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yvessentials · 10 days ago

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COURTING YOU? SINCE WHEN?! Featuring Savanaclaw!

requested ask from here!!!!

While courting, wolves will stay close to their potential mate and typically will not leave their side if possible. They are also very affectionate and will nuzzle, lick each other, and will even walk side by side.

Jack Howl! Who’d recently begun acting… strange, to you, recently - face avoiding yours entirely when you sat or walked next to him, ears perked up and tail wagging when you’d offered him a hug that one time.(though he swatted your affection away. Huh.) Shoulders brushing against yours a little too purposefully during movie night, forever complaining about how your uniform was never neat, always helping you readjust your tie, dusting off imaginary dirt off your clothes whenever you meet, bashfully looking away when you asked him why he was being so nice(“Well, we’re… in the court - no, nevermind.”) Things went downhill(or uphill, maybe?)when he started to return your affections, nuzzling his nose against yours or your neck, almost whining when you tried to pull away, pawing at you to stay with him, for just a little while longer… earning sniggers and off-handed comments from both Leona and Ruggie, teasing Jack on how he was really piling it on ‘em, huh, getting one too many complaints from Leona, about how you smelt just like him… wait, what? Jack Howl, who was certain you’d agree to meet his family over the school holidays - you started to court him first, after all, and he was certain they'd absolutely adore you :)))

While courting, male hyenas will often shadow their potential mate to foster a relationship, approach a female and repeatedly take a few steps toward her and then a few steps away, even if the female doesn't react to his approach, and bow low to the ground to show submission to the potential mate, as female hyenas tend to be more aggressive than their male counterparts.

Ruggie Buuchi! Who was acting shifty again - walking behind you but scuttling a few steps back if you ever noticed him, face a mix of fear and hesitance, before returning to tailing you - but he was Ruggie, so you quickly dismissed his behaviour as Ruggie just being Ruggie again.(Which worked wonders for the poor hyena’s heart, now fully sure you weren’t going to bite his head off if he got too close.) Following you around school like a shadow - a skittish, blushy one, sure, but still a shadow nonetheless - attempting to mask them as chance encounters, though after a while, he was fairly sure you knew he was just making up excuses to hang around you at this point(not that he minded much.) Walking you to essentially anywhere you went, copying your actions to a tee - if you ate, he would eat(not without stealing bites off your plate, though), if you took a nap, he would take a nap.(on your lap, preferably, but only if you let him) Being more affectionate to you in general, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, though he was quick to bend down and apologise if he ever felt like he was overstepping. Pupils practically turning into hearts when you let him nuzzle his nose against your neck from behind, hiding his burning face into the crook of your neck for nearly ten minutes before he pulled away.(A successful mount - Grandma would be so happy, shyehehehe!) Inviting you over to his home in the Savannah over the school holidays, grinning despite your confused expression. “What? Granny’s been dying to meet my dear mate, it’s only expected, shyeheehee.” :))))

While courting, lions typically approach their potential mate and engage in actions like nuzzling, head rubbing and licking, followed by ‘tended courtship’ where the male follows their potential mate, shadowing them and engaging in behaviours such as rubbing, pawing and gentle biting.

Leona Kingscholar! Who had started to cling to you like a particularly annoying leech, dragging you to his favourite napping spots and holding you hostage in his arms, head slotted perfectly into the crook of your neck ignoring his usual schedule of skipping school in favour of following you around instead - walking you to all of your classes with a glare venomous enough to scare off anyone trying to talk to you, so ‘conveniently’ standing outside them when they happened to end.(not slick, Leona, not slick at all.) Rubbing his head against yours on one such kidnapping occasion, smile a tad bit too smug when you repeated the same motion to him, before you tried to get up and was met with a scowl and his hands pawing at you back to the grass, his arms firmly wrapped around your middle to prevent further escape attempts(sucks for you, I guess) Things escalating when he bit you, square on your neck after a nap, expression strangely nervous, before brightening up considerably when you decided to be petty and promptly nipped him back on his collarbone, for ‘payback’ (nevermind how your face felt like it was burning, how he grinned and pulled you in for a celebratory nap, once again locking you in his embrace) Knocking on your door the day before the school holidays, flopping on your bed, seemingly done with life before he spoke - “Falena keeps on bugging me to meet my mate. How about it? Can’t say Sunset Savanna’s the nicest place to visit, but you oughta get used to it - visiting in-laws, and all that. …What? D’ya think you could court a prince and get away scot-free? ;))

hey, if you liked this… check out Octavinelle’s or Diasomnia’s versions?

alternatively; check out the Savannaclaw masterlist?

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yvessentials · 11 days ago

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are you guys ever reading a good fic and then the author just adds a random terrible line and you just stare at it like this:

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yvessentials · 11 days ago

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Fantastic Four Selfie

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yvessentials · 12 days ago

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Scary Dog Privilege

wolfstar x fem!reader

summary: you walk home from the bookstore through a dark alley each night, enduring the wrong kind of attention from a man who never listens. until one night it goes too far and your boyfriend sirius, furious in scary dog form, comes to the rescue.

warnings: sexual assault, harassment, emotional distress, threatening behavior, intense fear, non-consensual physical contact, verbal harassment, references to stalking, manipulation, strong language, panic attacks, anxiety triggers, references to violence, dog attacks, biting, blood, and descriptions of physical injury. read with caution!!!!!

w/c: 3.8k

masterlist

It is nearly midnight when you close the till and flick the old brass switch beneath the counter, watching as the enchanted oil lamps blink out one by one overhead.

The bookstore exhales into stillness, the scent of paper and worn leather settling deep into the cracked wooden floorboards like smoke.

You tug your shawl tighter around your shoulders, fingers trembling slightly despite the heat that lingers in the narrow shop.

The bell above the door is muffled beneath a Silencing Charm, but you can still hear it ring faintly in your mind. You hear it every night.

Your shift ended fifteen minutes ago. You’d stayed to avoid walking out with him.

The bell above the door tinkles as you step outside, into the narrow alley that separates the shop from the street.

The stones are damp from earlier rain, and you move carefully, already running through which turn you’ll take tonight. Left, not right. It’s better lit, even if it’s longer.

“You’re finally done, huh?”

You flinch before you even see him. Luther.

He’s leaned casually against the doorway beside the bins, still wearing his uniform shirt rolled up at the sleeves, arms crossed like he’s been waiting. His wand’s tucked into his belt, and there’s a pack of something crumpled in his hand.

“Yeah,” you say, keeping your voice light and polite. You don’t stop moving. “Heading home.”

He straightens. “You always rush off like that?”

“I live nearby.” You glance toward the street, your heart already picking up. “Not far. It’s late.”

“You know, I could walk you. It’s not safe, a girl like you out here this time of night.” He steps closer.

“Some real weirdos around this part of town.”

“I’m okay, thanks.” You smile, short and practiced. “My boyfriends are waiting for me.”

“You always bring them up like that,” he says, voice turning a little flat. “Every time I try to talk to you, you make it about them.”

“Because I’m not interested,” you reply, quietly. Still no edge in your voice, still trying to keep things smooth.

Luther laughs under his breath. The sound makes your stomach twist.

“Come on. I’m just trying to be friendly. You don’t talk much in the shop, you know that? Always tucked into a corner, all quiet and sweet. I figured maybe you could use a bit of attention. Some company ya know?”

“I like quiet.” You answer without looking at him, eyes fixed ahead. Your fingers tighten slightly around your satchel.

You move to pass him, but he stays exactly where he is, angled just enough to force you into the edge of the alley wall.

You have to step through the puddle pooling there, cold water soaking through your shoes with a shiver that climbs your legs.

And then you feel it.

His hand brushes the small of your back. Not an accidental graze. Not a casual mistake.

It lingers for a second too long, deliberate, slow, just enough pressure to make your whole body stiffen.

A jolt of dread sinks straight into your stomach, heavy and choking.

“Don’t do that.” Your voice cuts sharper than before, but your throat feels tight, brittle.

He lets out a low scoff behind you.

“Relax. I was just being nice.”

“That wasn’t nice.” You step away from him, as far as the narrow alley allows, your heart now thundering loud in your ears. “Don’t touch me.”

His expression shifts. The smile doesn’t vanish completely, but it tilts in a way that curdles the air around him.

“You really going to act like I did something wrong?” He lets out a breathy, incredulous laugh. “Merlin. You’ve been leading me on for weeks. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you act.”

Your voice falters. “I haven’t led you on. I’ve been polite.”

“Polite?” he repeats, and this time it sounds like a sneer. “You let me talk to you. You smile. You say goodmorning like you’re happy to see me. That’s not polite. That’s an invitation, sweetheart.”

You stare at him, your mouth suddenly dry. Your heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might break something inside you.

“I’ve never invited anything from you,” you say, softly, but he just laughs again—louder this time.

He shakes his head and mutters something you can’t quite catch—something bitter and quiet—and for a second you wonder if he’s going to follow you.

You feel it in your gut before your mind can name it. A subtle shift in the air, a pressure that tightens your chest and prickles cold along the back of your neck.

Something is wrong. Deeply, irreversibly wrong.

Then his voice cuts through the quiet, brittle and too close.

“Wait—just—just hold on a second—”

Your heart begins to hammer so loud you feel it in your ears, in your throat, under your skin. “Please go home, Luther. I asked you to stop. Just leave me alone.”

He does not stop.

He steps toward you instead.

“Why are you being like this?” he says, trying to sound wounded, but his voice carries something harder beneath it. “I just want to talk. You don’t have to be so dramatic.”

You begin to back up, taking a step away for every one he takes forward. “I don’t want to talk. I just want to go home. Let me go!”

He scoffs under his breath and keeps coming. “You’re always so cold, you know that? You think you’re better than everyone because you work with your little nose in a book all day. I’m trying to be nice.”

You hold up a hand, not to strike him but to keep him back. It lands against his chest with no force, just a boundary, a plea.

“Don’t. I mean it.”

But he doesn’t stop.

He grabs your wrist.

You gasp and try to pull back. “Let me go!”

“Come on,” he says, frustration flickering across his features. “You don’t have to play hard to get. I know you’re not really going home to anyone. You just say that to shut me up.”

You wrench your arm back, stumbling as your shoes skid on the wet stones.

“Let me go. Now! I’m serious!”

He grabs for you again. This time higher, his fingers brushing your elbow, trying to hold you still.

“You’re not even listening to me,” he says, louder now. “You act like you’re scared of me or something. I haven’t even done anything.”

You shove at his chest with both hands, this time putting your weight into it. “I said go home, Luther. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

His face changes then. Something sharp cuts through it, twisted with indignation. He steps in again, too close, his voice pitching lower.

“I’m not the one being weird here. You’re the one who’s been flirting!”

Your mouth goes dry. You take another step back and feel your heel catch the uneven edge of the alley. Your balance wavers. Your stomach churns.

“I’ve never—” you start, but he interrupts, a sneer curling his lip.

“You think you’re so innocent. But you’ve been leading me on since the day I started. You don’t get to play shy now!”

He reaches for your arm again.

His fingers close around you.

And this time, the fear bursts.

You scream.

It tears out of you without permission—raw and cracked and ugly, a sound torn from somewhere deep in your chest.

And then everything explodes.

The growl is low at first. But it builds fast.

Something moves through the alley with weight. With speed. The air folds in on itself, and before your mind can shape it into thought, Padfoot is already there.

There is no moment of warning, no space left for disbelief. He strikes low and fast, slamming into Luther’s side with force that knocks the wind from his lungs. The sound is wet. Something splits.

Luther stumbles and goes down hard, his back hitting stone, limbs flailing against the sudden violence.

You stand frozen, feet rooted where your panic left them, chest heaving. You watch as Padfoot closes in, body low, teeth bared, a sound rising from his throat that is not loud but shattering

Luther scrambles, trying to push himself upright, but Padfoot lunges. He bites. There is no doubt in it. His jaws lock around Luther’s arm, just below the elbow, and holds.

Luther screams. It is thin and shrill, the sound of someone suddenly very aware that they are alone.

“Get it off! Get it off me! Get it—”

You cannot look away.

The scream Luther lets out when Padfoot’s teeth clamp down is thin and piercing. It cuts straight through the silence like a knife scraping bone.

He thrashes, his legs kicking against the stone, trying to twist free, but it only makes the grip worse.

Padfoot holds fast, growling low in his throat as he tears through the fabric of Luther’s jacket and sinks his teeth deeper into the flesh of his forearm.

“Stop! Get him off! Get it off me—please, please—I didn’t do anything! I didn’t mean to—she screamed first—I wasn’t trying to hurt her—”

You stand frozen, hands clutched to your chest, breath coming in uneven bursts. You can’t move.

You barely register the screaming anymore.

Your eyes are wide and fixed on the blur of Padfoot’s body, on Luther crumpled on the ground, on the blood, on the sound of snarling so brutal it doesn’t feel real.

You are still frozen in place, locked in the thick fog of fear and shock that keeps you from hearing your own heartbeat.

Then you hear it. The tap of a cane against stone, slow and rhythmic.

And a voice—low, familiar, and impossibly close.

“Love,” Remus says, and his voice is the only thing you recognize. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

Yiu blink once, slow and blurred. The street tilts slightly beneath your feet. Your chest feels locked. You do not remember when you stopped breathing.

You only realize it when you look up and see him standing in front of you, steady as the sky, his shoulders broad and braced, his body angled just enough to block everything else from view.

You try to speak but nothing comes. He steps in closer. His hands rise to your face with deliberate gentleness.

His thumbs skim softly along your temples as his palms cradle the sides of your head, blocking out the sounds behind you with tender pressure.

“Shh. Don’t listen to him. Don’t look. You don’t need to hear a single thing, my love. Not one more word. I’ve got you. You are safe. You are right here with me.”

One of his hands slips behind your head, guiding it gently to his chest. The fabric of his coat smells like bergamot and firewood and something else that is only him.

You bury your face there, and the first sob slips out before you can hold it in.

“I know,” he murmurs, arms folding around you like he means to hold every trembling part of you in place.

“I know, my dove. I know how scared you were. I know it was too much, but it’s done now. He cannot reach you. He cannot touch you. Not with me here.”

You don’t mean to speak, but you do.

“He followed me,” you whisper, the words barely formed. “I kept saying no, I kept asking him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen—he wouldn’t stop—he—”

Remus shushes you again, not to silence you, but to soothe you. His hand moves slowly across your back in long, calming strokes, as though he could press the fear from your spine.

His mouth stays close to your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

“I know, love. I know what he did. I saw enough to understand. You don’t have to explain it to me if you don’t want to. Not now. You just need to be here with me. That’s all you need to do.”

Another bark snaps through the alley. You flinch, your breath hitching against his chest.

Immediately, his hands return to your ears, cupping them carefully, protectively, as if the sound itself could hurt you.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s just Padfoot. He’s making sure that man stays down. Just breathe, sweet girl.”

You nod, barely, and let your eyes fall shut. The tears keep coming. A steady stream against the fabric of his coat as your body sinks further into his.

“I should’ve run,” you say quietly, not even knowing why.

“I should’ve left sooner. I thought I was imagining it, I thought maybe I was being dramatic, and then—”

Remus shakes his head, slow and certain. He tilts your chin so you will hear him fully.

“No. You don’t blame yourself. Not for any part of this. You were polite, you were careful, you said no, and he crossed the line. You did not do anything wrong, and I need you to believe me when I say that.”

He leans his forehead against yours, the weight of it grounding. His eyes are closed. He breathes with you.

“I wish I had gotten to you sooner. I wish you never had to feel that afraid. But I’m here now. You’re not alone, youu never were. I promise you that.”

You nod again, smaller this time, and let him hold you tighter.

Behind you, the sounds begin to fade. The growling ebbs and the rustling quiets.

“I’m taking you home,” he says finally, still soft.

“Let’s go back. We’ll run you a bath, get you warm. You won’t lift a finger, not for anything. And I’m not letting either of you out of my arms tonight.”

He stays with you like that until your breath starts to steady. Until your grip in his coat loosens and your body leans into his instead of locking against it.

When he finally turns his head to look past you, toward Luther, his entire demeanor shifts — but he never lets go of you.

Padfoot is still growling, low and constant, each breath a promise of violence.

Luther is sprawled on the ground, one hand wrapped around his arm, mouth red and wet and open.

Padfoot growls again, shoulders bristling, and it sounds like the end of the world.

“You should run now,” Remus says, lifting the cane from Luther’s chest. “Before he stops letting me hold him back.”

Luther doesn’t wait for another invitation. He scrambles to his feet, half-tripping, blood dripping from the torn bite in his arm, and bolts. His footsteps echo down the alley, erratic and fading.

Silence settles behind him.

Padfoot is right beside you, chest pressed close, circling slowly like he’s guarding every inch of your body.

His tail is low, ears pinned back, body still tense with the need to defend, to protect, to tear apart anything that might still hurt you.

You reach for him with one hand, your fingers shaking, and he licks your palm with a soft, whuffing sound like he’s trying to soothe you.

He stays close, silent except for the occasional growl that rumbles out of his chest when he turns toward the alley where Luther disappeared.

You don’t speak for a long time. Remus doesn’t rush you. His hand keeps moving slowly along your back, up and down, like he’s reminding your spine how to hold itself together.

You let yourself be small, pressed between the heat of his chest and Padfoot’s protective weight. You let yourself feel scared and surrounded and safe all at once.

When you finally speak, your voice is small and raw.

“I was so scared,” you whisper, voice catching in your throat. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Remus exhales softly, lowering his forehead to yours. When he pulls back, it is only enough to hold your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing beneath your eyes as if he could erase the memory from your skin.

“You didn’t need to do anything, love,” he says gently, his voice like warm wool. “That’s the whole point. You’re not supposed to handle this alone. Not now, not ever.”

You nod, though it’s small, hesitant, the motion barely more than a tremor. Your bottom lip quivers, and he leans in without waiting, kissing the center of your forehead slowly—firmly—like he’s sealing the words into you.

Then there is a sound beside you. A quiet ripple through the air. The hush of magic folding into itself.

Padfoot is gone.

In his place stands Sirius, breath uneven, chest rising and falling too fast, like he hasn’t taken a full one since the moment he saw you in danger.

He stares at you with wide, frantic eyes, shoulders still braced like he’s expecting to need to fight again.

“Hey—” his voice breaks once, and he tries again, softer this time, closer. “Hey, love. I’m here. I’m here, I’m right here.”

Your body reacts before your mind can. You step forward, hands reaching, and he catches you instantly.

You fall into him like something collapsing—not out of weakness, but out of sheer relief.

He folds his arms around you, holding tight, pulling you against his chest like he can’t bear even an inch of space between you.

“Thank you,” you breathe, your face buried in the crook of his neck. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know what to do—I didn’t know if anyone would hear me—I—”

He shushes you softly, but not to silence. He does it like a lullaby, his mouth pressed to your hair. “I heard you. The second you screamed, I was already running. I’ll always come, love. Always.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying again until you feel his palm slide up your back, smoothing over your spine with that same gentleness that used to rock you to sleep in quiet mornings.

His other hand curves protectively around the back of your head. He doesn’t let go. Not for a second.

Remus remains close, leaning slightly on his cane now, his body a steady line of warmth at your side. He does not try to insert himself into the moment.

He just reaches for you, one hand brushing lightly against your arm, the other rising to cup your cheek where Sirius cannot reach. He leans in and presses a slow kiss to your temple.

Then another. Just below your ear. Then the corner of your eye.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmurs quietly, like it’s a secret.

“You did everything right. We’ve got you now. You’re safe. You’re so loved.”

Sirius sways with you in his arms. He breathes through his nose like he’s grounding himself in your scent, his lips still pressed to the crown of your head.

“I hate that I wasn’t there sooner,” he mutters, his voice roughened with guilt. “I should’ve waited outside like I wanted to. I shouldn’t have let you walk even one step alone tonight.”

“You didn’t know,” you whisper.

“He’s been—he’s been bothering me for a while now. I thought if I ignored it, if I stayed polite, it would stop. I didn’t want to make a scene.”

Sirius goes very still. He pulls back just enough to look you in the face, his jaw tight, his eyes so full of ache it’s hard to hold them.

“You should never have had to deal with that. You shouldn’t have felt like you had to keep quiet to stay safe.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Remus echoes, the words firm this time, as if daring the world to contradict him.

“We’ll sort it out tomorrow,” Remus adds.

“You’ll wake up safe,” Sirius promises, his thumb brushing your cheek. “And that bastard won’t ever come within reach of you again.”

***

The next morning, he’s already dressed before you are, standing in the kitchen in his worn boots and wrinkled jacket, sipping coffee like he’s been up for hours.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just walks over, presses a long kiss to your cheek, and murmurs against your skin: “I’m taking you in.”

You blink at him, still slow from sleep. “Sirius, I—”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to see your face, and when he does, there is no trace of teasing in his expression.

The usual grin is gone. What remains is a quiet, unwavering seriousness that leaves no room for argument.

“I’m walking you to the shop,” he says, voice low but certain.

“Every morning. Every night. I don’t care if I’ve been out until sunrise, or if it’s pouring rain, or if I have to go as Padfoot or myself. You’re not walking alone again. Not once. Not ever.”

Your mouth parts, but the words catch in your throat.

“Okay,” you whisper, barely more than a breath.

And he smiles then, soft, and leans in to kiss you again.

From that moment on, he’s there. Every single day.

Sometimes he walks beside you in human form, long strides matching yours, hands tucked into his pockets, glancing sideways at you every few steps like he’s making sure you’re still there.

Sometimes he doesn’t say much—just offers his arm and lets you loop yours through it, the two of you moving quietly through the early-morning city streets.

But when he does speak, it’s always soft, always just for you.

“You sleep alright?”

“I warmed the kettle for when you get home later.”

“Let me know if you want me to hex anyone today.”

Other days, he’s Padfoot—slipping into his Animagus form without a word, nuzzling your side as you lock the door, then trotting just behind you down the street.

You get used to the sound of his paws on the pavement, the warm shape of him at your heels.

When you glance back and meet those familiar grey eyes in that shaggy black face, your heart stops racing for the first time all day.

And when you leave the shop at night, tired and quiet and wary, he’s always waiting.

Sometimes crouched in the alley across the street. Sometimes lounging outside the door like a stray dog with too much purpose. Sometimes sitting just behind a lamppost, eyes already locked on yours the moment you step outside.

You never walk home alone.

You never look over your shoulder.

You never feel like prey.

You are always accompanied, always protected, always safe.

And on the nights when the streets are crowded or someone stares too long or your hands start to shake just thinking of Luther’s voice, Sirius doesn’t need to ask.

He just presses close, either as Padfoot or himself, and says it soft enough that only you can hear: “You’re safe. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

And Remus, every time you walk back through the door, greets you with a kiss on the temple and a cup of something warm and always says,

“How was my girl? Did anyone try anything? Should I be concerned?”

Eventually, the neighborhood adapts. People come to learn that the little bookshop near the corner always has a black dog waiting out front, stretched out across the pavement like he owns it.

Some think he’s a stray. Others swear he must belong to someone important. A few say they’ve seen him snarl once and will never test him again.

But you know the truth.

It’s not just a dog. It’s your Sirius.

And with him there, always watching, always waiting, always close, you know with quiet certainty that you will never have to be afraid again.

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yvessentials · 12 days ago

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that time of the month

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

summary: sirius thought he could handle anything — until he found himself caught between a girlfriend on her period and a boyfriend nearing the full moon. now he attempts to help, armed with questionable tea, quiet affection, and lots of love.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: period pain, pre-full moon symptoms, chronic pain themes, hurt/comfort, emotional vulnerability, caretaker!sirius, physical affection, implied magical pain relief, quiet intimacy, crying, breakdowns, overthinking, downplaying pain, comfort, and lots of gentle love.

“Remus, are you sure you’re alright?” Sirius’s voice was quiet and careful.

Remus didn’t answer right away. He was curled on the couch, spine pressed deep into the cushions, one hand splayed protectively over his stomach, the other fisted in the hem of his jumper.

Across from him, you sat with your knees drawn to your chest, a hot water bottle nestled low against your abdomen.

You hadn’t said much in the past half hour. The cramps were worse today — dull, insistent, with a leaden pull that radiated down your back and into your thighs.

But how could you speak of your own pain, however sharp, when Remus looked like this?

His breathing was controlled, but uneven. His fingers twitched now and then, as though pretending he wasn’t holding himself together by the seams.

Sirius moved closer, lowering himself to a crouch beside the couch. “Moons, love,” he said softly. “Don’t wait too long this time, alright? If it gets worse, we’re going in. I mean it. No stoic nonsense tonight.”

Remus gave a faint nod. “I know,” he murmured. “I’ll say something.”

Sirius didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he reached out and brushed his hand along Remus’s shin, thumb moving in quiet, rhythmic strokes over the fabric of his trousers.

You shifted slightly, pressing the hot water bottle more firmly to your abdomen.

You told yourself you could handle it. That a little discomfort wasn’t worth mentioning. That voicing it would feel selfish.

Then Sirius looked at you.

His brow furrowed, concern flickering in his eyes. “You alright?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. It’s just—” You hesitated, tried to make light of it, forced a laugh that didn’t quite make it out whole. “Cramps. It’s nothing.”

Remus looked over at that, his expression faintly softening even through the haze of his own pain. “Still bad?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Kind of wrecked, yeah.”

It hit without warning.

One moment, you were sitting quietly on the edge of the couch, blanket tucked around your legs, trying to focus on the low hum of the room and the sound of Remus’s breathing.

The next, a sharp cramp sliced through your lower abdomen like a fist clenched from the inside.

It came so suddenly and with such force that your breath caught in your throat, and your entire body folded in on itself with the pain.

You curled your arms around your stomach, pressing your hands flat against the fabric of your jumper, as if that might somehow hold you together.

The heat rose behind your eyes too quickly. You barely registered the pressure of tears before they slipped free, and you turned your head to the side in shame, trying to make yourself small, trying to breathe through it.

That was all it took.

Sirius was across the room before anyone could blink.

He dropped everything in his hands without hesitation—blanket, mug, whatever he’d brought.

All of it hit the ground as he knelt in front of you, eyes wide with panic masked as control.

“Hey—hey, hey, baby, what is it?” His hands hovered near your arms but didn’t touch yet. “What’s wrong, love? Tell me where it hurts. Come on. Talk to me.”

You could barely see him through your lashes. Your arms were still clutched around your middle. You didn’t want him to see your face.

Remus stirred from the other end of the couch as his voice broke through the haze, strained and low. “Is she—Sirius, is she okay?”

Sirius looked over his shoulder briefly, his voice gentle but quick. “She’s hurting. It’s okay. I’ve got her.”

You shook your head fiercely, still hunched over. “I’m fine, I’m—fine—just—just cramps—”

But your voice cracked halfway through. You tried to swallow down the sob that followed, but it bubbled up anyway, hitching your chest, making the words come out broken and small.

“Sweetheart,” Sirius whispered, finally placing a hand over yours. “You’re shaking. Talk to me, yeah? Where does it hurt?”

You shook your head again, fingers digging into the fabric of your jumper. “Everywhere,” you managed, the word barely a whisper.

Another sob slipped through.

You covered your face instinctively, ashamed of the way your lip trembled, of how you couldn’t stop the hiccupping gasps that followed.

You didn’t want to do this. Not in front of them. Not while Remus was already hurting.

Sirius’s hands came up to gently cup your wrists, his voice barely above a breath. “No, no, no, don’t hide. Please, love. Don’t do that. Let me see you. Let me help.”

When you didn’t move, he slowly reached up and brushed your fingers aside with his own, peeling your hands from your face.

“There you are,” he murmured when your tear-streaked face finally met his gaze.

His expression softened at once, like something in him unclenched the moment you let him see you properly.

He reached up, fingers brushing softly across your cheek, catching the salty tracks of your tears like they were something precious.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he said quietly, voice low and steady. “Now talk to me, yeah? Where does it hurt? Is it the cramps again, or are you feeling nauseous?”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. A sob slipped out before you could catch it, and suddenly Sirius’s hands were on either side of your face.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and it felt ridiculous even as you said it. “I just—I didn’t want to make it about me.”

Sirius closed his eyes for a second like the sentence physically hurt him. When he opened them again, his voice was nothing but softness.

“You never have to apologize for hurting. Do you understand me? Never.”

“I know Remus needs—”

“And I need you,” he said. “He needs you. We both do. And right now you need someone too, and that’s me. You don’t have to choose between being strong and being loved.”

You were trembling now, the heat of your own tears making you feel dizzy. Sirius just stayed there, holding your face like you were the most important thing in the world.

“Let me take care of you, yeah?” he said again, quieter this time.

He reached under your legs and around your back, moving as smoothly as he could, and you didn’t resist as he lifted you into his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured again and again, as if the words themselves could knit your pain into something softer.

He crossed the room and lowered you beside Remus, careful and precise.

Remus reached out with trembling fingers the second you were close enough, brushing the back of your hand as Sirius tucked the blanket around you both.

“There,” Sirius said quietly, crouching beside the couch and looking at you both. “Now you can be in pain together. A real bloody power couple.”

The words hung in the air for a beat, and despite everything, it was a little funny. Darkly, stupidly funny.

You, tear-streaked and curled up like a discarded doll, pressed against Remus, who looked like he’d been personally steamrolled by the moon itself. The two of you were a matching set of misery.

You let out a tear-choked laugh in spite of yourself. Remus gave a weak chuckle too, though his face was drawn tight with worry as he looked at you.

Sirius had gone quiet, which was rarely a good sign.

After bundling the two of you up on the couch and adjusting the blanket three separate times, he pressed kisses to both your temples and straightened with a determined huff.

“Alright,” he said, standing with a sigh. “I’m heading to the kitchen. Gonna make some tea — I read somewhere that it helps with period pain. And if it doesn’t, at least you’ll both be mildly hydrated and warm.”

And then he disappeared into the kitchen.

The moment the door swung shut behind him, a hush settled over the room — a gentle, almost sacred quiet that felt strangely welcome after the wave of emotions that had just crashed through.

You shifted, slow and careful, and leaned sideways until your head rested gently in Remus’s lap.

He made a soft sound of surprise, but didn’t move away — only adjusted his position so you’d be more comfortable.

You closed your eyes.

A second passed, and then his hand came down slowly, fingers threading into your hair, the motion delicate and soothing.

Then, in that soft, unmistakably Remus voice, he murmured, “You know… you don’t have to do that.”

You blinked. “Do what?”

His fingers paused briefly, then resumed their slow pattern. “Hide your pain because of mine.”

Your heart sank a little at the words — not because you didn’t expect him to notice, but because of how gently he’d said it. No accusation. Just quiet, aching honesty.

“I wasn’t trying to—” you started, but he cut you off gently.

“I know. I know you weren’t. That’s the thing. You weren’t trying. You were just doing what you always do, making space for everyone else.”

You let out a long, shaky sigh and turned your face slightly into his thigh.

“It’s not like it compares. You’ve got… I mean. It’s your entire body breaking down.”

“And yours isn’t?” he asked. “Just because mine’s attached to a full moon and a curse doesn’t mean yours is nothing. Pain is pain. It doesn’t need a hierarchy.”

You didn’t respond right away, so he kept going, his tone still quiet and certain.

“I hate when you think you have to earn help. Or that if you’re not bleeding from the eyeballs, it doesn’t count. That’s not how this works, love.”

You exhaled, eyes fluttering shut. “I guess I just didn’t want to be another problem.”

Remus laughed softly — not at you, never at you — but with that kind of exasperated fondness that only comes from someone who loves you completely.

“You’re not a problem. You’re the person I want to help through problems. There’s a difference.”

You were quiet for a beat, then mumbled, “When did you get so good at this?”

“I’ve had a lot of practice hurting,” he said simply. “Eventually you figure out how to recognize it in other people. Especially when you love them.”

You turned slightly so you could look up at him. “I do love you, you know.”

His lips curved into a soft smile. “Yeah. I do know.”

His hand moved again, slower now, sweeping back your hair as he looked down at you like you were something he’d never get tired of seeing.

“I love you too,” he said. “And so does the madman currently reorganizing our entire kitchen based on your tea preferences.”

You snorted. “Do I even have tea preferences?”

“You do now,” he said. “I heard him muttering something about lemongrass and rebirthing the uterus.”

You both laughed — gently, because your stomach still ached, but real laughter nonetheless. The kind that loosened something tight in your chest.

The moment had almost turned quiet again — Remus’s hand brushing gently against your shoulder, the weight of the heating pad soft against your abdomen— when Sirius’s voice broke through the calm.

“Remus?” he called from the kitchen, sounding bewildered in a way that was rarely promising. “Do we even own a kettle?”

Remus didn’t even flinch. He simply tilted his head toward the ceiling and exhaled like a man who had stared into the abyss one too many times.

You could feel the resignation pouring off him before he even opened his mouth.

“It’s exactly where it’s always been,” he said, loud enough for Sirius to hear but still soft around the edges.

“Right-hand side of the counter, next to the spice rack. It’s silver, has a handle, and in case you’ve forgotten, it’s the only object in the entire flat that whistles.”

There was a pause — the soft clatter of something being set down— and then Sirius’s voice again.

“Oh, that’s what that is!”

Remus turned his head toward you, blinking slowly. “He’s been using it to water the plants.”

You pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I were.”

Just as Remus reached for your abdomen again, Sirius called out a second time, this time sounding somehow both triumphant and confused.

“Where’s the actual tea kept? You know, the… leaves? Or do we just buy it?”

“It’s in the middle cabinet above the stove,” Remus called out, voice low and tired. “Second shelf. The tin with the loose chamomile.”

There was a pause. Then Sirius’s voice from the kitchen:

“Is it supposed to look like… this? Kinda yellow and dried out?”

“No,” Remus grumbled. “That’s turmeric, you idiot!”

Remus turned to you again, eyes tired but affectionate, and leaned in slightly.

His thumb brushed softly along your cheekbone, and his voice lowered in a way that only belonged to you.

“Now that we’ve briefly returned to pretending we live in a functioning household,” he murmured, “tell me— how are the cramps now? Still awful?”

You smiled faintly, tilting your face into his palm. “Still awful, but slightly less noticeable now that my survival instincts have kicked in.”

“Good,” Remus said with a tired nod. “Tea as distraction therapy. Not ideal, but it’s something.”

Sirius reappeared from the kitchen carrying a tray that looked like a mismatched collection of whatever was clean.

Two mugs sat side by side — one a scratched-up beer glass, the other a Quidditch World Cup souvenir with a plastic broomstick handle. Next to them was a bowl of chunky soup still steaming, and an overfilled hot water bottle.

He set the tray down carefully. “Here we go. Tea by whatever means necessary.”

Remus glanced at the beer glass. “You’re seriously using my stag party stein?”

Sirius grinned. “It was either that or a flower vase. I figured this was the lesser evil.”

You didn’t say anything. You were too busy trying not to laugh at the deep, sludgy brown color of the liquid in your glass.

It looked like something a healer might prescribe after a curse backfires.

Sirius beamed at you both and sat down, watching eagerly as you each picked up your mug.

You took the tiniest sip possible, more vapor than liquid, and immediately felt your entire soul attempt to escape your body through your nose.

It tasted like bark and soap and something floral that had clearly never meant to be steeped.

Remus made a barely audible sound of protest after his own sip, then forced his mouth into a painfully neutral line and set the cup back down like it was radioactive.

Sirius leaned in, eager, almost childlike. “So? Be honest. Do you feel better? Is it healing you physically? Did you feel your uterus unfurl?”

You nodded slowly, then gave him the gentlest smile you could manage. “I… I felt something.”

Remus, ever the diplomat, added, “It has a very strong presence.”

Sirius grinned. “Right? I added ginger and lavender and that weird red stuff from the back.”

“The red stuff?” Remus asked, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah. The… earthy one. It smelled like forest!”

You and Remus exchanged a silent look, then turned back to Sirius.

“I just want you both to feel taken care of,” he said softly, his voice shifting again, dropping low and sincere in a way that made your chest ache.

And despite the taste still lingering on your tongue and the odd thickness of the tea coating your throat, you both smiled and meant it when you said, together:

“We do!”

Sirius leaned back, his arms draping behind both of you again as he looked between you with that impossible, boyish devotion that never faded no matter how old any of you got.

“Good,” he said, settling in again. “Because I’m planning to overdo this for the next twelve hours.”

You smiled against the rim of your cup and prepared your stomach for another sip of horrendous tea.

But if it meant staying wrapped up like this — warmth, noise, love — you’d drink the whole thing.

Sirius flopped down between you both, tugging the blanket up again and nudging Remus with his knee.

“There,” Sirius said, finally settling back down. “Everyone warm? Everyone fed? Everyone stabilized?”

You and Remus exchanged tired, grateful looks before turning to him.

You reached out, fingers brushing against his hand. “Thank you,” you murmured softly. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”

Remus leaned in slightly, his fingers brushing Sirius’s before curling around them. His voice was low but certain. “We’d be wrecked without you.”

Sirius gave a quiet scoff, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah, well. I live to serve the emotionally and physically unstable.”

You snorted into your tea. “That includes you, by the way.”

“Exactly,” Sirius said with a grin. “Truly a one-man support group.”

The silence didn’t last long. Sirius then dramatically sighed, his voice heavy with mock frustration. “Y’know… I hate being normal.”

You both turned to look at him in bewilderment.

“What?” he said, completely unbothered. “You two get cool biological attacks every month. I just get stress and skin problems.”

Remus muttered under his breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “You really are weird, Sirius.”

You couldn’t hold it in — a bright, genuine laugh burst from you, filling the quiet room with something light and easy.

A soft, amused giggle escaped him. “Oh please, the ones who turn into wolves every month and bleed from their vaginas get to call me weird?”

You jabbed him lightly in the ribs. “Hey! We can’t help that, you wanker!”

All three of you laughed, the teasing bouncing back and forth like an old game. Sirius smirked, eyes sparkling, and started rattling off little quirks only someone living with you both would know.

“Like how Moony gets all grumpy and broody every full moon, like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

Remus rolled his eyes but shot back with a smirk, “Excuse me, Black—I do carry a heavy weight every month. You just don’t see it!”

The room filled with warm laughter again, the teasing folding seamlessly into the quiet comfort between you.

Yet somehow, beneath all the teasing and mismatched mugs, there was an unspoken truth.

You and Remus both knew, without ever needing to say it, that Sirius would always be there every time, without question and complaint.

And Sirius knew this with equal clarity: that no matter how much it hurt, no matter how often it returned, he would hold you both through it all, month after month, pain and all, for as long as you’d let him.

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