater pulls up, a sliver of his sweetly tanned skin peeking out. 

You stand right after, gathering your things into a bag. “Mhm, let’s go.” 

When the cold nips at your cheeks outside, makes shivers run down your skin, you shudder, running in place to warm up. Remus laughs. 

“That’s rude,” you say with a scrunch in your nose. “I’m freezing my arse off and all you’re doing is laughing at me.” 

He suppresses himself into a broad, open smile. “If I had a hat, I’d give it to you.”

You shrug. “It’s the thought that counts, I suppose.” 

“Yes, it is,” he says solemnly. Somehow, some time, his arm wraps around your shoulder. “To keep you warm.” 

You hum as you enter Three Broomsticks, catching sight of the Marauders immediately. They’re sitting with your roommates, actually, and someone unfamiliar–the new girl, it must be. Your spine straightens of its own accord, shoulders roll back. Remus notices, dropping his arm from you as the new girl catches sight of you. 

There you two stand, shoulder to shoulder, pressed awkwardly together like soldiers. 

“Hi!” She stands, a wave of ink falling over her back in silk curls. She’s gorgeous. “I’m Romy, Romy Roche. From Beauxbatons.” 

You nod, offering her a quiet smile and introducing yourself. Remus does the same before the two of you slide into the booth, you next to Romy, him across. He gives you a sly grin behind his hand, like a secret between the two of you. You’re not sure what he’s smiling at, yet you can’t help but give one back.

Romy turns towards you, doe eyes big and chocolate and shiny. She asks you something that you respond to dutifully, turned towards her. You steal a long glance at Remus to watch his eyes crinkle, soften, then drift off of you to speak to Sirius. You lean your elbow onto the table, latching onto a conversation between Romy and Lily, chiming in when awarded space. 

As the afternoon shimmers to a sweeping dusk, everyone stands, shuffles back to the castle in one big lump. Your roommate comes to sweep her arm into yours, you walking on the outside. She leans into you, mouth almost on your ear. 

“I think Romy’s into Lupin,” she says at a volume probably too loud to be comfortable given both of said people are currently two steps behind you. 

“Remus?” You ask. “She wants Remus?” 

For some reason, those words sour on your tongue, bite at the roof of your mouth. 

She nods enthusiastically as you approach the Great Hall, the richness of Hogwarts dinner steeping into your bodies. 

“Hm,” you say in response, pulling towards your house’s table. You don’t know what this feeling is–something that’s curdling in your chest. Whatever it is, it’s ugly. Romy and Remus. They do sound nice together. You swallow back the bile that climbs up your throat.

It should probably be illegal to wake up as early as your roommates do on a Sunday morning. 

It should definitely be illegal to make as much noise as they do so early on the aforementioned Sunday morning. 

With a groan, you lurch yourself awake before you can help it. You’re at war with yourself, but you can’t sleep with all the pattering around and attempts at whispering–Merlin help them, they’re trying. You think. 

When they see you, one lets out a guilty giggle. “Sorry. Breakfast is over soon, you ready?” 

The groan that escapes you is involuntary, you swear. You force your body upwards and moving, half-awake as you stumble out the door and into the hall. There’s the Marauders, Romy, your friends. Remus. Your eyelids perk open a little more. Romy’s definitely staring at him, they’re sitting next to each other. Maybe she really does like him. 

You slip into a seat beside James Potter. 

“Morning,” Remus says from across the table. His hair is mussed, sleep ringing his under eyes. He smiles at you. It’s lopsided, tilting his cheekbones. 

“Good morning,” Romy echoes, offering a head tilt. A soft warmness flows from her, washing her in a sweet golden. 

“Good morning,” you return with as much of a smile you can muster with drowsiness oozing through your system. 

Remus looks across at you, tosses a sweet your way. “I bought this for you yesterday, at the shops. You better eat it and enjoy. It cost nearly double what it should have.” 

You can’t help the squeal that scratches at your throat. “Thank you, Rem, this is perfect.” 

He reaches into his bag and slides another one towards you. “I’m glad.”

Romy looks at him with a kind curiosity, tapping on his forearm to ask him something that you can’t hear. Your shoulders slouch involuntarily. 

“Are you okay?” The boy asks as breakfast ends. “You’ve been quiet today.” 

“I’m always quiet,” you counter. “Ask anyone.” 

“Not usually.” He raises an eyebrow. “And quiet is different from completely mute.” 

“I’m just tired.” You yawn, accentuating your point. “Catch you later?” 

He nods in response, turning to his friends when they grab onto his elbow. You stand as well, ready to walk out when a body appears by your side. You startle, not realizing anyone had walked up. 

It’s Romy, who shifts her hair away from you, allowing you a whiff of her coconut perfume. She smiles at you. You smile back. 

“Can I walk with you to the dormitories?” She requests, words softened by her accent. 

“Of course,” you find yourself saying, letting her lead you to your common room. 

“So, I must ask,” she says only two feet outside of the hall. “You and Remus Lupin are dating, no?” 

“What?” You step away from her, jaw loosened in shock. You and Remus? Dating? No way. 

“I thought he was cute at first,” she continues, taking your silence as permission. “But I didn’t want to take your boyfriend.” 

“No, we’re not–we’re just friends.” Heat is scratching the inside of your cheeks, burning. 

“Oh, but you are so cute together. You definitely like each other, no?” Her expression is pure enthusiasm. Your heart’s fluttering now, thrashing in your ribcage. 

You don’t like Remus. You can’t. That’s not how things work. No. No. 

“No, I–” you stutter out, blinking rapidly. “I don’t like him like that. No.” 

She tilts her head at you. Bobs her head up and down. Nodding, you realize. She’s nodding. You nod back, once, then turn away. 

“Okay,” she says, turning back to your common room. 

You barely remember saying goodbye to her, it all begins to smudge. You’re in the common room, then your bedroom. You don’t like Remus. You can’t. You know what happens when you like people. Your palms clam. Your whole body clams, condensing you into the pearl of an unbreakable shell. Your shoulders shudder. Convulse. 

Maybe–maybe, you’re tired. You’re imagining things. He’s a friend. A good friend. That’s it. You don’t like him. You won’t like him. 

Then again, you’ve never allowed yourself to think about him that way. In some sort of self preservation, you’ve pushed that image away. Do you like him? 

Cold clings to your skin and a waterfall of images shuffles through your mind. Him staring up at you with those pretty, pretty eyes. His knit sweaters. His whispers past midnight, hushed in the library, just the two of you huddled in a corner. Him waiting for you to tie your shoes, use the restroom, tidy up after class, even when his friends had long since left. His lopsided grin. 

Shit. You don’t like him. 

You’re in love with him.

–

Before you know it, you’re pacing around your dorm. What the hell do you do now? Your heart freezes when you think about facing him tomorrow. Why did you have to figure this out? Couldn’t you just live in ignorance for the rest of your life? Your head drops down. You love Remus. 

You don’t sleep that night. Instead, your eyes drift to your bedside, where photos of you and your friends lay. There’s one of you and your roommates, you and your family, and you and Remus. His arm is over your shoulder, his thumb massaging your arm. You’re turned towards him all bright and shiny, mid-sentence. How could you not have seen this coming? Of course you were in love. It had been in front of you forever. Fuck. 

Morning rolls around into a heavy thing, something you try to push aside. All night, you’ve tossed in between your sheets, trying to avoid this, avoid him. 

You pull the blanket over your head when your roommates call you to breakfast, mumbling an excuse. You only force yourself up to head to Potions, slipping into the classroom last minute to avoid Remus and his stare. 

You fail, miserably. Though you’ve slipped into a seat near the front, where you can’t see him, he can see you, and you feel the hug of his stare through the whole hour, heating the back of your head. The thought of speaking to him raises bile in your throat, so as soon as class is over, you shove your things into your bag and dart towards the door. You vaguely hear him calling your name, you think, but you don’t dwell on it. You don’t dare to. 

You can’t imagine what you’d ever say to him, now. How you could ever face him after knowing these feelings. And so unfortunately, you have many more classes with him. You manage to sidle out of Transfiguration without him noticing, and intend to escape to the library for lunch, but before you can, Lily’s looped her arm through yours and guided you to the great hall. Fuck. 

You try to search for an escape, but she’s practically dragging you with her, chattering on about something she’d read recently. 

And then, oh shit, she’s sat you with the Gryffindors, with the Marauders, and there’s Remus sliding across and oh shit, your palms are sweaty and your mind’s stopped working and you’re breathing quick and not enough. 

“Y/N,” he says with a scary kindness, the kind that makes your heart race and ache against your ribs, begging to be let out. “Are you okay? You came late to Potions and you’ve been acting all funny since then.”

You dart your eyes away from his face, hands pulled onto your lap to fiddle with themselves. “Oh, yeah, I’m–I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.” 

A glance up tells you that he doesn’t buy it. His eyes narrow. He can tell you’re curling into yourself. 

His hand reaches under the table, finds yours. He gives you a friendly pat on the knee, or so you tell yourself. “You can talk to me. Always.” 

Blush burns your cheeks and your eyes slide to where his hand is still on yours, warming you up. You try your best to nod. Or to squeak out something. You used to be so good at this. You used to tease him, joke around. Now all you can do is stare at your plate and pray you don’t burst into flames.

His gaze is hot on you, and you shift in your seat, muscles suddenly tense. He releases your hand from his hold, and you burst upwards, mumbling something to Lily about needing to go finish a Charms project and escaping from the Great Hall. 

You’ve made it five steps before a warm hand wraps around your wrist, grabbing a shriek from your throat. They pull you into a Potions classroom so quickly that you can’t look up to see who it is nor fight back–either way, you’re too stunned to react. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.” You’d recognize that voice anywhere, velvet tenderness and crackling with love. 

“Remus?” You ask quietly. 

“You don’t have a Charms project,” he says without answering you. He knows you know, that you would know with your eyes closed and ears closed off. You know him blind, turned upside down and inside out. 

When you look up at him, the intensity in his eyes makes you shrink back. “You heard me?” 

“What’s wrong?” He ignores you without ignoring you. The twitch of his hand at your side tells you everything. “You’ve been weird all day. It’s scaring me.” 

His grip loosens. 

You look down, watching his fingers loosely encircling your wrist, dancing across your skin. Still, his touch leaves bruises, ones you’ll never be able to see, printing themselves shamelessly onto your heart, your soul. 

When he speaks again, his voice drops to an intimacy you’d only ever dreamed of. “It’s like you don’t know me, like I’m a stranger.” 

No, that’s something much worse. Hurt. 

“What did I do?” He’s pleading now, his other hand coming to rub at your wrist. “I’ll fix it. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.”

A tear slides from your eye, tracing down your face. His thumb rises to your cheek, wipes it into your skin. 

“I don’t want to see you upset. I care about you, dove.” He scares you with his understanding, sometimes. Never have you seen a man so kind. “I care about you. Sometimes, I think it’s too much. I could drown in you and still want more. I’m greedy for you, for your attention.” 

Your lips part. Still stunned into silence. You won’t–no, can’t–say anything. ���I–” 

“What’s wrong, baby?” His thumb wanders to the plush of your lip, pushes in. “Tell me something. Anything, please.” 

“I’m scared, Remus.” You say finally, voice a papery whisper. “I think I like you. I think I love you.” 

He doesn’t say anything to you, not at first. He freezes, eyes sweeping across your face like headlights. Just for a moment, you clam again. You shouldn’t have said that. He cares about you, but just as a friend. You should’ve stayed silent. 

You’re embarrassed now, and you move to step backwards, away from him and this suffocating room away from his stare and his eyes those melting eyes boring into you, oh, Merlin. But he anticipates it, anticipates you. 

One hand falls to cup the back of your head. You lean into it involuntarily, let him smooth out your hair and pull you back. 

“That’s not what I thought you were going to say,” he pushes a breath from his mouth. 

“I’m sorry.” Your face is flaming again. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Me neither,” he says, making you stop. The pause that lingers between the two of you is heavy. 

Then, a belly chuckle, which makes you squirm with warmth, letting his laugh settle over your skin. It’s collected just as much as it’s trembling with relief. “I thought you would say something much worse. I’m scared that I more than love you. There’s not a word for it yet, but I love you so much that I will will it into existence.”

You shudder. Remus, Remus, Remus. 

He says your name like a chant, smooth and thunderous at once. A command and a lullaby. You’ve been put on pause, putty to every motion he makes. The twitch of his finger by his side. His eyelids flutter as they shutter. Your stomach clenches. 

“May I?” He asks so tenderly, so softly that something in your body roils, relaxes so completely that you almost let yourself cry. 

You nod. He’s so close that your noses bump. Your lips part in anticipation, in waiting. 

Three seconds pass. Four. And you can’t say when he erases the space between you or when he became yours or when you melted together and your arms closed around his neck because it’s so natural. You and him just are. His lips, sweet and soft, on yours. His thumb petting your cheekbone. His eyelashes fluttering, faces so close that you can feel them on your skin. Your heart buzzes at his sweetness and the feeling that tickles your insides, this feeling that you want him to hold on to you until time dissolves. When all else fails, you know your love will thrive, that it will do nothing but expand. 

masterlist

tags | @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac @treefairy-28 @lolwey @callsignwidow @navs-bhat @hisparentsgallerryy @brxght-world @grxcisxhy-wp @luvv-danielle @idkman5353. @just-here-for-ff @rubyinthebooks @laurenzitaa @ariesandwolves @wasiasproject

[laufeysvalentine]

cry.

sirius black x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ sirius x potter!reader ... sirius loves you, but he swears he's not good for you. angst, childhood friends to lovers, inspired by cry by cas, coward!sirius, ooc!sirius a little pls don't come after me love u bye

word count ༄ 2.7k

nora’s notes ༄ CAUSE I NEEEEEED TO TELLLL YOU SOMEEEEETHING! erm okay i know i said i was working on pt two of i want you but i got distracted by this instead. i haven't read it through bc if i do i won't publish it PLS don't mind how the writing quality from my last post has dramatically worsened...

you look so pretty like this. mouth drawn open, drool trickling from your soft mouth. your face, your whole body, turned towards the boy next to you. even in sleep, you’re drawn to him. so trusting, so open. 

something in his gut twists. 

—

“sirius!” a call comes from behind him, accompanied by a smattering of footsteps as he watches you approach. your lips are parted to take in more air, and he’s overcome by the urge to grab your face and absolutely kiss you silly. 

he ignores it, trying to instead focus on what you’re saying. 

“...hogsmeade tomorrow?” you ask, a twinge of hope seeping into your voice. you’re so eager, eyes wide, that he feels terrible not knowing what you said. “were you listening?” 

“sorry, darling, i was too distracted by your beauty. what was that?” he tilts his head at you, taking pride in the way the tips of your ears turn reddish. 

flicking his ear, you repeat your question. “d’you wanna have lunch at hogsmeade tomorrow? james said he was going with re–erm, lily, or something, and rem and peter are busy.” 

“uhh,” he pauses, thinking about his schedule. 

“it’s okay if you’re busy,” you tack on quickly, noting his hesitation. 

“no, no,” he frowns, upset by the way you’re tugging at your neckline, looking away from him. “i’ll go. i promise. i’ll be there. lunch, you said?” 

that smile, that beaming, beautiful smile, lights up the whole world and has him smiling along with you. you’re contagious. he wants to breathe you in and keep the disease all to himself. 

he makes a mental note to cancel all of his plans tomorrow. he wants to see you all day. 

—

you shift on the pillow, face burying further and further into the sheets, as if permanently embedding yourself onto your bed. the comforter slips from where it was from your shoulders, allowing him a good look at your bare back, the expanse of your shoulders. he wants to press kisses against them, knead his hands into a sweet massage–anything to make you feel good. 

your face is serene when you sleep. the knot between your brows, which james swore was permanent at this point, has dissolved with rest. his thumb traces your eyebrows before he can stop himself, knowing this is the last time he’ll see you this calm for a while. 

he turns away from you, trying to avoid looking at any part of you. he can already feel the guilt gnawing at his fingers, worming its way into his bones. he needs to get it out. 

before thinking too hard about it, he shuffles around, standing from your bed and grabbing his boxers from where they landed on the floor last night. he takes the rest of his clothes and slips them on as quietly as possible. but before he leaves your room, he pauses to drink you in. you, in all your drooling, snoring glory. 

you move around, a hand reaching out to your left, roaming up and down the bed as if searching for him. he’d prefer it if you sucker punched him in the stomach. 

he can’t won’t think about that look in your eyes yesterday, when you begged him to fuck you. it was devastated. especially when he closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds and opened them to see you, caged under his body, just watching him. 

like you knew he couldn’t give you everything. like you knew he would be there, but he wouldn’t be there. and when he closed his eyes again, he pretended he couldn’t feel the wetness slipping from your eyelids. 

—

“he got another one,” your brother sighs as he enters the common room, only a few seconds after a red-faced sirius, who stormed through, scrubbing at his face. 

“a howler?” you ask james, sitting up straight in concern. “from… her?” 

he nods, making a move to pass you where you’re sat with your legs draped across the couch, having eaten dinner much earlier than the marauders. 

“i’ll go,” you say, stopping him from walking up the stairs. “he won’t want to see anyone who saw it happen.” 

“but i’m his best friend,” james counters, pushing his glasses up his nose. “he won’t mind.” 

“just let me.” you plead with your eyes, which makes him hesitate just enough for you to pass him and head to the dorm. “stay down there.” 

he relents, and you enter sirius’ dorm with the tiniest bit of a sashay. you know he hates feeling weak, so the best way to treat him is not like he’s delicate. even if he is. just a little bit. 

you hum a bit, making your way to james’ bed, which sits directly across from the window sirius is sat in front of. the boy is looking out the window, a cigarette tucked between his fingers, and as much as he looks devastatingly handsome, his eyes are also red with a sort of tiredness you only acquire after years of crying. 

“may i?” you reach for the cigarette, and he hands it to you with a limp hand, not even looking over. he knows exactly what you’re doing, but he’s not going to stop you. to do that would be to deny the only thing he wants right now. 

you take a long drag, purposefully blowing the smoke into his face, smiling when he gives you a reaction. “turn around?” you ask with a softness that he can’t deny. 

not when you’re just so lovable in comparison to the scarlet that still tinges his vision, the cold screech of his mother, screaming, telling him he wasn’t good enough, humiliating him in front of his friends. he slept around, he was a disgrace. she reminded him of who he was–who he’d always be: a black. 

without realizing, his fingers clench into balls, and he listens to you, letting you thread your fingers through his thick hair, shoulders relaxing with your touch. 

“talk about it?” you murmur, braiding the top of his head into a soft french braid. 

just for a second, he hesitates. then, with a sigh that echoes through his body, he shakes his head. “you.” 

you get what he means, and so, you steer the conversation into mindless blabbers about your day, what you ate, who you hung out with. the more you speak, the more you feel the tension in his body dissolve into your hands. after a bout of silence, “you’re a good person, sirius.” 

he chuckles a bit at that. “you and my mother would disagree.” 

“it’s true,” you double down. “who else would take on an illegal animal form, just to help their friend? who would pull pranks on anyone who even dared to look at any of their friends the wrong way? who would go with james to threaten all the guys who look at me funny? just kidding, you’re not off the hook for that one.”

his head lifts towards yours with a pout. “he was creepy, darling. he was staring at you like he wanted to sink his teeth into your pretty little flesh, and it creeped me out.” 

you wrinkle your nose. “ew.” 

still, something warms in him at the thought of you accepting him. of seeing him as a good person. only–he wasn’t sure if that was true. he felt terrible more often than not. always a destroyer, a nuisance. couldn’t keep a girl, couldn’t love properly. if there was anything walburga black was good at, it was getting under his skin. 

right now, it seemed like she had crawled through his bloodstream and settled into it. and it sure didn’t seem like she was going to leave anytime soon. 

—

sirius is ignoring all of the calls that come through. the second he left your house, he went to the cliffside with a pack of marlboro’s and a hair tie. after lighting one and putting his hair back, he admires the valley. it was magnificent, with sloping mountains of green sliding down both sides, kissing in the middle. flowers decorated the hills, and his breath catches. it is so beautiful. 

but he’s terrified of slipping. if he falls down into that valley, he would have no chance of coming back up. the slope is too steep. 

he stands, stepping back to watch from afar. another step, and a stumble backwards. his foot catches on a stray rock, and he lands hard on his ass. ow. 

when he grabs for his phone, a lump knocks on the walls of his stomach. he has thousands of messages from james, who has clearly been updated on the situation and is spamming him like crazy. but only one has your name on top of it, staring up at him with those teary eyes, wide, desperate: please don’t shut me out. 

—

the christmas lights that tangled themselves in your tree were the nicest, coziest light for you to read by. you had insisted on celebrating some muggle traditions that lily had taught you about, and of course, james was all onboard. the two of you convinced your parents to put up decorations around the living room, and now you spend all of your time there. after grabbing the new novel you’re reading, you curl onto the couch to read. 

will the noseless villain defeat the scrawny boy? you’re just turning the page when something–no, someone–spills out of the chimney, covered in soot, stumbling onto the carpet. some dark liquid is leaking out from his skin.  

you’d recognize that figure anywhere.

sirius. 

the book slips from your grasp and you run towards him. “james!” you holler at the top of your lungs, fingers skimming his torso. “siri, i–are you okay? that was a dumb question, of course not. what–what do you need?” 

he peers up at you, his eyes glassy. “darling, i have to tell you–i–” 

james comes running through the doorway, hearing the commotion, and yells for your parents. they take off his shirt, and you can see all of the bruises that have molded themselves onto his body. he has a large gash on his ribcage, and he looks victim to a crucio or two. 

oh god. 

before you can stop them, water collects at your lashline, cascading down your cheeks. something pushes you to sit by him, hold his hand, and when you do, he glances at you. his face is weak from the pain, but he still reaches out to wipe your tears away. 

“don’t cry for me, y/n.” he murmurs softly as your mother tends to his wounds. 

“i can’t help it,” you let out a small hiccup, your fingers tracing his. 

i’m not worth it, is what he almost says. he turns his head away from you. he can’t look at you anymore. not when you’re this distraught over him. merlin. 

he catches you crying for him again in your room, a few weeks later. you were dancing in the kitchen to whatever came on the radio, and he bumped into a stack of plates on the counter. they shattered, and he almost had a panic attack right then and there. what would he do when euphemia kicked him out? he had nowhere else to go. 

he knew you would cry when you nudged an explanation out of him. you comforted him, and it really was no big deal in the end, but something in his bones told him you would cry for him. and it made him want to claw his skin off. 

—

sirius tries to escape, but of course, you find him. of course, you always do. even when–no, especially when he tries to hide. when he hates himself so much that he wants to rip his own flesh apart, break his own bones, you see him. 

he’s not sure if he hates or loves that about you. 

you’re outside his door, distraught scribbled into the wrinkle of your eyes and the quiver of you sweet, sweet lips. “sirius?” 

maybe he can just avoid you. maybe he can just let himself absorb you forever, ignore the reality. 

“i know you’re home,” you call softly, wringing your fingers. “can we talk about last night?” 

he swallows. do what’s good for her. you have to make her happy, above all else. he opens the door. 

“hi,” you say with a shyness he hasn’t seen in years. you step forward, crossing the boundaries, letting yourself into his place. into his heart. 

— 

“darling, i…” he swallows, and something twinges in your legs, telling you to run. but you can’t tear your gaze away from his adam’s apple, which you pressed kisses to only hours earlier, when you whispered sweet words to each other, saccharine promises. 

you tilt your head at him, and bile rushes to his mouth. how could he ever do this? he is a coward. 

“we can’t be together.” he says after a minute of silence, eyes trained on your feet. “we can’t.” 

at first, you don’t even try to argue. that makes it even worse. “i’ll wait for you.” 

“no, it’s–i,” he pauses, takes a deep breath. “i… i just can’t. not now, not ever. maybe, i’d change, someday. but i can’t help the way i feel.” 

“you… you don’t feel the same about me?” it comes out in a breathy whisper, and it's his turn to watch you swallow, something scratching at your eyes. 

“i wish that i could,” he responds. i wish i was good, wish that i could give you my love now. 

“oh. i… oh.” your voice is barely audible. the stumble of your feet as you race towards the door is louder. it echoes through his bare apartment, second to the pounding of his heart as you close the door gently. you were always too kind, too soft to him. 

he was always too terrible for you. 

—

the first time sirius met james potter, the boy took one look at him and said, “don’t you dare go after my sister.” 

he shrugged it off at the time–why would he care about james’ sister anyways? all he wanted were friends. real, genuine friends. maybe ones that would really piss walburga off, if he was lucky. and james potter seemed just the type. 

but when he met you, something changed. he wanted you, he knew that much. even at thirteen, fourteen, he knew he felt something different for you. a feeling he wanted to keep close to his chest and never let go. he already had a spot for you in his heart; it was probably drilled in at birth, that’s how well you fit into it. 

yet, every year, even before he said anything, james would waggle his finger. “oh, please, padfoot, not my sister. you can’t even hold down one girl, i’m never letting you near here. you’d just break her heart. besides, you don’t want her, anyways,” and that throaty laugh. he never realized how much those words had grabbed fistfuls of sirius’ guts, squeezing them until nothing came out. 

he internalized them. he was untouchable, the boy every girl wanted, that every girl could fuck, but never have. 

—

sirius black had been selfish many, many times in his life. but this, this was the most selfish decision he’d ever made. it sucks that he was too drunk on cheap booze and a scary kind of lovesickness to notice. 

the only thing he can see right now–the only thing he can think about clearly–is you, in the most stunning dress he’d ever seen. when you walked in, his jaw dropped with a little whoa. 

you’re the only one for him. that’s how it’s always been. 

it’s too fucking bad that when he spun you around to love ballads on the dance floor, you let him. it’s worse that when his forehead kissed yours, you let him. you let him press his ugliness against your perfect. he took you by the waist, and you let him. 

his most selfish decision, underneath him, begging for him, tugging on his collar and smearing kisses on his jaw, his neck, his v-line. 

oh, shit. 

james came into his conscience, on his tails was walburga. you’re not good enough for her. you never have been. you’re a mistake, a disgrace. you’ll sleep around, mince her heart into chunks. run, sirius. that’s all you’ve ever done. 

seeing you in front of him, he knew. with that lovely, lovely smile and that gleam in your eyes, oh. he’d only make you cry. 

masterlist | next part

tags: @lydiasfalling @moonysloveee @kenjikishimotoswifey

p.s. idk if anyone from my last post wanted to be on my general taglist or js for that post so if u do lmk and i'll add youuuu (or if you want to be removed)

have a good day!! 💝

[laufeysvalentine]

full moon, remus lupin

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x afab!reader -- in which remus misses the birth of your child because of the full moon. post hogwarts, kind of suggestive at the beginning. hurt/comfort, fluff, a tiny bit of angst?

word count ༄ 4k

nora’s notes ༄ sorry this took more than three weeks i swear my timing gets worse every time i write a new fic… anyways! i had to sit down with this one and really question my life choices. i don’t know anything about giving birth so pls bear w me

“y’know i love you so, so much, right? i couldn’t love anybody more.” remus, your boyfriend, your lovely, wonderful, perfect boyfriend, is lying with his head pressed against your stomach. his lips are on your waist, pressing those lazy open-mouthed kisses onto your bare body. his murmurs vibrate through your whole body, making a shiver run across the top of your skin. within a second remus is sat up, hand on your arm. “are you cold, dove?” 

you smile at him, a yawn stretching out your mouth. “no, rem, i’m fine. as well as someone seven months pregnant can be, anyway.” 

he hovers for a second but after a stern glance from you, accepts your response and lies back down, pulling the bedspread over you. “i don’t want you to catch a cold.” 

“i won’t, i swear.” he’d been a lot worse when you first told him you were pregnant; you could still remember how he cried and cried. you’re still not sure if they were happy tears or not. having a family, being this domestic was a reality he never ever saw for himself, not since he was bitten. he was terrified–but at the same time, overwhelmed with a love he never thought was possible. a child. with you, the love of his life. everyday, he thinks he could never love your small family anymore. everyday, he gets proven wrong. 

he was so overprotective at first, especially around the first few full moons. he would hardly let you out of his sight, never allowed you to strain yourself in any way that could hurt the baby. you got fed up, as anyone with a shred of desire for independence would, and the two of you had a long talk about boundaries. which he is trying his best to understand and respect. 

“let me get you a shirt at least,” he fusses, and you let him. 

you sit up and he helps you pull yourself into one of his favorite t-shirts and boxers. his hand floats to your belly as if pulled, rubbing light circles on the fabric. 

“do you feel them?” he whispers as he drops onto his side. his eyes are shining with a boyish earnestness as he gazes with all his love at you. “any kicks?” 

you can’t help but smile, reaching a hand out to smooth down his hair, which is all mussed up from how you tugged and tugged on it. “darling, you would feel them too if i did. our baby’s sleeping, and I’m going to too.” 

remus pouts, and you just have to reach down and kiss his soft pink lips. 

“g’night baby.” your fingers come to a rest, tangled in his hair, and his palm keeps resting on your belly, a bare leg slung over your own. the two of you are so incredibly intertwined. 

how did you end up with the most perfect man ever? 

—

“howdy, y’all,” a call comes up from your driveway. 

“morning, sirius,” you respond from the kitchen, sleep waterlogging your voice. 

there’s the sound of a lock clicking, the knob turning, and then a terrible imitation of a texan accent: “and how might you be on this fine morn? i brought the hash and eggs from the farm down on old country road.” 

“i don’t think they speak like that in the u.s., siri,” you say with a laugh, leaning over the counter to accept his hug. 

“um,” he leans back, as if terribly offended, incredulity lining his expression. “i believe they do.” 

you roll your eyes. “mhm.” 

“right, how’s little lupin? and yourself?” he settles onto a chair and passes you the breakfast foods you had requested him to bring. 

“good and good. i feel like i’ve swallowed a watermelon and the watermelon likes to kick, that’s certain. only a few weeks left though, thank merlin. how’ve you been?” you’ve just taken the containers from sirius’ hands when remus comes in. his hair is wet and tousled from his shower, and he smells like aftershave and an old book when he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a short kiss to your neck and cheek. 

“let me do that, dovey. you sit down with pads, hm?” he takes the eggs from you, not taking no for an answer. 

“thank you, rem. my feet are murdering me.” you give him a proper kiss before spinning towards the table. 

“no hello for me then, moony?” sirius pouts. when remus only shakes his head, the 

(self-proclaimed) dashing ravenette flops back into his chair. “i’m losing all of my friends to this whole marriage thing.” 

“tough luck,” he shoots back, cracking open the eggs. “are james and lily on their way, then?” 

“how would i know, i’m not their messenger.” sirius scoffs while propping his legs on the table. “but yes, they’re coming. they’re going to be a bit late cause harry’s acting up or something. just like his uncle padfoot. oh, if only he knew how much trouble his father and his good old godfather caused back in the day. man…” 

“please stop talking about yourself in the third person, sirius.” you pat his leg. “and get your feet off my nice table. it’s new.” 

“amen to that,” a voice yells from the hallway. it follows james and baby harry, who’s resting his head on his father’s shoulder. lily, in all of her deity-like beauty, even at nine on a saturday morning with a whiny toddler, enters the kitchen. “these boys like to ruin everything new, don’t they?” 

you nod, pushing sirius’ legs from the table and standing to give her a half-hug. 

“no, you sit down,” she fusses, lightly pushing you back into the seat and giving you a kiss on the head. “and how are you, beautiful? you look gorgeous as ever. pregnancy glow.” 

“if you’d please stop flirting with my girlfriend, lils,” remus says from the kitchen. 

“seconded.” james raises an eyebrow as he passes harry to sirius, who immediately begins fussing over his godson. 

“don’t worry, lily. they’ll never be able to interfere with our love,” you declare with a dramatic flair only acquired by spending too much time with sirius black. “i’m lovely, you?” 

“amazing now that i’ve seen you.” she winks and you blow a kiss back. “you’re much nicer than i was at almost forty weeks. i was crabbier than sirius when he doesn’t get his way.” 

“hey, i don’t–” sirius swats at lily, who sweeps just out of reach, into the waiting arms of james. 

“no, sometimes i just want to rattle remus by the shoulders until his wonderful, huge brains come out and scream at him for doing this to me. i just want to push this damn baby out,” you admit. you flash a smile at the blond in the kitchen, making breakfast for all of you. you got so lucky with this man. 

he grins at you, unabashed and loving. “you’re welcome to do that anytime, darling.” 

“okay, i don’t know what kind of kinky shit you two are into, but you can keep it behind doors, please,” sirius coughs, covering harry’s ears. “not in front of the child.” 

“you’ve done and said worse in front of him,” you scoff. “harry’s scarred for life anyways.” 

“i have not,” he huffs. “i don’t appreciate the baseless slander.” 

you just smile in response, accepting the cup of tea your boyfriend hands you with a kiss–he’s made it exactly how you like, as he always does. you’re so happy to be here, with your friends, your family. 

“you’re all ready for the baby, then? what’s your plan?” james asks, chin on his wife’s hair. 

“yes, rem’s been reading and reading about it for months. he has my birth plan down more than i do,” you chuckle. “we’ve had the bag ready since i was in my second trimester.” 

“i’m excited,” he admits, sliding a plate of breakfast to your guests. “i know i shouldn’t say anything cause i’m not the one giving birth and pushing a baby out of me, but i’m really excited. i’m glad i’ll get to be there. to meet our baby for the first time.” 

the look that he gives you fills your belly, like he’s lit a candle in your heart and you’re feeling the warm wax melt all inside of you. clearly your child likes it too, because you can feel them hurling ruthless kick after ruthless kick against your poor body. 

“oh, you’ve got to get out of here,” you groan, resting your head on the back of your chair. “i think my uterus is bruised.” 

“i’m excited to meet you too, lovie.” remus presses a kiss to your belly, then to your lips. your whole body ignites with pure love for him. you’re going to have a proper family soon. 

sirius gags in the background, but you really can’t bring yourself to care. 

—

remus has been growing more and more on edge for the past few days, ahead of the full moon. you can tell its presence has been slowly nibbling away at his well-being, if his mussed hair, four days without showering is any indication. he’s sitting on the couch, looking at absolutely nothing at all, fingers twining and breaking apart every five seconds. 

“you’re stretching yourself thin, rem.” you come up behind him, trying to parse out whether he’s okay with you touching him or not. he’s tense but not overstimulated, so you reach out your palms to massage his shoulders and back. 

“i just–” his voice catches, and you think your heart may be bruised by the way his eyes look up at you, slick with worry and a fear that delivers yet another punch to you. “i don’t want to leave you alone tonight.” 

you smile, leaning down the best you can and melting your lips to his. “the baby’s waited for forty weeks, they’ll be okay with another night.” 

he pulls the inside of his cheek in between his teeth, chewing and chewing. “i’ll never forgive myself if i miss this.” 

“you won’t,” you say firmly. “now, i’m pregnant, and you know you can’t stress a pregnant woman out. so take care of yourself tonight. please, rem. don’t think about me, yeah?” 

“i can’t ever not think about you, dove.” he pulls you down for another kiss, and you practically fall over the couch into his lap, lips all over each other. “you become more and more beautiful everyday.” 

“every time i see the two of you, i just want to shout for you to get a room,” a voice snarks from the doorway. you pull away from remus with a tactful reluctance, like the two of you slathered yourselves in glue and half-dried, and now pulling away from each other is impossible. a weird example, sure, but you just can’t bring yourself to let him go. 

james pops his head in after sirius, offering the two of you a nod. “ready to go, moony? sorry we were running late.” 

with a sigh heavy enough to move mountains, your boyfriend stands. next to you, he looks so solemn, tall. handsome. his hand finds its way to your shoulder, rubs. he drops a kiss to your head, then your forehead, your lips. 

“i love you so much,” he whispers, first to you then your belly. “i’ll be home as soon as possible. i’ll be there, dove. i promise. i wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

you smile up at him. “i know you wouldn’t, rem. now shoo, prongs is right. it’s getting late.” 

he presses his lips to yours once more before letting sirius drag him out the door by the wrist. you blow him a kiss as he leaves, a sort of heaviness settling over the apartment in his absence. a smile twists its way onto your face as you make your way up to the bed for an early night. it’s best for you to not stress as best you can. you still have a week until your due date. he’ll make it. you’ll be fine. 

–

well, you’d jinxed it. you wake up in a puddle, wetness still leaking from between your thighs. oh shit. after a few minutes of obligatory panic, you call upon lily by muggle phone, who answers with sleep crowding her voice. 

“mm?” she mumbles, and you feel bad ringing her at–what was it–twelve thirty seven on a saturday night, but you don’t have anyone else to call. “who’s there?” 

“i’ve either pissed myself or my water’s broke,” you say wetly into the receiver. “never thought i would say this in my adult life, but i’m praying it’s the first one.” 

“oh merlin. y/n? that’s you? i’ll be right there, just have to drop harry with our neighbor.” not even a minute later and it sounds like she’s downed a cup of coffee, instantly more alert. 

“thank you, lils. i love you,” you say before she agrees and hangs up. fuck. what are you going to do? to your bump, you murmur, “please stay in there. just for a few more hours. like, twelve. until remus gets here. please.” 

the next few minutes crawl by slow, too slow. you sit on the edge of your bed, a contraction tearing you open, too heavy and exhausted to move or stand or speak. not to mention the fear that clamps into you. 

how could you do this without remus? the one night you’re alone, and… no. you can’t. 

lily’s bursting through the door only seconds after your first tear lets itself loose, and you want to hate yourself for it. “y/n. how much pain are you in?’ 

you don’t say anything, just hold onto her image for a second–she looks like an angel with the moonlight tousling her bright hair, falling onto the back of her shoulders. when she approaches you, she does so with kindness, caution. 

“are you okay?” she asks with a maternal tenderness you forgot she had. “when was your last contraction.” 

as you swallow, you realize the lump in your throat has grown. “mm, i’m not sure.” 

“okay, love.” she rests a hand on your hair, smooths it out. “we should start timing them. they’ll only let us into the hospital when they’re closer together.” 

and so she sits with you as worry begins to fester in the pit that is your stomach. you pray for your baby to just stay inside of you, just for a few more hours, just until remus can get there. fuck. what horrible timing. they’re certainly shaping up to take after their uncle sirius. 

“fuck, lily,” you cry out almost three hours later. you hate the helplessness that’s encased itself around you. you can do nothing but wait as your contractions grow in strength and volume, nothing but wait and hope for remus to come home earlier, nothing but lie on your bed and wait. 

“i’m sorry,” she whispers. she gets it, you’re sure. the two of you haven’t talked much. she fixed up your bed, gave you some water and food and made sure you were as comfortable as you could be. 

but her words signal a drop, letting the tears that have been building loose. you clutch onto her sleeve, sob after sob pounding out of you. 

“i can’t do it without h-him,” you hiccup, barely intelligible. “i can’t, i can’t.” 

“i know, i know,” she murmurs, kissing you on the head. but she doesn’t reassure you. she’s not sure she can. for a first time labor, he should have been able to make it. under any other circumstance. any other night, he would have. 

but she’s been measuring your contractions. you’ve been progressing much faster than what would be expecting. your baby wants out, and it wants out now. 

usually, that would be great. usually. she’s been thinking that word too much. nothing about this–remus being a werewolf, tonight being the full moon–is usual. she just has to hope that’s okay. she hates seeing you cry, or be in this much pain. 

what would remus do in this situation? he would be calm, maybe stroke your head, make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. she did all that. it’s just not enough. not compared to having your boyfriend there, with you. 

and she’s so, so sorry she can’t. 

the daylight has begun to slither through the white of your curtains, kissing your face with morning. your eyes are puffed pink from all the crying you’d done, and your hand has danced its way over to remus’ side of the bed, looking for him even in sleep. you’d been in and out of a restless nap as lily watched over you, woken every time a contraction hit. it mostly consisted of you closing your eyes every twenty or thirty minutes, just preparing for the labor ahead. 

eventually, they become too painful and frequent to ignore, and you’re forced to rise from your bed, stumbling to the hospital. the whole thing feels like a fever dream–maybe it is. a quiet hope seizes you. maybe you’ll wake up, your boyfriend beside you, and the two of you will be there together as your baby meets the world. 

and then you hear lily tell your name to the receptionist, and your bubble pops. he’s not here. you’re alone in the hospital, about to give birth without your child’s dad to help you. an exhale draws itself out of you, weak and shaking. 

you spend the next hour in a prayer, a red-hot fever that overtakes you. you spend your moments alternating between gritting your teeth through contractions and trying to force your baby back inside of you. please, just an hour longer, please. everything begins blurring together, penetrated by bursts of pain, haziness swarms your being. 

when you close your eyes, he emerges. he’s sitting right beside you, hand in your hand, palm on palm. he tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses your forehead, looks at you with that easy smile. he makes everything better. remus, oh remus. 

and then someone’s calling your name, nudging your shoulder. it’s lily. a furrow has wormed its way between her brows. she’s worried about you. why? 

“the doctor’s calling for you. she wants to know if you’re ready to push.” she puts her hand in yours, but it’s not right. her hand is clammy, cold where remus would be warm. you’re sure he would’ve been sweating, maybe crying too. are you crying? 

you put a finger under your eyes, pulling back when you feel a wetness. oh, you are. fuck. 

nothing is right, right now. 

“i can’t,” you whisper to her, sheep eyes wide and slick with tears. “i can’t do it without him.” 

“y/n, i know this fucking sucks. but he won’t be able to be here for another four hours, and your baby wants to come out now. you can do this.” she rubs her thumb on the back of your hand. her fingers are rough, hard on your skin. 

you want to hold on. you’re trying your best. remus is unreachable right now. he’s a wolf. he can’t come. and your body–your body’s telling you to push. 

“fuck.” you mutter, a wail threatening to drag itself through your throat. the tears are heavy now, your hospital gown is practically soaked. “fuck.” 

“ready?” the doctor comes in, gloves snapped on. 

you can barely bring yourself to nod, but you do so anyway, and push. remus is there with you. it’s a fever dream. your pain is through the roof. he’s there, your angel. what’s happening right now? remus holds your hand, whispers something in your ear. a fingernail rakes across your palm. you’re gripping a hand with all your might. it’s lily. her face blurs. remus. push. he kisses your hand. he’s whispering something. the doctor yells something. what’s happening. 

the doctor hands you your baby, and you sob. you sob because you had to do it all alone, because you had to fall in love with a man who was a werewolf, because your baby had to be born today, because it’s here with you, and he’s not. 

but when you look down at your child, the perfect mixture of you and remus, the sobs turn from terrified to hopeful. remus will come. your child is perfect. and you pass out. 

—

when you awaken, the first thing you notice is a feeling. your hand is wet. soaked. there’s some sort of sniffling on your right side. 

your eyes flutter open. 

and your heart stops. 

there he is. 

remus.

he looks like an absolute wreck. one of his scars on his face has reopened, and it’s pink with drained blood. his hair is matted, messy, all over the place, gone from a dirty blond to an almost brown. his lips are puffy, same with his eyes. he’s crying, eyes and nose rimmed red. 

he is beautiful. 

“remus,” you whisper. your voice is scratchy. you’re not sure what time it is. nothing makes sense and everything makes sense, all at the same time. he opens his eyes, and there you are. 

remus fell in love with you back at hogwarts. he knew you were the one when you got along with all of his friends, even sirius, who usually turned people–at least, the people remus was usually attracted to–off immediately. he knew you were the one when he told you about his lycanthropy and you didn’t run. no, you kissed him, placed a hand to his back, massaged him and made a joke about it. he knew you were the one the day he laid his eyes on you studying in the corner of the library. 

you had always been it for him. and knowing that he couldn’t be there for you, on one of the most important days in your relationship, fucking destroyed him. 

your name slips from his mouth, involuntary. a sob on its heels. 

“i’m sorry, i’m so, so sorry,” he cries, his head on your blanket. his knees are aching, they’re on the ground, but he feels like he deserves it. “i fucking hate myself, dove. i can’t–” 

when your hand reaches out to his hair, carding your fingers through it, a tear slips through your eyes as well. seeing him so heartbroken, for something that he didn’t do–oh, merlin. 

“remus.” 

his name pulls him up from his stance. you pat the bed, in the little space you have left. 

“please. i need to be with you right now,” you admit, sobs in sync with each other. and there you lay, the two of you, holding each other. 

“i can’t apologize enough, i can’t imagine you being here, by yourself. you’re so strong, but i wish i could’ve… if only i weren’t–” he pauses, a hiccup echoing through his throat. 

“stop. you can’t help it. i chose to be with you, remus, do you understand me? i chose this life. i chose it because i love you. so much.” you cup his face with your palms, thumbs roaming over his cheeks. he is so smooth, so warm. everything you needed. “i knew this could happen. and yes, it sucked being here by myself. but you know what matters? you’re here now. and we could never forget that.”

you melt into a weeping mess, the two of you, always as one. 

“have you met her yet?” you ask, after your tears have mellowed. he has a death grip on you. now that he has you, he won’t ever let you go. 

he nods. “she’s sleeping. lily, prongs, and padsfoot are in the other room. they want to see you.” 

you shake your head, tighten your hold on remus’ body. “not yet.” 

with perfect timing, your baby begins to fuss from across the room. he springs up and practically sprints to the bassinet. and holy shit. 

watching him stand over your daughter, tears tracking down to his chin, with the most tender smile slipping onto his face, staring at her with so much love, more than you ever could have imagined existed, oh, god. you knew that he would be the best father there ever was. 

and that, no matter the time that passed or the trials the three of you faced, your love for them would only ever grow.

masterlist

tags: not tagging anyone out of shame because i hate this hahahahah okay love u bye!! ❤️

[laufeysvalentine]

enough to let you go, remus lupin

so for once in my life, let me get what i want

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x fem!reader -- something's up with remus, but he won't tell you what.

reader wears a skirt and has a job where they could be making more money if they moved?? (idk just go with it 😭😭)

word count ༄ 4.1k

nora’s notes ༄ trying out a different writing style again this time haha, played a lottt more w themes which was fun but i think the pacing was off bc of that. if you have any feedback lmk!

“Hello, my love,” Lily coos at her son as she trots into the dining room, whisking him from his high chair. “Hello to you, too, darling.” 

“G’morning, Lily.” You accept her kiss on your cheek, turning to watch her flip a pancake on the stove. Though you’ve just entered uninvited and chosen to linger awkwardly in their kitchen doorway, at the Potters, you’re always welcome. At least, that’s what they always tell you. And with your and your boyfriend’s flat so close to them–four floors down and five doors over, as you’ve memorized–you end up popping in a lot. 

“So? What’s going on with you today? Are you and the boyfriend going to be around?” Flop. Another pancake lands on the plate, followed by a neat pat of butter and a pool of maple syrup. 

“Mmm, nothing much. We’ll be here. I have some work to be done, as always,” you sigh, leaning your elbows onto the counter. It’s cluttered with papers and such, but you make room. You always do. 

“Well, Harry’s got a playdate at four. It’s a kids’ concert at the park, but you’re welcome to come. I think Sirius might, though I haven’t a clue what he’ll do there.” She shrugs, Harry on one hip. 

“That would be lovely. I’ll have to see.” You acknowledge her with a hum, grabbing one of the open magazines on their table and flipping through it. Their house is always so lovely, smelling of baking and buttermilk yellow, with kids’ toys littered across the floor and photos of all kinds strung up on the walls. Of just James and Lily from their Hogwarts days, in muggle photo booths with lipstick smudged all over his face, of your whole group, crammed into one shot and frozen. This is your favorite shot: Remus’ arm has found its way to your shoulders, your face is kiss-happy, and you’re both grinning at the camera like he’d just proposed. And a shot of the Potters’ engagement, of course. You can see the tears glossing over James’ eyes, the excitement that rouges Lily’s sleek face, then her white dress, her ring, her altar. 

“Tea?” She asks, back still turned toward the stove. 

“Yes, please.” You watch her pour some water–already boiling, like she knew. 

She passes a mug to you, dark gray. “Careful. It’s still hot.” 

Before you get the chance to thank her, a voice booms in from the doorway. “Are those my wife’s famous pancakes I smell?” 

Harry melts into squeals, grabbing for his father and squirming his mother’s arms. Sure enough, James comes swooping in, flying his son above his head over to you. “Ah. Hello, fourth member of the Potter household.” 

“Oh, did I get the job?” you quip, sitting back into one of the counter’s tall stools. “When do I start?” 

“Right now.” He drops Harry into your lap, warm and heavy and smelling like baby. “Starting rank is babysitting. You’ll move up as you go along.” 

You roll your eyes, turning your attention to the youngest Potter, who stares at you with wide eyes, one small hand moving to tug at your hair. “Harold. Ouch.” 

“So, Y/N.” One of James' hands reaches up towards his head, scratching at his mass of curls. “Have you noticed anything off with Moony lately?” 

“No,” you say slowly, one hand moving towards your cup of tea. You catalog your interactions with your boyfriend in the past 24 hours–two toothbrushes on the counter, breakfast tumbling out of bed, mumbles, half-late for work, short and sweet lunch call, good evening welcome home hi i love you kiss, two plates on the table, how he tastes of smoke and mint after brushing his teeth. Everything seemed in place to you. “Should I have noticed something?” 

He looks at you. Stays there for a solid few seconds. Then, slowly, crawling, “No. I suppose not.” 

Steam pushes between your fingers, tightening in coils through the air. You frown. It almost hurts. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” he repeats, looking away to saunter towards his wife. His arms wrap firmly around her waist; she lets out a small, surprised laugh as he whisks her into the air. Harry drops your hair and turns towards his parents, clapping with vigor. 

Your fingers knot their way into Harry’s shirt–a burnt mustard shifting to a pale yellow in the morning sun. Your other hand traces the rim of your cup. Lily was right, it’s practically boiling still, it’s scalding to touch. The more you do it, the more you’re sure all of your nerves have burned off. 

“Lily?” Your voice emerges like honey. Low, smooth. Achingly slow. Transparent. Perhaps too much so. 

She perks her head up from where it lay on her husband’s chest. “Yes, darling?” 

“I should go,” you say after a few seconds trip on the distance between you and them. You lift Harry from your lap and walk him over to his parents. “I think Remus is waiting for me.” 

“Okay,” she agrees, arms opening to hold her baby. “I’ll see you later?” 

You nod, step back. “I’ll see.” 

James looks at you again. You look back. “Bye, Y/N.” 

“Bye, Potter. Your pancakes are burning.” You point behind him, where smoke is escaping from the pan, something hissing and sputtering. 

“Shit.” 

“James!” 

“Sorry.” 

—

When the door to your apartment creaks open, you half-expect your boyfriend to be lying on the floor in a pool of blood, with how weird James was acting. Nope. Everything’s in place. Your couch, leather and loveworn with years of you and Remus laying intertwined and shifting and giggling, sits in the corner. The rug, that wildflower blue, is where it always is. The TV, the mantel. You like your living room, but the urge to add pictures just like Lily did, grabs you. 

“Remus?” You swallow, checking your clock. It’s already half past ten, he’s usually up by now. You know he had a rough night last night, still sleeping off the full moon a few days earlier, all aches. The moon hadn’t been good, but were they ever? You’d skipped work to take care of him, to try and massage out those clicks in his bones, to stop the aching that you knew lived in his knees and hips and chest cavity, but maybe it hadn’t been enough. 

“Mmm?” There it is. Sleep is still coating his voice, croaky as he calls out to you. “Where are you, dove?” 

“Sorry, I didn’t wake you, did I?” You lower your voice, tossing your shoes to the side and strolling towards your shared bedroom. “I’m back from Lily’s. Want to go out tonight? Harry’s got something at the park, but I have a feeling Sirius will want to go out after.” 

Your hands lodge themselves on your hips. He’s lying on the bed, looking absolutely devourable, as always. His eyes are rimmed with exhaustion, his shirt has slipped off somewhere around the room, his face is framed by his messy hair. And he’s looking up at you with those sweet, sweet eyes, turning his lips upwards as you approach him. 

“You’ll be the death of me,” you decide, crawling on top of him and lying onto his chest so your nose is snug against his neck, breathing him in. Your hands find their way to his hair, intertwine–no, tangle–you two together. “You smell good.” 

You can feel his lips press to the part of your head, the warmth of his breath as he exhales. “You smell like baby powder and James Potter.” 

“Accurate,” comes your response, a loose hum vibrating through your throat. He shivers, you can feel it run through his body. Skin against skin against skin. “Can we just stay like this forever?” 

“But how else will we attend Harry’s childrens’ music concert tonight?” He teases lightly. You smile at that, burrowing deeper into the space between his shoulder and neck. 

He rubs your back with that same lightness, fleetingly, before grabbing the pack of cigarettes that resides on his bedside table and lighting one above your head. You watch the smoke cloud his face, thickening in perpetual rings. He looks different from this angle, shrouded. 

Your hand reaches out to touch a puff of gray. It swirls out of reach before you can make contact. 

—

“Watch Harry one second, please? I have to find James.” Lily walks towards your picnic blanket, where your head’s tilted onto Remus’ shoulder, the two of you faced towards the stage. You don’t really want to be here longer than you have to, since the bands really are for little kids and you look out of place here, with no children to show off and giggle and run in circles around you like all the others here. But James went to look for Sirius, whose arrival will allow you to go to your next destination, the bar–and, more than that, you absolutely adore your godson. 

“Of course!” You straighten, opening your arms wide to hold Harry, who grins when he sees you. “Hi, Harold.” 

He “stands” on your lap, facing you as you support his endeavors with two firm hands around his hips. It’s like he’s gotten five pounds heavier since this morning, and his grip on your hair has gotten ten times as strong, tugging and tugging. You don’t mind, though. Especially when he laughs in toothless spurts, absolutely adorable and the sweetest baby you’ve ever seen. 

“Aren’t babies the absolute best?” You sigh with a melt, tipping back onto Remus and letting Harry sit propped on your lap. “He’s the cutest one I’ve ever seen.” 

But your boyfriend’s just looking at you, the hazel of his eyes drooping in the fading sunlight. “Whatever you say, dove.” 

Then, without warning, Harry lurches onto his back, brown eyes going wide in surprise as he looks up at you. 

“Ouchie. Did that hurt?” You swipe your thumb across his small, baby-haired forehead and readjust him so he’s more secure. “You’re okay, lovie. I promise.” 

He giggles it off, and something deep inside of you swells. You want a baby so, so badly. A little Remus, maybe, to take to terrible kiddie concerts and smile at you so sweetly. 

Remus’ hand slips behind your head, massaging your scalp as you babble to Harry, indulging in his small squeals of delight when you do something funny. You’ve just begun to sing along with Wheels on the Bus when someone bumps right into your back. Someone being a little girl, probably only a year older than Harry, sobs leaving her that are much too big for her small frame. You pass the baby to Remus, turning to give her your attention. 

“Oh no,” you murmur, craning your neck for a look around for her parents. “Are you okay, darling?” 

Your only answer is another sob. Tentatively, you reach out for her, one palm coming up to rub her back in small circles. Sure, you have no clue who she is, but you can’t just let her weep on the grass, alone. 

“Where’s your mum?” You ask, before mentally scolding yourself. Of course she doesn’t know, otherwise she would’ve found her by now. “We’ll help you find her, hm?” 

You stand, and the girl, at ease with your kindness, clings to one of your legs, grasping at your hands. Taking the cue, you hoist her up and help her look around for whoever she’s with. The contact seems to be helping, so you trace a pattern on her back, trying to help her calm down. 

“Jenny? Jenny!” Someone yells, and an exact depiction of the girl in thirty years barrels through the lawn. “Oh, my poor baby!” 

They’re reaching for each other, so you pass the girl to her mother and step back, letting them reunite. 

“So sorry if I overstepped, I just heard her crying and couldn’t leave her there.” You flash a small smile at the woman, who grins at you, all tooth and sparkle. 

“No, no, thank you so much! She just keeps running off from me.” She smiles at her daughter, who rests her head on her shoulder. “I’m surprised you got her to stop crying, she usually won’t stop once she starts. You’ve got a kid here? You’re good with children, I’m sure.” 

You beam at the compliment, eyes flitting to Remus and Harry, who are watching you from their picnic blanket. A sudden nervousness clenches you, and you just bite your lip, murmur something you won’t remember later, smile at the girl and her mother. 

She compliments you again, thanks you. You just smile back, my pleasure. Harry’s babbles distract you from your goodbye, so you turn and squat back down to give him a kiss on the head. His hair is down-soft, smelling like baby powder. You plant one on your boyfriend’s cheek too, right on one of his pretty scars, just because. You’re so in love with him, then, and how he smells like campfire and looks up at you with a kindness you’d never thought you’d be lucky enough to find in your life. He looks twisted, so you try to smooth him out with another kiss. 

And another for Harry, one more for Remus. You’re almost at four each when Lily comes back and steals away her baby. Five for Remus. One for you. 

—

“Have you seen Y/N?” Remus slides into the booth next to James, who’s watching a very curly-haired, very drunk Sirius pushed all the way in. You’d gone off to fetch yourself another drink while he’d gone to the bathroom, but when he returned to the floor, you were gone. 

“Think she’s over there with Lily,” James says, gesturing to somewhere to his right. When he looks over, you’re there, frosted glass cupped between palms. There’s a guy standing next to you, forearms against the counter and pretty eyes framed by jealousy-inducing lashes, much too close for Remus’ taste, but you’re too tipsy to register it. He’s got a silver watch on his left wrist, smooth and slippery between your fingers. You giggle as he hands it to you, waves something off and leans in closer. He looks like an asshole, your boyfriend decides. A complete and utter asshole. 

Remus stands just as you look around the bar, trying to find him. Your eyes are sparkling. You hold up the watch to show him, wobbling as you turn. The guy–that stupid, stupid guy with stupid, stupid eyes–is asking you a question, but you’re only half-paying attention, thank Merlin. He walks as quickly as he can towards you. Where you’re tucked into the bar, he can just hear the boom of the guy’s voice. 

“What do you do for work?” He asks, swirling a cup in his hand. His voice is throaty, deep. At your murmured answer, his brow tightens. “What? Then why are you here?” 

You twirl around, letting your skirt flounce. Where’s Remus? “Mmm, I dunno.” 

“You could be making a lot more money,” that throatiness continues. “If you traveled. You could do so much more. Be so much more.” 

“I like things here,” you respond, stilling to lean against the counter. words sloshing together. “I like my friends and my home and my boyfriend. I love my boyfriend. I couldn’t ever leave him.” 

“Your what?” He repeats. He jolts into a stand, glances around. “You have a boyfriend?” 

“She does.” Remus finally reaches you. His voice is taut. One hand clasps onto your elbow. The other slips to your hip. Squeezes. “Ready, dove?” 

As soon as you feel his touch, you slump backwards, eyes closing as your cheek slips onto the softness of his sweater. “Of course, Remmy. We going now?” 

He shakes his head before realizing you can’t see him. “No, let’s just get back to the table. Lily’s there.” 

“Lily?” You perk your head up like an excited toddler, searching through the dark for the redhead. “Let’s go. Bye bye, Jack.” 

Jack. Asshole name. Asshole. Remus doesn’t like the ugly thing that paws at his heart. You could do so much more. Jack waves, or something. You wave back and let Remus guide you to the table. 

“You okay, baby?” You ask, your fingers slowly slipping into his. You trail your gaze upward, your pretty eyes on his face so you can watch him nod. “You smell like smoke.” 

“That so?” He murmurs, letting you slide into the seat next to the other Marauders. 

Sirius is looking just as drunk as he did ten minutes ago but much less sleepy, to his credit. He bobbles his head up and down, eyes on you. “Again, Moony?” 

Your head tilts. You look like a begging puppy. “Again what?” 

Your boyfriend swallows. You press your finger to his Adam’s apple. He swallows again. You giggle as it bobs, feeling the sensation on your skin. 

He doesn’t giggle with you, you don’t mind. His eyes are pretty tonight. They’re shiny. Glittery. 

“Sirius,” comes James’ voice. More serious than you’ve ever heard him be with his best friend. “Don’t you think you did enough last time you drank?” 

“What happened last time?” You ask, looking up at the table. Ever curious, you are. 

The boy sighs, puts his head down on the table. “I don’t really remember. Something with Moony and yo–” 

“Sirius,” James says again. His voice almost echoes. 

“Oh.” Some kind of realization seizes him. “Sorry, Lupin.” 

He doesn’t receive a response. Those are tears, you realize. Glossing up his eyes. All of a sudden, it feels as though someone’s punched you in the gut. Your hand reaches for Remus. He lets you touch him, but you don’t feel his fingers braiding through yours. You take it back, tuck it under your chin. 

“Don’t smoke in here,” you mumble suddenly, to no one in particular. “Don’t do it.” 

“What’s that, darling?” Lily swoops her head next to yours. The alcohol’s effects are starting to rub off. Maybe she thinks you can’t see the glances she’s making to James. 

“I want to go home,” You say finally. 

Remus stands before you can elaborate even a word more, grabbing his coat and yours from the backs of James’ chair. 

“Goodbye, lovely,” Lily says to you as you trail behind Remus. Her husband is saying something to Sirius. You can’t tell what. 

Your apartment isn’t far from this bar, that’s why you chose it in the first place. The starlight is just beginning to lessen, midnight shifting into something else. Clouds, miserably gray, cling to the awakening sky. It must be morning. Soon? 

You walk the first block in silence, shivering, as you watch Remus so clearly hurt. His strides are impossibly long, rigid, each breath of his comes out half-torn, and he’s blinking so much more than any normal human should be. You’ve spent years memorizing the planes of his back. You can tell when he’s tense, shoulders folding in on himself, only you can’t tell why. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you try, quickening your pace to match his. “I never should’ve spoken with that guy, he just had a nice watch. I don’t–I don’t remember how we got talking.” 

“Y/N, don’t apologize. Seriously, that’s the last thing I want you to do,” he says, stopping to turn to you. “It’s not… it wasn’t that, I swear.” 

You don’t like the way your name touches his tongue–like mulch, something falling to the floor. It’s unlike him. 

“What is it, then?” You ask, eyes nonjudgmental. “Tell me.” 

Your heart skips a beat, then, “nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing,” you argue, resuming your walk. “You can talk to me about anything, Rem. You know it.” 

“When we get home,” he offers, and you take it. You’re nearly there, anyway, just a few more doors and you’ll be in the warmth. Your feet shuffle on the sidewalk as you walk, almost nipping his heels.

The lobby, as predicted, is warm, but dark. The lights are set low. You have to fumble a bit to find the button for your floor, more to find your keys. Remus nudges you aside, gentle but firm. He opens the door, lets you stumble inside. 

“Sleep, alright?” He opens the door to your bedroom, and you’ve already forgotten your earlier conversation. “I’ll be there in a bit.” 

You know where he’s going, the sound of the landing door confirming it only a moment later. You hear the lighter, the exhale, even over the city’s lullaby. You turn away and the sight of your bed lures you in, more than changing into pajamas or undoing your makeup and hair. But just as you topple onto the mattress, your nerves go frigid. Without Remus next to you, fingers running through your hair, it’s hard. You flip and flip and flip until the last dregs of night force you to sleep. 

—

When you wake, it’s jolting, to the crash of pans, a shit sworn under breath. Someone changed you out of your clothes while you slept, put you in one of Remus’ old soft tees, loose and hot on your skin. Your hand travels to his side of the bed on instinct, even though you know he’s out in the kitchen. Usually, when he makes breakfast Sunday mornings, you collect his warmth, coiling up where he lay only minutes before to try and push the day away as best you can. But today, the sheets are cold. 

You pull yourself up, a frown weighing down your lips. The bedspread is undisturbed, sheets crisp as when you made the bed the morning before. 

Did he even fall asleep? Some kind of dread pools in your gut, tugging and tugging at your intuition. You stand from the bed, stumble into the kitchen, pausing to look around. 

He wasn’t making breakfast. He was grabbing his extra pack, one now slipped between his fingers. It’s eleven in the morning. The clouds are stuck to the sky. And here he is, sitting on the landing, looking out at the bleakness of gray, of the city. 

You say his name so quietly it sounds like a nightmare, go to him with clouds for feet. When he turns to look at you, your heart startles. He’s hollowed out. Eyes rimmed red. You step out barefoot onto the wood of the landing, stopping a foot before him. 

“Show me your hands.” Your voice is soft, the command firm. When he doesn’t comply right away, you take his right fist and unfurl it for him. On his palm run deep crescent moons, some almost biting through his skin with force. You swipe your thumb against them, sandwiching his hand between yours to massage out his scars. “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

He turns around again, whole body facing outside except for his hand. He can’t bring himself to make you let him go. The silence stutters between you two, you still drawing hearts onto his palm and him away. He takes a drag from his cigarette. 

“We need to break up,” he says finally, and you think someone’s gone and pulled the landing from under you, because you never once in your life thought you’d hear those words. Not from Remus’ mouth. Not ever. 

“What?” You try repeating the death he’s just uttered, but your tongue lies limp in your mouth and your lips refuse to work right. “What?” 

He doesn’t say it again. You don’t particularly want to hear it again, so you just watch as his lips turn white with pressure, as his mouth stays shut. 

“Something happened,” you say just to get it out there. “What?” 

“I love you,” he starts, and you slap pettily at his wrist. 

Shut up, you mean. You can’t say that. Not right now. 

“I love you, and so, I refuse to drag you down with me.” Smoke settles around his pretty hair, stagnates. That’ll be a bitch of a smell to wash out, you think. “You deserve to live with a picket fence around your house. You deserve four kids and a dog. You deserve a husband. Not a werewolf, not someone you have to miss your life for.” 

You open your mouth, but he stops you. His words refuse to absorb into your brain, refuse to puzzle themselves out. You watch his fingers open into yours, clench onto you with the desperation of a man on the death row. 

“You deserve better than me,” he exhales with some kind of botched finality. “I love you too much to make you my future, dove. In another lifetime, I’ll be better for you. I promise.” 

Your head tilts up to the sky. You can see shards of sunlight now, meshed through a particularly thin cloud. Lovely, lovely. 

You can feel his eyes on you, roving over your face and body, trying to puzzle out your thoughts. It’s funny how some things work themselves out.

yes, i got lazy at the end and yes, i have an alternate ending written

masterlist

tags: @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac @treefairy-28 @lolwey @callsignwidow @navs-bhat @hisparentsgallerryy @brxght-world @grxcisxhy-wp @luvv-danielle @idkman5353. @just-here-for-ff @rubyinthebooks @laurenzitaa @ariesandwolves @wasiasproject

[laufeysvalentine]

﹕﹒★﹒ masterlist

. . . oh, thunder only happens ━━ ✶

꒰ ⛸️ ㆍ marauders ㆍ

꒰ 🦪 ㆍ pjo ㆍ

꒰ 🪞 ㆍ criminal minds ㆍ

✶ ━━ when it's raining . . .

[unconventional-lawnchair]

I keep rereading this and it's ruining my life.

cry.

sirius black x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ sirius x potter!reader ... sirius loves you, but he swears he's not good for you. angst, childhood friends to lovers, inspired by cry by cas, coward!sirius, ooc!sirius a little pls don't come after me love u bye

word count ༄ 2.7k

nora’s notes ༄ CAUSE I NEEEEEED TO TELLLL YOU SOMEEEEETHING! erm okay i know i said i was working on pt two of i want you but i got distracted by this instead. i haven't read it through bc if i do i won't publish it PLS don't mind how the writing quality from my last post has dramatically worsened...

you look so pretty like this. mouth drawn open, drool trickling from your soft mouth. your face, your whole body, turned towards the boy next to you. even in sleep, you’re drawn to him. so trusting, so open. 

something in his gut twists. 

—

“sirius!” a call comes from behind him, accompanied by a smattering of footsteps as he watches you approach. your lips are parted to take in more air, and he’s overcome by the urge to grab your face and absolutely kiss you silly. 

he ignores it, trying to instead focus on what you’re saying. 

“...hogsmeade tomorrow?” you ask, a twinge of hope seeping into your voice. you’re so eager, eyes wide, that he feels terrible not knowing what you said. “were you listening?” 

“sorry, darling, i was too distracted by your beauty. what was that?” he tilts his head at you, taking pride in the way the tips of your ears turn reddish. 

flicking his ear, you repeat your question. “d’you wanna have lunch at hogsmeade tomorrow? james said he was going with re–erm, lily, or something, and rem and peter are busy.” 

“uhh,” he pauses, thinking about his schedule. 

“it’s okay if you’re busy,” you tack on quickly, noting his hesitation. 

“no, no,” he frowns, upset by the way you’re tugging at your neckline, looking away from him. “i’ll go. i promise. i’ll be there. lunch, you said?” 

that smile, that beaming, beautiful smile, lights up the whole world and has him smiling along with you. you’re contagious. he wants to breathe you in and keep the disease all to himself. 

he makes a mental note to cancel all of his plans tomorrow. he wants to see you all day. 

—

you shift on the pillow, face burying further and further into the sheets, as if permanently embedding yourself onto your bed. the comforter slips from where it was from your shoulders, allowing him a good look at your bare back, the expanse of your shoulders. he wants to press kisses against them, knead his hands into a sweet massage–anything to make you feel good. 

your face is serene when you sleep. the knot between your brows, which james swore was permanent at this point, has dissolved with rest. his thumb traces your eyebrows before he can stop himself, knowing this is the last time he’ll see you this calm for a while. 

he turns away from you, trying to avoid looking at any part of you. he can already feel the guilt gnawing at his fingers, worming its way into his bones. he needs to get it out. 

before thinking too hard about it, he shuffles around, standing from your bed and grabbing his boxers from where they landed on the floor last night. he takes the rest of his clothes and slips them on as quietly as possible. but before he leaves your room, he pauses to drink you in. you, in all your drooling, snoring glory. 

you move around, a hand reaching out to your left, roaming up and down the bed as if searching for him. he’d prefer it if you sucker punched him in the stomach. 

he can’t won’t think about that look in your eyes yesterday, when you begged him to fuck you. it was devastated. especially when he closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds and opened them to see you, caged under his body, just watching him. 

like you knew he couldn’t give you everything. like you knew he would be there, but he wouldn’t be there. and when he closed his eyes again, he pretended he couldn’t feel the wetness slipping from your eyelids. 

—

“he got another one,” your brother sighs as he enters the common room, only a few seconds after a red-faced sirius, who stormed through, scrubbing at his face. 

“a howler?” you ask james, sitting up straight in concern. “from… her?” 

he nods, making a move to pass you where you’re sat with your legs draped across the couch, having eaten dinner much earlier than the marauders. 

“i’ll go,” you say, stopping him from walking up the stairs. “he won’t want to see anyone who saw it happen.” 

“but i’m his best friend,” james counters, pushing his glasses up his nose. “he won’t mind.” 

“just let me.” you plead with your eyes, which makes him hesitate just enough for you to pass him and head to the dorm. “stay down there.” 

he relents, and you enter sirius’ dorm with the tiniest bit of a sashay. you know he hates feeling weak, so the best way to treat him is not like he’s delicate. even if he is. just a little bit. 

you hum a bit, making your way to james’ bed, which sits directly across from the window sirius is sat in front of. the boy is looking out the window, a cigarette tucked between his fingers, and as much as he looks devastatingly handsome, his eyes are also red with a sort of tiredness you only acquire after years of crying. 

“may i?” you reach for the cigarette, and he hands it to you with a limp hand, not even looking over. he knows exactly what you’re doing, but he’s not going to stop you. to do that would be to deny the only thing he wants right now. 

you take a long drag, purposefully blowing the smoke into his face, smiling when he gives you a reaction. “turn around?” you ask with a softness that he can’t deny. 

not when you’re just so lovable in comparison to the scarlet that still tinges his vision, the cold screech of his mother, screaming, telling him he wasn’t good enough, humiliating him in front of his friends. he slept around, he was a disgrace. she reminded him of who he was–who he’d always be: a black. 

without realizing, his fingers clench into balls, and he listens to you, letting you thread your fingers through his thick hair, shoulders relaxing with your touch. 

“talk about it?” you murmur, braiding the top of his head into a soft french braid. 

just for a second, he hesitates. then, with a sigh that echoes through his body, he shakes his head. “you.” 

you get what he means, and so, you steer the conversation into mindless blabbers about your day, what you ate, who you hung out with. the more you speak, the more you feel the tension in his body dissolve into your hands. after a bout of silence, “you’re a good person, sirius.” 

he chuckles a bit at that. “you and my mother would disagree.” 

“it’s true,” you double down. “who else would take on an illegal animal form, just to help their friend? who would pull pranks on anyone who even dared to look at any of their friends the wrong way? who would go with james to threaten all the guys who look at me funny? just kidding, you’re not off the hook for that one.”

his head lifts towards yours with a pout. “he was creepy, darling. he was staring at you like he wanted to sink his teeth into your pretty little flesh, and it creeped me out.” 

you wrinkle your nose. “ew.” 

still, something warms in him at the thought of you accepting him. of seeing him as a good person. only–he wasn’t sure if that was true. he felt terrible more often than not. always a destroyer, a nuisance. couldn’t keep a girl, couldn’t love properly. if there was anything walburga black was good at, it was getting under his skin. 

right now, it seemed like she had crawled through his bloodstream and settled into it. and it sure didn’t seem like she was going to leave anytime soon. 

—

sirius is ignoring all of the calls that come through. the second he left your house, he went to the cliffside with a pack of marlboro’s and a hair tie. after lighting one and putting his hair back, he admires the valley. it was magnificent, with sloping mountains of green sliding down both sides, kissing in the middle. flowers decorated the hills, and his breath catches. it is so beautiful. 

but he’s terrified of slipping. if he falls down into that valley, he would have no chance of coming back up. the slope is too steep. 

he stands, stepping back to watch from afar. another step, and a stumble backwards. his foot catches on a stray rock, and he lands hard on his ass. ow. 

when he grabs for his phone, a lump knocks on the walls of his stomach. he has thousands of messages from james, who has clearly been updated on the situation and is spamming him like crazy. but only one has your name on top of it, staring up at him with those teary eyes, wide, desperate: please don’t shut me out. 

—

the christmas lights that tangled themselves in your tree were the nicest, coziest light for you to read by. you had insisted on celebrating some muggle traditions that lily had taught you about, and of course, james was all onboard. the two of you convinced your parents to put up decorations around the living room, and now you spend all of your time there. after grabbing the new novel you’re reading, you curl onto the couch to read. 

will the noseless villain defeat the scrawny boy? you’re just turning the page when something–no, someone–spills out of the chimney, covered in soot, stumbling onto the carpet. some dark liquid is leaking out from his skin.  

you’d recognize that figure anywhere.

sirius. 

the book slips from your grasp and you run towards him. “james!” you holler at the top of your lungs, fingers skimming his torso. “siri, i–are you okay? that was a dumb question, of course not. what–what do you need?” 

he peers up at you, his eyes glassy. “darling, i have to tell you–i–” 

james comes running through the doorway, hearing the commotion, and yells for your parents. they take off his shirt, and you can see all of the bruises that have molded themselves onto his body. he has a large gash on his ribcage, and he looks victim to a crucio or two. 

oh god. 

before you can stop them, water collects at your lashline, cascading down your cheeks. something pushes you to sit by him, hold his hand, and when you do, he glances at you. his face is weak from the pain, but he still reaches out to wipe your tears away. 

“don’t cry for me, y/n.” he murmurs softly as your mother tends to his wounds. 

“i can’t help it,” you let out a small hiccup, your fingers tracing his. 

i’m not worth it, is what he almost says. he turns his head away from you. he can’t look at you anymore. not when you’re this distraught over him. merlin. 

he catches you crying for him again in your room, a few weeks later. you were dancing in the kitchen to whatever came on the radio, and he bumped into a stack of plates on the counter. they shattered, and he almost had a panic attack right then and there. what would he do when euphemia kicked him out? he had nowhere else to go. 

he knew you would cry when you nudged an explanation out of him. you comforted him, and it really was no big deal in the end, but something in his bones told him you would cry for him. and it made him want to claw his skin off. 

—

sirius tries to escape, but of course, you find him. of course, you always do. even when–no, especially when he tries to hide. when he hates himself so much that he wants to rip his own flesh apart, break his own bones, you see him. 

he’s not sure if he hates or loves that about you. 

you’re outside his door, distraught scribbled into the wrinkle of your eyes and the quiver of you sweet, sweet lips. “sirius?” 

maybe he can just avoid you. maybe he can just let himself absorb you forever, ignore the reality. 

“i know you’re home,” you call softly, wringing your fingers. “can we talk about last night?” 

he swallows. do what’s good for her. you have to make her happy, above all else. he opens the door. 

“hi,” you say with a shyness he hasn’t seen in years. you step forward, crossing the boundaries, letting yourself into his place. into his heart. 

— 

“darling, i…” he swallows, and something twinges in your legs, telling you to run. but you can’t tear your gaze away from his adam’s apple, which you pressed kisses to only hours earlier, when you whispered sweet words to each other, saccharine promises. 

you tilt your head at him, and bile rushes to his mouth. how could he ever do this? he is a coward. 

“we can’t be together.” he says after a minute of silence, eyes trained on your feet. “we can’t.” 

at first, you don’t even try to argue. that makes it even worse. “i’ll wait for you.” 

“no, it’s–i,” he pauses, takes a deep breath. “i… i just can’t. not now, not ever. maybe, i’d change, someday. but i can’t help the way i feel.” 

“you… you don’t feel the same about me?” it comes out in a breathy whisper, and it's his turn to watch you swallow, something scratching at your eyes. 

“i wish that i could,” he responds. i wish i was good, wish that i could give you my love now. 

“oh. i… oh.” your voice is barely audible. the stumble of your feet as you race towards the door is louder. it echoes through his bare apartment, second to the pounding of his heart as you close the door gently. you were always too kind, too soft to him. 

he was always too terrible for you. 

—

the first time sirius met james potter, the boy took one look at him and said, “don’t you dare go after my sister.” 

he shrugged it off at the time–why would he care about james’ sister anyways? all he wanted were friends. real, genuine friends. maybe ones that would really piss walburga off, if he was lucky. and james potter seemed just the type. 

but when he met you, something changed. he wanted you, he knew that much. even at thirteen, fourteen, he knew he felt something different for you. a feeling he wanted to keep close to his chest and never let go. he already had a spot for you in his heart; it was probably drilled in at birth, that’s how well you fit into it. 

yet, every year, even before he said anything, james would waggle his finger. “oh, please, padfoot, not my sister. you can’t even hold down one girl, i’m never letting you near here. you’d just break her heart. besides, you don’t want her, anyways,” and that throaty laugh. he never realized how much those words had grabbed fistfuls of sirius’ guts, squeezing them until nothing came out. 

he internalized them. he was untouchable, the boy every girl wanted, that every girl could fuck, but never have. 

—

sirius black had been selfish many, many times in his life. but this, this was the most selfish decision he’d ever made. it sucks that he was too drunk on cheap booze and a scary kind of lovesickness to notice. 

the only thing he can see right now–the only thing he can think about clearly–is you, in the most stunning dress he’d ever seen. when you walked in, his jaw dropped with a little whoa. 

you’re the only one for him. that’s how it’s always been. 

it’s too fucking bad that when he spun you around to love ballads on the dance floor, you let him. it’s worse that when his forehead kissed yours, you let him. you let him press his ugliness against your perfect. he took you by the waist, and you let him. 

his most selfish decision, underneath him, begging for him, tugging on his collar and smearing kisses on his jaw, his neck, his v-line. 

oh, shit. 

james came into his conscience, on his tails was walburga. you’re not good enough for her. you never have been. you’re a mistake, a disgrace. you’ll sleep around, mince her heart into chunks. run, sirius. that’s all you’ve ever done. 

seeing you in front of him, he knew. with that lovely, lovely smile and that gleam in your eyes, oh. he’d only make you cry. 

masterlist | next part

tags: @lydiasfalling @moonysloveee @kenjikishimotoswifey

p.s. idk if anyone from my last post wanted to be on my general taglist or js for that post so if u do lmk and i'll add youuuu (or if you want to be removed)

have a good day!! 💝

[lydiasfalling]

i love this!! spencer is huzz

cat's out the bag

spencer reid x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ spencer reid x secret relationship!reader — in which members of the bau go out for dinner and see spencer with... a girl?

early seasons spencer, twilight & ariana grande references for some reason (i don't even listen to her), reader sits on spencer's lap, disgustingly cute but mostly disgusting

word count ༄ 2k

nora’s notes ༄ my first spencer reid fic + a new writing style. this may be a complete disaster 💖

Spencer’s in the middle of finishing up a reread of a Sherlock Holmes installment and packing up from work when the clomping of two pairs of shoes ruins his peace. 

“Morning, genius,” one of the voices says, bubbling with sweetness in just a way he knows exactly who it is without having to look at the two shadows that enter his vision, blocking the light. 

“It’s almost evening. In fact, it’s been six hours, thirty-four minutes, and eighteen seconds since morning,” he mutters, flicking the page over. “Now, move. I can’t see.” 

“No, you’ve been in a funk all week and we’re going to get you out of it,” Garcia sing-songs, taking his book hostage. She looks the opposite of how he has the past week–put together, with a perfect outfit, as always. “I don’t care why you’ve been a grump, only that you come out with us tonight, yeah? You don’t have to drink, just hang out.” 

He looks up, reluctance prodding his expression. Garcia and Derek are side-to-side, arms crossed, looking down at him. Yeah, nope. “I’m busy tonight.” 

“With?” Derek raises an eyebrow. “You got a date, pretty boy?” 

“I’m meeting with a friend who’s been out-of-town.” He responds, reaching out for his book. “Okay, Dad?” 

“Seriously, Reid?” JJ chimes in from behind the other two. “Come out with us.” 

“I’m busy. I would say I was sorry, but I’m not. 1 in 8 people apologize at least twenty times a day. 43% of people regularly apologize during a situation in which they are not at fault–” Spencer begins as he turns away from them to collect his things. 

“Yeah, that’s enough. Getting Hotch to come was hard enough, I’ll call it quits while I still can. See you tomorrow, Reid.” JJ turns on her heel and walks back towards her own desk.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow too.” He nods and passes them on his way out. “Bye.” 

Garcia looks at Derek, her eyebrows cocked. “Well, then.” 

“Guess it’ll just be you and me, baby girl,” he teases, heading to walk back to his desk. 

“Just the way I like it.” Her heels nip the back of his shoes as she chases after him. “Even though JJ and Hotch will be there too.” 

“They can watch.” 

— 

“When’s Hotch getting here?” JJ drums her fingers on the side of her glass, tilting her head up. The restaurant they’re in is loud and crowded, the three of them squished into a booth clearly meant for two, all having glasses of what the waitress described as “fun, flirty drinks” cradled in their hands. Garcia’s stirring some kind of electric pink concoction with an equally pink umbrella when a throat clears. 

“I’m here,” their boss says, sliding into the booth next to them. His eyebrows furrow–well, maybe that’s just his resting face, they can’t really tell–as he glances at the drink in Derek’s hands. “What exactly is it that you’re drinking?” 

He shrugs, taking a sip. “I think it’s called the Orange Surprise. Not that there’s anything surprising about it–or this place, at all, really. I mean, look around. And this just tastes like–” 

“Wait,” Garcia interrupts, eyes on something behind him. She whips off her glasses, rubbing them furiously on her shirt before her jaw drops and she begins to stand in her seat. “Is it just me or is that Reid over there with a girl? A gorgeous girl at that?” 

As soon as she finishes her sentence, three more heads whip around to her line of vision, shock pulling at their faces. Even Hotch looks mildly surprised. 

From their vantage point in the restaurant, they can see Spencer’s side profile as he stares at a girl across the table from him–you, looking magnificent, even in the dingy, uneven bar lighting. Your elbows are on the table, face cradled by your hands as you stare up at him. The love shining out of your face--lips parted with intrigue as you listen, eyes soft, cheeks relaxed--is sickeningly lovely. And even at first glance, a table full of profilers can tell just how much you care about him–enough to reach across the table and smooth down an untidy lapel, enough to listen raptly as the words begin spilling out of him in a ramble, to smile at him with a kind of learned tenderness you only get from knowing someone with incredible intimacy and just time. 

“Oh. My. God.” She tries to scooch past Derek, who catches her by the hips. 

“Wait, baby girl. I wanna see how this plays out before we interrupt. What if that’s a cousin? I don't know, a friend?” He says, stalling her. She reluctantly sits back in her seat, neck craned. 

“They’re touching,” JJ reports, a gasp falling from her lips. “Reid hates touch.” 

“We can see, JJ,” Derek quips, though his jaw is just as dropped. 

As soon as the boy started rambling, everyone at the table expected you to get up and walk away, or look as bored as they felt listening to him. But you stayed. Your eyes are on his, nodding every so often. They watch as one of your hands wanders to Spencer’s arm, rubbing a circle on the fabric of his button-down. He looks so relaxed in your presence, unlike they’ve ever seen him before. What the hell is happening?

“Please let me go over,” Penelope begs. “I need to know. I need to meet her!” 

“I second it,” JJ echoes. “They’re worse than the two of you, and I didn’t think that was possible with Genius over there.” 

“No, we still don’t know if they’re long-term or first date or what. What if we barge in and they’re just friends?” Derek almost sounds convincing. Almost.

“That is not friendly behavior,” Hotch chimes in. Their attention lasers in on the table in front of them, shock freezing their limbs. You’re pouting, saying something to Spencer–he’s melting in your hands, nodding so much it looks like his head could just screw off any moment now, and you stand. Are you going to leave? Break up? What’s happening? 

You wander to his side of the table, and, in the most disgusting display of PDA ever, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands knitting themselves together behind his neck. And Spencer is sickeningly okay with it, hands traveling to your hips, massaging your pelvic bones as you say something to him. A blush pinches his cheeks–no, it’s like a virus, spreading all over his face as he buries himself into your neck. 

Garcia thinks she heard Derek gag. A giggle escapes you, loud enough to hear from their booth. From across the restaurant.  

“Okay, we’re going over,” he announces, standing from the table. “Even just to break this up. I’m nauseous.” 

“Copy that,” JJ contorts her face, following the group towards them. 

Garcia’s practically skipping ahead, expression both accusatory and giddy as she reaches your table. Her hands slam onto the wood, eyes wide as Spencer rears back, immediately on alert. “Alright, Reid, explain yourself now.” 

“Less dramatic, princess,” Derek whispers to her, nudging her shoulder. 

You cock your head at the quartet. They can all tell you’re mentally scanning them, just as much as they’re doing to you. It takes you a couple moments–and Spencer’s groan as he returns to his previous position nestled on your shoulder–before it clicks who they are. 

You jump up, abandoning Spencer with an embellished gasp. “You must be the BAU!” 

“Minus a few members, yes.” Hotch nods at you, looking the exact picture of what your boyfriend had described. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t be able to peer past the perfectly neutral, bordering on pleasant mask he’s pasted on his face. But that twitch of his lips gives it all away: he knew nothing about you, and mentally his jaw is on the floor. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“You too…Aaron Hotchner?” You guess, biting your lip. You’re so purely adorable that half of the team is already in love with you. 

He nods, and you smile at all of them. The happiness you’re wearing is so genuine that JJ whispers to Derek, “I think I just got blinded.”

“And you’re Penelope Garcia?” You turn towards her, eyebrows raised. She reaches her hand to shake yours, but you bypass it entirely and go in to wrap your arms firmly around her. She hugs you back, eyes blown up at shock.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’ve been keeping her from me this whole time!” She accuses Spencer as you pull back, greeting the other members as well. You hear the surprise in JJ’s laugh as you do the same for her, hug firm and leaking with kindness. 

“I haven’t,” he responds matter-of-factly. He’s resisting the urge to pull you back into him, annoyed at all of his colleagues for stealing your time together. Instead, he shifts to the edge of the seat, legs opening wide in a manspread that would be absolutely disgusting on anyone else. But it fits him. Alarmingly well. “I talk about Y/N all the time.” 

“Y/N’s your girlfriend?” Garcia’s tone borders on a shriek, but in a restaurant as loud as this one, no one notices. “I thought she was your cousin!” 

“Ew, what?” you crinkle your nose just as Spencer echoes your words–“That’s disgusting. But scarily more common than you’d think.” 

“I-I mean, you do talk about her a lot. You’ve just never mentioned her in relation to you before.” She sputters out. Everyone can see the cogs turning in her brain, trying to piece the puzzle together. “I love you already.” 

“He said he wouldn’t talk about us at work,” you agree, letting his arm pull you between his legs, one hand falling to your thigh. “Do you guys want to sit down? Now that the cat’s out of the bag, we should catch up.” 

“Um, yes, absolutely!” Garcia throws her hands into the air, scooching the two of you over so she can fit into the booth. “Now, tell me absolutely everything.” 

You shrug, snug on your boyfriend’s lap while also leaning in to look at her. Both of you sparkle in a way he absolutely adores. “I saw him, I liked him, I wanted him, and I got him.” 

“In the wise words of Ariana Grande,” she nods, words wise and expression stoic.

“Are you an Arianator?” You gasp, hand collapsing onto her hand in excitement. She takes that cue to launch into something Spencer does not at all understand. The other members of the BAU shuffle into the other side of the booth, Derek closest to Spencer and JJ at the end. He almost lets out a laugh seeing Hotch sitting so uncomfortably between them, shoulders drawn up tight as to conserve room, face equally as scrunched.

He opens his mouth to comment, but your fingers interrupt, drumming on his shoulder in excitement. You recap your conversation in a voice no one else can quite hear but him. He nods as you ramble, the opposite of what you were doing for him a few minutes ago. In some ways, you're just like him, but you're also complete opposites in so many others. While he usually hates physical touch, you lean into it, fingers tracing patterns onto his broad back while the sun peeks out of the sky, showering him in a glow that makes him downright angelic. Your other hand creeps to his as you watch him brush his teeth–you love seeing his toothbrush next to yours, there’s something so incredibly romantic about it that you can't describe, something that intertwines the two of you. He’s yours, you’re his. 

He presses his lips to your hair, then behind your hair, inhaling you. You’re perfect for him. So, so perfect. 

“Wow, pretty boy.” Derek shakes his head. “Just when I thought I’d seen everything. I didn’t think you’d be so into PDA.” 

“She was away for a whole week. What do you expect me to do?” He huffs, arm wrapping around your waist. Yes, he still hates handshakes, but for you–well, he is absolutely pathetic. And after having you leave for work? Not seeing you for seven whole days? He would get down on his knees and beg you to hold his hand. To pay him an ounce of attention. God, he is unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you. 

“Greet her like a normal person. Or stay in your apartment,” Morgan advises, only half-joking. 

But Spencer’s no longer paying a shred of attention to anything his co-worker is saying. He’s too absorbed in you, laughing unabashed and tinkling as you discuss something animatedly with JJ and Garcia. You fit so well in his little family, he thinks. You might as well just stay with him forever. 

masterlist

tags @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac - didn't tag anyone from my other list because it's a diff fandom!

[lydiasfalling]

READ TS NOW.

death of you, remus lupin

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x friend!reader -- or in which you realize you like remus. and that absolutely terrifies you. requested

word count ༄ 3.4k

nora’s notes ༄ hiii i hate this but probably will not be able to post until may or june soooo here it is anyway 💘 hope you enjoy!

Liking someone has always been the death of you. You could name all of the crushes you’d ever had on one hand–the boy next door in your childhood home, the sandy-haired one at the ice cream shop the summer you’d just turned 13, the guy who sat next to you in potions year 5.  The thing (or the problem, depending on how you look at it) was that few boys proved to be to your liking–but, if they were, you liked them hard. 

These boys had essentially nothing in common. Different personalities, hair colors, stories. The only trait that united them was how much you liked them–and how awkward you became as your relationships progressed. 

You weren’t boisterous the way some of your peers were–cough, Sirius Black–but you weren’t a complete hermit, despite what some of your friends would claim. You kept to yourself mostly. Being on the outskirts of the picture means you’re still in the frame. The thing was that the second you realized your feelings for someone, you would straightjacket yourself. Your personality would curl in on the edges, speech coiled in the pit of your stomach. 

You try your best now to not like people. You’re totally fine until you do, so staying away from that territory is your best bet–at all costs. 

“Are you coming?” One of your dormmates sticks a head back into your room. They’re going to Hogsmeade, or something like that, to meet the new Beauxbatons transfer. 

You emerge from your trance, shaking your head. “No, I’m going to the library. I’ll catch you later, though.” 

You receive a nod and the sound of footsteps running down the hallway, which cues you to pack up your books and head out to study, where you’re planning on meeting Remus. 

The library is one of your favorite places to be. It’s dark but not dank. It’s cozy. Especially when you spot the boy at your table, snug in one of his signature knitted jumpers. You can see his eyes lifting from the parchment spread in front of him to watch you approach. 

“Morning,” he says with his signature quietness–low and firm. Steady. 

“It’s mid-afternoon,” you respond as a grin crosses your face subconsciously. “You feeling alright?”

“Aren’t I always?” He gives you a lopsided smile, taking your head shake as a response. He’s avoiding your question–the full moon’s coming in a few days–but you’re not one to push. That’s why he opened up to you in the first place. “You going to Hogsmeade later?” 

You shrug. “Maybe. My roommates went ahead, though.” 

“Prongs and I are heading over later–actually, the whole lot will, if you fancy checking it out.” He raises his eyebrows, and you consider it. You like hanging out with James and Sirius; they always make you feel welcome, having been adopted into their group via Remus and being in Lily’s circle. 

“Sure, not like I have anything better to do. This is a bore itself.” You gesture jokingly to him and pause to let him pretend to be offended, acting out the dramatics he’s clearly inherited from Sirius. Luckily, he only bemoans your lack of enthusiasm to hang out for a few moments before returning to his studies. Head over paper, neck craned. “Your posture is terrible, Remus.” 

He pouts, still hunched into himself. “Let me live.” 

“Okay, you’re the one who’s going to have back problems when you’re thirty,” you shrug, patting his arm with a hollow affection and pulling back to work on your essay. “But, suit yourself. I let you live and you let me work.” 

He leans over your seat, a deluge of ink and chocolate and smudges of cigarette smoke that tickles you in the best way and leaves you the slightest bit dizzy, to deliver a quick pinch to your earlobe. You think he mutters something like you started it, but with a petty slap to his shoulder, he shuts up and gets back to his essay. 

You’re not sure if it’s hours or minutes that slip between the two of you, but at some point, Remus stands, looking over the table. A quick glance through the cloud-kissed windows tells you it’s still afternoon. Probably. It’s a little too gray outside to tell.

“Ready to go? Think the boys are heading there now,” he yawns, arms stretching above his head. The edge of his wool sweater pulls up, a sliver of his sweetly tanned skin peeking out. 

You stand right after, gathering your things into a bag. “Mhm, let’s go.” 

When the cold nips at your cheeks outside, makes shivers run down your skin, you shudder, running in place to warm up. Remus laughs. 

“That’s rude,” you say with a scrunch in your nose. “I’m freezing my arse off and all you’re doing is laughing at me.” 

He suppresses himself into a broad, open smile. “If I had a hat, I’d give it to you.”

You shrug. “It’s the thought that counts, I suppose.” 

“Yes, it is,” he says solemnly. Somehow, some time, his arm wraps around your shoulder. “To keep you warm.” 

You hum as you enter Three Broomsticks, catching sight of the Marauders immediately. They’re sitting with your roommates, actually, and someone unfamiliar–the new girl, it must be. Your spine straightens of its own accord, shoulders roll back. Remus notices, dropping his arm from you as the new girl catches sight of you. 

There you two stand, shoulder to shoulder, pressed awkwardly together like soldiers. 

“Hi!” She stands, a wave of ink falling over her back in silk curls. She’s gorgeous. “I’m Romy, Romy Roche. From Beauxbatons.” 

You nod, offering her a quiet smile and introducing yourself. Remus does the same before the two of you slide into the booth, you next to Romy, him across. He gives you a sly grin behind his hand, like a secret between the two of you. You’re not sure what he’s smiling at, yet you can’t help but give one back.

Romy turns towards you, doe eyes big and chocolate and shiny. She asks you something that you respond to dutifully, turned towards her. You steal a long glance at Remus to watch his eyes crinkle, soften, then drift off of you to speak to Sirius. You lean your elbow onto the table, latching onto a conversation between Romy and Lily, chiming in when awarded space. 

As the afternoon shimmers to a sweeping dusk, everyone stands, shuffles back to the castle in one big lump. Your roommate comes to sweep her arm into yours, you walking on the outside. She leans into you, mouth almost on your ear. 

“I think Romy’s into Lupin,” she says at a volume probably too loud to be comfortable given both of said people are currently two steps behind you. 

“Remus?” You ask. “She wants Remus?” 

For some reason, those words sour on your tongue, bite at the roof of your mouth. 

She nods enthusiastically as you approach the Great Hall, the richness of Hogwarts dinner steeping into your bodies. 

“Hm,” you say in response, pulling towards your house’s table. You don’t know what this feeling is–something that’s curdling in your chest. Whatever it is, it’s ugly. Romy and Remus. They do sound nice together. You swallow back the bile that climbs up your throat.

It should probably be illegal to wake up as early as your roommates do on a Sunday morning. 

It should definitely be illegal to make as much noise as they do so early on the aforementioned Sunday morning. 

With a groan, you lurch yourself awake before you can help it. You’re at war with yourself, but you can’t sleep with all the pattering around and attempts at whispering–Merlin help them, they’re trying. You think. 

When they see you, one lets out a guilty giggle. “Sorry. Breakfast is over soon, you ready?” 

The groan that escapes you is involuntary, you swear. You force your body upwards and moving, half-awake as you stumble out the door and into the hall. There’s the Marauders, Romy, your friends. Remus. Your eyelids perk open a little more. Romy’s definitely staring at him, they’re sitting next to each other. Maybe she really does like him. 

You slip into a seat beside James Potter. 

“Morning,” Remus says from across the table. His hair is mussed, sleep ringing his under eyes. He smiles at you. It’s lopsided, tilting his cheekbones. 

“Good morning,” Romy echoes, offering a head tilt. A soft warmness flows from her, washing her in a sweet golden. 

“Good morning,” you return with as much of a smile you can muster with drowsiness oozing through your system. 

Remus looks across at you, tosses a sweet your way. “I bought this for you yesterday, at the shops. You better eat it and enjoy. It cost nearly double what it should have.” 

You can’t help the squeal that scratches at your throat. “Thank you, Rem, this is perfect.” 

He reaches into his bag and slides another one towards you. “I’m glad.”

Romy looks at him with a kind curiosity, tapping on his forearm to ask him something that you can’t hear. Your shoulders slouch involuntarily. 

“Are you okay?” The boy asks as breakfast ends. “You’ve been quiet today.” 

“I’m always quiet,” you counter. “Ask anyone.” 

“Not usually.” He raises an eyebrow. “And quiet is different from completely mute.” 

“I’m just tired.” You yawn, accentuating your point. “Catch you later?” 

He nods in response, turning to his friends when they grab onto his elbow. You stand as well, ready to walk out when a body appears by your side. You startle, not realizing anyone had walked up. 

It’s Romy, who shifts her hair away from you, allowing you a whiff of her coconut perfume. She smiles at you. You smile back. 

“Can I walk with you to the dormitories?” She requests, words softened by her accent. 

“Of course,” you find yourself saying, letting her lead you to your common room. 

“So, I must ask,” she says only two feet outside of the hall. “You and Remus Lupin are dating, no?” 

“What?” You step away from her, jaw loosened in shock. You and Remus? Dating? No way. 

“I thought he was cute at first,” she continues, taking your silence as permission. “But I didn’t want to take your boyfriend.” 

“No, we’re not–we’re just friends.” Heat is scratching the inside of your cheeks, burning. 

“Oh, but you are so cute together. You definitely like each other, no?” Her expression is pure enthusiasm. Your heart’s fluttering now, thrashing in your ribcage. 

You don’t like Remus. You can’t. That’s not how things work. No. No. 

“No, I–” you stutter out, blinking rapidly. “I don’t like him like that. No.” 

She tilts her head at you. Bobs her head up and down. Nodding, you realize. She’s nodding. You nod back, once, then turn away. 

“Okay,” she says, turning back to your common room. 

You barely remember saying goodbye to her, it all begins to smudge. You’re in the common room, then your bedroom. You don’t like Remus. You can’t. You know what happens when you like people. Your palms clam. Your whole body clams, condensing you into the pearl of an unbreakable shell. Your shoulders shudder. Convulse. 

Maybe–maybe, you’re tired. You’re imagining things. He’s a friend. A good friend. That’s it. You don’t like him. You won’t like him. 

Then again, you’ve never allowed yourself to think about him that way. In some sort of self preservation, you’ve pushed that image away. Do you like him? 

Cold clings to your skin and a waterfall of images shuffles through your mind. Him staring up at you with those pretty, pretty eyes. His knit sweaters. His whispers past midnight, hushed in the library, just the two of you huddled in a corner. Him waiting for you to tie your shoes, use the restroom, tidy up after class, even when his friends had long since left. His lopsided grin. 

Shit. You don’t like him. 

You’re in love with him.

–

Before you know it, you’re pacing around your dorm. What the hell do you do now? Your heart freezes when you think about facing him tomorrow. Why did you have to figure this out? Couldn’t you just live in ignorance for the rest of your life? Your head drops down. You love Remus. 

You don’t sleep that night. Instead, your eyes drift to your bedside, where photos of you and your friends lay. There’s one of you and your roommates, you and your family, and you and Remus. His arm is over your shoulder, his thumb massaging your arm. You’re turned towards him all bright and shiny, mid-sentence. How could you not have seen this coming? Of course you were in love. It had been in front of you forever. Fuck. 

Morning rolls around into a heavy thing, something you try to push aside. All night, you’ve tossed in between your sheets, trying to avoid this, avoid him. 

You pull the blanket over your head when your roommates call you to breakfast, mumbling an excuse. You only force yourself up to head to Potions, slipping into the classroom last minute to avoid Remus and his stare. 

You fail, miserably. Though you’ve slipped into a seat near the front, where you can’t see him, he can see you, and you feel the hug of his stare through the whole hour, heating the back of your head. The thought of speaking to him raises bile in your throat, so as soon as class is over, you shove your things into your bag and dart towards the door. You vaguely hear him calling your name, you think, but you don’t dwell on it. You don’t dare to. 

You can’t imagine what you’d ever say to him, now. How you could ever face him after knowing these feelings. And so unfortunately, you have many more classes with him. You manage to sidle out of Transfiguration without him noticing, and intend to escape to the library for lunch, but before you can, Lily’s looped her arm through yours and guided you to the great hall. Fuck. 

You try to search for an escape, but she’s practically dragging you with her, chattering on about something she’d read recently. 

And then, oh shit, she’s sat you with the Gryffindors, with the Marauders, and there’s Remus sliding across and oh shit, your palms are sweaty and your mind’s stopped working and you’re breathing quick and not enough. 

“Y/N,” he says with a scary kindness, the kind that makes your heart race and ache against your ribs, begging to be let out. “Are you okay? You came late to Potions and you’ve been acting all funny since then.”

You dart your eyes away from his face, hands pulled onto your lap to fiddle with themselves. “Oh, yeah, I’m–I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.” 

A glance up tells you that he doesn’t buy it. His eyes narrow. He can tell you’re curling into yourself. 

His hand reaches under the table, finds yours. He gives you a friendly pat on the knee, or so you tell yourself. “You can talk to me. Always.” 

Blush burns your cheeks and your eyes slide to where his hand is still on yours, warming you up. You try your best to nod. Or to squeak out something. You used to be so good at this. You used to tease him, joke around. Now all you can do is stare at your plate and pray you don’t burst into flames.

His gaze is hot on you, and you shift in your seat, muscles suddenly tense. He releases your hand from his hold, and you burst upwards, mumbling something to Lily about needing to go finish a Charms project and escaping from the Great Hall. 

You’ve made it five steps before a warm hand wraps around your wrist, grabbing a shriek from your throat. They pull you into a Potions classroom so quickly that you can’t look up to see who it is nor fight back–either way, you’re too stunned to react. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.” You’d recognize that voice anywhere, velvet tenderness and crackling with love. 

“Remus?” You ask quietly. 

“You don’t have a Charms project,” he says without answering you. He knows you know, that you would know with your eyes closed and ears closed off. You know him blind, turned upside down and inside out. 

When you look up at him, the intensity in his eyes makes you shrink back. “You heard me?” 

“What’s wrong?” He ignores you without ignoring you. The twitch of his hand at your side tells you everything. “You’ve been weird all day. It’s scaring me.” 

His grip loosens. 

You look down, watching his fingers loosely encircling your wrist, dancing across your skin. Still, his touch leaves bruises, ones you’ll never be able to see, printing themselves shamelessly onto your heart, your soul. 

When he speaks again, his voice drops to an intimacy you’d only ever dreamed of. “It’s like you don’t know me, like I’m a stranger.” 

No, that’s something much worse. Hurt. 

“What did I do?” He’s pleading now, his other hand coming to rub at your wrist. “I’ll fix it. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.”

A tear slides from your eye, tracing down your face. His thumb rises to your cheek, wipes it into your skin. 

“I don’t want to see you upset. I care about you, dove.” He scares you with his understanding, sometimes. Never have you seen a man so kind. “I care about you. Sometimes, I think it’s too much. I could drown in you and still want more. I’m greedy for you, for your attention.” 

Your lips part. Still stunned into silence. You won’t–no, can’t–say anything. “I–” 

“What’s wrong, baby?” His thumb wanders to the plush of your lip, pushes in. “Tell me something. Anything, please.” 

“I’m scared, Remus.” You say finally, voice a papery whisper. “I think I like you. I think I love you.” 

He doesn’t say anything to you, not at first. He freezes, eyes sweeping across your face like headlights. Just for a moment, you clam again. You shouldn’t have said that. He cares about you, but just as a friend. You should’ve stayed silent. 

You’re embarrassed now, and you move to step backwards, away from him and this suffocating room away from his stare and his eyes those melting eyes boring into you, oh, Merlin. But he anticipates it, anticipates you. 

One hand falls to cup the back of your head. You lean into it involuntarily, let him smooth out your hair and pull you back. 

“That’s not what I thought you were going to say,” he pushes a breath from his mouth. 

“I’m sorry.” Your face is flaming again. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Me neither,” he says, making you stop. The pause that lingers between the two of you is heavy. 

Then, a belly chuckle, which makes you squirm with warmth, letting his laugh settle over your skin. It’s collected just as much as it’s trembling with relief. “I thought you would say something much worse. I’m scared that I more than love you. There’s not a word for it yet, but I love you so much that I will will it into existence.”

You shudder. Remus, Remus, Remus. 

He says your name like a chant, smooth and thunderous at once. A command and a lullaby. You’ve been put on pause, putty to every motion he makes. The twitch of his finger by his side. His eyelids flutter as they shutter. Your stomach clenches. 

“May I?” He asks so tenderly, so softly that something in your body roils, relaxes so completely that you almost let yourself cry. 

You nod. He’s so close that your noses bump. Your lips part in anticipation, in waiting. 

Three seconds pass. Four. And you can’t say when he erases the space between you or when he became yours or when you melted together and your arms closed around his neck because it’s so natural. You and him just are. His lips, sweet and soft, on yours. His thumb petting your cheekbone. His eyelashes fluttering, faces so close that you can feel them on your skin. Your heart buzzes at his sweetness and the feeling that tickles your insides, this feeling that you want him to hold on to you until time dissolves. When all else fails, you know your love will thrive, that it will do nothing but expand. 

masterlist

tags | @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac @treefairy-28 @lolwey @callsignwidow @navs-bhat @hisparentsgallerryy @brxght-world @grxcisxhy-wp @luvv-danielle @idkman5353. @just-here-for-ff @rubyinthebooks @laurenzitaa @ariesandwolves @wasiasproject

[lydiasfalling]

read this for clear skin!!!

i want you.

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- or in which you're in love with your best friend, but he's not exactly in love with you back... angst

word count ༄ 3.2k

nora’s notes ༄ eeek my first writing post!! i'm so excited. this is kind of bad but IDC part two will be coming and i swear will be better written okay enjoy!! mwah 💘

“moony!” you sing-song as you twirl into his dorm, lips spread into a wide grin. “we’re leaving for hogsmeade, hurry up.” 

he’s on his bed, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he glances up from his book, suppressing a smile when he sees you. “hi, y/n.” 

he embodies the word comfort, you think. he’s wearing one of his trademark warm wool sweaters, an empty mug of tea by his knee, gray blanket draped across his lap, and that smile. it would be the death of you, you were sure of it. 

“hi,” you respond, clasping his book and setting it onto his bedside table. “c’mon, everyone’s waiting for us downstairs.” 

he sighs so deeply you think he might crack a lung, and loops his pointer finger through one of the belt loops of your jeans to pull you onto his bed. “do we have to?” 

as much as you’d like to stay here with him, you also want to buy more chocolate frogs, so you spring back up, tugging at his hand. “yes, please. i’m low on my candy stock.” 

he groans, letting you pull him off of his bed and out of the dorm. “your sweet tooth is killing me.” 

you shrug. “that’s what you signed up for when you said yes to being friends in first year. now you’re just living with it.” 

he just hums in agreement, letting you wrap your arm around his. remus lupin, your best friend. he’s the kindest man you’ve ever met, let alone known. it would be a lie to say you weren’t completely and utterly in love with him, and even more of a lie to say you hadn’t been since before you were a teenager, even if you didn’t understand it then. but, alas, as soon as you’d admitted it to yourself, you also resolved to never, ever tell him. you were sure he didn’t feel the same about you, and why would you carelessly toss away the best friendship and most understanding person ever just for some feelings? 

and so, you waited and hoped, prayed that it would go away. you would move on and keep your friendship. 

and, of course, you didn’t. 

“y/n!” james calls once he sees the two of you walking down the stairs to where the rest of the marauders are waiting. “finally.” 

“we sent you up like ten minutes ago,” peter complains, frowning. 

you shrug. “oops.” 

remus shifts his arm to settle around your waist, nudging you in front of him. “well, we’re here now, so get a move on.” 

you thread the hand he placed on your stomach with your own, thumb rubbing circles onto his. he smiles down on you, and that smile, oh, lord. you could see it a million times and never have enough. you’d jump over bridges to have him watch you like that all the time. you’d sell your soul to be his, really and truly. and the worst part is, you have no shame about it. merlin, you’re in love. 

—

jelly beans or chocolate frogs, that is the question. you glance at one, then the other, then the other again. your shoulders slump. it’s too hard of a decision. you’re about to cave and get both when you feel warm arms wrap around your waist, a chin settling onto your shoulder. without looking, you press a kiss to remus’ cheek. “hi.” 

“hi,” he replies, inhaling your scent, nose tucked between your ear and your hair. 

“chocolate frogs or jelly beans?” you ask anxiously, holding up the two in front of you. “or both?” 

“both,” he agrees with you, and you can feel the tension slowly leaving him as he stands behind you, entwined with you. 

you nod, happy with his judgment, about to speak when someone beats you to it. 

“remus?” a voice yells from behind, excitement coloring her tone. 

you know who this is without looking too, but you wish you didn’t. remus slowly stands back to his whole height, and the sudden absence of his warmth makes you shiver. you turn just as he does, even if you don’t want to see the girl beaming at him. 

you know her, of course you do. doesn’t everyone know celeste huxley, the most beautiful hufflepuff to grace hogwarts’ campus? angels sing when she walks past, men and women fall to her feet in her wake. she’s worshiped, adored. okay, you’re being dramatic, but still. 

you hate her. 

you hate her silky hair, her evergreen smile, her cesspool of kindness. 

and you hate yourself more for hating her. she’s never been mean to you a day in her life, she couldn’t be mean to anyone even if she tried. but still. she’s who you’ve tried to be your whole life. she is the blueprint, the model with cherry-red high heels you wobble and blister your feet in. she has all Os on her OWLs, victoria’s secret hair, people who love on her like a celebrity. and she’s fucking obsessed with your best friend, of course. she could have anyone in the world, and she picked him. why couldn’t she love sirius or james, like half the girls at the school? why did she have to want remus? 

and the worst part is, she deserves him. he deserves someone as perfect as he is, even if that’s celeste. 

as you swallow down your hatred, you realize she’s started to pull remus away from you, pulling on his sleeve towards the jelly slugs, and you almost lob your stupid chocolate frog at her head. tears sting your eyes and you try your best to blink them back as you watch remus watch you, only half-listening to her blabber. he knows you hate her, and the most sheepish, guilty look comes over his face. you ignore him, putting your candy back, too upset to think about eating it. luckily, you spot sirius in the corner and quickly try to make your way over him when you’re pulled back. 

remus has got ahold of your belt loops again, and you watch him whisper something to celeste before gently removing her hand from his sweater and pulling away. he chose you now, but for how long? the thought chills you, goosebumps prickling your skin, your heart. 

“dove,” he says quietly by your ear. “what happened to your candy?” 

“didn’t want it,” you mumble, walking towards sirius. 

“why not?” he’s dancing around the topic, and both of you know it. 

“not hungry.” 

“i’m sorry.” 

“s’not your fault,” you say. you’re not mad at him, you could never really be mad at him, but you’re upset nonetheless. you push away towards the black-haired boy perusing the shelves. “siri, you done?” 

you link arms with your other friend, leading him out of honeyduke’s, leaving remus trailing behind. 

—

“hi dove.” a voice, and its accompanying owner, peeks out from the doorway into your dorm. “may i come in?” 

“hi rem,” you say in response, beckoning him in, putting your book to the side to let him crawl onto you. “can’t you always?” 

his shoulders sag slightly, slumping into your bed as soon as he reaches it. his head is in your lap, and he closes his eyes once you begin to massage his scalp with your fingers, pressing a kiss to your exposed hipbone next to him. 

you don’t say anything, you just let the silence dance between the two of you. 

he’s so pretty. you brush some of his sandy strands out of his face to let yourself just admire him. the towering giant and all his gentleness. your fingers trace the outlines of his face, the scars that decorate it, all the way down to his right pinky, where he has the cutest tattoo. 

i love you is all you want to say. the words pulse at your throat, begging you to let them free. but you can’t. you can’t lose him. anyone else, sure, you would do it. but not him. not remus, your remus. 

when he wakes, groggy but grounded, you have a hot cup of tea ready by your bed, ready for his consumption. you hand it to him as soon as he’s fully awake, pulling himself off of you to accept the mug. “i don’t deserve you, dovie.” 

“don’t say stuff like that, rem. if anything, you deserve better.” you press a kiss to his cheek, smiling. 

“there’s nobody and nothing better than you,” he promises, hand landing on your lower thigh to massage it gently. you smile, letting the quiet linger between the two of you a little longer before speaking up. 

“you wanna talk about it?” you ask, watching him sip his tea. 

he gives you the most adoring smile, and you want to put it in a box and lock it up and keep it forever. “just tired.” 

“okay,” you say, searching his face to verify what he’s saying. “you can always talk to me, you know.” 

“thank you.” remus is always sincere, it’s one of the things you love about him, but he seems especially sincere now. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, y/n.” 

“and you are to me,” you whisper, eyes dipping to his plush pink lips. you want to kiss him so badly right now, but you know he just means it like a friend, as much as you wish it wouldn’t. 

swallowing, you wipe those ideas away, choosing to rest your head against his fleece sweater-covered shoulder. he drops a kiss onto the top of your head, and you sigh in contentment. this is why you refuse to tell him you love him. you couldn’t live without these moments. 

“there’s a party tonight at nine-ish,” he says softly. his thumb is rubbing circles on your knee. “sirius is dragging me along. will you come?” 

you contemplate it only briefly. “i’m tired, rem. you should go, though.” 

“i’ll stay back with you,” he decides with resolution. your heart melts, it’s sweet of him to want to stay with you, but you want him to have fun. plus, you can feel in how his body coiled with excitement when he talked about it–he wants to go. 

“no, go.” you glare playfully at him. “i won’t forgive you if you don’t.” 

“i’ll stay with you,” he repeats, staring right back at you. “it’s just a party. i’d stay with you forever, you know? you’re my favorite person.” 

“i’ll be mad at you if you don’t go, i swear to merlin,” you egg him on, heart melting. 

“no.” he’s too stubborn for his good. 

“i want to be alone,” you lie. you know he wants to go and you refuse to hold him back. “i might come later on, just not at nine. i’ll be there at ten, maybe.” 

“and i’ll wait for you,” he promises. 

“please, remus.” you put on your saddest tone, gaze up at him pleadingly. “i just need some alone time.” 

“you want to be alone?” he asks cautiously, searching for any hint you may be lying. 

“yes.” you cross your toes, tucked under your quads. 

he’s hesitating, and as if in perfect timing, a knock sounds at your door before a familiar head of black hair peeks through. 

“moony, let’s go. leave poor y/n alone.” sirius clicks his tongue. 

you push remus’ shoulder lightly, gesturing for him to go. he casts one long look at your face, as if memorizing every ridge. 

“she’s not going to change while we’re gone, get a move on,” sirius groans from the door. you nod at the statement, and remus concedes. 

“i’ll be here the whole time,” you promise. 

“call me if you get lonely.” he makes you swear before reluctantly getting up. you kiss his hand to send him off. 

you were lying when you said you would join him at nine. five minutes after he’s out the door, you’re fast asleep under the covers, the ghost of his touch comforting you. 

—

as soon as your eyes open, you let out a sound of disappointment. you can tell you haven’t slept through the night, as none of your roommates are in their beds, and they always sleep in. the clock reads that it’s only a bit before eight forty five, and you roll over in your bed. you know you won’t be able to fall back asleep, but you try anyway, until the door slams and your eyes fly open. 

it’s lily, face flushed with the cold and excitement. the second she sees you kissed by sleep, she covers her mouth. “sorry, y/n! were you sleeping?” 

you wave her off. “no, i was already awake. what’s up?” 

“james is going to be at the party tonight. will you come? please, please, please? i don’t want to go alone with him,” she begs. “please.” 

you weigh your options: if you stay here, you’ll just lay in bed, not sleeping. you might as well go with her, you’ll see remus there too. 

“okay,” you agree, and she practically drags you out of bed, she’s so happy. 

—

even though lily’s the one who dragged you here to keep her away from james, she’s off with him in a corner within ten minutes of you getting there, leaving you in a sea of other people, alone. of course, you know most of your housemates that are stuffed into this crowded common room, but you don’t know any particular one of them enough to properly go up to and chat. you sit awkwardly on a couch for a few minutes, next to couples making out, before finally just giving up and getting ready to leave. 

you saw sirius going into a bedroom with someone, so he’s out of the picture, peter’s smoking in the corner with some ravenclaws you have no interest in speaking with, james is alone with lily, and he’d kill you if you interrupted them, and you have absolutely no clue where remus is. 

whatever. you walk towards the door to the girls’ dormitories, stumbling over students on the way, when you just barely catch a glimpse of sandy hair outside on a balcony. you’d know it anywhere–that’s remus. you scramble towards him, eager to see a friendly face, hand cracking the door open, when just as quickly as it came, the excitement dies in your throat. 

because just behind remus is a girl you hate to see. celeste, hair floating behind her. if you blink hard enough, you see a breeze wafting through her hair as her fingers knot around remus’–your remus–neck. his hands are on the small curve of her waist, and he’s pushing her against the railing and, oh god–they’re kissing. 

you let out a thick gasp and your hand slaps over your mouth. you turn and flee. they probably heard you, but they can’t maneuver through the crowd like you can. within seconds, you’re sure you’ve lost any trace of them, darting through people as you sprint outside to the outside of the castle. sure it’s past curfew, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

no one will see you now. 

he’s supposed to be yours. he was yours, he was yours in more than just a best friend. those nights when he fell asleep in your bed, having you wrap your arms around him for warmth, he was yours. when you always visited him post-full moon in the apothecary, and as much as he wishes to push you away, you never let him, he was yours then. when he lets you in, truly and fully, and lets himself cry against you, letting you take care of him for once. you’re the only person he’s ever let himself cry in front of.

and even though you’d deny it a million times, and you did, to sirius, to james, you’ve always hoped that he liked you back. deep down, in the parts of your soul you only ever showed to him. he didn’t have to love you, even. just like, that would be enough. anything would. 

but that was too much for him, clearly. 

you’re crying. tears, fat and hot, soaking the skin on your cheeks. head in your hands, letting your open palms pool the salty water. you feel nothing but yourself and the wind against the cold of the stone steps, whipping your hair around. 

“dove.” 

you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping you’re hallucinating, praying the voice you just heard wasn’t real. you couldn’t see him right now. that would be humiliating. 

“y/n?” 

you crack your eye open when you hear the same voice, trying to swallow your sobs back and failing as they manifest into ugly hiccups. you’re not hallucinating. merlin damn it. 

in front of you, peering up at your blotchy face, is remus lupin, your best friend. the man who’s not yours. 

he’s on the step below you,  but one hand snakes its way onto your knee, soothing your skin with his slender thumb, the other finding your hand to intertwine your fingers. fuck, his touch both makes you lean into him and want to throw up at the same time. his eyes are chock-full of compassion, and god, you hate it. “what’s wrong?” 

his words send you blubbering into tears again, rubbing at your eyes as something splits open in your chest. “n-nothing.” 

“something’s wrong, love. let me help you. let me in,” he pleads in the softest tone, and you have to fight to not give in, to wrap your arms around him and never let go. remember celeste, remember that terrible sight of his lips on hers. 

“remus, leave me alone.” you’re shaking, but somewhere inside you, you find your resolve. you stand, pulling away from him, and make to run back inside the castle, but his long legs catch up to you easily, arm shooting around your waist when your knees buckle and you collapse onto the floor in sobs. 

“y/n, you’re scaring me,” he says, panic accumulating in his voice. “please tell me what’s wrong and i’ll fix it, i promise. please, baby. it’s killing me hear you cry.” 

you’re so close to the doors, you can see them. you stand again. “you don’t get to say that.” 

“what?” his arm’s still around your shoulder and you shove it off. 

“stop it! you’re so mean, remus. you don’t get to call me dove and call me baby and say stupid things like how there’s nobody better than me and i’m your favorite person and then go off and kiss other girls,” you spit out on the verge of hyperventilating. you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore. it’s just coming out, spewing out of your mouth like the vomit that’s sure to follow. but even as each word shocks you, you know they ring true. “i hate you for it. i hate you for leading me on for years when i’ve loved you since we were kids! you’re terrible, remus. i hate you.” 

he’s absolutely stunned trying to process your words, and you use the momentary distraction to race back into the school, gunning for your dorm and locking it once you’re inside. the image of celeste and remus plays through your mind all night, so much that you can barely even think about how you confessed your love to him.

masterlist | next part

tags @lydiasfalling @dancingwithourhandsuntied

[lydiasfalling]

she’s amazing?

enough to let you go, remus lupin

so for once in my life, let me get what i want

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x fem!reader -- something's up with remus, but he won't tell you what.

reader wears a skirt and has a job where they could be making more money if they moved?? (idk just go with it 😭😭)

word count ༄ 4.1k

nora’s notes ༄ trying out a different writing style again this time haha, played a lottt more w themes which was fun but i think the pacing was off bc of that. if you have any feedback lmk!

“Hello, my love,” Lily coos at her son as she trots into the dining room, whisking him from his high chair. “Hello to you, too, darling.” 

“G’morning, Lily.” You accept her kiss on your cheek, turning to watch her flip a pancake on the stove. Though you’ve just entered uninvited and chosen to linger awkwardly in their kitchen doorway, at the Potters, you’re always welcome. At least, that’s what they always tell you. And with your and your boyfriend’s flat so close to them–four floors down and five doors over, as you’ve memorized–you end up popping in a lot. 

“So? What’s going on with you today? Are you and the boyfriend going to be around?” Flop. Another pancake lands on the plate, followed by a neat pat of butter and a pool of maple syrup. 

“Mmm, nothing much. We’ll be here. I have some work to be done, as always,” you sigh, leaning your elbows onto the counter. It’s cluttered with papers and such, but you make room. You always do. 

“Well, Harry’s got a playdate at four. It’s a kids’ concert at the park, but you’re welcome to come. I think Sirius might, though I haven’t a clue what he’ll do there.” She shrugs, Harry on one hip. 

“That would be lovely. I’ll have to see.” You acknowledge her with a hum, grabbing one of the open magazines on their table and flipping through it. Their house is always so lovely, smelling of baking and buttermilk yellow, with kids’ toys littered across the floor and photos of all kinds strung up on the walls. Of just James and Lily from their Hogwarts days, in muggle photo booths with lipstick smudged all over his face, of your whole group, crammed into one shot and frozen. This is your favorite shot: Remus’ arm has found its way to your shoulders, your face is kiss-happy, and you’re both grinning at the camera like he’d just proposed. And a shot of the Potters’ engagement, of course. You can see the tears glossing over James’ eyes, the excitement that rouges Lily’s sleek face, then her white dress, her ring, her altar. 

“Tea?” She asks, back still turned toward the stove. 

“Yes, please.” You watch her pour some water–already boiling, like she knew. 

She passes a mug to you, dark gray. “Careful. It’s still hot.” 

Before you get the chance to thank her, a voice booms in from the doorway. “Are those my wife’s famous pancakes I smell?” 

Harry melts into squeals, grabbing for his father and squirming his mother’s arms. Sure enough, James comes swooping in, flying his son above his head over to you. “Ah. Hello, fourth member of the Potter household.” 

“Oh, did I get the job?” you quip, sitting back into one of the counter’s tall stools. “When do I start?” 

“Right now.” He drops Harry into your lap, warm and heavy and smelling like baby. “Starting rank is babysitting. You’ll move up as you go along.” 

You roll your eyes, turning your attention to the youngest Potter, who stares at you with wide eyes, one small hand moving to tug at your hair. “Harold. Ouch.” 

“So, Y/N.” One of James' hands reaches up towards his head, scratching at his mass of curls. “Have you noticed anything off with Moony lately?” 

“No,” you say slowly, one hand moving towards your cup of tea. You catalog your interactions with your boyfriend in the past 24 hours–two toothbrushes on the counter, breakfast tumbling out of bed, mumbles, half-late for work, short and sweet lunch call, good evening welcome home hi i love you kiss, two plates on the table, how he tastes of smoke and mint after brushing his teeth. Everything seemed in place to you. “Should I have noticed something?” 

He looks at you. Stays there for a solid few seconds. Then, slowly, crawling, “No. I suppose not.” 

Steam pushes between your fingers, tightening in coils through the air. You frown. It almost hurts. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” he repeats, looking away to saunter towards his wife. His arms wrap firmly around her waist; she lets out a small, surprised laugh as he whisks her into the air. Harry drops your hair and turns towards his parents, clapping with vigor. 

Your fingers knot their way into Harry’s shirt–a burnt mustard shifting to a pale yellow in the morning sun. Your other hand traces the rim of your cup. Lily was right, it’s practically boiling still, it’s scalding to touch. The more you do it, the more you’re sure all of your nerves have burned off. 

“Lily?” Your voice emerges like honey. Low, smooth. Achingly slow. Transparent. Perhaps too much so. 

She perks her head up from where it lay on her husband’s chest. “Yes, darling?” 

“I should go,” you say after a few seconds trip on the distance between you and them. You lift Harry from your lap and walk him over to his parents. “I think Remus is waiting for me.” 

“Okay,” she agrees, arms opening to hold her baby. “I’ll see you later?” 

You nod, step back. “I’ll see.” 

James looks at you again. You look back. “Bye, Y/N.” 

“Bye, Potter. Your pancakes are burning.” You point behind him, where smoke is escaping from the pan, something hissing and sputtering. 

“Shit.” 

“James!” 

“Sorry.” 

—

When the door to your apartment creaks open, you half-expect your boyfriend to be lying on the floor in a pool of blood, with how weird James was acting. Nope. Everything’s in place. Your couch, leather and loveworn with years of you and Remus laying intertwined and shifting and giggling, sits in the corner. The rug, that wildflower blue, is where it always is. The TV, the mantel. You like your living room, but the urge to add pictures just like Lily did, grabs you. 

“Remus?” You swallow, checking your clock. It’s already half past ten, he’s usually up by now. You know he had a rough night last night, still sleeping off the full moon a few days earlier, all aches. The moon hadn’t been good, but were they ever? You’d skipped work to take care of him, to try and massage out those clicks in his bones, to stop the aching that you knew lived in his knees and hips and chest cavity, but maybe it hadn’t been enough. 

“Mmm?” There it is. Sleep is still coating his voice, croaky as he calls out to you. “Where are you, dove?” 

“Sorry, I didn’t wake you, did I?” You lower your voice, tossing your shoes to the side and strolling towards your shared bedroom. “I’m back from Lily’s. Want to go out tonight? Harry’s got something at the park, but I have a feeling Sirius will want to go out after.” 

Your hands lodge themselves on your hips. He’s lying on the bed, looking absolutely devourable, as always. His eyes are rimmed with exhaustion, his shirt has slipped off somewhere around the room, his face is framed by his messy hair. And he’s looking up at you with those sweet, sweet eyes, turning his lips upwards as you approach him. 

“You’ll be the death of me,” you decide, crawling on top of him and lying onto his chest so your nose is snug against his neck, breathing him in. Your hands find their way to his hair, intertwine–no, tangle–you two together. “You smell good.” 

You can feel his lips press to the part of your head, the warmth of his breath as he exhales. “You smell like baby powder and James Potter.” 

“Accurate,” comes your response, a loose hum vibrating through your throat. He shivers, you can feel it run through his body. Skin against skin against skin. “Can we just stay like this forever?” 

“But how else will we attend Harry’s childrens’ music concert tonight?” He teases lightly. You smile at that, burrowing deeper into the space between his shoulder and neck. 

He rubs your back with that same lightness, fleetingly, before grabbing the pack of cigarettes that resides on his bedside table and lighting one above your head. You watch the smoke cloud his face, thickening in perpetual rings. He looks different from this angle, shrouded. 

Your hand reaches out to touch a puff of gray. It swirls out of reach before you can make contact. 

—

“Watch Harry one second, please? I have to find James.” Lily walks towards your picnic blanket, where your head’s tilted onto Remus’ shoulder, the two of you faced towards the stage. You don’t really want to be here longer than you have to, since the bands really are for little kids and you look out of place here, with no children to show off and giggle and run in circles around you like all the others here. But James went to look for Sirius, whose arrival will allow you to go to your next destination, the bar–and, more than that, you absolutely adore your godson. 

“Of course!” You straighten, opening your arms wide to hold Harry, who grins when he sees you. “Hi, Harold.” 

He “stands” on your lap, facing you as you support his endeavors with two firm hands around his hips. It’s like he’s gotten five pounds heavier since this morning, and his grip on your hair has gotten ten times as strong, tugging and tugging. You don’t mind, though. Especially when he laughs in toothless spurts, absolutely adorable and the sweetest baby you’ve ever seen. 

“Aren’t babies the absolute best?” You sigh with a melt, tipping back onto Remus and letting Harry sit propped on your lap. “He’s the cutest one I’ve ever seen.” 

But your boyfriend’s just looking at you, the hazel of his eyes drooping in the fading sunlight. “Whatever you say, dove.” 

Then, without warning, Harry lurches onto his back, brown eyes going wide in surprise as he looks up at you. 

“Ouchie. Did that hurt?” You swipe your thumb across his small, baby-haired forehead and readjust him so he’s more secure. “You’re okay, lovie. I promise.” 

He giggles it off, and something deep inside of you swells. You want a baby so, so badly. A little Remus, maybe, to take to terrible kiddie concerts and smile at you so sweetly. 

Remus’ hand slips behind your head, massaging your scalp as you babble to Harry, indulging in his small squeals of delight when you do something funny. You’ve just begun to sing along with Wheels on the Bus when someone bumps right into your back. Someone being a little girl, probably only a year older than Harry, sobs leaving her that are much too big for her small frame. You pass the baby to Remus, turning to give her your attention. 

“Oh no,” you murmur, craning your neck for a look around for her parents. “Are you okay, darling?” 

Your only answer is another sob. Tentatively, you reach out for her, one palm coming up to rub her back in small circles. Sure, you have no clue who she is, but you can’t just let her weep on the grass, alone. 

“Where’s your mum?” You ask, before mentally scolding yourself. Of course she doesn’t know, otherwise she would’ve found her by now. “We’ll help you find her, hm?” 

You stand, and the girl, at ease with your kindness, clings to one of your legs, grasping at your hands. Taking the cue, you hoist her up and help her look around for whoever she’s with. The contact seems to be helping, so you trace a pattern on her back, trying to help her calm down. 

“Jenny? Jenny!” Someone yells, and an exact depiction of the girl in thirty years barrels through the lawn. “Oh, my poor baby!” 

They’re reaching for each other, so you pass the girl to her mother and step back, letting them reunite. 

“So sorry if I overstepped, I just heard her crying and couldn’t leave her there.” You flash a small smile at the woman, who grins at you, all tooth and sparkle. 

“No, no, thank you so much! She just keeps running off from me.” She smiles at her daughter, who rests her head on her shoulder. “I’m surprised you got her to stop crying, she usually won’t stop once she starts. You’ve got a kid here? You’re good with children, I’m sure.” 

You beam at the compliment, eyes flitting to Remus and Harry, who are watching you from their picnic blanket. A sudden nervousness clenches you, and you just bite your lip, murmur something you won’t remember later, smile at the girl and her mother. 

She compliments you again, thanks you. You just smile back, my pleasure. Harry’s babbles distract you from your goodbye, so you turn and squat back down to give him a kiss on the head. His hair is down-soft, smelling like baby powder. You plant one on your boyfriend’s cheek too, right on one of his pretty scars, just because. You’re so in love with him, then, and how he smells like campfire and looks up at you with a kindness you’d never thought you’d be lucky enough to find in your life. He looks twisted, so you try to smooth him out with another kiss. 

And another for Harry, one more for Remus. You’re almost at four each when Lily comes back and steals away her baby. Five for Remus. One for you. 

—

“Have you seen Y/N?” Remus slides into the booth next to James, who’s watching a very curly-haired, very drunk Sirius pushed all the way in. You’d gone off to fetch yourself another drink while he’d gone to the bathroom, but when he returned to the floor, you were gone. 

“Think she’s over there with Lily,” James says, gesturing to somewhere to his right. When he looks over, you’re there, frosted glass cupped between palms. There’s a guy standing next to you, forearms against the counter and pretty eyes framed by jealousy-inducing lashes, much too close for Remus’ taste, but you’re too tipsy to register it. He’s got a silver watch on his left wrist, smooth and slippery between your fingers. You giggle as he hands it to you, waves something off and leans in closer. He looks like an asshole, your boyfriend decides. A complete and utter asshole. 

Remus stands just as you look around the bar, trying to find him. Your eyes are sparkling. You hold up the watch to show him, wobbling as you turn. The guy–that stupid, stupid guy with stupid, stupid eyes–is asking you a question, but you’re only half-paying attention, thank Merlin. He walks as quickly as he can towards you. Where you’re tucked into the bar, he can just hear the boom of the guy’s voice. 

“What do you do for work?” He asks, swirling a cup in his hand. His voice is throaty, deep. At your murmured answer, his brow tightens. “What? Then why are you here?” 

You twirl around, letting your skirt flounce. Where’s Remus? “Mmm, I dunno.” 

“You could be making a lot more money,” that throatiness continues. “If you traveled. You could do so much more. Be so much more.” 

“I like things here,” you respond, stilling to lean against the counter. words sloshing together. “I like my friends and my home and my boyfriend. I love my boyfriend. I couldn’t ever leave him.” 

“Your what?” He repeats. He jolts into a stand, glances around. “You have a boyfriend?” 

“She does.” Remus finally reaches you. His voice is taut. One hand clasps onto your elbow. The other slips to your hip. Squeezes. “Ready, dove?” 

As soon as you feel his touch, you slump backwards, eyes closing as your cheek slips onto the softness of his sweater. “Of course, Remmy. We going now?” 

He shakes his head before realizing you can’t see him. “No, let’s just get back to the table. Lily’s there.” 

“Lily?” You perk your head up like an excited toddler, searching through the dark for the redhead. “Let’s go. Bye bye, Jack.” 

Jack. Asshole name. Asshole. Remus doesn’t like the ugly thing that paws at his heart. You could do so much more. Jack waves, or something. You wave back and let Remus guide you to the table. 

“You okay, baby?” You ask, your fingers slowly slipping into his. You trail your gaze upward, your pretty eyes on his face so you can watch him nod. “You smell like smoke.” 

“That so?” He murmurs, letting you slide into the seat next to the other Marauders. 

Sirius is looking just as drunk as he did ten minutes ago but much less sleepy, to his credit. He bobbles his head up and down, eyes on you. “Again, Moony?” 

Your head tilts. You look like a begging puppy. “Again what?” 

Your boyfriend swallows. You press your finger to his Adam’s apple. He swallows again. You giggle as it bobs, feeling the sensation on your skin. 

He doesn’t giggle with you, you don’t mind. His eyes are pretty tonight. They’re shiny. Glittery. 

“Sirius,” comes James’ voice. More serious than you’ve ever heard him be with his best friend. “Don’t you think you did enough last time you drank?” 

“What happened last time?” You ask, looking up at the table. Ever curious, you are. 

The boy sighs, puts his head down on the table. “I don’t really remember. Something with Moony and yo–” 

“Sirius,” James says again. His voice almost echoes. 

“Oh.” Some kind of realization seizes him. “Sorry, Lupin.” 

He doesn’t receive a response. Those are tears, you realize. Glossing up his eyes. All of a sudden, it feels as though someone’s punched you in the gut. Your hand reaches for Remus. He lets you touch him, but you don’t feel his fingers braiding through yours. You take it back, tuck it under your chin. 

“Don’t smoke in here,” you mumble suddenly, to no one in particular. “Don’t do it.” 

“What’s that, darling?” Lily swoops her head next to yours. The alcohol’s effects are starting to rub off. Maybe she thinks you can’t see the glances she’s making to James. 

“I want to go home,” You say finally. 

Remus stands before you can elaborate even a word more, grabbing his coat and yours from the backs of James’ chair. 

“Goodbye, lovely,” Lily says to you as you trail behind Remus. Her husband is saying something to Sirius. You can’t tell what. 

Your apartment isn’t far from this bar, that’s why you chose it in the first place. The starlight is just beginning to lessen, midnight shifting into something else. Clouds, miserably gray, cling to the awakening sky. It must be morning. Soon? 

You walk the first block in silence, shivering, as you watch Remus so clearly hurt. His strides are impossibly long, rigid, each breath of his comes out half-torn, and he’s blinking so much more than any normal human should be. You’ve spent years memorizing the planes of his back. You can tell when he’s tense, shoulders folding in on himself, only you can’t tell why. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you try, quickening your pace to match his. “I never should’ve spoken with that guy, he just had a nice watch. I don’t–I don’t remember how we got talking.” 

“Y/N, don’t apologize. Seriously, that’s the last thing I want you to do,” he says, stopping to turn to you. “It’s not… it wasn’t that, I swear.” 

You don’t like the way your name touches his tongue–like mulch, something falling to the floor. It’s unlike him. 

“What is it, then?” You ask, eyes nonjudgmental. “Tell me.” 

Your heart skips a beat, then, “nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing,” you argue, resuming your walk. “You can talk to me about anything, Rem. You know it.” 

“When we get home,” he offers, and you take it. You’re nearly there, anyway, just a few more doors and you’ll be in the warmth. Your feet shuffle on the sidewalk as you walk, almost nipping his heels.

The lobby, as predicted, is warm, but dark. The lights are set low. You have to fumble a bit to find the button for your floor, more to find your keys. Remus nudges you aside, gentle but firm. He opens the door, lets you stumble inside. 

“Sleep, alright?” He opens the door to your bedroom, and you’ve already forgotten your earlier conversation. “I’ll be there in a bit.” 

You know where he’s going, the sound of the landing door confirming it only a moment later. You hear the lighter, the exhale, even over the city’s lullaby. You turn away and the sight of your bed lures you in, more than changing into pajamas or undoing your makeup and hair. But just as you topple onto the mattress, your nerves go frigid. Without Remus next to you, fingers running through your hair, it’s hard. You flip and flip and flip until the last dregs of night force you to sleep. 

—

When you wake, it’s jolting, to the crash of pans, a shit sworn under breath. Someone changed you out of your clothes while you slept, put you in one of Remus’ old soft tees, loose and hot on your skin. Your hand travels to his side of the bed on instinct, even though you know he’s out in the kitchen. Usually, when he makes breakfast Sunday mornings, you collect his warmth, coiling up where he lay only minutes before to try and push the day away as best you can. But today, the sheets are cold. 

You pull yourself up, a frown weighing down your lips. The bedspread is undisturbed, sheets crisp as when you made the bed the morning before. 

Did he even fall asleep? Some kind of dread pools in your gut, tugging and tugging at your intuition. You stand from the bed, stumble into the kitchen, pausing to look around. 

He wasn’t making breakfast. He was grabbing his extra pack, one now slipped between his fingers. It’s eleven in the morning. The clouds are stuck to the sky. And here he is, sitting on the landing, looking out at the bleakness of gray, of the city. 

You say his name so quietly it sounds like a nightmare, go to him with clouds for feet. When he turns to look at you, your heart startles. He’s hollowed out. Eyes rimmed red. You step out barefoot onto the wood of the landing, stopping a foot before him. 

“Show me your hands.” Your voice is soft, the command firm. When he doesn’t comply right away, you take his right fist and unfurl it for him. On his palm run deep crescent moons, some almost biting through his skin with force. You swipe your thumb against them, sandwiching his hand between yours to massage out his scars. “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

He turns around again, whole body facing outside except for his hand. He can’t bring himself to make you let him go. The silence stutters between you two, you still drawing hearts onto his palm and him away. He takes a drag from his cigarette. 

“We need to break up,” he says finally, and you think someone’s gone and pulled the landing from under you, because you never once in your life thought you’d hear those words. Not from Remus’ mouth. Not ever. 

“What?” You try repeating the death he’s just uttered, but your tongue lies limp in your mouth and your lips refuse to work right. “What?” 

He doesn’t say it again. You don’t particularly want to hear it again, so you just watch as his lips turn white with pressure, as his mouth stays shut. 

“Something happened,” you say just to get it out there. “What?” 

“I love you,” he starts, and you slap pettily at his wrist. 

Shut up, you mean. You can’t say that. Not right now. 

“I love you, and so, I refuse to drag you down with me.” Smoke settles around his pretty hair, stagnates. That’ll be a bitch of a smell to wash out, you think. “You deserve to live with a picket fence around your house. You deserve four kids and a dog. You deserve a husband. Not a werewolf, not someone you have to miss your life for.” 

You open your mouth, but he stops you. His words refuse to absorb into your brain, refuse to puzzle themselves out. You watch his fingers open into yours, clench onto you with the desperation of a man on the death row. 

“You deserve better than me,” he exhales with some kind of botched finality. “I love you too much to make you my future, dove. In another lifetime, I’ll be better for you. I promise.” 

Your head tilts up to the sky. You can see shards of sunlight now, meshed through a particularly thin cloud. Lovely, lovely. 

You can feel his eyes on you, roving over your face and body, trying to puzzle out your thoughts. It’s funny how some things work themselves out.

yes, i got lazy at the end and yes, i have an alternate ending written

masterlist

tags: @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac @treefairy-28 @lolwey @callsignwidow @navs-bhat @hisparentsgallerryy @brxght-world @grxcisxhy-wp @luvv-danielle @idkman5353. @just-here-for-ff @rubyinthebooks @laurenzitaa @ariesandwolves @wasiasproject

[lydiasfalling]

when the angst has a happy ending >>>>>>

i want you. pt 2, remus lupin

intertwined, sewn together

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist, pt 1

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- the aftermath of you accidentally confessing your love for remus and running away, hurt/comfort, fluff

word count ༄ 4.1k

nora’s notes ༄ so sorry for the delay on this, thank you so so so much for all the love on the first part and for 200 followers??? that's gen insane i love all of you 💘 i haven't proofread so pls excuse grammar

you’ve barely gotten a wink of sleep next morning, and it shows. you finally crash in the morning to sleep through breakfast and lunch. 

at two, you’re up, but barely. you feel like absolute shit. the feeling only worsens when lily comes in, pity in her face. she knows what happened, and the pity only means one thing–there’s a reason he hasn’t come by, and it’s not because he’s in love with you. 

burying your head in your pillow, you let out a loud groan. 

“y/n?” she pulls back your covers and offers a plate up to you. “remus brought this for you, cause you weren’t at breakfast or lunch.” 

“don’t say his name in my presence,” you beg her, only half-joking. the plate she brought has all your favorite foods from the great hall, and you hate that remus knows you so well, well enough to pick them out. 

“he wants to talk to you,” she says once she’s sat on her own bed a few feet from you. “he just didn’t want to cross your boundaries. i’ll tell him off if you’d like, just let me know.” 

“i love you, lily, but it’s not necessary. it’s not his fault half of hogwarts loves him and the prettiest girl out there fell to his feet,” you huff, a sadness leaking out of you. you want to blame him. but really, you can’t. “he didn’t do anything wrong. i guess.” 

lily’s eyebrow raises as she waits for you to elaborate. “he did make you fall to his feet, didn’t he.” 

“you know who i’m talking about.” as if you could compare to celeste… although you’re pleased with the compliment. “and i’m still mad.” 

“you have every right to be,” she concedes, mouth open to say something when the door bursts open, carrying in a flustered marlene. 

“please, y/n, i’m begging you. do something about him. he’s run off and sirius can’t find him, so he’s bugged james about it who’s bugging me, and i can’t take it anymore.” her cheeks are flushed, begging, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to her. “i’d never do this to you, but i’ll truly rip my ears off for another moment of this.” 

“marlene.” lily’s glaring at the blonde, grabbing her by the elbow. “don’t listen to her, y/n. do whatever you want.” 

as much as you feel bad, you’re not ready. you don’t want to face him, like, ever. 

and that’s what you resolve to do for the whole next week. knowing remus, he would never make you uncomfortable, not on purpose, at least, but he knows you too well to make you uncomfortable by accident. so, three days later, when you stumble into breakfast with approximately thirty minutes of sleep and bags suitcases under your eyes to match it and choose the seat farthest away from him, he doesn’t move closer to you. 

still, you feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you just stare down at your plate, making pictures with the eggs and ketchup. while half-listening to marlene’s blabbering, you craft a smiley face, then a frowny face to match your mood, a mickey mouse, and then this girl that you hate for no reason because she’s really not hateable at all you just hate her because she kissed this guy who’s your best friend but technically you’re not even dating you’re just in love with him. fuck. you push away the eggs and glance around the table. the first thing you notice is him noticing you–it’s the first day you’ve not felt too lovesick and heartbroken to ditch class and meals, for risk of seeing him, so your presence speaks for itself. even then, every morning you wake up to an artfully arranged plate outside your door, laden with your favorite foods. the same comes for lunch and dinner, and you’re not stupid. you know he sends them. 

but you can’t talk to him. not now that you know he’s not in love with you like you are with him, at least not as much. he might even like celeste by now. not “might,” he probably does. you wouldn’t hold it against him. they would be beautiful together. a fresh round of nausea sloshes into the walls of your gut. 

when you deem it socially appropriate to leave, you take the chance, getting up with the masses heading to class, trying to slip through the crowd to avoid him. 

“y/n,” sirius croons from your right, so close you can feel his hot breath on your ears, and your heart sinks. where sirius is, the marauders are soon to follow. “oh, how i missed you this past eternity.” 

you grimace at him, pushing his cheek away from your face. “hi, padfoot. it’s been three days.” 

“and what days they’ve been!” he proclaims dramatically, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pretending to faint. 

“siri. i’m not in the mood.” you mutter, slipping out from under his arm, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the blond you would recognize anywhere is not here. you’re in the clear for now, you’ve no clue where he, peter, and james have gone or why they’re so far from sirius. 

he senses your mood shift and transforms into serious sirius. “you need to get back with moony.” 

when you blow out a heavy breath, your hair flies forwards and hangs limply on your face. “a, as i said, it’s been like three days. b, we were never together so i can’t ‘get back’ with him. c, and listen carefully when i say this, i don’t want to.” he doesn’t want me are the words you leave sour and dormant on your tongue. 

“but, y/n,” he pouts. “he really misses you, even if it’s only been a little while. he’s a wreck, knowing he made you cry.” 

you’ve heard enough. of course. this is why the marauders aren’t near him. it’s a ploy, an intervention if you may. 

“no, don’t even.” you pull away from him and push through the throngs of students to get away from him. you toss out a parting over your shoulder before slipping away, “i’ll see you in class.” 

just kidding. you sneak back into your dorm and let the blankets swallow you, watching the ceiling to pass the time. remus is not in love with you. he never will be. 

as you count the amount of nicks in the ceiling paint for the forty-hundredth time, you think about him again. as you have for the past eight years. 

even if he’s not in love with you–you can’t imagine a life without him. you can’t sacrifice your friendship, all those friendly touches, the feeling of his warm hand splayed against your back, the sight of him curled in his bed with his newest book. how could you never discuss your favorite books with him again? how could you sacrifice that golden look that makes you melt over as you speak? those perfectly brewed cups of tea, vanilla-scented sweaters, knitted thickly with love? 

he’s your best friend. the answer is, you could never live without him. even if you’re in love with him and he’s not, in fact, in love with you back. you’ll just have to get over it. 

whoever painted this ceiling left fourteen cracks. 

–

you’re going to get over him, you swear it. this is what you repeat as you walk into the great hall, your eyes trained on the ground, slipping into the seat next to lily. you refuse to look at him or any of his friends. you won’t. you can’t. 

it’s the first time you’re here. sure, you came by the table this morning, but drawing pictures with ketchup until the whole plate looks like you murdered the bottle isn’t exactly engaging. now, you and marlene are conversing about stupid things: the shoes you need in your wardrobe, your favorite song to listen to while crying in the shower vs. in your bed. and important questions, like what’s better, milk or dark chocolate (dark chocolate, obviously, and don’t even think about saying white chocolate. that is not real chocolate)? 

you can feel his eyes on you, drilling almond brown holes into your skull. the urge to look up chokes you. you want to see the curve of his smile, how lopsided it leans on him, the scars that dance around his lips. but you steel yourself. you can’t. you won’t. 

–

you’re ignoring him. the problem is, it’s not really working. 

no matter where you are, you can feel his eyes on you; even if you’re across the classroom, you swear you can smell the earthiness of his cologne, his sweaters. 

fuck. 

you are not getting over him anytime soon. 

the two of you manage to avoid any contact for what feels like months–days, maybe. in the hallways, you brush past each other, sometimes mumbling an apology or two as you pass. nothing sincere. nothing short of incredibly, incredibly awkward. 

you tuck yourself into hidden corners of the library, the astronomy tower, the room of requirement, anywhere where you can get away. from him, from the scary softness of sirius’ eyes when he looks at you, the even more terrifying relative quiet from marlene, who was seemingly instructed to give you space by lily. everything is awkward. and it’s all your fault. 

when the glances stares fade, you know why, and you hate yourself for knowing. the full moon’s nearing. remus’ shoulders are sagging, his looks come from lower down. his body is aching more and more, he twists around nearly every class you have together, something you know he’s always done to try and alleviate some pain. his undereyes are bruised and swollen, and you see the brass of his cane around the common room, and you hate that you aren’t there for him. he hates that thing, he always tries to avoid using it. 

it must be especially bad this time around. 

and when lily comes into your dorm the day before the full moon, skin sunken with exhaustion, you figure something’s up. 

“lily?” you ask, jolting up from your book. the mug of tea that he drank the night you stopped talking is still by your bedside. you can’t bring yourself to move it. what if that’s your last memory with him? 

“hm?” she murmurs, flopping onto her bed. 

“what’s wrong?” you ask as you turn your body towards hers. 

she waves her head, face in the pillow. 

“you can talk to me about him,” you frown. “it’s related to him, isn’t it? the full moon?” 

the redhead sits up, looks at you. she’s not one to lie, never has been. “...yeah. james is just stressed, because he thinks this transformation has already been really painful for him, and it’s only going to get worse tomorrow.” 

your head is bobbing. you swallow your feelings–what is that, guilt? shame? you don’t know what. maybe celeste broke up with him. not everything is related to you. 

“mhm,” you say in response. absorbing. 

she hesitates, mouth opening, before shutting it again. “it’s–well, i don’t…” 

you shrug. “you don’t have to say anything, lily.” 

so she doesn’t. 

—

lily’s right. in the eight years you’ve known him, he has never looked so rough pre-transition. you steal peeks at him all day, like he’s a tv show you weren’t supposed to watch as a kid. it looks like the life is steaming out of him. his hair–artfully messy, as always—is mussed and unwashed. when he walks out of the classroom, it’s a limp, with a slow clunk to it that makes your chest hurt. you want nothing more than to rush over and help him, but no. if he wanted you, well, if he didn’t want celeste, he would have come after you. 

he doesn’t want you. you repeat that to yourself when you see him almost pass out onto his plate during lunch, making a worried sirius (yes, sirius of all people, who usually tries to stay calm in situations like these) rush him to his dorm. 

but he reappears only an hour later for potions, when his back is tensed, tight, and his shoulders are hunched over. slughorn tries to call on him twice, but he pretends he isn’t there. 

your chest aches when he doesn’t show up to dinner, and halfway through, the rest of the marauders disappear, muttering to themselves as they go. you rub your collarbone and watch, your anxiety heightened. 

once the great halls door slam, the first place your eyes dart to is the hufflepuff table. you don’t even need to look around to see her. everyone within a ten-person vicinity is ever so slightly turned towards her, like her charisma is impossible to ignore. they want to be her, be with her, know her. 

she’s speaking animatedly, tossing out an airy laugh now and then. maybe remus hasn’t told her yet. 

some evil, petty part of you relishes in that fact. 

the girls are watching you, eyes wide and lips pursed. they’re trying to read you, determine how you’re feeling. dorcas, of all people, has been checking in on you everyday since you and remus fell out, and marlene too, in her own sarcastic way. but seeing them together made you ache for a cavity that could never be filled. a gryffindor love, a spectacular love. one that existed in your if onlys. 

you head straight to your room after dinner to try and throw yourself into your homework, but the distraction doesn’t work. you can’t stop thinking about remus. is he okay? you wish you could be with him. why did you start ignoring him in the first place? 

as the stars fade into the sky, lily bursts through the door, mary an hour later. marlene sneaks in, then out, then in again, with dorcas by her hand. but as time ticks, ticks, ticks, you can’t stop from looking at it. you’re the only one awake now, but the marauders probably aren’t back yet. 

you try your hardest to battle the reluctance that accompanies you to your bed, but you can’t. you just lie there, body tensed as images of remus run through your mind. the two of you visiting his hometown, or him on your lap, your favorite place for him to be. you’ll never forget the feeling of his coarse hair against the lilting touch of your fingers, or how he would turn onto his side, nose bumping against your stomach as he nuzzled into you. 

after waiting what feels like hours, you check the clock. yes. he’s back now. you rise as quietly as you can, slipping out of the dorms and darting towards the hospital room. is he okay? 

madam pomfrey is nowhere to be seen, and as you pass blue curtain to blue curtain, all you can hear is your shuffling. no one’s here–save for one figure on the end, flat on their back, moonlight filtering through the window above them. 

it hugs him in a most flattering light, his eyes closed and relaxed. fuck, he’s already sleeping. you don’t know if you should be happy he won’t see you or not. on your tiptoes, you creep towards his bed, where there’s a chair on his right. when you touch it, it’s still warm. the marauders must have just left. 

here he is. remus lupin. 

your eyes scan his face and arms, any body part that’s left out from the blankets. he has a fresh cut running from his elbow upwards, through where his t-shirt curls around his bicep. for someone with such fresh scars, he looks so, so beautiful. 

the second you sit down on the chair, his eyes fly open. 

oh. 

he wasn’t sleeping after all. 

perhaps the most awkward minute of your life passes, the two of you just staring at each other. your lips are parted, limbs frozen, anticipating. 

“rem?” you squeak out, reaching out to touch him as you usually would. you want to trace the scar that runs down his cheek, but he pulls away, muttering. 

without even acknowledging you, he turns on his side, burying his head into the pillow. 

“oh,” you breathe. he doesn’t want you there. you’re so stupid. why the hell would you come here? you know he likes celeste. you saw them kissing for merlin’s sake. 

you’re trying your best to stifle a gasp as your eyes become sticky with tears. what the fuck were you thinking? 

“stop it. just stop it,” he groans. “why are you bothering me again?” 

your limbs are stuck in place. for some reason, you can’t think, move. your thoughts are spinning in circles, racing around your mind. nothing’s coherent right now. 

you look at him again, his muscles shifting against the cotton of his t-shirt, and swallow. this is goodbye, isn’t it? your lips twist. 

“i-i’m sorry. i know you probably want to get your rest, i’ll just–” you have to force yourself to stand up, but when you do, your hand accidentally brushes his back on the small bed, and he jerks back, electrocuted. “oh, i–sorry.” 

he jolts upright, hands on the bed to support him. “dove?” 

you pause your movements, unsure what to do. he knew who you were before, didn’t he? what happened? 

maybe he’s just delirious from lack of sleep. you begin to walk away when a warm hand wraps around your wrist, drawing you backwards. 

“y/n. i–” he stops when you face him, and you can see the exact moment he sees the tears in your eyes, as he pulls you onto the bed, thumb sweeping the wetness under your eye like it’s second nature. his palm, rough with calluses and scars, supports the softness of your cheek, and you melt. “you’re here. you’re really here?” 

his eyes, that soft amber, spilling over with uncertainty and… regret? the same way he would look after one of the marauders’ particularly nasty pranks, or snapping at one of his friends close to the full moon. 

you nod, shoulders tense. “i just wanted to come stop by. i didn’t mean to–”

“no, no,” he interrupts, his other hand coming up to rub your arm. “i’m sorry. i didn’t… i’ve just been having, er, i’ve been having dreams of you all week. i thought you weren’t real.” 

his face is sparkling with earnestness, a kind of hope you hadn’t seen on him in a while. when you don’t say anything, he takes it as a cue to continue. “i’m also sorry for everything. i thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore. or… i don’t know.” 

“it’s okay, rem,” you promise, trying to build up the cracks threatening to crumble your voice and your resolve. you try to pull away from his touch, but his fingers just find your knee instead, massaging the flesh there. “i didn’t want to get between you and celeste or anything. it seemed like the right thing to do.” the last part of your voice comes out in a throaty whisper. 

“no.” he says firmly. 

“no?” you ask, shoulders crawling towards your shoulders. 

“no. i want you in my life, dove, always. i–celeste and i aren’t anything. i don’t like her. i never did.” his voice peters out, but his gaze on you stays strong. “there’s another girl.” 

does he hate you? want to kill you? because that’s sure what he’s doing right now, and he knows you too well to not know the effect he’s having on you. like he took the sword of gryffindor and peeked it into your chest–not enough to kill you by brunt force, but enough to maim, to let you bleed out onto the bed as you stare at him, betrayal tearing open your veins. 

“that’s nice, remus.” you don’t even know how words are coming out of your mouth at this point. maybe someone’s taken over your body? 

“i’m sorry for not coming up to you, too. i thought it was the right thing to do,” he says quietly, one of his hands dropping from your face. goosebumps follow where his skin met yours. you think the next sound you hear is the crack crack cracking of your heart. “i thought you wanted space from me. and you deserve that. i only let her kiss me cause… well, cause i thought i had to get over you.” 

what?

he’s gauging your expression, you can feel it, but again, everything’s spinning. you might pass out. what’s happening? who is this other girl he loves? 

“i’ve loved you for so long, but i thought there was never a chance that you could love me back. and then, there was that day. but, you’re you, the most gorgeous girl in all of gryffindor, and then there was me. you deserve so much better than me and how fucked up i am. so i left you alone. i thought it was right.” he glances to the side, bringing his hands to his lap. this is not real. you’re not real. he was right. this was a dream, and any minute this floaty feeling will stop and you won’t feel like you can’t feel your body and you’ll wake up hear your alarm and class will start it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real. 

but your hand reaches out to his, shaking. and the next words that tumble out of your lips are: “y-you love me?” 

“how could i not?” a laugh slips from his mouth and those eyes–those beautiful, beautiful eyes–are back on you and you can’t swallow breathe think nothing but those eyes, those sweet eyes. 

your mouth hangs open. “but…” 

“i’m sorry, y/n. and i don’t know if it’s too late, if you’ve found someone better, but i couldn’t ever leave you thinking that i don’t love you back. anyone who didn’t is a fool. an utter fool.” remus scratches at his jaw, lips pursed. “sorry. i just had to say it.” 

“you love me,” you repeat, looking at him. “you love me?” 

“i always have and i always will. loving you is a part of me, dove, the best part of me there’s ever been.” he sucks in a breath, brings your hand to his lips. when he speaks, you can feel the vibrations of his voice on your skin. “i love you so much.” 

you don’t even realize you’re crying until a tear splashes onto his cheek. you move to touch it, leaning closer to his face as your finger smooths the tear out onto his pretty skin. and then–then, oh, god, you’re so close to him. his breath is so warm. he smells so, so good. 

“can i kiss you, dove?” he asks so softly that you almost don’t hear him–you’re not even sure you do, it might just be instinct that pushes your lips together. something written into your body from birth. you were meant to be his, he yours. 

and merlin, he tastes better than you ever could have imagined. 

remus. your remus. 

a smile spreads across your lips after your next kiss, slow and so, overwhelmingly perfect. he pecks your teeth, your nose. 

“remus,” you say, but a small giggle escapes you before you can finish your sentence. this is surreal. what’s happening right now? are we sure this isn’t a dream? “what are we doing?” 

“kissing, dovey,” he answers with another kiss. “and, maybe, if you wanted, i could be yours?” 

“you’ve always been mine, rem,” you respond solemnly, and he tugs you down next to him, pulling your body under the covers so you’re flush next to him. “only now i can kiss you.” 

his palms come up to your cheeks, one to your hair, and again, the two of you connect–by your lips, sure, but also by you. you’ve connected, there’s no breaking it now. 

“and all of that you were saying?” you pull back every so slightly to look at him, to know him. “you are the most perfect soul i could ever ask for. i want you to tell me every time you feel like you don’t deserve me, because that’s just untrue. you deserve everything and more, and you are so perfect for me, i can’t even fathom how you exist.” 

at that, he pulls you back into him, plants and plants and plants his lips on your face. “there’s no part of me that doesn’t love you, dove. my heart, my mouth, my soul. all of me.” 

and when you’re too tired to kiss any longer, if that concept even exists, you fall asleep leg between his, nose pressed into crease between his neck and jaw, arms around each other, intertwined with him for the night–though, in a way, you always have been. and you always will be. 

masterlist

taglist: @lydiasfalling @moonysloveee @treefairy-28 @lolwey @callsignwidow @navs-bhat @hisparentsgallerryy @brxght-world @grxcisxhy-wp @luvv-danielle @idkman5353 > i'm in love with all of u fr

tags: @fairygirl170 @burningwitchprincess @theredvelvetbitch @effervescentpoet @nott-my-riddle @amatoanima @boromoony @daddypriceugh @stqrgirlies-blog @angemyrtille@lydpop @moonlightremblack @moonydoodlez @wizzerreblogs @just-here-for-ff @sodavrr @serenadingtigers @ficcharsimp @lettertovera @djlance-rock @hypn0fl3ct @thewitchesofart @novausstuff @wrenisrad @ayyeitssarahh @a1ienmush @jay-is-a-pinguin @lovergirlsdiary333 @ajtriesart @setayeshmohseni @iraslore @thesecretgirluniverse-blog @nishinoyas-wife @hyperfixatedscorpio @pansyitcanton @hannah44444 @may-madness @girlwihkaleidoscopeeyes @oursweetmoony @whimsicalgirliee

lmk if you'd like to be on my main taglist xx!

italics means i couldn't tag you for some reason 💔 also sorry i've been so mia in the comments, i love and appreciate all of you who are commenting, tysm and have a good day lovelies

[lydiasfalling]

angsty sirius ily!!!

cry.

sirius black x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ sirius x potter!reader ... sirius loves you, but he swears he's not good for you. angst, childhood friends to lovers, inspired by cry by cas, coward!sirius, ooc!sirius a little pls don't come after me love u bye

word count ༄ 2.7k

nora’s notes ༄ CAUSE I NEEEEEED TO TELLLL YOU SOMEEEEETHING! erm okay i know i said i was working on pt two of i want you but i got distracted by this instead. i haven't read it through bc if i do i won't publish it PLS don't mind how the writing quality from my last post has dramatically worsened...

you look so pretty like this. mouth drawn open, drool trickling from your soft mouth. your face, your whole body, turned towards the boy next to you. even in sleep, you’re drawn to him. so trusting, so open. 

something in his gut twists. 

—

“sirius!” a call comes from behind him, accompanied by a smattering of footsteps as he watches you approach. your lips are parted to take in more air, and he’s overcome by the urge to grab your face and absolutely kiss you silly. 

he ignores it, trying to instead focus on what you’re saying. 

“...hogsmeade tomorrow?” you ask, a twinge of hope seeping into your voice. you’re so eager, eyes wide, that he feels terrible not knowing what you said. “were you listening?” 

“sorry, darling, i was too distracted by your beauty. what was that?” he tilts his head at you, taking pride in the way the tips of your ears turn reddish. 

flicking his ear, you repeat your question. “d’you wanna have lunch at hogsmeade tomorrow? james said he was going with re–erm, lily, or something, and rem and peter are busy.” 

“uhh,” he pauses, thinking about his schedule. 

“it’s okay if you’re busy,” you tack on quickly, noting his hesitation. 

“no, no,” he frowns, upset by the way you’re tugging at your neckline, looking away from him. “i’ll go. i promise. i’ll be there. lunch, you said?” 

that smile, that beaming, beautiful smile, lights up the whole world and has him smiling along with you. you’re contagious. he wants to breathe you in and keep the disease all to himself. 

he makes a mental note to cancel all of his plans tomorrow. he wants to see you all day. 

—

you shift on the pillow, face burying further and further into the sheets, as if permanently embedding yourself onto your bed. the comforter slips from where it was from your shoulders, allowing him a good look at your bare back, the expanse of your shoulders. he wants to press kisses against them, knead his hands into a sweet massage–anything to make you feel good. 

your face is serene when you sleep. the knot between your brows, which james swore was permanent at this point, has dissolved with rest. his thumb traces your eyebrows before he can stop himself, knowing this is the last time he’ll see you this calm for a while. 

he turns away from you, trying to avoid looking at any part of you. he can already feel the guilt gnawing at his fingers, worming its way into his bones. he needs to get it out. 

before thinking too hard about it, he shuffles around, standing from your bed and grabbing his boxers from where they landed on the floor last night. he takes the rest of his clothes and slips them on as quietly as possible. but before he leaves your room, he pauses to drink you in. you, in all your drooling, snoring glory. 

you move around, a hand reaching out to your left, roaming up and down the bed as if searching for him. he’d prefer it if you sucker punched him in the stomach. 

he can’t won’t think about that look in your eyes yesterday, when you begged him to fuck you. it was devastated. especially when he closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds and opened them to see you, caged under his body, just watching him. 

like you knew he couldn’t give you everything. like you knew he would be there, but he wouldn’t be there. and when he closed his eyes again, he pretended he couldn’t feel the wetness slipping from your eyelids. 

—

“he got another one,” your brother sighs as he enters the common room, only a few seconds after a red-faced sirius, who stormed through, scrubbing at his face. 

“a howler?” you ask james, sitting up straight in concern. “from… her?” 

he nods, making a move to pass you where you’re sat with your legs draped across the couch, having eaten dinner much earlier than the marauders. 

“i’ll go,” you say, stopping him from walking up the stairs. “he won’t want to see anyone who saw it happen.” 

“but i’m his best friend,” james counters, pushing his glasses up his nose. “he won’t mind.” 

“just let me.” you plead with your eyes, which makes him hesitate just enough for you to pass him and head to the dorm. “stay down there.” 

he relents, and you enter sirius’ dorm with the tiniest bit of a sashay. you know he hates feeling weak, so the best way to treat him is not like he’s delicate. even if he is. just a little bit. 

you hum a bit, making your way to james’ bed, which sits directly across from the window sirius is sat in front of. the boy is looking out the window, a cigarette tucked between his fingers, and as much as he looks devastatingly handsome, his eyes are also red with a sort of tiredness you only acquire after years of crying. 

“may i?” you reach for the cigarette, and he hands it to you with a limp hand, not even looking over. he knows exactly what you’re doing, but he’s not going to stop you. to do that would be to deny the only thing he wants right now. 

you take a long drag, purposefully blowing the smoke into his face, smiling when he gives you a reaction. “turn around?” you ask with a softness that he can’t deny. 

not when you’re just so lovable in comparison to the scarlet that still tinges his vision, the cold screech of his mother, screaming, telling him he wasn’t good enough, humiliating him in front of his friends. he slept around, he was a disgrace. she reminded him of who he was–who he’d always be: a black. 

without realizing, his fingers clench into balls, and he listens to you, letting you thread your fingers through his thick hair, shoulders relaxing with your touch. 

“talk about it?” you murmur, braiding the top of his head into a soft french braid. 

just for a second, he hesitates. then, with a sigh that echoes through his body, he shakes his head. “you.” 

you get what he means, and so, you steer the conversation into mindless blabbers about your day, what you ate, who you hung out with. the more you speak, the more you feel the tension in his body dissolve into your hands. after a bout of silence, “you’re a good person, sirius.” 

he chuckles a bit at that. “you and my mother would disagree.” 

“it’s true,” you double down. “who else would take on an illegal animal form, just to help their friend? who would pull pranks on anyone who even dared to look at any of their friends the wrong way? who would go with james to threaten all the guys who look at me funny? just kidding, you’re not off the hook for that one.”

his head lifts towards yours with a pout. “he was creepy, darling. he was staring at you like he wanted to sink his teeth into your pretty little flesh, and it creeped me out.” 

you wrinkle your nose. “ew.” 

still, something warms in him at the thought of you accepting him. of seeing him as a good person. only–he wasn’t sure if that was true. he felt terrible more often than not. always a destroyer, a nuisance. couldn’t keep a girl, couldn’t love properly. if there was anything walburga black was good at, it was getting under his skin. 

right now, it seemed like she had crawled through his bloodstream and settled into it. and it sure didn’t seem like she was going to leave anytime soon. 

—

sirius is ignoring all of the calls that come through. the second he left your house, he went to the cliffside with a pack of marlboro’s and a hair tie. after lighting one and putting his hair back, he admires the valley. it was magnificent, with sloping mountains of green sliding down both sides, kissing in the middle. flowers decorated the hills, and his breath catches. it is so beautiful. 

but he’s terrified of slipping. if he falls down into that valley, he would have no chance of coming back up. the slope is too steep. 

he stands, stepping back to watch from afar. another step, and a stumble backwards. his foot catches on a stray rock, and he lands hard on his ass. ow. 

when he grabs for his phone, a lump knocks on the walls of his stomach. he has thousands of messages from james, who has clearly been updated on the situation and is spamming him like crazy. but only one has your name on top of it, staring up at him with those teary eyes, wide, desperate: please don’t shut me out. 

—

the christmas lights that tangled themselves in your tree were the nicest, coziest light for you to read by. you had insisted on celebrating some muggle traditions that lily had taught you about, and of course, james was all onboard. the two of you convinced your parents to put up decorations around the living room, and now you spend all of your time there. after grabbing the new novel you’re reading, you curl onto the couch to read. 

will the noseless villain defeat the scrawny boy? you’re just turning the page when something–no, someone–spills out of the chimney, covered in soot, stumbling onto the carpet. some dark liquid is leaking out from his skin.  

you’d recognize that figure anywhere.

sirius. 

the book slips from your grasp and you run towards him. “james!” you holler at the top of your lungs, fingers skimming his torso. “siri, i–are you okay? that was a dumb question, of course not. what–what do you need?” 

he peers up at you, his eyes glassy. “darling, i have to tell you–i–” 

james comes running through the doorway, hearing the commotion, and yells for your parents. they take off his shirt, and you can see all of the bruises that have molded themselves onto his body. he has a large gash on his ribcage, and he looks victim to a crucio or two. 

oh god. 

before you can stop them, water collects at your lashline, cascading down your cheeks. something pushes you to sit by him, hold his hand, and when you do, he glances at you. his face is weak from the pain, but he still reaches out to wipe your tears away. 

“don’t cry for me, y/n.” he murmurs softly as your mother tends to his wounds. 

“i can’t help it,” you let out a small hiccup, your fingers tracing his. 

i’m not worth it, is what he almost says. he turns his head away from you. he can’t look at you anymore. not when you’re this distraught over him. merlin. 

he catches you crying for him again in your room, a few weeks later. you were dancing in the kitchen to whatever came on the radio, and he bumped into a stack of plates on the counter. they shattered, and he almost had a panic attack right then and there. what would he do when euphemia kicked him out? he had nowhere else to go. 

he knew you would cry when you nudged an explanation out of him. you comforted him, and it really was no big deal in the end, but something in his bones told him you would cry for him. and it made him want to claw his skin off. 

—

sirius tries to escape, but of course, you find him. of course, you always do. even when–no, especially when he tries to hide. when he hates himself so much that he wants to rip his own flesh apart, break his own bones, you see him. 

he’s not sure if he hates or loves that about you. 

you’re outside his door, distraught scribbled into the wrinkle of your eyes and the quiver of you sweet, sweet lips. “sirius?” 

maybe he can just avoid you. maybe he can just let himself absorb you forever, ignore the reality. 

“i know you’re home,” you call softly, wringing your fingers. “can we talk about last night?” 

he swallows. do what’s good for her. you have to make her happy, above all else. he opens the door. 

“hi,” you say with a shyness he hasn’t seen in years. you step forward, crossing the boundaries, letting yourself into his place. into his heart. 

— 

“darling, i…” he swallows, and something twinges in your legs, telling you to run. but you can’t tear your gaze away from his adam’s apple, which you pressed kisses to only hours earlier, when you whispered sweet words to each other, saccharine promises. 

you tilt your head at him, and bile rushes to his mouth. how could he ever do this? he is a coward. 

“we can’t be together.” he says after a minute of silence, eyes trained on your feet. “we can’t.” 

at first, you don’t even try to argue. that makes it even worse. “i’ll wait for you.” 

“no, it’s–i,” he pauses, takes a deep breath. “i… i just can’t. not now, not ever. maybe, i’d change, someday. but i can’t help the way i feel.” 

“you… you don’t feel the same about me?” it comes out in a breathy whisper, and it's his turn to watch you swallow, something scratching at your eyes. 

“i wish that i could,” he responds. i wish i was good, wish that i could give you my love now. 

“oh. i… oh.” your voice is barely audible. the stumble of your feet as you race towards the door is louder. it echoes through his bare apartment, second to the pounding of his heart as you close the door gently. you were always too kind, too soft to him. 

he was always too terrible for you. 

—

the first time sirius met james potter, the boy took one look at him and said, “don’t you dare go after my sister.” 

he shrugged it off at the time–why would he care about james’ sister anyways? all he wanted were friends. real, genuine friends. maybe ones that would really piss walburga off, if he was lucky. and james potter seemed just the type. 

but when he met you, something changed. he wanted you, he knew that much. even at thirteen, fourteen, he knew he felt something different for you. a feeling he wanted to keep close to his chest and never let go. he already had a spot for you in his heart; it was probably drilled in at birth, that’s how well you fit into it. 

yet, every year, even before he said anything, james would waggle his finger. “oh, please, padfoot, not my sister. you can’t even hold down one girl, i’m never letting you near here. you’d just break her heart. besides, you don’t want her, anyways,” and that throaty laugh. he never realized how much those words had grabbed fistfuls of sirius’ guts, squeezing them until nothing came out. 

he internalized them. he was untouchable, the boy every girl wanted, that every girl could fuck, but never have. 

—

sirius black had been selfish many, many times in his life. but this, this was the most selfish decision he’d ever made. it sucks that he was too drunk on cheap booze and a scary kind of lovesickness to notice. 

the only thing he can see right now–the only thing he can think about clearly–is you, in the most stunning dress he’d ever seen. when you walked in, his jaw dropped with a little whoa. 

you’re the only one for him. that’s how it’s always been. 

it’s too fucking bad that when he spun you around to love ballads on the dance floor, you let him. it’s worse that when his forehead kissed yours, you let him. you let him press his ugliness against your perfect. he took you by the waist, and you let him. 

his most selfish decision, underneath him, begging for him, tugging on his collar and smearing kisses on his jaw, his neck, his v-line. 

oh, shit. 

james came into his conscience, on his tails was walburga. you’re not good enough for her. you never have been. you’re a mistake, a disgrace. you’ll sleep around, mince her heart into chunks. run, sirius. that’s all you’ve ever done. 

seeing you in front of him, he knew. with that lovely, lovely smile and that gleam in your eyes, oh. he’d only make you cry. 

masterlist | next part

tags: @lydiasfalling @moonysloveee @kenjikishimotoswifey

p.s. idk if anyone from my last post wanted to be on my general taglist or js for that post so if u do lmk and i'll add youuuu (or if you want to be removed)

have a good day!! 💝